Kock Kredit Inc.

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Jeez! This is why I don’t like doing “Skis”; Polanski, Krasinski, Romakowski, or “Anyotherskis.” You know, guys of Polish decent? The fuckers spooge like lawn sprinklers when they pop. I scoop the last gobs Gribonowski’s baby gravy out of my cleavage and thank Gods Unseen that I have the experience to efficiently manage such a messy exchange. He’s pulled up his slacks and has his shirt tucked in and jacket on before I can even look up. He’s rushing like there’s a chance we can be caught. I almost chuckle out loud. Another boon of experience is that you never show any kind of unsaid mirth in the act; whether on a date or a trade. Men’s egos are just simple electrons orbiting the nucleus that is their dick. Laughter of any kind is the fission needed to turn your Kock Kredit encounter into a nuclear holocaust.

He’s being an asshole of course. There is no way we’re going to get caught or happened upon. He acts like he doesn’t show up at my cubicle every third month or so for the exact same exchange we’ve done from the time before. It is fun listening to him coming up with new ways of asking. Why is it funny? Because, what he’s asking for is, technically, a transaction. All he needs is a transferrable account with a multi-compatible kreditor we share on the same network. If those are in play, then the only thing he needs to do is make a request for said act. And if it’s within my desired skilled set, then all we need is privacy. And it doesn’t get any more private than a utility closet in a stairwell.

I sit there on my heels struggling to get my boobs back into my front-clasp bra. Its special made, and worth every penny. It wasn’t that hard to shop for bras before my children were born. But after…? God, I might as well have been a deep sea treasure hunter for all the difficulty in finding the correct size brassieres. My breasts went from C cups to Ds for my second child, and from Ds to double Ds for my third. And only Nature knows why, but for some reason, my thighs and ass saw the need to link up metaphorical arms with my boobs to follow the “Let’s Gain Mass Together Road.”

It was a trial getting used to them during pregnancy and afterward. I knocked over a lot of stuff. Eating was the worse. It was like there was a tractor beam for food and drink emanating from them. If it wasn’t falling into my cleavage, I was dunking them in my mashed potatoes. Sometime I had to wonder why I even bothered with wearing a bra. The bra I have on now is one of five of the special makes. But I only wear those Thursdays and Fridays; the prime days guys are liable to spend Kred. The designs, of course, are made by Kreditor affiliates who deal in fashion. They recognized the market for having such things. And it turns out dealers who are female, which is lot, happen to be commonly my size.

Grobski, as his bros call him, is trying to escape without paying. I catch him by the wrist and he freezes like a rabbit. I roll my eyes up to his guilt-laden face, and raise an eyebrow.

“Kay that was great as always, but I have a ten a.m. meeting. Soooo, I’ll see you around…”

That was lame even for a guy in his late forties. I raise my other eyebrow and tap his wrist with the index finger that has my Kred ring on it. He stares back for a second, then huffs out audibly.

“Fine. But you’re going to feel bad about this later.” He says accusingly.

“Oh yeah, I’m sure. I’ll see your face in my daydreams when I’m at my desk and tear up uncontrollably.” I say duplicitously, as he touches his ring to mine.

After the rings do their color changing to indicate the transfer is good, Grobski’s on his way out, he looks back at me as I slip into my wrap around dress and re-cross it over my cleavage. “Kay, thanks, really. Kim’s been such a pill this last year and half. I just—”

“Grobonowski,” I say his full last name to get his attention and to indicate that there will be no familiarity coming from my end of this conversation. I may help alleviate his pent up sexual regressions but that does not mean I am on his side or that I have to listen to why he does what he does. Besides I’m a wife. If my husband were doing something like trading in Kred without telling me, I’d be furious.

“Don’t tell me about your wife. I will not sympathize with you. You had a need, and I helped you with it. End of story. Back to life. Your meeting; remember?” I say all this as I gather up the used wet wipes and open my compact to check for random “shrapnel” that might have escaped the tissue I used to cap his “spitting-snake” when it went off.

Grobonowski wisely doesn’t say another word. He nods and exits the utility closet we are in that is located two floors below his office and three floors above my cubicle. The good thing about doing deals in utility closets is that it’s always easy to find a trash bag, waste receptacle, or trash bin. I tossed the trash we made and gather my things. Exiting the utility isn’t the big deal; it would be if the closet was inside altyazılı porno the office suite, but this one is in the stairwell. So once I’m sure Grobonowski’s gone, I make my way back to my cubicle.

I’m not three seconds in my seat when my manager comes by to drop a few reports.

“Sharon!” I say as if I’m happy to see her. I’m not. We’re not even frienemies. And we will never be anything more. She thinks I sold her out to K-hunters. Those guys only go after people who have defaulted on payment or a deal. So when one of the hunters came to the job asking after Sharon, I immediately put out an All Administrative Assistants’ Alert text that a “Pussy Pirate” was on the premises. It’s a really cute app that I received from my Kreditors’ company for my first five years of debt free membership. It is an erect penis that is the pole with a black flag flapping in the breeze at the top. On the flag is a tiny beaver with Xs for eyes and a sword standing in its little chest. The alert app also has a special vibration in case it’s muted. I’m very proud to report that it’s given several women in our department a headstart when their hunters have closed in on them.

Some women are like ninjas. One second they are there, but when that alert goes off, they are gone. Other women sound like stampeding rhinos when they are making their getaway; and may the Fates be kind if you’re in their path. Sharon was neither of those. It’s not my fault she came out of the restroom just as the hunter-guy was passing by. Poor Sharon, you could hear her in the restroom, through the Scream-proof towel the hunters carry, fifty feet from the door. From what I heard at the water cooler, it had been a No-Lube execution. I also heard the poor thing didn’t sit in her office chair for a week. Since then I’ve been on her Toss Pot radar.

“Kay.” She responds with no emotion. “Here are those quarterlies from corporate A, B, & C. They’re due Monday.” She says setting them down on my desk with an icy countenance that’s sure to draw penguins.

“Monday, huh? Well, that’s no good. I’m not working late. My son has that thing, I’m chaperoning. You remember? I put in the request a week ago. Besides, Pam can take them. She’s on this weekend.” I say to her, adding on a sweet smile.

Sharon wants to say something but all she can do is turn red in the face. It’s killing her that I have an In with our boss. He would have been her next move, trying to insinuate to him that I didn’t have a “team attitude.” But he deals in Kred from time to time. And guess who he comes to for quality Handy-Jays? Without another word, she turns on her heel and marches away…without the paperwork she just placed on my desk. It’s a petty shot, but I let her have it.

They say you shouldn’t smile at another person’s misfortune, but if that cunt hadn’t been trying to stick it to me, then I would consider Karma’s wrath. But since she did…

Lunch was a disaster! I get back to my cubicle and try to ponder what went wrong. It doesn’t make any sense! I have never—okay, I can’t remember the last time I was in debt. I look down at my index finger for the hundredth time in the last twenty minutes; it’s as red as a Christmas ornament. My mind is all jumbled up trying to make the situation end at a believable conclusion. But I can’t! I’m flustered. There are cold butterflies in my stomach. My pulse is jumping so rapidly that I can actually feel my wrist watch. I’ve got to calm down!

It doesn’t work. I panic.

They are coming for me!

I can’t pay them!! And I can’t take time off from my job! And I can’t ask for advances in pay for a debt that doesn’t officially exist. And if my job found out I was dealing in Kred, they would have to fire me. I absolutely can not drag them into this. I grab my phone. Ron. I have to call Ron! He’ll send me the money!

I’ve dialed six numbers in before I realize it’s not working. NO!! My phone won’t dial out. I have no signal. Shit! He or they are close. My phone is on and has power but I can’t make any calls. Jeez! I knew there was a flipside to having that damn app! My first thought was, “Why would they give out an early warning device? Wouldn’t that make it harder on the hunter to collect?” Now, I know. They cut off your means of fixing your situation. They know, with nowhere else to turn, the “rabbit’ panics and flees its hole. I’ve haven’t been in debt often enough to know how to deal with K-hunters. To be honest, I can’t remember the last time I owed any Kreditor.

I have to play this cool. I scan my desk and those damn reports Sharon dropped off are still there. I gather them up and walk them, as casually as I can, to Pam’s desk. Pam is there, her fingers are flying through her soft-light keyboard. Soft natural carrot-top shoulder length hair frames her round face and oversized glasses. Her screen’s reflection is tattoo on her lenses; giving her the appearance she’s in a trance.

“Pam…” I whisper. She tilts her head my way but her eyes türkçe altyazılı porno never leave her screen. “Pam!” I say again insistently.

She gives me a strained wide-eye impatient stare over her lenses, “What?!” She whispers back at me.

I’m taken aback but not terribly put out. It’s the weekend and she’s mining her work. I do the same thing and also hate it when someone breaks my groove. “Sorry to take you outta your zone. But I was wondering, can you make out-going calls on your phone?”

Pam’s eyebrows come together in a small questioning expression. She knows in this day and age random disconnection is neigh unheard of. She quickly scoops up her phone, uses her thumbprint to open it, and dials her son who’s in college.

“…oh yeah baby, just like that…’ello?”

“Paul? Is that you sweetie? Where are you? I can’t see you.” Pam says in mock concern, with an evil smirk.

I giggle silently. Most calls commonly answer Face-to-Face. There are settings to black out certain calls. I’m thinking from the few words Pam and I just heard, her son is glad he decided to use such a feature with his mother’s number.

“Mom!!” Paul exclaims.

There is an audible “gurk” in the background and a female moaning erratically. I’m thinking he wasn’t expecting her call at this time day. He recovered quickly.

“Hey! H-how are you? I-is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, dear. I just wanted to know if you’re still heading this way for your uncle’s birthday.” Pam says casually. She’s gone back to typing on her terminal. I’m thinking to make a point of letting him know how important his answer is to her, since she’s calling him during her work hours.

“Oh yeah, yeah. I’ll be there. Count on it!”

“Okay sweetie. I needed to know to book a spot at the restaurant for you at his dinner table. I hope I didn’t wake you. I gotta go. Love you.”

“No, noooo. Not at all. I…I got to get ready for a class anyway. Love you too. Kiss Molly and punch dad for me.”

“I will. Bye-bye.” Pam says hanging up. She gives me a side glance. And I think it’s reflecting my expression. She’s worried. Her phone works just fine.

“Holy shit. He’s here!” There is a leggy brunette twenty-something, we older married women call “Usables,” standing at the waist-high glass barrier that serves as our banister. She’s looking down into the lobby. A few less burden personnel rush to the banister to see what is causing the commotion. Our work place is a huge open ceiling balcony on the third floor, overlooking the lobby to the office building’s entrance. It’s high enough to be quiet so the indoor fountain’s trickling waters can be soothing to listen to, and the location also does a great job of muting the foot traffic through the lobby.

“Who’s here?” Another Usable ask. She’s a redhead that is pretty close to my proportions which is odd because I know she doesn’t have any children. She wears nothing but those thin material dresses. The kind of dress that turns any woman into an instant slut, if she decides to do the day without wearing a slip.

I sigh every time I see her. I had that body between my first and second child. Now I need to kill myself for twenty minutes every other morning doing exercise just to be remotely in that body league. “Oh my god! Are you sure it’s him??” She asked, trapping her bottom lip. She’s grinning evilly and her eyes are full of blatant lust.

Now more women are leaving their seats. And my feeling of dread is steadily building like a mudslide going downhill. Someone at the banister confirms my fears, “It’s Bronze!!”

“Please, please, please…” I say silently to myself. Pam’s expression has gone from worrisome to outright “Oh shit.” She looking directly at me and then her eyes widen at the sight of the red glare on my Kred ring. My heart is pounding so hard I think it’s going to bounce my boob out of my cleavage.

Pam’s phone and several others closeby, including mine, go off simultaneously. It’s my Pirate Pussy app. “Go.” Pam says.

And I take off like that molded rabbit on the rail at the dog track. The last thing I can make out is the echo of Kay’s voice down in the lobby. She joyously repeats my name and delightfully volunteers to lead Bronze straight to my desk.

“Goddamit!! Move!!”

I don’t scream at anyone in particular, though I sorely want to. I do, however, pant really loudly. Whoever thought the movies would have it correct about the difficulty in trying to flee through a crowd, were invoking the true powers of Method Acting. It’s as burdensome as it is irritating. Especially when the reason you’re fleeing is closing in on you because he is a hell of a lot more intimidating than a forty—middle aged…young middle aged…hey, screw you! I’m not graying just yet; or at least not enough my hairdresser has to dump the whole dye bottle in with my shampooing. At any rate, where was I? Oh yeah, Fleeing. The behemoth on my tail, is not some barely hd altyazılı porno forty-something mother of three, and half of a two parent home income. So people are sure as hell not impeding his path.

Duck! Dash right! Stay below their shoulders! If he can’t see me moving faster than everyone else, the less chance he’ll have of keeping track of my direction and intent. He knows I’m going for the train. He just doesn’t know which door.

I thank the stars he’s a Loner. If that lot ever began to trust one another or decided they wanted to share bounties, then there would be a hell of a lot more women, and not too few men, walking funny in public. But I don’t have time explain. The train has arrived and I have maybe half a minute to negotiate the crowd while the nightshift-commuters from outside the city limits exchange places with the daytime shift quitting from the city proper.

My luck ran out in that it happened to be raining this fine Fall afternoon. Everyone is in their leather trenchcoats or flat matte water resistant what-evers. The first thing I’d done was clip someone’s umbrella when I was able to get past “Bronze” in the lobby of where I work. The ruse didn’t last long. In my panic, I’d forgotten the weather was going to turn bad and left my jacket behind. Yeah. The very jacket that would have turned me damn near invisible amongst hundreds of women with the same middle class sense of taste with a low middle class income budget, if my fat-ass had remembered to grab it before I left my cubicle. Instead I stand out in a white deep V wrap with black polka dots; now soaked through. I’m wet because I ditched the canopy of my stolen umbrella, leaving it resting on the adjacent shoulders of two tall guys. Thinking it might be my only opportunity to run into the crowded train terminal. That happened at the walkway crossing outside where it was pouring wet. Unfortunate for me, I got soaked for those remaining fifteen feet to the terminal.

The doors to the train!! The damn alert is giving off its final overly loud obnoxious buzz. I literally launch onto the backs of two Mohair black clad trenchcoat wearing gentlemen in honest-to-god fedoras and we tumble into the car, moving passengers and earning glares from several others. I look over my shoulder at the thin vertical windows in the door to see my pursuer arriving a second too late to board. He is larger than I thought he was from the distance in which I saw him in my workplace lobby. I also notice that my dress has been sliced from the hem all the way to my waist; and my underwear is gone! When the hell did that happen!? I sit on my butt with one of my bare thighs fully exposed. Bronze is still staring at me and I see my torn black satin panties in his fist. He was that close??

The K-hunter is six foot four in height, all shoulders and abs. Did I happen to mention that he was in one of those leather pilgrim hats without the buckle? He also wore a tan-now dark brown from the rain-duster and no shirt which through his open coat shows off a glistening upper body. Inside that lucky leather are rounded shoulders only comic book heroes possess, and they are attached to biceps and arms of a gladiator. The perfection continues as those are connected to hard flat hairless pecs over a cobblestone eight pack of abs. It’s a body I would punch my mother in the eye just to have the privilege to suck Guinness from those steely contours.

Hey! The guy is after me for a collection. Just because he wants to personally give me heart trauma via my vagoo, doesn’t mean I can’t admire my adversary. It’s true! I’m pretty sure Sun Tzu said so…somewhere in his book.

From there I could tell you that godly bod peters out into skinny legs, but that would be a lie paramount to blasphemy. His jeans look like they are painted over his thigh and calf muscles by Venus. I doubt the Roman god had a fondness of men, but one of his exalted talents is art. And Ho mama! Those legs qualify!! Horses are the only animal I can compare the brawn and yumminess of their definition to in ways of perfection. Speaking of which…naw, I know a description isn’t necessary as far as that is concerned. I’ll leave it to your imagination. I’ll say this, if this guy and an elephant got into a comparison contest about “Who’s bigger?”, the elephant would walk away with hurt feelings.

Hmmm…am I drooling? Naaw, that just rain water.

He’s wearing a belt with a big shiny buckle, which I suspect conceals his underwear-cutter; a blade that can slice the hardiest of bras like butter, and panties as if they were made of steam. The buckle doesn’t take away from the look though. I think his boots give him a bit more height, but I know for sure he’s taller than my five foot eight inch frame, with or without the boots.

I never heard him behind me as he gave chase; only felt him. You see his boots are a soft rubber sole; good for stealth and great for gripping smooth, wet, or rough surfaces. He takes up nearly both windows as he stares at me, and I just know he’s remembering my face. I can see it in his deep set eyes. There’s anger, excitement, rage, frustration, the thrill of pursuit all wrapped up in that glare, and beneath all that is a nearly palatable lust.

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