Chapter 1: Boredom's Best Cure
The air in the IT department hung thick with the smell of stale crisps and defeated ambition. A single, flickering fluorescent tube buzzed a funeral dirge overhead, its light washing the cluttered desks in a sickly green-grey. Roy’s throne was a monument to entropy, flanked by a leaning tower of pizza boxes and a forest of abandoned energy drink cans. Moss, at his adjacent desk, was a study in precise stillness, his fingers poised over a keyboard as he debugged a line of code with monastic focus.
Jen let her office chair creak back as far as it dared, staring at the acoustic-tiled ceiling. She’d just spent forty-seven minutes walking Mrs. Higgins from Sales through the process of mapping a network drive. Again. The highlight had been the distinct, wet sound of Roy eating a yoghurt with his mouth open.
“God, I’m bored,” she announced, the words dropping into the silence like stones. “I am so monumentally, cosmically bored.”
Roy didn’t look up from his screen, where a football highlights reel was playing on mute. “Try turning your brain off and on again.”
“Very funny,” Jen said, swinging forward. She planted her elbows on her pristine desk, a stark island of order in the chaotic sea. “No, seriously. What do you two do? When you’re not here. When you’re bored. There must be something.”
Moss swivelled slowly, adjusting his glasses. “Well, there’s a rather compelling meta-analysis of Star Trek: Voyager season three pacing I’ve been annotating. And I’ve been rebuilding a 1984 ZX Spectrum from spare parts. The soldering is very calming.”
“Right,” Jen said flatly. She turned her gaze to Roy. “And you?”
Roy shrugged, a languid roll of his shoulders. “Pub. Betting shop. Maybe a bit of GoldenEye on the N64 if I’m feeling nostalgic. The classics, you know?”
A slow smile spread across Jen’s face. It was a dangerous smile, born of endless days of printer jams and password resets. A smile that craved combustion. “The classics,” she repeated, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “See, that’s just it. It’s all so… predictable. So safe.”
She stood up, the legs of her chair scraping against the linoleum. The buzz of the light seemed to grow louder. Roy finally tore his eyes from his screen, sensing a shift in the atmosphere. Moss watched her with the wary curiosity of an owl observing a unfamiliar mammal.
Jen walked around her desk, leaning back against it, facing them. She crossed her arms, then uncrossed them, letting her hands rest on the edge of the desk behind her. “You know what I think we need?” she said, her eyes glinting under the harsh light. “A different kind of reset.”
Her fingers went to the first button of her sensible blouse. A soft pop echoed in the quiet room. Then the next. Roy’s yoghurt spoon clattered onto his desk. Moss’s mouth formed a perfect ‘o’.
“Jen, what the—” Roy began, his voice cracking.
“Shhh,” she whispered, her smile turning wicked. The blouse fell open, revealing a lacy black bra that seemed utterly alien in the context of cable management and server logs. “I’m talking about a proper distraction. I’m talking about sex.”
The word hung in the air, stark and pulsating. Moss made a small, choked noise.
“Specifically,” Jen continued, pushing herself off the desk and taking a step towards them, her heels clicking decisively, “I’m talking about the three of us. Right here. Right now.”
Roy’s cynical façade crumbled, replaced by sheer, unadulterated shock. “You’re having a laugh. This is a wind-up. You’ve hidden a camera. Moss, check for cameras.”
“The statistical probability of Jen orchestrating an elaborate prank of this nature is low, given her recent expressed states of ennui and frustration,” Moss squeaked, but his eyes were glued to the strip of skin above Jen’s skirt.
“No cameras,” Jen said. She reached behind and unclipped her bra, shrugging it off her shoulders. Her breasts were pale in the fluorescent glare, her nipples hardening in the cool, conditioned air. “Just me. Bored. And you two. Here.”
Roy stood up, his chair rolling back and hitting the tower of boxes. A faint smell of old pepperoni seeped into the room. He wasn’t a gentleman; he was a opportunist with poor hygiene, and the sight of his boss, topless, was short-circuiting every crude joke in his arsenal. “Fuck me,” he breathed.
“That’s the idea,” Jen said, and she closed the distance between them. She took Roy’s hand, rough and calloused from wrestling with stubborn cables, and placed it firmly on her breast. The touch was electric, a jolt of pure, unsanitised life in the dead space.
She then turned her head to Moss, who looked as if he was undergoing a system crash. “Moss. Come here.”
“I— I don’t think the HR policies cover— this is a shared workspace, there are hygiene protocols to consider—” he stammered.
“Now, Moss,” Jen commanded, and something in her tone, a vibration of pure need, bypassed his logic gates. He shuffled over, his movements robotic.
What followed was not graceful. It was clumsy, awkward, a fumbling collision of limbs and desires in a room that smelled of cheese and ozone. Jen pulled Roy’s head down, kissing him roughly, her tongue demanding entry. He tasted of stale coffee and cheap yogurt. His hands groped her arse over her tight skirt, squeezing with a desperate hunger.
Breaking the kiss, she turned to Moss. She guided his trembling hand to her other breast. “Touch me, Maurice,” she whispered, using his real name, and the sound of it unlocked something. His touch was feather-light at first, then more certain, his thumb brushing over her nipple in a way that was surprisingly, ingeniously perfect.
“Jesus Christ,” Roy muttered, fumbling with his belt. His jeans pooled around his ankles. His cock sprang free, hard and urgent. Jen dropped to her knees in front of him, the linoleum cold through her tights. She didn’t hesitate. She took him into her mouth, swallowing him deep, her head bobbing with a rhythm that was both purposeful and obscene. Roy gasped, his hands tangling in her hair, his hips jerking forward.
Moss watched, his own trousers now painfully tight. Jen reached for him, unzipping his flies with her free hand, pulling his stiff cock out. She stroked him slowly, her other hand still working on Roy, a messy, glorious symphony of gasps and slick sounds.
“Up,” she commanded, pulling her mouth off Roy with a wet pop. She stood, shimmying out of her skirt and tights. “The desk. My desk.”
The cluttered surface of Jen’s desk, her island of order, became a new problem to solve. Roy acted first, his shock morphing into a frantic, pragmatic energy. He swept a stack of HR folders onto the floor with a crash. A stapler, a potted succulent she’d named Gerald, her "World's Best Boss" mug—all went flying, casualties of the moment.
Moss stared, frozen, until Roy barked, “Help, you pillock!” and he began carefully, robotically relocating a tray of paperclips and a framed photo of Jen’s mum to a nearby cabinet.
Jen watched them, a sheen of sweat already glistening on her skin under the relentless fluorescent glare. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her black lace knickers and peeled them down her legs, stepping out of them. She stood naked before them, the hum of the dead coffee machine the only sound for a heavy second.
“Well?” she said, her voice husky. “It’s not going to polish itself.”
Roy was on her in two strides, his hands rough on her hips as he lifted her onto the cleared desk. The laminate was cold against her bare skin. Moss hovered, his erection jutting out, his eyes wide behind his glasses.
Jen leaned back on her elbows, her body a pale arc against the dark wood. She spread her legs, offering herself to the stale, static-charged air. The sight was so profoundly out of place that it felt like a dream—a dirty, urgent dream.
“Right then,” Jen said, looking between their flushed faces. Her breath hitched, not from nervousness, but from a raw, commanding need. “Ground rules. Who’s getting my ass, and who’s getting my pussy? Decide.”
Roy let out a choked laugh that was mostly desire. “Fuck. Okay. I’m not messing about with the backdoor. I call the pussy. Classic.”
Moss blinked rapidly. “The anal orifice, while a plausible route, presents a higher degree of… friction. And requires significant lubrication. I have some silicone-based lubricant in my bag. For my keyboard,” he added quickly.
“Get it,” Jen and Roy said in unison.
Moss scrambled, rifling through his battered satchel and producing a small, unopened bottle. His hands trembled as he cracked the seal.
Roy positioned himself between Jen’s splayed thighs, the broad head of his cock pressing against her. He didn’t wait, didn’t tease. He pushed inside her with one solid, deep thrust, punching the air from Jen’s lungs in a sharp gasp. “Fuck, yes,” he grunted, his hands gripping her knees, pushing them wider.
The stretch, the sudden fullness, was a brilliant shock. Jen threw her head back, her nails scraping the desk. “God… move, you bastard.”
Roy set a punishing pace, his hips slamming into hers, the desk creaking in protest with every drive. The sounds were obscenely loud—skin slapping against skin, Roy’s ragged grunts, Jen’s bitten-off moans.
Moss stood beside them, awkwardly squeezing lube onto his fingers. “Jen, I… I need to prepare the area.”
“Just do it, Moss!” she cried out, the sensation of Roy fucking her hard making her words come in ragged bursts. “Stick your fingers in me. Now.”
Moss, with clinical precision, pressed a slick finger against her tight rear entrance. He worked it in slowly, his other hand bracing himself on the desk. Jen clenched around him, a moan tearing from her throat as the dual violation sent a jagged bolt of pleasure through her core. Roy felt her tighten around him and groaned, his pace faltering for a second.
“Another finger, Moss,” Jen commanded, riding the wave of their combined attention.
Moss complied, scissoring his fingers gently, the cold lube a strange contrast to the heat building inside her. “The sphincter is relaxing,” he observed, his voice trembling with arousal.
“Good,” Roy panted, his rhythm becoming ragged. “I’m close, Jen.”
“Not yet,” she snarled, bucking against him. “Moss, now. Give it to me. Fuck my ass.”
Roy pulled out of her, his cock glistening. He moved to the side, stroking himself roughly as Moss, with a look of terrified determination, positioned his lubed cock at her back entrance.
Moss pushed forward. It was a slow, burning, exquisite pressure. Jen screamed, a raw sound that got swallowed by the hum of the lights. He was smaller than Roy, but the stretch was intense, different. He bottomed out, his hips flush against her, his body rigid.
“Oh, my God,” Moss whispered, horrified and ecstatic.
“Move, you fucking weirdo!” Roy yelled, his hand still working his shaft.
Moss began to thrust, a shaky, unpractised rhythm. The feeling of being utterly filled, front and back, was overwhelming. Jen was dissolving into pure sensation, a creature of wanton need on her own desk. Roy watched for another second, then shoved Moss aside none-too-gently.
“My turn,” Roy growled, and he slammed back into her soaked pussy, his weight forcing Moss deeper into her ass. The double penetration was brutal, perfect, a feverish piston rhythm that had Jen shattering. She came with a shattered cry, her body convulsing around them, her vision spotting. A