What’s going on down there?
There's a new trend in Human Resources. The department needs to get a first-hand look at the job responsibilities of every position in the company. Warren chooses reception while Ted Gassass, the unfortunately-named VP of HR, descends into the mailroom. At the lunch hour, when Ted hasn't yet emerged, Warren begins a descent of his own. What does he discover? The VP, the mailroom lads, a good quantity of rope, and—their pride and joy—an old postage machine converted into the bad boy of mechanical devices. Will Warren ever ascend?
Seriously Reviewed, 16/20 SCORE
"This is a hot little short story. Snappy opening to set the scene, a middle filled with hot men having hot sex with each other and a fucking machine and an ending to let you know the mailroom is the best position in the company. The story is fast paced and a little raunchy. And that is exactly the way I love to read sex."
“What am I supposed to do?” Warren asked. He couldn’t think what else to say. This kind of power play was new to him.
Ted smiled. If he’d had white hair, he would have looked like a wolf. “It’s very simple, my boy. Just do as you’re told.”
His heart thumped in his chest as Warren replied, “No problem.”
Ted yanked on the choke chain and Rob lunged forward. The slave boy scolded, “You must respond, Yes Sir.”
“Oh, okay,” Warren said. “Yes Sir!”
“And wipe that schoolboy grin from your face. This is business,” Rob went on. He was Ted’s puppet. He spoke the words mouthed at him by the boss.
Trying incredibly hard not to smirk, Warren replied, “Yes Sir.”
“Now shift your body up along the table,” Ted requested. His voice was always gentle. Warren squirmed up a tad. “More than that, my boy.”
“But my head’ll be hanging over the edge of the table.”
“Do as you’re told,” Rob scolded.
He tried not to smile as he squirmed up a little more, even though his head was unsupported. Rob wrapped a scratchy rope around his wrist. He strung it around one table leg, then another table leg. Finally, he secured the loose end with a tight knot around Warren’s other wrist. As Rob crawled under the low sort desk to tie his ankles to the other two table legs, the choke chain wove its way down Warren’s stomach. It caught on a hair or two. Wincing, Warren kicked his foot just as the helper monkey under the desk reached to grab it.
“Watch it, Third,” Rob scolded. Tying down his ankle, he crawled out from under the table. “Seems to me somebody needs to learn how to handle his pain.” He looked across the table at Ted. “May I, Sir?”
“Why, of course,” Ted nodded, handing Rob a few small binder clips from the desk near the wall.