Working Late by p_grazy I woke up that morning expecting it to be another average day at the office. No one anticipates being bound to a swivel deskchair, a patch of duct tape over their mouth. But there I was. I've always had a thing for Mark Geffrey, really since the first day he joined the sales team. 23 years old and a year out of college, where he'd been a star wrestler and easily one of the campus' top ten most-fuckables. He was an obnoxious prick, but I'll admit that in some sick way, that was part of the appeal. He'd smooth talk clients like a pro and then snicker and mock their gullibility, their mannerisms, their looks, behind their backs. Intensely good- looking with confident blue eyes that maintained contact and cut right through you, as if challenging you to look away first. Short black hair, always immaculately cut, always perfect. When he walked behind me I always instantly detected his cologne and a scent that was powerfully pheromonal and masculine. He never wore the doldrum white shirt with flat blue or red tie, always dressed real smart, never a wrinkle or crease. He obviously like to take care of himself. I'd fantasize about peeling that shirt off him. You could tell he regularly renewed his gym membership. His thick neck always pressing against the collar, the curved protrusion of his pecs traceable against his shirt, forearms twitching with striated muscle when he rolled his sleeves up, his posture implying the solid core of one with highly developed ab and back muscles and an absolutely superb ass. I'd often sit at my desk and gaze trance-like at him sitting at his. I'd sense my salivary glands bubble at the thought of pushing my tongue into his warm mouth. Sometimes I'd surreptitiously stroke my erect cock against the underside of the desk drawer. We were all working late and preparing to close up shop when I stepped into the men's room to, well, quite honestly, give my meat a thorough yank in the stall. It was July and the office had been unbearably hot. We'd had a sales meeting earlier and sitting inches away from Mark with us both being so sweaty had driven me crazy. I simply couldn't wait to do my "business" at home. But then, as soon as I step in there, Mark comes in from behind and starts to beat the living shit out of me. No warning, no fucking clue what's going on. He throws me against the paper towel dispenser and lays into me mercilessly. I can barely say "What the fuck." when his knuckles collide with my temple and I'm out. When I come to I realize I'm bound to a deskchair and gagged. Uncomfortable as hell. I'm now back in the sales office. Mark must've dragged or carried me out of the bathroom. The other guys are here too. Keith, Pat and the new intern Travis. Our chairs have been arranged in a circle. Keith looks all right. I can't imagine him fighting anyone let alone a guy like Mark. Patrick is all fucked up though, swollen eye, red face, shirt half torn off. Travis is meek, almost crying. I crank my head over and spot Mark. He's removed his buttondown shirt and a tight grey tanktop is now contouring his beautiful torso, his muscles taut and powerful looking. It's clear his regimen doesn't neglect a body part. His triceps are as equally shapely and squeezable as his biceps. I want to pinch my fingers against the thick slope of his traps, massage them, then open my palm and cup and caress his deltoids. A tasteful silver chain circles right above the crevice between his pecs. He's fiddling with a cam he's positioned atop a desk. His arms extended, his lats curve forward, tugging at his tee. I note the cam is pointed at us. I look down and furrow my brow, perplexed at what I see. Sitting on the floor, his back propped against a desk, is the our new intern Tyler. Tyler's arm is twisted backwards in an unnatural contortion. Without a doubt it's broken, and I wonder why he isn't groaning in pain. I look up at his face. He's looking directly at me but he isn't blinking, his eyes don't move at all. His head is flopped at a very sharp angle onto his own shoulder and I realize his neck is broken...that he's actually dead. Beneath my gag I blurt out something unintelligible. Mark looks up at me and grins. "Huh?" He nods his head at me. "You like that?" He reaches down, cups one hand under Tyler's chin and slowly begins to twist the head, back and forth, up and down, then in circles. I hear the squishy sound of snapped pieces of vertebrae loose in Tyler's neck. Mark is demonstrating the thoroughness of his handiwork. He repeatedly looks up at me, gauging my reaction, his eyes smiling, as he lovingly manipulates the head. His hands have been gentle up to his point, but now he crouches down on one knee, wraps his muscular arms snugly around Trevor's skull, breathes in slowly and then jerks brutally. I hear muscles and tendons tear as Mark nearly rotates the head completely around. Any doubt I had about Tyler being dead are now completely removed. "The first day he came in here, I knew this retard wouldn't last." Mark said, still cradling Tyler's head, his fingers threaded through the intern's disheveled hair. He sighs and mumbles to himself , "Fuck. This shit gets me so hard". Mark unwraps his arms and shoves the corpse back against the desk. Tyler's head untwists itself and he flops sideways to the floor, his eyes starring into the carpet. Mark looks at me and he smiles hugely. "HOOOOLY Shit!" He laughs and shakes his head. "I see you like this shit too." It's obvious. My tumescent dick is pressing yearningly against my slacks. Still chuckling, Mark swaggers over to Keith. Without deliberation, Mark cups a palm under Keith's chin and jerks savagely. His bicep jacks up as he yanks back and I hear a crisp snap and Keith moan dumbly as his neck breaks. His body seizes, his back arches up for a brief second before his body collapses back into his seat, spent of life. The hands bound behind the chair are now relaxed and limp. Mark repositions his arms, now fully entwining them around Keith's head. He recalibates his stance. He looks at me and his lips curl slowly into a sly grin. He says quietly to himself. "Yeah. You do like it..." Then louder, directed at me. "You see, busting the neck is only part of it. You got to make sure you get the spinal cord too, otherwise they'll just twitch and end up some paralyzed fuck. It's a crapshoot, sometimes you get it right off the bat and that it's - fucking DEAD. Sometimes not." He gives the ensnared head good crank and I hear a thick crunch. "There ya go, Keith." Mark says as he lets go and pats both hands on the dead man's sagging shoulders. Keith's head falls forward, chin on chest. His eyes are open and are transfixed by the sight of his own stomach. With a smirk on his face, Mark approaches me slowly. I am scared fucking shitless, sweating, my body tense as hell but my dick is screaming, rock hard and pitched against my slacks. Mark quickly swings behind me and both his arms encircle my neck in a headlock. His hold is expertly solid. He's applying playful tweaks of pressure, but his grip is so perceptibly laden with life- exterminating potential. Extremely deadly, but he's just playing nice for now. He holds me there a moment and I listen to his breathing, feel his exhalations breeze warmly against my ear. I wish my hands were unbound, but not to flee. I want to bring my hands up and rest them on his arms, feel his gently constricting foreams and tightly balled biceps. He speaks into my ear. "You know I see you checking me out every day, right? It's like you can't even help yourself, dude. I look up and there you always fucking are. Always sliding past everyone to make sure you get that seat next to me at meetings. I can always smell it after you run and jerk-off in the john. I love it. You fucking want me." I moan something affirmative beneath the duct tape. "Yeah. I know you fucking do." He removes one arm from my throat, brings his hand down and slides it soothingly down the inside of my thigh, his palm gliding firmly along my dick. The head nearly pops like a cork. He's quiet for a moment, then resumes. "First time I did it was in high school. Ryan Demarco. God, I hated that kid. Fucking worthless. It was late and I was piss drunk. I strangled that dickwad to death behind the bleachers. After he stopped struggling and went limp it was...I dunno...unsatisfying. I was looking down at him in the dark and thinking about how I always wanted to just fucking snap another guy's neck. So I did. Hearing that cracking sound was beyond awesome. I could feel his goddamn vertebrae shift when I did it. Left him slumped against an electrical box and then went to this party. They found him two days later, but nothing ever came of it. Shit never sticks to me, I'm blessed that way. I didn't do it again for another two years, but I thought about it constantly. Jerkin' off in the shower, staring at the neck of some spaz sitting in front of me in class, during wrestling meets, in the gym when some assface spends an hour on a machine. " He says in a whiney, cry-baby voice, "I can't help it. I'm addicted." After a moment he leans in real close so I can see his face in profile. He's peering at Pat and Travis, then he turns his face towards mine. "So, who's next? Your call." I quickly glance over and immediatedly mumble my choice. I never really liked Patrick to begin with. I can see the look in Patrick's face and I can surely say I've never seen an expression more appalled. Frankly I don't care anymore. I'm nearly delirious. I want to see him die and I want to watch Mark to do it. Mark says resolutely, "OK. I'm gonna get you out of this chair. I don't think I gotta worry about you. Do I? You're gonna be good, right? I think you know what happens..." he says as I feel his succulent lips kiss me on the back of my neck, right on the spine directly beneath the hairline, "...if you don't." Holy fuck. That scent that swept into my nostrils, that goddamn scent he exuded-so close to me, drove my dick and heart so fucking crazy. "Hey! If you're lucky maybe you'll get to fuck me!" He slaps his hands on my shoulders and laughs, nearly cackling. He cuts the tape binding my wrists and painfully tears the patch from my mouth. He is now more animated, excited. I just stand up and look around sheepishly, unsure and apprehensive of my role. "Alright. I'm gonna get this fuckface on the floor." He grabs Patrick's chair and without warning wrenches it. It topples, occupant and all, sideways to the floor. Patrick is now cursing and raging beneath his gag, his feet protest and kick out, the soles of his shoes slamming resoundingly against the thin steel of an office desk. BANG! BANG! BANG! Mark strips off his belt and begins to pull down his pants. He looks up at me, his eyes alive his expectant delight. "I gonna use my legs. First time. You just hold his legs. This assface is squirmin', but he won't be for much longer. Make sure that cam is facing us. I wanna get this." I stand there a moment. I want that thick cock tastefully packaged within Mark's briefs. Very much so. Dear fucking God, this man is lovely. I want him to turn fully around so I may examine both rounded halves of his ass. His glutes are beautiful, but now I want to see the hamstrings, get up close to those calves. But I'm in no position to issue demands, so my brain absorbs as much of the image as rapidly and efficiently as possible, then I go and adjust the cam before he reconsiders and executes me. I then kneel and use both hands to pin Patrick's uncooperative legs. Mark gets on the floor, reclining on his side. He shimmys Patrick's head between his thighs and for a moment I envy my soon to be dead colleague. Mark's thighs commence twisting the skull to the side. It's awkward and I watch Mark struggle before I act. I move forward, drop my ass on Patrick's pelvis and use my hands to keep his shoulders stable, preventing his body from simply following the slow churn of his killer's limbs. "Thanks." Mark grunts. He resumes his task. I hear a desperate, guttural cry from Patrick. It's not the cry of one stubbornly resisting death, but that of a man who fully comprehends his fast-approaching death is entirely inevasible. I sit there amazed at just how far his neck can twist when I hear a shocking CRACK! Patrick immediatedly shuts up and his feet cease stomping against the desk. Mark grits his teeth and grunts twice as he gives his pelvis another two twisting bursts in rapid sucession. I hear a pop and Patrick makes a strange gulping noise. I feel all tension in his shoulders dispel and his legs no longer heave against my bodyweight. His fingers give a barely perceptible flutter and that's it. Mark is panting and he looks at me with an elated grin. "Swear to God, dude, I nearly just came on this fuck's head." I rise from the deanimated body and move in close, crouching. I gaze into Patrick's face, still sandwiched between Mark's sweat-moist thighs. Patrick is ignoring me, staring off to the side, his eyes locked on the carpet and his mouth stupidly half open as if about the say something, a sliver of drool creeping over his lip and dribbling slowly to the carpet. I look over and down. I finally get to admire Mark's ass and hamstrings, and I examine the back of Patrick's neck. The skin is red, and I can clearly spot where bone had cleaved, the terminal point where the spinal cord had stopped feeding the brain. There's a near half inch gap between the vertebrae when there should be none. Mark's face was euphoric. "You heard that right? When it fuckin went? Sooooooo sweet." Mark hopped up. Patrick's head was yanked out from the thighs and dropped to the floor at cranked angle, the fatal damage to his spine now fully illuminated. Mark moved in quickly towards me, his hands raised, palms open and about to grip my head. I flinched and my heart nearly failed, fully expecting I had 2- 3 seconds left to live, when Mark's lips intercepted mine and I felt his tongue flood into my mouth like a wave. I kept my eyes closed as I raised my hands and slid my palms up his muscular back. His lips parted from mine and he stepped back. "Hold up there, dude." He smiles, then nods towards Travis, "I just gotta finish this little puppy off." As I said before, Mark was a dick. He freed Travis from his chair, for which the terrified intern appeared extremely grateful. Mark does this so he can beat the living shit out of Travis. It gives him perverted pleasure to provide Travis with the "opportunity" to defend himself when he knows damn well the guy's a complete pussy and won't fight back. I watch, my dick so hard, insistent and hungry, as Mark strips of his tee, knocks Travis against a wall and fires his knuckles repeatedly and explosively into the intern's body. Travis flails like a spastic doll. I'm frankly amazed at Mark, impressed at his aggression and will to demolish, and I feel humbled and hopelessly vulnerable. I realize Mark truly knows how to fight when I see him utilize elbow and knee strikes with devastating effectiveness. Bottled with enormous stores of testosterone-driven hosiltily, Mark is mercilessly savage in his handling of Travis. The intern finally drops to his knees, but Mark holds him upright, one hand placed under the kid's jaw. Travis' blood-slick cheek rests against Mark's abs and a gruesome rasping rises and falls from his throat. "Shhhhh...shhh...shhh...shhh". Mark reassures him tenderly before jerking his wrist the breaking the neck. I hear a *krik!* and watch a swift spasm undulate through the body. Mark places both palms on the sides of Travis' head and crouches, lowering the dead intern. Even with his face swollen and his broken neck elongating under the strain of his own slack bodyweight, Travis looks peaceful - his eyes closed, facial muscles relaxed - as Mark sinks him to the floor and gently lets his head flop soundlessly to the carpet. The sales team had been bitchin' vociferously since June when the bonus program was nixed, so the office manager wasn't too surprised when four staff members didn't show on Thursday. I, on the other hand, showed up at 6am, on time but looking like shit. I should be entitled to an award, considering I'd gotten 0 hours sleep. I had helped Mark dispose of the bodies- a procedure made thankfully swift by the fact that he'd been planning our little "office party" for weeks and had thoroughly prepared. Afterwards, we returned to his place and his briefs came off and I finally got my prize. As I've said before, Mark's a dick. Completely dominant and narcissistic in bed as anywhere else, but also equally adept at using his body to achieve ends-so I have absolutely no complaints with the pleasure he provided me. Before I left Mark got me in a vicious rear naked choke and I quickly passed out. When I reawakened he informed me that was just a little taste of what he could do to me. It was a warning that, at that point, was entirely redundant. When I got home I sat in the dark and ruminated on my involvement in a quadruple homicide and thought every little sound I heard was Mark coming to finish me off. 5am. I showered and drove back to work. There was Mark, sitting at his desk, looking perfect as ever. He didn't look at me, just wore a smug smile all day. Two weeks went by. The police came and questioned the manager. They thanked him as they left and that was it. Just a few local news items and then Keith Abrigaile, Tyler Craig, Travis Morrisett and Patrick Gadue were forgotten. Maybe one day somebody will dig up their skeletons and ponder how all the skulls became separated from the spines. Whatever. It never came back to haunt Mark, expect for when he jerked off no doubt. As he said, shit just doesn't stick to him.