The Assistant Ch. 03

Note from the Author:

Hey all.

One more chapter, patience is boiling up at The Complex, where life isn't supposed to be a picnic. For a better understanding of the scenario and setup, I recommend reading Chapter one first.

This chapter came out a bit later than expected, but I'll try to keep up the flow.

Thanks for the previous comments and messages, and for keeping me inspired.

Hope you enjoy :)

*****

Chapter three -- The rag doll

They don't talk about their jobs, or whatever these "projects" entail. Research and development of what?

There was a quick knock on my door. The very first time it had happened.

"Hey," Sam stood outside the open door. He seemed to be dressed for work, but somehow the button-down shit with sleeves rolled up to elbows further accentuated his boyish looks. "So, I was wondering. I know we only spend time together later, but I'm also in charge of the kitchen today. Do you want to come down for breakfast?"

The request was most unusual. Up until then I had had my meals alone in times I wouldn't be inhibiting conversations with my mere presence.

"I'm making pancakes," Sam added in tone of indisputable conclusion.

I could not find a way to refuse it, and was gifted by a bright smile from the young patron. As I joined the kitchen after a brief freshen up, Sam worked the pancakes while enthusiastically discussing a sports match with Edward. Beside the latter, at the table, the only patron I hadn't met yet.

The unknown patron had a buzz haircut, and dark brown eyes. He sat with his elbows on the table, seeming to lay little attention to the conversation. Either way, the topic changed when I approached.

"You asked him to come down in the morning?" mused Edward, with an eyebrow raised. "That spells despair."

"It's just pancakes, I didn't want him to miss them," Sam dismissed, plating together a pile of four pancakes. He turned to me with the plate and a smile. "Do you want any syrup on it?"

"No, thanks. They look great as it is." They did. Sam had made them fluffy and added berries to the batter. His eyes followed me as I ate, and I was fully conscious of my every move.

"It's burning," Edward warned, perhaps a minute too late. Awoken, Sam cursed in low voice while, using a spatula to scratch off the ruined pancake.

"Idiot," was the first word I heard from the anonymous patron who hadn't made a mode to introduce himself.

"I'm Callum," I said, taking notice of the fact.

"Carlos." His eyes turned to me coldly.

Carlos was handsome. I mean, they all were, but Carlos stood up even among the impressively good-looking housemates. The shape of his nose, or maybe a specific charm related to his air of disinterest. He faced away as if the the one-word exchange had been all the conversation he'd care for, then got up and walked away, leaving behind his empty plate.

"He's douche-y like that, don't think too much of it," Sam broke the tension without a worry. He opened back his smile. "So, you and I later?"

"I'm looking forward to it," I replied automatically, still half hooked on the vacuum Carlos had left behind. It apparently was more than enough for Sam, though.

"Great! I'm thinking of relaxing with a game after work. And I'm in a serious lack of worthy opponents," he added, then turned to Edward. "No offense, dude."

*****

I could imagine that gaming room filling the eyes of people more prone to pub entertainment. Lighting was dimmed and focused on stations. A billiard table, a foosball table. A corner for darts and targets. A table for board games. It makes sense, considering these guys are stuck in here.

On another corner, a four-seat sofa faced a very large screen embedded in the wall, and that was where I spent my afternoon adventuring through the games recommended by Sam. I was not particularly good at video games, and most of my interest in them had faded well together with my young years. Still, I practiced and tried some on, if only to give the guy some challenge later.

By the time Sam arrived, humid hair from shower and stay-home attire, I had already dusted off my old skills and was absorbed into Mortal Combat. He grabbed a controller from the center table and ignored two of the seats, sitting directly by my side.

"Nice choice!" he approved, focused on the screen. Which did not change the fact that he was sitting the closest one could be without actually being on my lap. Pressed between him and the arm of the couch, I could smell the soap from his skin. "Let's see if you'll give me too much trouble."

I did my best, but I could not. From the moment the fight started, I tried some commands that had worked well for me before, only to see Sam's character dodging my attacks with ease and move back. Then, in the split of second my own fighter was in the air, Sam counter-attacked. With a flow of precisely input combos, the round was over.

"It wasn't that bad," he lied. "Come on, round two!"

More rounds and more fights followed, with similar results. It took three full fights before I was able to at least block some of his advances when the flurry of blows started. While our levels were clearly distant, each desperate attempt made Sam happier.

As we played, we chatted. Mostly he did, as whooping my ass on the game did not seem to take much of his focus. Sam was an unsurprisingly nice guy, easy to make smile, eager for attention and, without a doubt, needy.

And touchy, too.

I felt his bare arm touching my sleeved one when he threw me a cordial hit with his elbow in response to a particularly inventive (and almost effective) counterattack. The arm didn't move back for a long time.

Sam cleaned his throat during the pause in which we changed to a racing game.

"Uh, dude," he started, awkwardly. Sam's eyes deliberately avoided mine and there was some blushing on his face. Endearing. "do you mind if I lean a bit on you? I had, like, a rough day".

I felt myself blushing considerably. Work time. Rather than responding, I sat up straight on the couch and moved my arm out of the way. With a nod, Sam scooted closer, resting half of his weight on the. I could feel the quiet embarrassment from him. That couldn't have been easy to admit. He was doing his part, I could as well make it easier.

"These cars, are they customizable too?"

"Oh, totally." Sam looked relieved with the forced change of topic. "Wait, I'm gonna show you the displays I created."

Proud of his work, he showed me cars. Parts. Decals. Exclusive content. My attention had long drifted away, but not too far away: the weight of his shoulders and upper body pressed sideways against me as if I were a cushion, the vibrations of his enthusiastic speech. The patch of skin uncovered by the hem of his tank top. Sam had a nice body, no doubt about that.

At one point of his parade of accomplishments, my hand moved from the backrest of the couch to his side chest. It just... felt right? Like, the proper development? Sam, who had started tracks to show me the differences and stats of different modifications, did not mind at all. If anything, he scooted even closer, ready to accept more.

Slowly, I scratched him over the fabric of the top, allowing my fingertips to slide along his chest and down to his waist. When I caressed back up, Sam responded by sliding down on his seat, this time effectively resting his blonde head on my thigh, his legs and feet up the seats on the other side. Looking up at me, his eyes met mine for only one second and half a smile before turning towards the screen.

Did I pamper that young man, who was not much younger than me and whom I had known for only a few days? Yes, I did. Because different people need different things, and the treatment Sam tacitly needed was not beneath me to provide. I let my fingers comb his hair back while my left hand rested on his chest over the top.

Time went by and it flowed naturally. With my fingertips I drew his facial features, his chin, his jawline and the curve behind his ears. I had not taken notice of the point where he'd stopped the game to close his eyes and enjoy.

The moment reminded me of my very first relationship, the stage of discoveries. Not things I had done, more of things I had wanted to do and feel and had been ashamed of asking. My hands on his shoulders, thumbs pressing warm skin massaging the curve on the base of his neck. From there, my left hand moved down to his chest, creeping under the tank top, my open palm on his warm skin. I felt his breathing, his heartbeats. Slow, circular moves on his nicely-defined chest.

I scratched his skin very gently and he breathed in deep. I had him molten. Not as a power dynamic: Sam was a patron to me and I was there as his assistant. Yet, I gave him care and, as my fingers guided, his body responded.

And it did respond. I felt his own hand from over the fabric, holding mine in place on his chest. By letting my eyes wander a bit further, I could see the effects. An impressive volume pointed up to the ceiling from his crotch. He made no move to conceal it.

That is not bad. Not bad at all. I let my eyes register it well before returning to his face, where his lips were slightly ajar in relaxation. As if feeling my attention, his eyes opened and I saw myself staring at teal pools stained in yellow up close.

"Hey. Thank you," he whispered lazily. My right palm cupped the side of his face. His eyes peeked down at his own body "Also, thanks for not being creeped out."

I wasn't the slightest weirded out by it. Quite the opposite, but I didn't trust whatever word I could say about it. Part of me, lower body mostly, wanted to be invited up to his bedroom to finish what we had started.

It was, however, almost midnight. My day with Sam was about to end. And he seemed to be thinking the same.

"I don't want to go," his low protest sounded a bit more childish than he intended. Hard to resist some pouting. It made me chuckle and I saw it reflected on his face. "I can at least walk you upstairs. You know, before you turn into a pumpkin or whatever."

*****

My body hurt, badly.

The previous night had been rough on me as Edward got me to tag along for his workout routine at the gym. More than just having me spot for his impressive bench press repetitions, he had insisted on trying my own limits too, and seemed to have fun with it. As a result, several muscles I had not paid enough attention to for years were protesting the next day.

My Friday evenings were supposed to be assisting Carlos. However, I had not received any message or instruction on when and where to meet him. I met Aaron and Olivier in the living room, and from afar I saw Sam and Josh playing tennis on the court, but nothing of Carlos.

"Good afternoon"[You 5:30PM]

"Should I wait for you somewhere?"[You 5:35PM]

"?"[You 6:44PM]

Among the patrons, he was the one who did not seem to like me too much, and I didn't want to give him more reasons to complain. I knocked on his door and, after a minute, tried again.

I'll take that as a 'no'.

As I turned on my heels to leave, the door opened. Carlos stood there in dark green sweatpants and a towel hanging from his shoulder.

"Yeah?" he stood a head taller than me.

Obviously, my spirit chose that moment to abandon me completely. It was hard to form intelligible sentences when my focus was dispersed on each of the water droplets scattered over his muscular chest.

"I-I... I'm Callum. The assistant," No, you moron! He already knows that! I tried to put any amount of firmness into my stuttering. "Y-you didn't message."

Carlos frowned slightly, using the towel to finish wiping his very short hair. But he didn't respond, so I forced myself to continue.

"Did you w-want to do anything ton-"

"Yes, I did," he cut me, tossing the towel over his shoulder again. "But if I cannot fuck you, I don't see what other use I would have for you. I thought this was obvious."

His bluntness took me aback with such violence I doubted if I'd ever speak whole sentences again. I blushed as never before and couldn't prompt my legs to just walk away. Carlos noticed it.

"Eh, don't give me that, now," he berated me with an impatient scorn. Under his stare, I swallowed hard, finally confronted by the truth I had evading through the week. I was not doing a great job and, depending on the perception, I wasn't doing my job at all.

Not everybody wants dates and cuddling, I thought. At least now I see who was against starting slow.

"I'm sorry," was all I could produce.

"Sorry for failing to give me what I want? Or for coming here expecting a picnic?"

"Y-you're right, Ill just-..."

"No," he said once I took my first step to leave. His eyes still pierced mine as he stepped aside. "Come on in".

Shit.

Carlos' bedroom was identical to Olivier's, size wise. In other senses,, it couldn't have been more different: no pictures, but a single acoustic guitar adorned the otherwise naked walls. Wrinkled clothes hanging from the office chair.

He closed the door behind me. There was cluttering and details to observe and learn better the guy's lifestyle, but Carlos had a threatening presence that kept me on the edge and my attention, undivided. As he circled around me and threw the towel aside, his eyes could only be described as predatory.

"Sit down," he said. I looked around to no chairs, so sitting on his bed was the only choice. He stayed up, looking at me from above. I winced when he raised his and, but the touch on the side of my face was kind. Although firm. "What are you looking down there?"

I wasn't. Not on purpose, at least. The sharpness of his stare made me instinctively dodge my eyes away from his, even if away meant down to the floor. Which was partially obscured by the bulge on his sweatpants. His touch guided me to face his eyes again.

"Take off your clothes" the hand left my face, but he didn't move back. I took a long breath and soon my mind was flooded with the scent of his skin. Slowly I brought the hem of my t-shirt up. Carlos didn't rush me, nor took a step back while I pushed my jeans down my legs. Under it, I wore dark blue boxers and, in any normal situation, there would be an embarrassing boner situation to be poorly hidden by them. It wasn't the case, though: perhaps the tension and the high speed of my heartbeats made my penis forget to work.

There was no change on his expression, the intensity of his stare was sharp enough to cut. When he finally moved, it was to touch my shoulders. I wasn't a small guy and Carlos was not giant, but the arrogant confidence of his touch made me feel vulnerable. He turned me around and I faced the mattress, kneeling on the bed.

"Im assuming nobody did you yet." his hoarse voice coming from behind me, only slightly louder than my own heartbeats. Carlos' hands moved down my back, possessive in their touch. I didn't answer. I shouldn't, according to contract, but answering wasn't necessary. Carlos knew. "And how long do you think all this patience will last? They're horny animals, all of them."

I gasped as, with his last sentence, Carlos grabbed my buttcheeks over the boxers. Crunched them in his palms. He was hot. Rude, but so hot. And under all rudeness and hotness, there was truth on his words.

"You don't seem too stupid. I'm sure you're preparing yourself," he said, hands working on me. There was no tease, there was take. Less caress and more demand. His left arm around me, hand flat on my stomach. "Pancakes and giggles today... a cum dumpster tomorrow. Don't you agree?"

"Yes." I had to say, as my lack of response got him to squeeze me harder. Seeming to accept the answer, Carlos pushed my shoulders down while holding my hips back from the stomach. I got on my fours. My not resisting seemed to please him further.

As he pulled me back I could feel him behind me. His hands holding me, his thighs against mine and, above it all, his erection pressed on my butt. Even with my boxers and his sweatpants between us, I could feel Carlos' cock was no joke. And it meant harm.

"Since you know that, we might as well, right?" Strong hands grabbed the sides of my waist and he pressed me hard against him. His hips moved slowly, grinding his hardness on me. Using my body to scratch his horny itch.

My own body was reacting to it. The late-shower erection now stretching the front of my boxers. In my mind, cravings I didn't expect to have. His dry thrusts pushed my whole body to the front and, after a particularly violent pound, I let out an involuntary groan. He stopped.

"They made me agree to no sex. That's not sex, is it?" Carlos guided his boner, the tip against me, traveling up and down the crack between my buttcheeks, driving me crazy. A smack on my side brought me back to reality. "Answer it."

"N-no, it's not."

"Use words. It's not what?"

"T-this is not... s-sex" my voice broke when the tip of his covered boner pushed against the sweet spot.

I was seconds away from begging him to put it inside. And, as if having my thoughts read, I heard the sound of clothes rustling behind me.

"Don't look back," he commanded, and on the next second I felt the warmth of his cock touching my boxers. Another, stronger, slap hit my hip, followed by a low but lethal voice. "What did I just say?"

I turned my head back to face the mattress. Carlos resumed grinding his hardness on me. The thin fabric of my underwear allowed me to feel it all. It's shape, the slight curvature of his shaft. I could feel the powerful throbs against me, as the patron slid it along my crack and pressed my buttcheeks together.

Carlos retreated. With his hands, adjusted the angle of my hips and made me lean down further, my face almost touching the mattress. He took position and I felt his cock slide carelessly between my thighs, angling up and poking my taint and my balls from below.

That's cruel. Using me as a rag doll, his thrusts were faster than before, and more reckless. I couldn't remember feeling that horny in a long time. Or that vulnerable and exposed. Some shame to it.

I couldn't think more, my thread interrupted by Carlos' hand on my nape, pushing my neck down all the way. With the side of my face pressed on the bed, I could half see his stare on me. Carlos was not of a groaner, so what I got was a longer grunt and a deeper thrust to signalize his cumming, one second before spurts of his joy shot over my own cock and on my stomach, dripping to his bedsheets.

He took some seconds to recompose and catch up his breath. I'd didn't go unnoticed to me when he wiped his cock on my boxers. Naked, he walked to the towel he had tossed aside earlier. Wrapped it around his waist and, once looked up, seemed slightly surprised to see me there.

"You can leave," he said, and I didn't know what else my intense horniness had led me into expecting. Taken aback, I bent over to start dressing to leave. "Now."

In silence, I rushed outside, carrying all clothes against my chest. Luckily, there was no one in the corridor. I still had his hand marks on my body, still had his semen covering half my lower torso. I needed a bath, and some evaluation of my functions.

Hot, attractive, but deranged, all of them, I thought, letting water wash away the reminders of that night. And I'm nowhere better for accepting it.

***to be continued***