ICE: Integrity, Chastity, Organization – Part I

Woman Kills Her Husband By Squeezing His Balls For 5 Minutes Non ...

“ICE”, she says, his eyes glazed over. “Integrity, Confidentiality, Efficiency; this is your mantra.”

Alison, a good eight years inferior to him got off on playing his superior. She may as well have pulled down his trousers and began there, at least he could have understood her reasoning from that standpoint. At barely four inches he already knew he was disappointing, a C- in the penis game.

“What we can do is set up a spreadsheet so we can check off your progress as the weeks progress?, If you know ICE, your job will be super easy.” He could almost hear her vagina purring at the glory of her condescension, which was always accompanied with a semi-assured smile.

Alison took pity on him but at the same time reveled in his weakness, and his very real statusless-ness, and so the days went. She treated him as the worthless dog he clearly was whilst he got himself off at night on the ball-crushing pleasure of her disdain; a chocolate coated match made in heaven. So side by side, plugging away data for a local adult learning centre. They were taught to be grateful, they got to wear smart-casual and spend three-minutes brewing tea in the staff kitchen of their own accord on staff time.

Max had become proficient in the art of humoring. Humoring his work companions, the tepid office conversation and most notably, humoring his own reason for being. His parents, hardworking Syrians, came to England in the mid-nineties in search of a better life for their spawn. How could they have known that their little darling’s existence could be likened to a communal teabag, limp.

But then there was Brianna, magnificent Brianna. She was at least two tiers above him in the pay scale but seemed to walk about the office as if she had just been released on bail for petty theft. Scatty, with dishevelled brown hair, and blotty black makeup, she was the highlight of his day. She maintained her role as the office wildcat, undermining the status quo, yet somehow presenting herself as an indispensable member of the team, flipping the coin as she pleased.

There were rumors of how she had managed to maintain her position. Some of which plausible, given what he had seen thus far, the rest, as far fetched as they were delicious. Word of tying managers to office chairs, naughty photos acquired on dodgy staff-dos and locking HR staff in cupboards overnight. He questioned none of them. In fact, quite the opposite. The one time Brianna came to talk about a jam in the fourth-floor printer, she had leaned casually over his desk. Max had caught a glimpse of her black bra cupping her voluminous cleavage under her blouse. This led him to spend almost his entire lunch break, shamefully indulging rumors about her in the handicapped bathroom. Definitely part of the ‘C’ for Confidentiality in his I.C.E. practice.

Whatever the root of her finesse, Max was in awe. The office drained much of Max’s will to endure, but the straight-to-the-vein dose of Brianna could last until at least lunchtime. He pondered what their future could look like, should she give him the time of day. He wasn’t completely out of her league physically. A bit gangly, all knees and elbows, but he was tall, with a sculpted nose and strong brow. However, his height and lack of natural masculine dominance caused him to slouch horribly.

“Oh I don’t think of you like that, we’re just friends,” Max didn’t know what it was about himself that made this rejection so commonplace. That phase in particular, combined with his small cock and limited sexual experience, had simply eroded his confidence throughout the years. Now he awaited the day that he could shuffle out of doors backwards with his head down as common practice; he would have made a great oversized Geisha, he mused. Barely noticed, yet always servient.

On one particularly drab day, Max found himself unaccompanied by Admin Alison for a few hours, and took the liberty to enjoy his free moment in front of the database. He picked at a few jobs here and there, a few gratuitous clicks of the mouse every couple of seconds, (how can we make ICE part of his ICE-ing only when really necessary. Until suddenly, he found himself in front of an empty draft email. A few weeks ago, after his bathroom embarrassment, he had found Brianna through the global directory and wanted to see what her office photo looked like. She was well poised and wore her hair in a high ponytail. He had almost stayed after hours to print it out, but didn’t muster the courage. Now he kept it covered behind his work tabs, sneaking a quick fix when his mind wandered and he couldn’t resist.

A recognizable voice shook him cold from his reverie.


It was Brianna’s unmistakable rasp…

[Follow on here for part II – ]

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