Confront Denosha Woods here and now. Then, go see Avery Parker.

Pause Button

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing in my house, bitch.”

You plant yourself firmly in Denosha Woods’ path, hands on hips, implacable.

“Oh, well hello there, Will. Aren’t you supposed to be in your office right now? ‘Working,’ I suppose you’d call it.” Her smile is anything but sweet. Mo runs up to greet you, wagging merrily, rubbing back and forth against your knees, but you don’t let him ruin your intimidating posture.

“Fuck where I’m supposed to be. I asked you a question, and you’re not going anywhere until I get an answer.”

The woman lets out a mildly irritated breath, but it’s mild. Stopped by a train, but certain it will pass soon. “What do you think I was doing?”

“How the hell should I know? Lady, I am not playing games here. I just caught you breaking into my house. I could call the cops on you if you want to drag your feet on it. I really don’t care. Don’t think that just because you’re some hot-shot doc on spooky level 7 that I’m letting this slide. You don’t scare me.”

She takes a step forward, half a step, with only one foot. You step back the same distance. “Is that so? All the same, I don’t think I want to get the police involved. You remember, you promised Aubrey you wouldn’t bother them over Monarch affairs?”

“I… what? That was about some crazy bitch parking attendant, not you breaking into my house!”

“And I thought the two of you were getting along so well. Hmm. Oh well. I can see this is really starting to become a preoccupation for you. Before you blow a gasket, then, I suppose I’ll just come clean.” Another step forward. Another step back. “I was just running diagnostics on some Monarch equipment in your house. Making sure everything is running smoothly.”

A second step back now. “What? Equipment? What equipment? I don’t have any of your stuff in there.”

“Of course you don’t, Will.” She digs in her purse for her keys, not put off by your presence in the least.

“What equipment are you talking about? More spy cameras? Oh, don’t think I don’t know about you watching me. Sticking a camera in my cubicle, getting a video of me getting sucked off by the custodian? Bet you watched that until your fingertips bled, didn’t ya.”

The cessation of noise beckons your attention. Glancing to your left, you see a little boy, maybe nine or ten, with his backpack on, making his way home from school. He’s staring at you wide-eyed, but then runs past at a dead sprint. Dr. Woods chuckles as his retreat from adult conversation.

“It’s nothing objectionable, Will. Just forget we ever had this talk, like you’re so very good at doing, and go about your life. Have another picnic! I’m sure your coworkers would be glad to join you.”

“What? How… how do you know about that? You do have cameras! What, you stop by to put in a few more? You fucking psychos! I swear to god, I am gonna rip out every last one of those things, and we’ll see if Monarch can afford the atomic bomb of a lawsuit they’ll have coming their way!”

“Best of luck with that, Will.” She bends slightly, and Mo, put off by your present disinterest, wiggles up and allows her to scruff his neck. “I think he ought to calm down, Quasimodo. I’ve been here with you for ten little minutes and he thinks that’s time to install a whole surveillance system. Isn’t he a silly? Yeah. You wanna help talk him down? Why don’t you go be sweet to Will, huh baby?”

“Don’t touch my fucking dog, Denosha.”

She persists, but for only a few seconds. Mo looks disappointed, but quickly contents himself sniffing at some unseen tracks. “Anyway, I’ve answered your question, and unlike you, Ms. Merriman actually cares about what I do when I’m on company time. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll be on my way.”

“No way. I’m not letting you in here until I… until…”

But she’s getting in her car, and you belatedly realize you’re standing all the way at the end of your driveway, fifty feet from where you made your stand. She takes her time settling in, but there’s nothing to do except stand aside when she puts it into reverse and backs out of your driveway. She flashes a wave at you as she pulls into the street and drives away.

Numb, you head back into the house before Mo can decide he’s bored enough to wander off. He hops up beside you on the couch, favoring your cheek with a couple licks to welcome you home. That’s a relief, at least. Not that you’d have thought Denosha Woods broke into your house to **** your dog, but still. One less thing.

After a moment to calm down before you really do blow a gasket, you make a tour of the house. Nothing out of place. Same with the garage, the back patio, the shed. She didn’t strike you as concerned enough about your suspicions to bother lying, so if she really was here for ten minutes, that’d be tough to patch a camera into the electrical system and hide it where you wouldn’t find it. So what the fuck was she doing?

Much as you hate to admit it, your gut intuition is that she was doing exactly what she said she was doing. There was a thinly veiled contempt in her responses, like a parent explaining the world to her dullest child. But what devices? You don’t have a single smart home device in here anywhere. Still, she knew about the cookout the other day. She knew your dog’s name – his full name! Have you ever even said that out loud in here? It’s just “Mo” even on his collar. How does she know what she knows?

Did you…

Did you tell her?

What _did _you tell her? So much of it you remember, but… you know there’s other things you don’t. That you ought to, that anyone ought to, but you don’t. But… why would she grill you about something like that?

You shake your head. The problem feels too huge. If there’s one thing you’ve learned is that focusing on the problem shows you all the obstacles. You know what those are all too well. Your crazy job, a mysterious floor where memories turn to pudding, bizarre surveillance, the beautiful people and all the beautiful sex. Now, you need to focus on a solution.

So what can be deduced? No way Denosha came to your house to download all the footage and watched it right here. Even at a brisk fast forward, that cookout would take half the day, and that’s if you knew exactly when to start and stop it. And what would be the point? It would be digital, and thus she could simply download it and walk away in moments.

Still, even that strikes you as primitive. Sure, a good security system was going to be on its own closed network to keep some smart guy with a laptop from infecting it so he could employ the old looped feed routine. But this isn’t their building. This is your home. That means whatever they have here, it’s being sent wirelessly, which means–

Which means they fucked with the wrong Associate Director of IT Security.

Your laptop is in your hands in a blink. With some of the software loaded on this thing, they’d have to have some incredible encryption on their signal to avoid you picking it up. Instead, the only networks found are your home network; four neighbors, each of their signals too weak to be fakes originating in your house; and your printer. The last one you inspect at some length, cracking it open and looking for anything out of the ordinary, but there’s no sign of anything but the manufacturer standard components. No weird covert signals, which you’re all the more confident in considering it would be a Monarch product and you’re using Monarch’s software. They’d have to be pretty stupid not to be ready to detect their own stuff.

Then there’s the next most obvious. You log into your modem, look at the data. There is significant activity. It might not be anything, though. Your laptop could be updating software, or your phone, some video still streaming to the TV despite it being switched off. One way to find out.

A short while later, you’ve disabled everything you’ve got that could be using bandwidth, and go through your modem’s data to find a few extra devices you’d forgotten. Your alarm clock has a connection, as does your old PC, disused for sometime but still capable of getting a signal. You disconnect everything that could conceivably be uploading data, pulling out wires to make absolutely sure, and hurry back to your laptop. There you make sure it is logged into the modem itself but activate a safe mode to prevent any other network activity. There ought to be no uploads of any kind now.

And yet there is.

You check connected devices again. Nothing. Check all the pulled plugs. Due diligence done. Still uploading. Then it’s into the advanced settings, and from there into the code itself, using all your expertise to pull apart where the glitch must be. Sure enough, buried behind strings of homomorphic encryption, imprinted restricted functions and one hell of an SQL injection, you find it. Peeling away all the layers, you find one last device tapped into your household network. There’s a string of numbers as an underlying ID, though you soon confirm those aren’t any products registered in any online database you have access to. You make a note of it anyway; maybe Monarch’s internal networks will have something. Beyond that, its only identifying mark is a tiny icon next to the number.

A paw print.

In spite of yourself, you give Mo a sidelong glance, but he’s laying uneasily across the room, studying you closely. Your anxiety is catching, it seems. You apologize with a few pats on the head, but still don’t know what to make of it. Some hacker calling card? Denosha’s reclamation of the term bitch? No way of telling.

You disconnect the device. The modem’s upload goes to 0.0 instantly; seconds later, it has reconnected, and the number creeps right back up. With a roll of your eyes, you change the password and repeat the disconnect. This time, to your relief, the upload remains halted.

It could be anywhere, you know. The upload was enough for low quality streaming video or perhaps an aggregated set of audio signals. Other things too, obviously, but those are your best bets. Still, what could it be? _Where _could it be? There are devices that can scan for that sort of activity. Your office has one such, though you immediately decide you don’t trust Monarch’s technology to police itself. It’s not the kind of thing you can buy off the shelf, typically, so you hop online and order it (wincing at the price tag) and select the fastest shipping they’ve got. Still, it’s going to be a few days, sitting in your home wondering which piece of furniture is watching you, what mirror has eyes behind it.

You try not to look too hard at Mo. He does not return the favor. His eyes follow you across the room, ears perked. You shudder, and tell yourself you’re being paranoid. When you give him his dinner, you hand him a few morsels, peering closely into his mouth, but it’s all dog. You sigh, and curse that woman’s name. This is a new low in craziness.

---

There’s no staying in that house like that. After letting Mo outside for a bit so you can leave him with clear conscience, you’re in your car. You don’t even really know where you’re headed, your mind racing much faster than your car. It’s a flood, non-stop.

they’re watching me who’s watching me why would someone want to watch me I’ll stop them but you don’t know how they’re doing it you’re a smart guy though you’ll find out unless they’ve done this before there’s always someone smarter

was this what drove Brooklyn Diamond crazy what did Denosha say about Jenna and why did it remind you of her who was that blonde you saw on 7 and why do you sometimes picture your secretary like a slutty Velma from Scooby Doo focus focus FOCUS sluts are everywhere one in a million dime a dozen

is it part of the distraction is everything else the distraction what am I even supposed to be focusing on why I’m part of the problem let things slide for cheap thrills with cheap women no don’t judge got to stop pretending I’m not one of them not even I believe that everyone’s one of them even my fucking dog is one of them but that’s insane that’s the exact insane thing that the man says that tells everyone that he’s lost it my dog made me do it you’re the son of Sam but for fucking instead of ****

Right about then you almost run over a pair of middle-aged women out for an evening jog. You slam on the brakes in the nick of time. They both dart out of the intersection, then glare at you as they continue on their way.

No. Driving is bad. You drive to the closest place you know of that isn’t your house.

“Don’t waste time getting dressed up – just open the damn door, Avery! It’s me!” You pound for the tenth time on her door. There’s a light on inside, but no answer. She has to be home. You need someone. Anyone.

At last, an agonizing minute and a half later, the door swings open, and there is Avery, dynamite as ever. But… different again, somehow. Skin tighter. Way more tan. Hair darker? Tits definitely bigger.

“Will, hey – wasn’t expecting you. This isn’t a great time, but… I guess if you need a quick blowie, I can squeeze you in.” She wrinkles her nose, mildly annoyed at the imposition, but she’s already pulling you in the door, sinking to her knees.

“Avery, I didn’t come here for…” You roll your eyes. She’s already working on your belt. “Fine, let’s get it out of the way. Make it fast though. I have to talk this out with someone and that’s gonna be trickier with your mouth stuffed full of dick again.”

“You know, I’m not the one who randomly stopped by my house on a Tuesday evening to gmm mm dmm fmm, ymm nmm.” You gag her tiresome whining with your cock. Then you notice the front door. The same women you nearly ran over three blocks back are running past, eyes and jaws wide at the sight of the big-titted blonde accountant gagging on your cock. You fling it shut.

“Avery, something is so fucked at Monarch. You’ve been there for a while, right? Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me that at the core of that company, there is not something insanely weird happening.”

She doesn’t respond, obviously, lunging her face hard into your cock. It feels good, not great. Jenna would do a better job. “Have you ever met Nolan King? No? It leaves a little something to be desired, no offense to the man. I’ve crossed paths with him a few times, and I tell you what, I don’t know if he even knows what’s going on at his own company. Every time I meet someone who’s actually doing something – Amy, my number two this guy named Phil, even that psycho bitch Dr. Woods – they all talk like Merriman’s the one pulling the strings. Take your tits out.”

Avery doesn’t miss a beat, obliging you with a top-down view of those whoppers. They’re fucking enormous, though it’s hard to really judge the quality from up here beyond that. “Like those. You did not have those last time I came over. Remember, I fucked you on the front porch there? Bugs were thick as hell by the light, but I guess I got the right blood type ‘cause I didn’t have a sting on me. But that light was more than enough to show you’ve grown a few cup sizes since then. And then this girl Crissy – not her real name, but that’s what I renamed her, maybe in a full legal sense? who knows – she got this overnight tattoo for me. Or was it her sister Missy? I’m not even sure they’re sisters. They bickered like it, but other than raw hotness, they don’t look too similar to me.”

Avery pauses in the midst of a rapid-fire gagging on your shaft. “Adopted, maybe?” she says breathlessly, then gulps in some air and goes back to deep throating.

“Sure. Why not. I mean, it’s Monarch. There’s this girl in the records room – or maybe she’s fucked her way up to a better gig since Sunday – and she’s coated head to toe in these wild, hot tattoos. She looks like she works in a biker bar, like maybe as the thing you cum in after you take a piss or something, I don’t know. But yeah, Monarch hired her. Of course.”

“You gungh gungh want me gungh gungh gungh to get gungh gungh a tattoo?”

“No! Are you listening? It’s not the tattoos – it’s nobody being what the fuck they seem to be. Like the not hot people, maybe, the ones who don’t suck and fuck at the batting of an eyelash like you and me. But what the fuck even is that? And why the mother fuck is Denosha Woods breaking into my house to play with my goddamn dog?!”

You got a little loud on that one; a look of fear steals over Avery’s face. Well, no, you realize after a moment that look is only because you’re holding her nose in your pubes and she can’t breathe. You let her up. She’s back at it the next moment, barely a pause for breath.

“I can’t remember the last time I wanted to fuck a woman and she said no. I’ve been handing you girls out now, like door prizes or something. You know that? Phil was picking up the slack because I was too busy breaking in the new sex lounge in my office, so I sent this girl from my staff to blow him. I think he’s married. I don’t know. I doubt Giada cares.”

Avery’s slurping up and down the side of your shaft, and it’s hard to make out what she’s trying to say. You ask for a repeat, and she looks annoyed to have her blowjob interrupted with chitchat. “Boss. of. the. year, I said.”

“Oh. Yeah, no joke. Jesus, would you just… I don’t know, use those big new tits of yours or something so we can actually talk and I’m not just ranting like a lunatic.”

Without looking, Avery reaches behind her to a drawer in her entryway table. There’s nothing inside but a bottle of lotion. She pumps it on her boobs, a few dollops each, and rubs it in. “Left that there for just such an occasion – never know when big-shot Will Saxon might stop by.”

You roll your eyes as she envelopes your cock between her tits. They really are incredible, now that you’ve gotten a proper look at them. A bit cartoonish, but at the acceptable end of it. “See? That’s what I mean. Avery, you’re a beautiful woman. One of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. And you work as a… not an accountant, but…”

She accedes to your hand gesture, filling in the blank. “Tier 2 Accounts Auditing Specialist. And worked, not work.”

“Right, and you’re somehow not modeling bikinis or marrying the owner of some NFL team. You’re… that mouthful. What even is that?”

She puts a couple more squirts in her palms, cranking your achingly hard cock with both hands. “I oversee the auditing accounts. Or I did.”

“Promoted to tier 1?”

“No. Transferred. Like I said, I have a lot to do. I was in the middle of packing when you started banging on the door.” Lubricant in place, it’s back to the tit-fuck.

“Transferred? Transferred where?”

“Away from Monarch. I don’t have all the details yet. I’ll find out when I get there, I guess.”

“Get where? What the fuck are you even talking about?” Part of you feels bad talking to her like this, but… what’s she going to do? Stop? As if.

Indeed, she doesn’t, bouncing on her heels, fat tits slapping back and forth against your cock. It’s barely pleasurable, just a feast for the eyes. “I really can’t say. Really. It’s one of those things.”

“Sure, why not. One of those things. So you’re packing? Where are you moving? Why do you look five years younger all the sudden? Is this why you got your tits done?” You glance around, but from your place in the doorway all you can see are a few shoes sitting aside, all of them heels.

“I didn’t request these things, that’s for damn sure. Going to be hard as hell to type with these puppies in the way. If I’m still going to be typing. I’ll find out, I guess. But like I said, I really don’t know. I go where they tell me to go. But this time I’m not coming back.”

“So… is Amy being transferred? Is that why they made her over?”

She spits on the inner slopes of her tits. Unnecessary, but fucking hot. “Amy who?”

“Never mind. Just… make me come already, would you? I really don’t have all night.”

She nods, and takes a hard grip on each tit, jacking you off with a vengeance. It doesn’t take long. You spray all over her beautiful face, all over her huge stupid titties, and she reaches up for you to help her to her feet and leads you to the living room like that was all a normal greeting at the door. Like it’s normal to sit around half naked and covered in spit, jizz, and a thick layer of hand lotion.

“Avery, this is insane. Do you not see that? You have to! I mean, they… remade your body! Is that something they do on 7, or…?”

She waits a moment, head leaning forward by increments until she realizes you don’t have another guess. “I really wanted to know how else you thought this happened. Like my tits just grow when you press on my belly button or something?”

“Right, because heading up to 7 and having some creepy mad scientist shove some air in them is totally normal.”

“Will, you really need to relax. Monarch’s just… Monarch. Don’t go questioning it or fighting it. Just let it happen. I mean, shit, you of all people ought to be beside yourself. Most of the guys in the office are either the normies or just toys. You, we practically treat like you’re the King himself.”

“But why!” You’re suddenly on your feet, thundering down at her.

She doesn’t startle, though. Doesn’t react except to scoop a blob of lotiony cum off her neck and suck her finger clean. “I… I don’t know. It’s just how it is. A few things you get to figure out, even fewer they tell you, and the rest… I’m just along for the ride. Or was. I don’t know what my new gig is going to be. Exciting though, right? Thanks for congratulating me, by the way.”

“Is that something you congratulate someone for? Sure, why not, super happy for you to be somebody else’s company fuck toy.”

Her eyes narrow. “I do know how to do some accounting, you know. I’m not just eye candy. No more than you are.”

“Am I ever even going to see you again? Or are you just going to disappear, and then on Friday some skinny redhead named Bamery Larker will sit at your desk and we’ll all act like it’s normal and she’ll do your job and give me her ass if I slap it on the elevator.”

“You must be the only man on the goddamn planet who would complain about that scenario.”

“It’s not a complaint – it’s just fucking crazy!”

“It is what it is, Will. Just don’t be such a little bitch over it. Do what they told you to do, and relax a little before you have a total meltdown.” Her nipples are hard as diamonds. She gives them each a little rub, seeming satisfied that they’re still commanding a little attention.

“Would everybody please stop warning me about meltdowns and gaskets! This is objectively…” Your breath catches. “I can’t even say it again. I’m just… whatever. Going around in circles.”

“Deep breaths, buddy. Deeeep breaths.”

“I know you’re only doing that to get me to look at your tits. Yes, they’re impressive, I get it. Jesus.”

“I know, right? Did they do that to your cock, or did I just forget how big it is? It always seems like two inches bigger than I remembered.”

You want to tell her that of course they didn’t, but how would you even know. Then her chubby orange tabby cat saunters into the room, working its way up to the top of its cat tower, watching the two of you gravely.

“Long time no see, Miss Kittenpuss,” you greet it casually.

“Gonna miss her at the new gig,” says Avery with a fond sigh.

“Right, of course, totally normal to take a new job you didn’t apply for, didn’t interview, don’t know who it’s with or what you’re doing, except you have to move, somewhere, and not bring your cat.”

Avery shrugs, tits bouncing wildly. “I would if I could.” The cat just keeps staring.

And staring.

You freeze. “What’s your wireless password?”

“I dunno, bunch of random characters. You need it for something?”

“Get it.”

She dashes off to retrieve her phone, still topless, lotion and cum soaking into her big fake boobs. You enter it into your phone. Without explaining – why bother? – you set off to find her modem. In minutes, you’ve located it and signed in. Never changed the default password. You’d lecture her on securing her connection, but if she can’t take Miss Kittenpuss, you doubt there’s room in her suitcase full of sex toys, bikinis and lingerie for a modem.

It’s a _lot _harder on your phone, but having done it once, it’s much easier to find what you’re looking for. Sure enough, hidden away in her connected devices is a serial number – different, but the first eight digits identical to yours – attached to a paw print icon.

The cat rolls over on its side, tail flicking once. Avery watches you with curiosity, but doesn’t intervene. If she can’t help blowing you for the neighbors, clearly she can’t stop you from hacking her wireless. But you wonder as you stare through Miss Kittenpuss, can she stop you from…

Decision time! Voting is open to all $10+ patrons at my patreon.
“Avery” modeled by Hannah Palmer. https://www.instagram.com/hannah_cpalmer/

• Don’t do it. Go home, sleep it off, try to have a normal day.
• Do it. It’s the only way to be sure.
• Go through the motions until your scanner arrives, and hope your stupid new gizmo can save you.
• Contact Aubrey Merriman. Tell her you quit.
• Visit Denosha Woods. Tell her to mindwipe you before you go insane.