The Christmas Exhibition (14 page)

             
Who was he?

             
Jill flung herself forward, dropping to her knees before me.

             
“Shit!” I yelled, driving my cock between her lips.

             
“Mmmmmm.” Jill swallowed to the base, muffling her menacing moans.

             
My balls bloated below her. They tensed temporarily. “Ugh!” Then unleashed shot after tremendous shot of sperm into her throat.

             
Jill sucked at my length, gargling and stifling a gag.

             
“Fuck, shit, fuck, Jill!”

             
Jill's lips wrapped tight around me, encouraging my spunk to flow freely.

             
“Jesus!” Delirious dreams of digestion drove a renewed supply down my cock to her mouth.

             
She swallowed every drop, her breasts bouncing below me as her head rocked a sudden streak of back and forth movements over my girth.

             
My head fell backwards on the sofa. My eyes rolled in my head. I was a concoction of dizziness, delusion and dismay.

             
Who was he?

             
Jill winked one eye over my dick in her mouth.

             
Who was she?

             
I spasmodically emptied more inside her.

             
Who was I?

PART THREE

1

The winter wind whipped against my ankles as I crossed the forecourt of the industrial estate. Snow had been shovelled to the sides, out of the possible paths of vehicles. I shivered, held my coat tight at the front, and marched onwards.

             
I pulled my mobile from my pocket and checked the time. It was four o'clock. Jill said the first drinks tended to come out at any time between the end of lunch and 3pm. She was adamant she wouldn't be drinking much, and certainly not in the early afternoon.

             
I stepped in a puddle, cursed and shook my shoe.

             
I had left my entrance deliberately late. Jill would swear she wasn't drinking. Sharon, Tracey and Nici would soon see to that. I wanted the labourers to liquor up. To loosen up. I wanted Sean to make an appearance. To dare to make a comment. One line – hell, one word – out of place. I wanted every single one of them to be irretrievably drunker than I. Perhaps I would even catch Jill out. She had been so determined to stop me from showing up. Was I right to assume that there was something else going on? Something she was praying I didn't discover.

             
I slipped my mobile back into my pocket. I just hoped I hadn't left it too late.

2

The reception desk was empty. I leaned forward to push the glass front door. What if it was locked? What if I knocked and knocked and nobody appeared to let me in? I thought of Jill up there, downing alcohol. I thought of her downing their cocks. His cock.
Do you think it's possible to want to fuck someone you don't even like?
Sean's thick cock.

             
The door opened mightily easily, against all my expectations, and I tripped, stumbling into the reception area, my shoes clumping on the floor and echoing all around. My wet foot slid on the smooth floor and I flew forward, waving my arms hysterically and struggling for composure. For balance. For dignity.

             
“Fucking hell!” I cursed loudly.

             
I caught the arm of an errant chair. A chair on wheels! I slid ridiculously onwards, careering into a bin and falling head over feet onto the floor.

             
Unforgiving seconds ticked swiftly by.

             
“Hello!” came a girl's voice.

             
I pulled at the bin for leverage, succeeding only in dragging more rubbish onto the floor.

             
Heels clicked. Nylons blurred as they scurried across the floor towards me. “Are you okay?”

             
I kicked the bin away in frustration, dusted myself down and carefully pushed myself to my feet.

             
“Can I help you?” she asked.

             
“I'm here for the party,” I said.

             
She was red-haired, slim, attractive and around the age of thirty. “The party?”

             
I nodded, then pulled a used tissue from my elbow. “That's right. The staff party. Is it upstairs?”

             
Her eyes narrowed. “Are you staff?” She scrutinized me from my shoes to my forehead. “I don't recognise you.”

             
I threw out my hand. “I'm Matt.”

             
She reluctantly took my hand in hers. Her skin was cool as we shook. “I'm Tracey.”

             
“Tracey, yes.” I charged positivity into my voice. “I've heard all about you. You work the reception, right?”

             
She seemed unfazed by my enthusiasm, her hand falling limp in mine.

             
I released my grip. “I'm Matt.”

             
“Yes.” Tracey sniffed, revealing one nostril blocked. “You said.”

             
“Aren't you expecting me?”

             
She was looking from the bin to the front door. “No... Wasn't that locked?”

             
I uprighted the bin. “I'm with Jill.”

             
Tracey's face whitened. “Jill?” she gasped, her eyes darting to the steps which led to the next floor.

             
“Yes.” Suspicion lanced at my resolve. “I'm her boyfriend... Matt.”

             
“Jill's
boyfriend?
I didn't know she-”

             
“She didn't mention I'd be coming, Tracey?” I demanded, paranoia beginning to purloin my pride.

             
Tracey didn't budge. Her arms were folded, her fingers drumming the insides of her elbows. “She didn't mention you even existed, honey.” Her disclosure stirred jealousy in my loins. “Are you sure you're supposed to be here?”

             
For God's sake, yes, woman! “She's expecting me,” I said.

             
Tracey balanced on one heel, pointing the toe of her other foot towards the door.

             
Wasn't she going to show me through to the party? This was preposterous. My girlfriend was somewhere in the building. Who was Tracey to barricade me out? “Can you take me to Jill...
Please
, Tracey?”

             
Her fingers drummed in slow motion. Her chest expanded with inhalation. Her eyelids blinked in one foul swoop.

             
Was she covering for Jill?

             
Her chest deflated.

             
Was something going on?

             
She breathed out deeply.

             
Do you think it's possible to want to fuck someone you don't even like?

             
“Okay, Matt.” Tracey smiled and slipped an arm around my back, rubbing between my shoulder blades. “Come with me.” She led me across the floor. “The party's just upstairs where the other girls work. Some of the labourers went for a few beers at lunchtime, so forgive them if they seem a bit rowdy to you.”

             
I swallowed a lecherous lump in my throat.

3

There was raucous laughter. Male laughter. My feet fell on the steel steps. My palm on the icy cold handrail. Tracey was behind me. I heard the first notions of music. Of festive music.

             
The office door swung open ahead.

             
Wham!'s
Last Christmas
played gently out, drowned by a series of wolf-whistles and cheers.

             
If I rounded the corner and found Jill putting herself on display for the labourers again...

             
Tracey offered a weak, disingenuous smile.

             
I stepped up to the higher level. A bulky individual was leaning his head into a dry wall, holding a mobile phone to his ear.

             
“Ally,” he called, his tone trampolining beyond tipsy, “is that fucking you?”

             
Tracey rolled her eyes.

             
“Put your mother on the fucking phone!”

             
Tracey nodded towards the office door. I hesitated, then squeezed past the pisshead.

             
I felt the first eyes burn upon me the second I entered. The music continued, drowned under the attempts of a girl I soon learned to be Sharon at singing along. The male members of the workforce, I approximated a total of around twenty-five, were scrutinizing the intruder in their midst. Who was I? What did I want? And why was I staring at the blonde stunner in the red miniskirt and tight, black lacy top. The blonde stunner who was looking up into the eyes of a tall, bulky builder-type. There was measuring tape strapped to his belt. Paint splattered on his trousers. A tin of beer in his hand. Jill was laughing, touching his arm and telling him to stop.

             
“All right?” asked one of the younger labourers.

             
“Yes,” I replied.

             
“This is Matt,” Tracey said. “Matt, meet the apprentice.”

             
The apprentice extended his hand. “Good to meet you, Matt.”

             
“He's Jill's boyfriend,” Tracey added, twirling a finger on the thin ends of her red hair extensions.

             
The apprentice failed to hide his surprise. “Oh right.” His handshake weakened.

             
I released him.

             
Jill looked over, a plastic cup in one hand, the muscle of her labourer friend's arm in the other. Her fingertips stroked his tattoo for a split-second longer than I was comfortable with, then snapped to her side. Her face grimaced, then she feigned a smile.

             
“Who's he?” I heard a male voice snivel to one side under a set of flashing Christmas lights.

             
“Fuck knows,” came the whispered response.

             
I sensed Tracey shush them behind my back.

             
I broke between desks, side-stepped stacks of pages and narrowly avoided tripping over an unplugged printer.

             
Jill fixed her hair behind her ear. She looked stunning as I approached.

             
“Hi, sweetheart,” I said, the music seeming to dim in the background.

             
“Hi,” she replied.

             
I embraced her. Her face fell deliberately to one side of mine, pulling me into a hug rather than a kiss. I felt every male eye in the office upon us. The women too. Everyone knew how Jill had danced the week before. They had watched her. Hell, each labourer present had probably had their turn with her. Had their erect cocks grazed against her?

             
“This is Jim,” Jill said, tapping the back of her hand against the tattooed man's chest. “Jim, this is Matt.”

             
Jim. One of the men she had danced with. One she had willingly encouraged, pushing her ass into his hand... And his crotch.

             
We shook hands.

             
“Good to meet you... Matt.”

             
I recalled Jill saying he hadn't been hard as they danced. “I'm Jill's boyfriend.”

             
Jim's expression noticeably changed, then he channelled his surprise to a smile and a wink. “You're a lucky lad, mate.” He looked down to Jill.

             
Her face was coy.

             
“Make sure you look after her.”

             
“I will,” I insisted.

             
There was silence between songs. Nobody in the room was speaking. Upwards of thirty people, and awkwardness was the prevailing emotion. The apprentice fiddled forcefully with the sound system, as if desperately trying to break the mood.
Numb/Encore
, a mash-up hit by
Jay-Z
and
Linkin Park
, exploded suddenly, shaking the office
. Younger waists twisted above younger hips. Older hands found older ears. The apprentice's hand swiftly turned the volume to a more acceptable level.