I thought a lot about my time working in the Elite Magazine office on the way there. I never thought it’d end. I almost regretted moving to Charleston and working remotely. I could have at least traveled to Atlanta for various events and would’ve been part of the magazine. But now, it’s no more. Sold off, the advertising customers shuffled around to other publications, and the magazine discontinued.
I thought things were going so well too.
When I arrived to the building, a nice older black man – a security guard with the name tag of Alfred – greeted me. He told me I was late, a lot of my old coworkers apparently already arrived, got their stuff, and turned in their keycards and laptops.
I thanked him and took the elevator to the 12th floor.
It looked like a hurricane came through there. The cubicle farm was a total mess. Papers were everywhere; a few empty boxes were strewn about. I wondered if everyone that was already there ransacked the place out of anger. Perhaps the old security guard was unaware of it; maybe he couldn’t do anything to stop it to begin with.
I traveled through the aisles of cubes, memories of my career there returning. Mmm, so many wonderful times.
I thought about all the sex in the cubes, in the corner offices, bathrooms, between coworkers and the male models we brought in.
After making a big advertising sale, we’d suck black cock as if we were smoking cigars out of celebration.
There were Stripper Fridays. Black, male strippers were brought in to entertain, serve snacks, and to have sex with us.
Which then reminded me of Naked Mondays. We had to arrive with clothes, but most of us undressed shortly after getting there.
I walked around, seeing memories come alive. I walked past a cube were I was on my back, getting taken. I walked by the office, where I was bent over the desk and fucked. Cries of pleasure echoed through those halls, mine and many others. It was all gone now, all empty. I stood in the doorway to my office recalling all the times I was on my knees sucking cock, or riding cock. It was a wonder I, or anyone else, got any work done. But we all loved black men and the magazine for them.
The spirit of Elite Magazine faded, the memories of my time there were tucked away; I was alone once more.
I smiled and took off my clothes. Much better.
I rummaged through my desk, most of the stuff I already took with me when I chose to work remotely from Charleston. There was nothing there of note. I sat in my old chair, spinning around, naked, and thought about the situation.
I went over to my clothes and where I sat my bag down. I brought my laptop to my desk and sat looking through materials. Articles, contacts, photos, graphical elements, I wanted to keep it all for souvenirs. I had nothing to save them on so I walked around the office looking for a CD to write to or a USB drive – anything.
“Yes!” I said after 30 minutes of searching through drawers and cabinets. I found a small jump drive. I slapped my bare ass and headed back to my office.
I managed to save all the data on my laptop. I opened up my email program next. The wifi had been turned off by the IT department, so no new emails, if there were any, came through. I re-read the company announcement about its sale.
Elite Magazine was sold off by its parent publishing company to a private equity group named The Blackwell Group. The email indicated they owned several companies. One of them being a nationwide travel agent company. Several marketing firms in LA were owned by them. Also, they owned Elite Magazine’s number one competitor – King Monthly. It was pretty much the same as Elite Magazine. Articles were almost identical. Rap album reviews, movie reviews, a fitness section, cars, and of course women – most of whom were white.
The Blackwell Group promptly discontinued Elite and moved all the advertising customers over to King Monthly. Seems like they could’ve owned both publications and raked in more profit. Maybe there was a vendetta The Blackwell Group had against the publishing company they purchased Elite Magazine from.
I got angry again. It made me sick. I closed my laptop, leaving it on my desk, took one final tour of the floor, put on my clothes and left.
“Hi,” I said to Alfred. He nodded and smiled at me. I handed him my keycard.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he took it. I stared at it sitting on his desk.
“Ma’am?”
“Sorry,” I shook the cobwebs. “I’m really going to miss this place.”
“Yeah, a lot of sad ladies have come through here recently. When the landlords sell the building off soon, I reckon I’ll be out of a job. It’s a temp position anyway,” Alfred shrugged.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“That’s how it is sometimes,” Alfred said. “You have a wonderful night, ma’am.”
“You too,” I turned to leave, but something stopped me. “Hey, I’m Devin by the way,” I peered at his name tag again. “Alfred, when is your shift over?”
“Oh, in about an hour or so.”
I placed my hand on his old, wrinkled one and leaned in close. “I’m going to check into my hotel, get a quick shower, and come back here.”
“Ma’am the building will be closed then. I’ll be leaving.”
“I know. You’ll be leaving with me.”
-3-
A couple hours later, I was gripping the sheets, on all fours, with Alfred working away behind me. That old black man still had insane stamina.
“Ah, Alfred!” I cried.
“There we go, ma’am. You just cum on that old black dick as much as you want. You hear?” Alfred said, giving it to me really good.
“Yes!” I was cumming again.
In between sex sessions, in between me sucking all over his beautiful old cock, in between me kissing and sucking his big balls, in between him eating my pussy until I shook with orgasmic joy, I planned and schemed. I had to do something; I had to at least try. I wondered if I could save Elite Magazine. I had no idea how though.
Another few hours passed, Alfred was snoring softly. I was in his arms, browsing the internet on my phone. I was researching The Blackwell Group. I found a few articles about the purchase, about how they felt King Monthly was far superior to Elite Magazine which prompted them to do away with the latter, and I read a few entries about the company itself. I found an article about a man named Neal. It went into detail about how he oversaw the purchase and was instrumental in closing Elite Magazine. Neal was based right there in Atlanta.
A wicked grin came over my face when I saw Neal’s picture. He was a very attractive black man.
***
The next morning, I was sucking Alfred off in the shower. I turned around and he took me from behind again. I took him to breakfast, then by his small apartment, then finally, back to his post for the day. I told him I’d pick him up from work and take him to dinner then bed with me again.
I went shopping for a nice business suit. I extended my stay at the hotel and came up with my plan. I learned as much as I could about Neal. I was determined to meet with him.
I called Bea when I returned to my room after lunch. “Hello?” Eric answered.
“Uh, hi, Eric. Is Bea around?” I asked, hearing a moan in the background.