Blind Spot, CH 01 (Patreon)

Time's a bitch.

That’s the only answer.

It’s got to be. Why else am I still stuck at work? 

It’s Friday, and it’s been five minutes to five for the last hour!

Yeah, I know. Me leaving at five doesn’t sound right. When’s the last time I’ve left work before midnight? Even on a Friday? Nope, can’t think of one either. But that was before I had someone waiting for me.

Come on, time. Move forward.

Okay, maybe waiting is too strong of a word. I mean, he sounded pretty adamant when he told me, again, that he didn’t want to have anything to do with me. That was after the pounding, his cock, not fists, he gave me that broke a metal table in his workshop, which came after the pounding, his fists not his cock, that he gave me when he found me next to him on waking up, which came after the best night of sleep I have ever had. And that came after he begged me not to leave him.

You’d think getting beaten, then fucked so hard I have bruises in the shape of his fingers on my hip and the edge of the table on my thighs I’d never want to have anything to do with him again. That man is a monster.

Isn’t that a dreamy thought? I have a monster, one who will treat me without care for how fragile I might look, and trust me, next to him I look to be made of crystal ready to break in the softest breeze. But he doesn’t care about that and love that about him.

Still not five? Come on, you’re killing me here.

He isn’t worried about breaking me. No, he doesn’t care if he breaks me. I think that even if he won’t say it; he likes that I want to be treated like that.

How about I leave early? I mean, with all the overtime I’ve clocked in, I could get away with it, right? Sure, most of that’s been for my own projects, but not all of it. It’s not like I could work on my stuff while there were other overachievers in the room with me.

You know, I’m doing it. That way she—

“Mister Crimson.”

—get to call on me. Aw fuck.

I plaster a smile and look at my approaching boss. “Katherine, had a good day? A good week?”

She looks at me suspiciously. Right, I usually call her Kat because it annoys her.

“I was going to ask you the same thing. It seems you’ve been distracted these last few days.”

“Have I?” Oh man, have I. “I’m pretty sure I did all the work I was supposed to.” I don’t let my monster distract me that badly. I mean, I had to jerk off three times today, but—

“You did,” she said in a tone that make that suspicious. “But there are some oddities in your methods.” She hands me a file; paper in this digital age. The Wellington security check I ran on Wednesday.

“I know I did the check of their firewall.” I flip through it without looking. I just want this to be over so I can get on the road.

“I wasn’t aware that confirming their firewalls were in good order meant getting through it and into their servers to shuffle files around?” she takes a page I flipped past and puts it on top so I have to pay attention to it.

It’s a list of files, all JPEGs and MP4s, in a family folder.

Right. Now I remember. When I got into their servers, I peeked through the security feeds inside the house. Low and behold, what do I see? Mister Willington smacking around his eldest daughter. I couldn’t hear anything, but one thing I could see was his daughter’s laptop screen, and the pictures of scantily clad girls on it. She’s sixteen, so I can imagine what her old man was screaming about.

My Dear Old Dad would be so proud of him.

“I’m not sure what I’m looking at,” I tell her, scanning the page. It isn’t the first time I’ve been accused of a crime I’ve committed. The trick isn’t to deny, it’s to not understand.

“Are you telling me you didn’t move those files so anyone in the house could access them?”

What was I expected to do with pictures of her old man having sex with other men? Movies he’d made? I was already in the house’s servers. Did anyone think I wouldn’t peek? I was going to leave them be. I mean, what a married guy gets up with when his wife isn’t looking isn’t my problem.

But I really can’t stand hypocrisy.

So yeah, Dear Old Dad might not have been all that proud of him.

“Why would I? I mean, yes, I went through their firewalls. I documented that in my report. They weren’t keeping it up to the standard the firm demands of our clients. So I went in and looked for any indication someone else had taken advantage of it. I found nothing, which I also documented. Maybe someone left something beforehand?”

Her raised eyebrow tells me I just made a mistake. Only I can’t figure out what it is. I stay silent.

“You, Mister Crimson, expect me to believe you missed finding a hidden foreign program in one of our client’s servers? you’ve worked for me for five years now. You don’t miss something like that. Unless you want to miss it.”

Great, I’m going to be done-in by my work ethic. How’s that for irony? I don’t miss that last part was a statement, not a question. “They don’t have a platinum contract with us, Kat, so I only gave their servers the perusing they are paying for. I went above and beyond even checking that when all I was required to do was report the condition of their firewall.” Oh fucking great, it’s ten past five. She’s making me late. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my shift is over.” I grab the closest travel mug and drain it, then head away.

“If I find out you had anything to do with this,” she calls after me, “I’m going to make sure you get blacklisted in this industry, Wellington is suing us over this because his wife was the files and took the kids when she left him.”

Wow, that was quick. Good for her. She had to have suspected something was going on already. I fill the mug from the coffee machine.

Kat’s not serious, she’s just making sure the others know we can’t get away with doing just whatever we want with information we find as part of our work. Come on, did you think I was the only one with extra-curricular activities here? Please. I might have the most extensive of them, but this is Kat’s cyber-security part of her security firm. We’re all hackers and we just can’t help ourselves.

It’s not like she can prove anything, even if she was serious. I am thorough in my work. There are no traces left in the Wellington’s servers I didn’t want there. Even the spy programs she has in my system will confirm that. It’s been mine more than the firm’s since day two of me working here.

Mug filled, I head for the stairs.

“Hey, Bart,” Karl calls from the security desk as I exit them.

“Hey, Karl,” I respond without slowing.

“We still on for later?”

I stop. “Later?” what is he talking about?

“Yeah, I get off in fifteen. Just finishing the reports for my shift. We can get that drink right after.”

“Sorry, I can’t.” That was tonight? “I need to drive to my boyfriend’s place and it’s a long drive.” I’m out of the building and on my way to the Malibu.

Yeah, I replaced it. This one’s midnight blue. The other was caught in the destruction of Tristan’s storage locker. I should have parked further away, but he was under attack, so I wasn’t thinking of what might happen to my car.

Maybe I shouldn’t have called Tristan my boyfriend in front of Karl. That’s kind of pretentious on my part, but calling him my monster might have caused a different reaction. All I want is to make sure Karl knows I have someone I’m serious about, so I can’t go have drinks with just anyone.

It isn’t like me and Karl were ever serious. Well, I wasn’t. A year and a half since the one time we had sex should have been enough for him to move on. If he hasn’t, that isn’t my problem.

Thinks change, he’ll understand. I didn’t have someone in my life when I agreed to that drink. Now I do. It was just a drink with a coworker, so it isn’t like it meant anything.

* * * * *

Home sweet home, and then gone. Only there long enough to change, fill enough travel mug to last me to the first city on the way with a good selection of coffee bars, then go.

Naked in the bathroom, I admire the fading bruises among the scars. I wish there was something I could do so they’d remain. Five days is a long time with only the memory of what he did to me. I wish I could build a collection of them.

I’m hard again just at the idea more is to come. 

I put a hand against the fading bruise left by his grip on my hips. His hands are so big, just like his cock. Then there’s the one around my left wrist, when he held me against the wall and fucked me hard.

Fuck, I need to stop or I’m going to have to jerk off before I get there, and I want him to make me cum.

I wash quickly and almost lose the battle against my cock, but it’s got to wait. I’ll cum eventually this weekend, that’s for sure, and it will be glorious.

Dried, dressed in comfortable jeans, with a shirt and walking shoes, because I am not walking around his property barefoot if I can help it. Even without all the casing lying around, stones there are sharp enough there’s a real chance of dying of blood loss walking on them. The APX holstered at the small of my back completes my ensemble.

The crate holds a dozen travel mugs, each filled with the nectar of the gods. It fits nicely on the passenger seat of the Mercedes-Benz GLC. It’s new too. After driving along that driveway, I knew I needed something sturdier to make it to his house.

I bought it using the Crimson’s fleet account. They go through so many cars the accountant isn’t going to notice an extra one. My family had to have the most recent of everything. I swear, if one of them was forced to drive a car for more than one year, they could pay off the state’s deficit with the money they’d save. Raffie alone has to change his every month. Can’t be caught with any of the girls he’s seeing on the side in the same car as the others.

At least they donate the cars once they are done with them. Oh, not out of the goodness of their heart—I’m not sure Dear Old Dad has one—but for the tax discount. If not for me, my family wouldn’t do anything for the sake of charity.

I divert money every month from their accounts to LGBT rescue organizations, at-risk youth helplines, and the like.

Since it has to fix the expectations of the Crimsons not to be noticed by the accountant, it’s the full package, with a cooler in the back, and the gas guzzler model. I haven’t gotten the house’s garage set up with electrical. I want to do that just to see what I’ll have to do for it to go unnoticed by the accountants.

It starts without the fanfare I expect from a gas guzzler. I guess the sports utility models don’t feel the need to scream their capabilities the way the pure sports models do.

Time to go, the other cars better get out of my way.