The Drunk Guy Ch. 02

Making to head home, I pulled open the front door of the Cottage only to find someone standing right outside: a petite brunette, turned away from the door as if surveying the night. When I appeared, she jumped and span round.

It was Samantha, my fellow deputy manager. What the fuck was she doing way out here?

"DAVID!" she exclaimed and gave me a stinging slap on the shoulder. "Answer your bloody phone, will you!"

I reached into my pocket for that neglected phone, realising as I did so that my dick was still semi-hard and making a clear mound in my trousers. I hoped the night was too dark for Sam to notice. There had been three calls from her within the last fifteen minutes, all missed as my phone was still set to silent.

"I've been sorting Nick out as requested." Well, not quite as requested. "What's up now?"

Clearly something was. Sam's shift had finished long ago and, despite being the on call manager tonight, she was essentially off duty now. Normally she'd be relaxing in her quarters at this point, wearing her pyjamas and catching up on the soaps. But here she was, still trussed up in her grey trouser suit and more flustered than ever.

"It's Alan," she groaned, referring to the guy who headed up our maintenance team and who, until recently, had been Nick's future father-in-law. "He heard about what happened and he's really angry. He's here, Dave! He's looking for Nick!"

So both Sam and Alan had been stalking around the grounds?

Sam seemed about to burst with nervous energy, as if she expected to be held personally responsible for these snowballing events. I took her by the shoulders, encouraged her towards her calm place and drew the full story out of her.

Apparently, Kelly had called her parents to tell them all about the messy breakup. Alan, being a very protective father, had immediately come to the House to find Nick and kick his arse, consequences be damned. Thankfully he hadn't known to head for the Cottage, but he was searching the House and could turn up at any moment.

"How do you know all this?" I asked Sam. "Did you see Alan?"

Sam shook her head. "Kelly told me. She came over as soon as she realised what her dad was up to. She doesn't want a scene. Now she's here somewhere too." Sam held out her hands and turned from side to side, indicating the expansive estate.

"So you, Alan and Kelly are all running about out here?" I asked incredulously.

Sam nodded. "And Konrad."

Oh, for fuck's sake!

Konrad was another deputy manager. He and I worked the same days, one of us pulling the early shift, the other covering the late. He was an easygoing Polish guy, straight but secure, and I referred to him as my Work Husband. He loved it. He also enjoyed an easy camaraderie with the more manly men working at the House, which is precisely why Sam had sent him out to find Alan.

To sum up, I'd been jerking off a sleeping straight guy while Sam, Konrad, Alan and Kelly were all roaming about the grounds. It was by virtue of good fortune alone that none of them had barged into the Cottage at the wrong moment. After all, I hadn't even locked the front door! A small shiver ran down my spine.

"Come on," I said. I pulled the door shut and set off for the House. This mess had to be drawn to a close before the guests started to notice, at which point we'd all be in deep shit.

But before going more than five paces, I jogged back to the Cottage, opened the door again and popped the latch. It now closed with a reassuring clunk, shutting Nick safely inside. I didn't doubt Alan possessed a key but I hoped he didn't have it with him that night.

Sam and I cut across the grounds towards the House, heading for the main entrance. It seemed deserted out there but as we drew closer I spotted the top-heavy figure of Kelly. Apparently she had underestimated the size of the estate and given up trying to search it. Instead she stood just outside the front doors and was talking excitedly into her phone. By the sound of it, she had called her mum to check if Alan had returned home.

I raised my eyebrows as we passed her: Anything?

She shrugged her shoulders and flapped her free arm: Nothing.

Sam and I slipped into the warm lobby which, at this time of night, was low lit and soporific. The front desk was manned by Janice, a middle aged lady who glanced up at the sound of the door and back down again when she saw it was just us. We headed to a small seating area to one side, where we decided to wait for ten minutes and then reassess. Sam looked fretful. She paced from one window to another, peering out into the night and no doubt cursing today's shift as one of her worst ever.

Then a car pulled up outside and out climbed the last person I wanted to see. Stuart, the fourth deputy manager. He was Sam's counterpart just as Konrad was mine, only their work marriage was a lot more frosty than ours. Stuart entered the lobby after barging past the chattering, gesticulating Pendik Escort Kelly and he stormed towards us, a supermarket carrier bag swinging furiously against his leg. He pointed one arm skyward in the direction of his flat, which overlooked the front approach to the Centre and from where Kelly's strident tones could no doubt be heard.

"What in God's name is going on, Sam?" he fumed. "I've got a pregnant wife trying to sleep upstairs."

I arched an eyebrow and tilted my head towards the bag full of ice-cream Stuart had evidently been sent out to procure. "Trying to sleep? Really?"

The glare he gave me said do you really want to start? but he returned his attention to Sam, who summed up the events of the evening thus far. Once her tale was told, Stuart didn't even try to hide his mirth.

"It all goes down on your shifts, doesn't it Sam?" he asked pointedly and with great delight.

We were all equals but Stuart relished any opportunity to act superior to his three fellow deputies. On top of everything else, his malicious glee tipped Sam over the edge and I could see she was about to cry. I knew her well enough to know they'd be tears of pure frustration, but that's not how Stuart would interpret them. I'd had enough of him.

"It doesn't just go down on Sam's shifts, Stuart," I said, drawing his attention to me. "Weren't you on duty when that wine went missing last week?"

This was a fact. A fair bit of stuff had vanished from the House in recent months, spread pretty evenly across all our shifts to be fair, but last week's wine theft was the most recent incident and had happened while Stuart was at the helm. Twelve bottles of a pricey New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc had mysteriously disappeared. I now recognised that Nick would be in the frame for this after his self-service approach to the Jack Daniels today; however, the greater part of me was too busy relishing Stuart's discomfort to care. He stared at me furiously and his hand did the funny little opening and closing thing it did when he was worked up: clench, release, clench, release.

"Fuck you, Dave," he whispered harshly and left to take his wife her melting Ben & Jerry's.

Sam and I locked wordless stares. Before we could speak, a side door swung open and in strode Konrad, closely followed by Alan. Kelly spotted them through the glass panels of the front entrance and came rushing in.

I'm not sure what wise words Konrad had shared but Alan's murderous impulses seemed to have passed. To my surprise, he even looked a little sheepish. Then again, he had engaged in some seriously unprofessional behaviour tonight, and he'd done so in front of three of the four deputy managers with whom he shared a tier on the organisational hierarchy. His penitent demeanour was not something I'd ever seen before and it humanised him in a way little else did.

I pictured Nick, fast asleep in that dusty attic bedroom at the Cottage, blissfully unaware of the shitstorm that had raged along in the wake of his infidelity, and all I felt was relief he was safe. I recalled my promise to speak with Alan on his behalf but now was not the time.

Alan muttered an apology to us all and said something about dealing with Nick tomorrow, then he and Kelly took their leave. Konrad watched them go then nodded to Sam in an it was nothing, ma'am fashion before he set off to his little house behind the tennis courts.

Sam turned to me and smiled wearily, grateful her nightmare day was finally over.

"Fancy a glass of wine?" she offered.

"I'm actually sick of the sight of you," I declined affectionately.

We said goodnight and headed off to our separate apartments. Mine is on the first floor, in a stubby wing that juts out from the rear of the main building. To get to it, I use the same stairs and hallways as our guests but then I pass through a locked door into a private passageway, at the end of which is my place.

I was relieved to finally be home. It felt like eons had passed since I'd first answered Sam's call for help but in reality that had been just over three hours ago. I leaned my back against my front door and closed my eyes, suddenly weary as fuck.

Now I was alone, my thoughts quickly returned to Nick. Images tumbled through my mind: the tightly packed crotch of his jeans, his thick stream of piss, that hefty piece of meat rearing up into a stiff curving monster. These same thoughts had called to me throughout the fun and games downstairs but I hadn't turned my attention to them then. Now I did, finally allowing myself to examine and explore each one.

My dick stiffened in my pants, uncurling and pushing against my fly once again. Without moving away from my front door, I lowered my zipper and fumbled my cock out of my briefs. It was fully hard in less than five seconds.

I looked down at it. Just over seven inches long and a tad over five around. Not small by any means, but it was sobering to contrast my own tool with Nick's. Anadolu Yakası Escort The number seven was our common feature, but whereas I claimed those inches in length he boasted them as girth. The figure he used to define his length soared way beyond anything I'd ever need to describe myself, and the figure I used to convey my circumference... well, he'd probably graduated past such low numbers in his early teens. Not that such realisations were depressing. On the contrary, they were indescribably hot. There was something massively horny in being outmatched by a superior organ.

I spat into my palm and began wanking. It didn't take long, for I'd been beating a trail toward this particular orgasm over the course of the entire evening. And, like anything that is improved with slow finessing, the orgasm was good. It began to build inside me, a thrumming ball of energy that seemed to envelop my nuts, my arse, my cock. And then it was rushing out of me, surging through my spasming meat and the fist around it. I caught my cum in my palm, the white hot fluid quickly pooling into a quivering slick. I slammed the hand against my face, consuming my own jizz but picturing Nick's in the fading light of my orgasm.

Ahhh. The evening had come to its conclusion at last.

I spent the next half hour winding down for the night and getting ready for bed. As is always the case after shooting a load, my sated desires no longer interfered with my rational mind and I began to appreciate just how risky my actions had been. Wanking a straight guy as he slept off a drinking binge? At my workplace? While four people searched for him? It was pretty reckless, and the thought of it made me stop in my tracks more than once. As I drifted off to sleep, I supposed Nick would probably abandon the Cottage tomorrow and find somewhere more comfortable to stay while he sorted his life out. I realised it was probably for the best.

But when I woke at 7:30 the following morning, I was as hard as an iron rod and my thoughts instantly returned to Nick's glorious manhood. My libido had recovered and now prowled restlessly, once again separating me from my common sense.

I kicked back the bedclothes and stretched out naked on the mattress. My dick pointed at the ceiling like an exclamation mark, yearning to be flogged to another explosive orgasm, but I didn't relieve myself just yet.

It was Friday, the second of my three days off, and there were things I needed to get done. Before that though, I wanted to visit the Cottage. I had to assure myself that Nick really did have no recollection of the previous night. I also needed to start up the washing machine there and remove all evidence of the fun I'd had with him. But on top of everything else, I was horny again. I just wanted to be around him some more and sneak another peek at his dick.

I didn't know it then, but all my plans subsequent to visiting the Cottage would not come to pass. In fact, my whole day would end up revolving around Nick and that cock of his.

I got ready and gathered together some things from my kitchen: tea, sugar, some milk, painkillers, soap powder. At 9 o'clock I left my apartment.

My first destination was the office that we deputy managers shared. Stuart was on the early shift today and I timed my visit so that he'd be elsewhere. He didn't realise I knew, but he often slipped home when he should've been on duty. Breakfast time was one of his favourite opportunities to do so. No doubt that's where he was when I crept unseen into the office and closed the door behind me.

There's not one desk but two, placed back to back in front of the tall window. Sam and I share one desk, Stuart and Konrad the other. We each have three locked drawers beside the knee hole and I opened the lowest of these, where I keep a secret lock-box: my key collection. I've always made it my business to obtain a copy of every House key I can, and as a result there are very few places I can't get into. My collection is now in the hundreds, and each key is neatly tagged. It didn't take long to find the one marked 'Cottage'.

Ten minutes later, that's exactly where I was. I let myself in and paused to assess the scene. The radio continued to play in the lounge. Lights were still burning. All else was silent until a long snore sawed through the stillness.

Even though it was almost 9:30, Nick slept on upstairs. On a normal day he would have been out with the rest of the maintenance crew, doing the countless things they do to keep the House running smoothly. It was a worry that he hadn't been roused and summoned yet; a sure sign that, somewhere, forces were marshalling against him.

I headed upstairs to wake him. My heart began to race as I climbed the stairs; exhilaration at thoughts of the night before mixed with fear that Nick might remember it just as clearly. I felt like I was about to poke a sleeping lion.

Nick had rolled on to his stomach during the night and shed İstanbul Escort the blanket. One leg was stretched straight out, the other bent, and his jogging bottoms were moulded to his arse. The material clung to the heavy mounds of his cheeks and the central seem had slipped into the crack between, revealing almost as much about his backside as if he were naked. I began to get hard looking at it but I cautioned myself. He wasn't drunk anymore.

I called his name three times before he finally snorted and jerked his head up. One squinted eye locked on me.

"Wha?" was all he said before reality dawned on him. Kelly, Fiona, the House, the bottle of Jack...

Please let that be where it gets fuzzy, I prayed.

He simply groaned and dropped his head back to the mattress.

"You'd better get up," I told him. "I'll make you some tea."

I headed down to the kitchen. After a few minutes, the bed creaked and footsteps thudded around heavily. At last they sounded on the stairs and in the hall, and then Nick ambled into view, scratching the mess of his short hair. The kitchen boasted a pair of French doors through which only the dimmest winter sunshine fell, but he squinted against it all the same.

I prepared myself for the explosion, as if a good look at me would bring the previous night rushing back to him, but there was no flicker of recollection on his face whatsoever. Instead, he merely looked around as if hoping to find fragments of memory that would not come. Tentative relief washed through me.

I instantly spotted the dried smears on his polo shirt, filthy reminders of last night that I hoped he wouldn't notice. And then I dropped my eyes to his crotch in that involuntary way. He was commando in those joggers after all. They rode low on his hips and whispered around his legs as he walked, but there was a thick fold hanging from the crotch that was more than just a feature of the material. His flaccid length of meat was right under it, making it bow out and sway as he moved. It was obscene and utterly glorious, and made all the more so by the stark contrast in our appreciation of it. What was a rare and jaw-dropping sight for me was so familiar to Nick he wasn't even conscious of it. It was an elephant in the room only I could see.

I turned away and pressed my growing erection against the counter as I made the tea. "Good morning. Sugar?"

"Three," Nick said distractedly, then turned and crossed the hall to the bathroom.

He took a leak without closing the door and it sounded like he was running a hose into a bucket of water, on and on. He farted loudly. When he returned, there were several dark spots of piss on his jogging bottoms. He dropped into a chair at the kitchen table and rested his head in his hands. I guessed that head was pounding something awful. His stocky body seemed to fold protectively in on itself and he yawned massively before tailing off into a miserable groan.

I was relieved to find he was every bit as unaware of me as usual. He knew I was there, of course, but that was as far as it went. I was barely any more noteworthy than I ever had been, just a male colleague who barely warranted attention. Last night really had disappeared into a black hole in his memory, just as Kelly had promised. Here in the daytime world, nothing had changed.

After adjusting my hard on into a less obvious position, I set his tea down on the table along with a tumbler of water and two painkillers. Then I sat down opposite him. He looked at me with weary eyes as if he'd sensed a tough day like today was always going to come.

Nick swallowed the tablets, then we talked. First up he wanted to be clear about exactly what he'd done the day before. He ran through the events he recalled, which I verified with nod after nod and supplemented with additional details. He winced at each of these but continued. My stomach began to flutter as he recounted my first arrival at the Cottage and my journey to see Kelly, but then his recall failed him. Thank fuck! I spun a convincing tale about the last part of the night: Kelly's defiance, my return to the Cottage, Nick having changed his clothes after pissing on them, my putting him to bed. I studied his face as I spoke, searching for signs he wasn't buying it, but gradually I became convinced he would never remember the real sequence of events. It seemed I was in the clear.

Nick gave a long, weary sigh. He seemed to accept that his relationship with Kelly was probably over. Instead, his thoughts turned to the more pressing matter of his job.

"How bad is it, Dave?" he asked, deferring to my managerial expertise in such a guileless fashion that my protective instincts stirred, surprising me.

"Pretty bad. Being drunk at work is a disciplinary offence, Nick. In front of the guests too. Then there's the JD you took."

"Am I gonna lose my job?"

I blew air through my lips, not wanting to confirm the obvious. But: "You might. Probably."

Nick looked blankly into space, one big workman's hand curled around his mug of tea. "Great," he intoned with hard emphasis on the t.

"Why did you come here, Nick?" I asked, gesturing to the grounds beyond the French doors. "Of all the places to go, why come to your place of work?"