latebloomer's originals

[latebloomer]

Teach

The teacher was on her way home and she didn't notice him.

He was safely watching her from across the street, a newspaper held in front of him, his calm eyes gazing over the upper edge. To her, he was just some man reading his papers on a park bench.

She had nice legs, he thought.

It was always the first thought he had when he sees her. And she did too, nice long slim ones, with a slight tan of her skin that came from having to work under the sun occasionally. He had seen her conducting phys ed lessons on the school field.

Her short shoulder-length hair swinging, she clutched the black document bag closer to herself as she looked to cross the road. The traffic was heavier for a moment, and he saw her heaved a sigh that stretched her chest over the pastel-blue short-sleeve blouse she wore. Just as quickly, he felt his heart rate quickened.

As she walked by him, his attention was fully on the newspapers. She did not pay him any more attention than was necessary, her gait across the concrete pavement fast and certain. There was no hesitation about her, as far as he had observed.

He gazed at the tight black skirt stretched across her behind as she passed him. Her hind end was slightly flatish, her hips narrow, like that of a boy. Still, he could not move his eyes away until she was safely in the distance.

When she was far enough, he got up and followed her, the newspaper folded and tucked under his arm. He kept his attention loosely on her, his eyes occasionally looking around as if he was trying to remember where he was supposed to go.

He watched her walk under the awnings of a provision shop, ducking into the shade with relief on her face. Wiping off sweat on his brow with the back of his hand, he slowed down and moved to one side of the shop. He knew where she stayed; this was her usual shopping stop before going home.

She was taking longer than usual, so he decided to move forward. Taking a longer round-about route, he got to the lift lobby that she uses and walked over to the row of postboxes. Picking up one of the many discarded brochures strewn over the ground, he leaned against a wall and pretended to read it.

When she got there, he did not even look up at her, seemingly engrossed in his brochure. Again, she paid him no attention besides a brief glance.

to be cont

[latebloomer]

When the lift arrived, he was a few steps behind her, slightly to her left. Still gazing casually at the brochure, he followed her into the lift. Inside, she took a longer look at him, but since he kept his eyes down and away from her, she went back to gazing at the wall of the lift. He remained still throughout the entire journey up to the eleventh floor.

On her floor, she began walking quickly towards her flat.

He got out behind her, gazing up at the house numbers of her neighbors, as if looking for a particular address. He continued in her direction, moving gradually faster as she neared her door. She looked back once, only to see him checking a slip of paper in his hand. When she turned back to her door, digging into her purse for her keys, he dashed the short distance and was right behind her.

“Keep quiet if you want to live,” he whispered in her ear.

His left arm had slipped under her left, wrapped around her body and his hand was effectively covering her mouth. In his right hand, a short blade was pressed against her neck.

“Open the door!”

She seemed too shock to scream. By the time she recovered, it was too late. Meekly, she used her key and unlocked the front door to her flat. He pushed her inside before she could react. He kept his hand on her mouth, but moved the knife up to her face. With his right foot, he pushed the front door closed. Then he kicked off his brown leather mocassins.

“You get this straight. I can cut you badly, so you better listen and do what I say. Do you understand?” he said. When she didn't answer, he asked again, louder this time, “Do you understand?” After a moment, she nodded.

He pressed his body against her, slowly edging her forward, toward where he thought her bedroom was. Leaning in, he smelled her hair. He closed his eyes in appreciation. The shampoo she used was nicely scented, the perfume doing things to his brain. He could feel his body reacting.

His left hand moved off her mouth, down the tautness of her neck, then the softness of her left breast was on his palm. She jerked her body in shock, but settled slightly when he pressed the flat surface of the blade against her cheek. He could feel her ragged breathing, each breath jerky and irregular, like she was fighting her urge to scream.

to be cont

[latebloomer]

He could smell her fear, merging with the very feminine smell of her body, the sharpness of it an aphrodisiac.

Her bedroom was what he expected. The wall was in light biege, a very comfortable color, exactly what he imagined she would choose. In the middle of the room was her bed, a queen-sized with a colorful bedspread over it, with two matching pillows sitting against the backboard.

On the wall behind the bed was a large photograph, inside an ornate frame, showing the teacher and her husband smiling away in typical wedding garb. She looked even better in the photograph, all made up and wearing an off-shoulder pure white wedding gown. The sweet smile on her face made her looked even more desirable.

“Please,” she said. “Please let me go. I can give you money. Please...”
As answer, he squeezed hard on her breast. “I want something from you money can't buy,” he said. “Something I'll enjoy even more.”

He turned her around. The fear on her face gave him such a kick. He felt it inside him, a visceral shot of excitement radiating out from his groin. It almost made his knees weak, almost made him buckle over. But that wouldn't do. Oh, no, that wouldn't do at all. That was still so much he needed to do.

Pressing her to the wall with his body tight against hers, feeling all jittery grinding his erection into her belly and watching her cringe, he removed the roll of paper tape from his pants pocket.

He took the knife in his mouth, biting on the handle. Then he tore out a length of the tape, and with both hands, quickly slapped it across her mouth. She started to struggle, began whimpering instead when he scraped the edge of the blade on her cheek. Her eyes looked like they were going to pop out of their sockets.


to be cont

[latebloomer]

"You best be really nice and follow my instructions, if you want to get out of this alive," he said. "You get my drift?"

He waited. The teacher continued to shiver and moan, but she probably caught the menace in his eyes and knew that she had no other options. Slowly she nodded.

"Good." He gave her a partial smile. He watched her eyes dart around, from his face to the blade and back.

"I shall keep this," he said, snapping the blade shut. "There. It's back in my pocket. Better?"

Again he waited, his eyes on hers, until she nodded. "Good," he said. "It stays there if you behave. Now let's have some fun."

He gazed at the teacher's heaving chest. With every breath, her breasts pushed against the fitting blouse she wore. The top two buttons were already undone, the V directing attention to her fair unblemished skin and a hint of her cleavage. He reached for the next button, frowned when she shrank back.

"I could rip it off," he said, "but you wouldn't want that, would you? Such a nice blouse." He cupped her heaving breasts, both of them at once, squeezing hard. She grabbed his wrists with both hands, but it was obvious he was too strong for her. Through her taped mouth, she could only grunt, but her eyes pressed shut in pain.

She offered no further resistance as he undid all the buttons. Felt like it was Xmas, and he was unwrapping a present. Peeling back her unbuttoned blouse, he feasted his eyes. Yes, it was in yet another soft pastel color, a pale purple this time. She wasn't big, but he didn't like them big. Huge hanging breasts dangling off female chests, dropping almost to the waist due to their weight do not turn him on. Her fair-sized ones did.

to be cont

[latebloomer]

He clamped a big hand around her neck, just below her jaw. "Remove them," he said, looking her straight in the eyes. Two seconds later, her trembling hands reached for her blouse. He backed off from pressing his lower body against her. "That too," he added, when she dropped her blouse on the floor beside them. She knew what he meant; she reached a hand around to her back.

The sight of the woman excited him beyond his limits. Helpless, submissive, and, presently, topless, except for her hands still clutching the half-cups to her breasts. His erection was a painful presence in his jeans. His heart was beating hard in his chest. He reached out.

Tearing the bra from her hands, he tossed it casually behind him, then slapped her hands away from her breasts. When she attempted to cover them again, he grabbed her wrists and spread her arms.

The sight of her breasts alone was reward enough, he thought. To him, they were almost perfect, the gentle curves gathering into pink nipples, erect due to her excitement. Without a second thought, he dived forward and clamped his mouth over her left nipple.

If he had not taped her mouth, she would have screamed for sure. And did she struggle! She tried pushing him off, but he controlled her wrists. She tried shaking him off, but wriggling her breasts about merely excited him further. His mouth was tightly clamped, and when she grew too vigorous in her struggles, he bit down. The pain certainly stopped her.

When he had his fill, she was gasping, and tears ran down her cheeks. Her nipples were wet with his saliva, the areas around the areoli red from abrasion. Fear showed in her eyes, the gravity of her situation finally hit home.

He, on the other hand, had a gleam in his eyes, and a lob-sided grin. He drew her from the wall and pushed her roughly onto the bed. Swiftly, he trapped her by climbing in right behind and straddling her. He undid the buckle, pulled his canvas belt off his jeans, and brandished it.

"Give me your wrists," he said. When she hesitated, he said, "You can have it around your wrists or your neck. Your choice." She chose correctly.

He pulled the belt tight around her crossed wrists. She could raise her arms up above her head, but that was as far as she could go. For what he intended to do to her, he didn't need too much fight in her.

to be cont

[latebloomer]

He turned her to one side, found the zipper running along the middle on the back of her skirt. He pulled it down with glee, then, with minimal struggle, pulled her skirt off her hips and down off her legs.

She must really love pastels. Her panties was a soft blue, and it was sheer and translucent. She must have been planning something for her husband, he thought. Well, it looks like he gets to enjoy it first.

He tried tearing off the panties, then got the better idea of using his blade. He cut it along both the sides, had it off her, and bundled and thrown into a corner within five seconds. The teacher remained passive, and obviously horrified, her only response more whimpering through her taped mouth.

She tried closing her thighs. Kneeling in between, he pushed them further apart with his knees, pressing them down with his weight. He took his time enjoying the view. Her bush was sparse, appearing like she had shaved and shaped it. He confirmed it with close examintion, enjoying at the same time the lovely view of her sex.

She jumped when he probed her with his fingers. He had to slap her hard on her inner thighs, and made as if he was going to punch her stomach, before she reluctantly stopped struggling. By then, he had two fingers inside, almost up to the knuckles.

She squirmed. She bucked her hips. She made pitiful sounding noises. Her eyes squeezed shut, in pain or in horror, probably both. He was not unduly rough, but he got carried away by circumstances sometimes. The sensation coming from his fingers flooded his lizard brain with joy, as did the squelchy sounds they made as they plunged in, withdrew, and plunged in, repeatedly.

to be cont

[latebloomer]

He moved his fingers faster, slipping into a comfortable rhythm. He could see that her initial resistance was failing. Her body was enjoying having a finger-screw, even if her intellect struggled with the concept. She had gotten really wet inside. It was time to up the ante, he decided.

He attacked her right nipple first. There was very little struggle left in her, even if he had not been pressing her back with the weight of his body. After a couple of minutes, he broke off to take a breath, then immediately latched on to her left nipple. His fingers continued their assault.

The muffled sounds coming from her were changing in quality, he noticed. He got up off her and gazed at her face. Her eyes were closed, a frown between them, but her neck was arched slightly back and her head was lolling gently side to side. Then he noted that she was moaning, and moaning in rhythm with his fingers.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he asked, shifting down the movement of his fingers. A slow plunge, as far as they could go, a pause deep within her, while his thumb rubbed her erect clit. Then a gradual withdrawal, with his fingers hooked slightly at the tips. Her moans slowed in response, then caught when she registered his comment. She kept her eyes closed, and he could see she was struggling to keep from moaning.

"Oh yes, you do!" he said. Then he launched the second assault, bending into her breasts, nipping and licking and sucking at and around the nipples, his fingers going faster again. It took less than ten seconds before her moans began afresh.

A few minutes later, she had her orgasm. Her moans paused a few beats; her body stiffened for maybe three seconds. Then she began to grunt, sounding like she trying to overcome some serious constipation, while her hips started moving in reverse rhythm to his fingers. The muscles in her lower abdomen and upper thighs began to tighten and relax, repeatedly. Her muffled moans rose to a crescendo, then abruptly stopped.

He left her collapsed diagonally across the bed, her chest rising and falling dramatically. She made no move to preserve her modesty. She was spent, the explosive orgasm removing the last of her resistance. Her legs fell as he left them, splayed and displaying her sex.

to be cont

[latebloomer]

He started removing his jeans. Strike while the iron is hot, like his father always said. Besides, there was just no way he would wait another minute, not while she laid spent and passive like this. The sight of her sweaty naked body spoke to something primitive deep within his psyche. This was a woman to be taken, and taken vigorously. And that was exactly what he meant to do.

He kept his eyes on her as he ripped the foil and rolled on the condom. He knew about not going to leave any evidence inside her. That much he learnt from watching the CSI series. They're not going to trace him through his DNA, no way!

She was still staring at the ceiling when he climbed onto the bed, naked except for his T-shirt. The movement alerted her, but she was slow getting out of her dazed state. By the time her eyes regained their focus on him, he was ready to go. Kneeling between her splayed thighs, his erection was only inches away from her wet cunt.

He was surprised there was still some fight in her. She pulled backed her right leg in a weak attempt to kick at him. He caught her ankle deftly, squeezing on it with his powerful grip while his other hand grabbed her other ankle. She grunted in pain, gradually relaxed her legs as he stared her down.

He kept his eyes on her, a smug grin on his face. He released her right ankle, reached to aim himself. A frown crept between her brows. She could feel him at the entrance and she could do nothing to stop him entering, except emit a long low moan when he forced his way in.

He slipped in easily; she was so wet from his previous foray. A slight push and he could feel her tightness enveloped him, the warmth inside her a welcomed sensation. He watched her turn her head away, unable to meet his gaze. Her right thigh flopped to the side, her body surrendering to his ministrations.

to be cont

[latebloomer]

The reality of being actually inside her almost overwhelmed him. He revelled in the delicous sensations coursing through his system, initiating from the thickness presently engulfed within her stretched passage. Centering himself, he withdrew slightly, then began the rhythmic hip action that always brought him the greatest pleasure.

For leverage, he folded back her thighs, his elbows under them pushing. This way, he'd found, he could use the weight of his lower body, and plunge deeper. He pumped her with a bouncy rhythm, slapping against the backs of her thighs. Quickly, her muffled moans fell into the same rhythm.

She kept her eyes closed throughout. The frown remained; her expression painful. The sounds she made was probably the results of a combination of shame, indignation, and intense pleasure as well. For a moment, he wondered if he should tear off the tape over mouth, just to hear her moan. Not worth the risk, he decided, as he pumped harder and harder.

She came again. He recognized the familiar sequence her body went through, although this time her vocal response was more intense. A sharp intake of breath preceded every moan, and her moans were drawn out longer and sounded painful. Yet, the arching of her neck, the tension in her limbs, and, most importantly, the rhythmic milking of his erection by contractions inside her, told him it was pleasure her body was experiencing.

He followed soon after. A couple of minutes later, he couldn't hold back any longer. He grunted his own satisfaction as his orgasm hit. He continued his hip action, but slower, reluctant to see it end so quickly. The tension in her limbs were gone. Her legs flopped to the bed when he let them go.

He pulled out, removed his condom, tossed it into a small plastic-lined bin in the corner. He pulled a couple of tissues from a box sitting on the bedside table and began wiping himself. He took his time, standing at the end of the bed, seemingly unaware of the teacher still lying on the bed.

to be cont

[latebloomer]

The teacher started sitting up. She looked furious; a murderous glint appeared in her eyes. She glared at him, but he did not seem to notice. Slowly she bent her right knee, aiming her foot at his bare behind. Quickly she kicked out, and he stumbled, almost knocking his head against the wall.

"Hey!" he said, straightening up. "What the heck?"

For answer, she showed him her belted wrists, while she went on making angry 'Mmm' sounds through the tape.

"Oh, that!" he said, a smile turning up the corners of his lips. "Sorry!"

Carefully, he undid the buckle and remove the belt from her wrists. He reached forward, going for the tape over her mouth, but she raised her right foot and he stepped back, his hands in a placating gesture.

"Ouch!" the teacher cried as she tore the tape off. The area around her mouth was red and she scratched at it. "It's so you, thinking of yourself first," she asked. "Why the hell did you have to stick it so tight? And why the hell did you cut my favorite panties off?""

"Hey, you're the one who said we had to 'get in character'," he said, "and to be realistic!" After a moment, he said, "You were pretty good yourself, very convinving acting. Really helped me get into the situation."

"I didn't expect you to take me so seriously!" she said. "Look at my wrists."

"I tied them as loosely as I could," he said. "If only you didn't struggle so vigorously."

"Guess I got carried away too. But not as much as you. The look on your face was actually frightening!" she said.

“Haven't you heard of method acting?”

“Method acting?” She sniffed. “Who the hell do you think you are? Sean Penn? Nicholas Cage?”

“Hey, but it did get me in the mood, right? I had to really put myself into the character, it was so enjoyable!”

"Yeah, you were really zoned out, totally into the role. But somehow it got me real excited. The menace gave me an extra boost."

"That's why you were so explosive, eh?"

"Must have been that. I'd never felt it so strongly before. As you well know."

"That's why I suggested the tape over your mouth," he said. "You would have screamed so loud the entire block would know exactly what we were doing."

She thought about that. "That's probably true. I was trying to scream. Somehow knowing that my screams wouldn't disturb the neighbors became so liberating."

Still grinning, he said, "That was really something, eh. The best sex in a bloody long time!"

She gazed at him, her right hand rubbing at her left wrist. Then she smiled and said, "Yeah, it sure was!"

He sat down next to her. He laid a hand on her thigh. "So what shall we do for the next one?" he asked.

"Hmm...let me think. How about me being the agressor next? I'll be an amazon princess and you will be my slave. I'll tie you up and rape you!"

"You? Rape me?" he asked, a smirk on his face. "Really?"

"Yeah, really. I'll tie you to the piano stool, ass upwards. I'll use a belt to whip your ass, then use a strap-on dildo on your virgin asshole!"

"Ooh, sounds interesting. Bring it on!"

The End?

[latebloomer]

This one came about from my reaction to the happenings during the infamous fiasco involving a certain 'charitable' organization.

Moonlite

The night was getting on, cold and merciless. The breeze cooled my head as I waited. Alone as always, and ready.

The sounds that made up the night came to my ears soft and muffled. I listened but heard nothing important. It was just noise to me. I waited some more.

My hand closed on the heavy grip, the well-balanced blade glinting in the moonlight. I counted my heartbeat and smiled when I reached sixty a minute. I was absolutely calm, totally composed for what I was going to do. It was a long time coming and it needed doing so much.

The car turned the corner towards where I waited. I took a peek and knew that the time was now. I was between two parked cars, about five metres from where I expected it to stop. It would take maybe three to five seconds to reach him.

I looked up and down the quiet street. No other cars came by and there were no pedestrians at this time of night. He always comes around this time for this exact reason. He definitely cannot afford to be seen at this place.

The silver Mercedes slowed to a stop. He took his time to park. He was either very careful or very particular, probably both from what I read about him in newspaper reports. He was also a criminal and criminals are generally not very smart. Eventually they get caught, even if it took almost ten years in his case.

The car door opened gently. I kept my head down as he stepped out cautiously. As he turned away to look up at the lighted windows of the building, I took a slow peek. In the street lamp I saw his haughty features, the thin lips, the arrogant eyes and the sharp nose down which he looked at the world. His dark skin seemed to shimmer a little, or perhaps it was just sweat on his forehead.

I reached him before he could take the second step from his car. I stabbed as hard and as quickly as I could and the sharp blade was half buried in the small of his left back. My left hand went around to cover his mouth before he could cry out. The impact of my weight against him forced him forwards. His knees buckled and he keeled over.

I placed one foot on his back, twisted the blade and pulled it out. Blood surged out of the wound and the stain over his T-shirt spread rapidly. I reversed my grip on the knife and jabbed it swiftly into the right side of his back, aiming just below the back ribs. His cry was muffled as my other hand grounded his face against the pavement.

This time I left the blade, after giving it a good half twist. With my thin rubber gloves, I would leave no prints. As I got to my feet, he was already gasping, his struggles to get up weakening rapidly as his blood pooled around him. I thought about finishing the job, but decided it wasn't necessary.

I turned and walked away. At the next corner, I degloved, then unzipped and stripped off the one-piece jumpsuit I wore, rolled it up and moved off with it under my arm. The front was slightly stained with blood but it didn't get through to the collarless T-shirt and bermudas I wore underneath.

My car, a dark-blue Corolla, was parked a block away. Into the sports bag in the trunk went the gloves and jumpsuit. Before driving off, I checked the luminous dial of my Casio. It was 2:00 am.

to be cont

[latebloomer]

It was bright and sunny the next morning. I was sipping Blue Mountain coffee in my sitting room, with a dash of cream and exactly one teaspoon of unrefined sugar. The 20-inch TV across the coffee table was showing the early news. Cheryl Fox, my favorite newscaster, was reading them like she had a quail's egg stuffed in her mouth. Casually I thought of something else I would like to stuff in there, then sat up and reached for the remote control. I increased the volume.

"The ex-CEO of the charitable organization mired in controversy recently was found murdered early this morning. He was discovered by the security guard of the private apartment in front of which he was found. Let's go to Bernard Leong, who's live on the scene."

The chubby reporter and his ill-fitting beige-colored suit came on, holding a mike and standing next to a middle aged man in uniform. Behind him, slightly out of focus, a few policemen were hovering around the body, covered by a grey cloth. Yellow plastic tape was ringed around the area.

I was wondering if policemen kept the grey cloth ready in the trunk when the reporter turned to the security guard. "Mr Sim, can you tell us what happened this morning?" he asked, slightly lisping.

The middle aged man shifted uncomfortably, scratching his left elbow with his right hand. "I...I...eh...was coming out to go buy breakfast for my colleagues. From the kopitiam around the corner over there," he stammered, indicating with a thick stubby index finger at a point off-camera. "Then I saw him lying down there with blood everywhere. I quickly go back inside to call the police."

"Was he alive when you found him?"

"No lah. Obviously dead already. Lose so much blood how to survive?" He continued scratching, now his right cheek.

"Did you recognize him?"

"Not at first. I just ran back to make the call. But later my colleagues came out with me before the police arrived and Mohan recognized him." Now the scratching hand was at his left shoulder.

"And you realized it is V.D. Surai back there?"

"Actually, it wasn't that easy. He was facing down and his face looked like it had bruises all over. But after Mohan mentioned it, all of us agreed it's very likely him."

"Mr Surai?"

"Yah lor. Mr 'Gold Tap' himself!"

to be cont

[latebloomer]

"What was he doing here? As far as we know, he doesn't live here."

"He doesn't live here lah. But we see him come quite often. Sometimes he's here two to three times a month."

"Who does he visit? Do you have any idea?"

"Idea sure got lah. But I cannot say okay. Management already tell us to keep our mouth shut." He began scratching more vigorously.

"But we have reports of residents seeing his car parked along the road overnight."

"That one you better ask them yourself. I've nothing more to say except that only residents can park inside. Visitors usually park along the road here. How long they park is not our concern." The man turned to go.

"Just one last question, Mr Sim," Bernard Leong held onto to the guard's forearm, "Did you or any of your colleague see or hear anything unusual last night or, should I say, early this morning?"

"No." He pulled his hand away and turned back towards the apartment.

The chubby reporter faced the camera. "Initial reports revealed that Mr Surai died of wounds in his lower back. Nothing's conclusive at the moment but it appears that he was stabbed once in each kidney," he finished, "This is Bernard Leong live on the scene. Back to you in the studio, Cheryl!"

"We have information that another person connected to the FKN in fact stays in that particular apartment," Cheryl Fox announced, "She is none other than Ms Yueng, the 'ex-volunteer' who was also known internally as the 'Empress' of the FKN. Unfortunately Ms Yueng couldn't be reached for information."

Looking serious but still cute and adorable, she faced the screen before announcing solemnly: "The police are investigating the case and we shall keep you informed of any new development as soon as possible."

I reluctantly switched off the TV. The cordless phone on the coffee table began ringing, just as I had expected. On the third ring I picked up. I heard a series of clicks and beeps, indication that the encryption system on the other end was working to make the call untraceable. About five seconds later a familiar voice spoke.

"Are we safe?" The accent was European, the voice gruff and low.

"Yes," I answered.

"Did you watch the news?"

"Just did."

"Was that your work?"

"Yes."

to be cont

[latebloomer]

"Was it a freelance contract? I didn't hear you mention this," he said. I heard the underlying accusation. He missed getting his cut.

"No contract. I did it for free."

"What?" He almost raised his voice, a first for him, "But why?"

"Cause it needed doing," I said, not explaining further.

"You could have told me. I would have found someone willing to pay to have it done."

"No. This one's different."

"Okay, okay," he said, detecting the tone of finality in my voice, "But I'm calling about a new contract I'd just received."

"Go on."

"You need to travel. Taiwan," he paused, as if he was checking his notes, "Someone very prominent."

"Is this the same someone whose assassination they botched two years ago?"

“Yes.”

"They better pay well. This one's not going to be easy."

"They will. It's double your usual rates."

"Good. When do I leave?"

"Day after tomorrow. Meet me tomorrow. I'll have all the papers ready."

"And the payment?"

"Half is already in your off-shore account, minus my fees of course. The rest upon confirmation of job completed."

"Okay. I'll see you then."

The End

[latebloomer]

NS Highway

Driving down the highway, he fell to thinking, steering with one hand casually holding the wheel, his shaded eyes boring straight down the long flat road. Green scenery, punctuated by the occasional palm or rubber plantation, flashed by on both sides.

Luther Vandross played in the background, sensual and smooth coming off the surround speakers. He stretched his back, shrugging his shoulders to ease the muscles, twisted his neck from side to side, working the cricks out.

Walking out was never his intention. There was however no other options available; everywhere he turned he faced destruction. Everyone was out for his blood. The word on the street was for him to hang, from the highest branch if they could manage it.

He shook his head, licked his dry lips. He reminded himself to take a break the next time a rest area came up. The long drive was taking its toll. He felt like his body had taken a beating, the aches down his lower back hurting the most.

His reputation had taken an even more severe beating over this stupid affair. After all he had done, and the kind of service he had put in, it still came down to how people perceived him as a person. His contributions seemed insignificant compared to some stupid thing about plumbing.

Thank goodness they let him keep the car. The S series was a very comfortable car to drive, and even better to be chauffeured around in, but he lost the driver when he resigned.

Resigned? Hell, no sane person would voluntarily walk away from this kind of deal. They had to put a gun to his head, figuratively, before he would relinquish control after so many years of dedicating his life to the company.

Yes, he had put in his time. Across the years, he had spent so much time on the job, his social and family life suffered. Everything he did was for the company, for their mission.

As he pulled into a rest area, his bladder reminding him he had to go, he felt grateful for his kidneys. Knowing what he knew, he had been very careful with his health. Seeing the results of less then optimal health-care made him aware of the need for personal vigilance.

He ordered a cup of thick black coffee and a bowl of mee-rebus, taking his time to enjoy the food. Ironically only under these unpleasant circumstances was he finally able to take a long break, when he did not have to rush back to oversee everything. Even then, his wife and son had to leave earlier. They were waiting for him up in KL.

to be cont

I wrote 2 stories as reaction to the fiasco. It's obvious what my subconscious wanted to do to the guy.