Becoming the King of A New Filthy World

It's an incredible feeling, and the burning relief that washes over him feels as good as anything he could have ever hoped for does.

But when Lucas opens his eyes, he's greeted by the familiar sight of a gaudy stucco ceiling, and he doesn't feel the uncomfortable and old bar chair under his ass, he feels the familiar warmth of a mattress.

There's a blanket over him and pillows underneath his head, and somehow, he's gone from having his cock sucked at the bar to being in his own bedroom somehow?

He jolts up in surprise, confused and having no idea what's happening. There's no sight of Christine anywhere, nor any indication of how he got back, but that makes no sense.

There's no way he was drunk enough to blackout, especially just as he came, and even if he had he would have had some kind of memory of what was happening.

But even weirder was that he felt fine. There's no migraine to bother him, no twisting in his stomach or general ache.

It's like he didn't drink anything at all, and now he's left sitting there in bed and wondering what the fuck happened.

His alarm clock goes off a minute later, jolting him into looking over at it and seeing that's time to get up for work.

It's the morning. Somehow.

Not that a single shred of this makes any sense, but as he stares at the clock he's left with a myriad of questions that he knows he sure as hell doesn't have any time to answer.

Insane as it is, he just have to go on with his day, heading up to get into the shower.

He'll text his friends before he leaves and asks them where they went and if they helped him get home.

Probably no way of helping him find that Christine girl again, but she sucks cock like a freak and he definitely wants to try and get some more of that.

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The lights at his office are always on so bright, always casting a bit too heavy glare onto everything around him, but at least he's walking in sober on a Wednesday morning; it's more than he can usually say.

Weird as it is, he just rolls with it, looking forward to getting through his day, moving on to what is unfortunately going to be another day of work past that.

Then another one to get through Friday and on to his weekend. It's a cycle that he's grown used to, a certain rigid kind of monotony that he accepts as the general nature of life.

Lucas got his degree and cast his lot in life, and he roll along with it, figuring that in time things will look up; keep at it and he'll move on to a promotion and a better spot past the usual fare of office grunts.

He's already done decently at that and moved on up well enough in the company, but he's still sitting in an office and hammering away at a keyboard all day, not high enough for lunch meetings and the fat paychecks of his bosses.

So he's in a holding pattern now, doing the best work he can while he waits for the tedium to pass and life to start getting interesting, whenever that's due to happen.

For now, he've got a cubicle and a decent chair, and the hope that his hawkish new boss isn't going to be stomping around the floor again making sure he's all pulling his weight.

It's not an attitude he appreciates given that he actually bothers doing his damn job and doesn't need the sword of Damocles hanging over his head to do so, and so all the vague warnings and expecting shouts are just an insult to his work ethic.

It's as bad a time as it comes, but what can he do?

Talking back to his new boss is the best way to end up being seen as 'trouble' next time his review comes up, and the longer he stays in the hive of cabins, the more he's going to start empathizing with the sorts of people who climb up church towers with sniper rifles.

Work hasn't actually started yet, so plenty of the workers are out in the aisles talking to pass the time before they get to work, which is completely normal, but he catches the sight of a particular blonde who seems in no way normal.

Lucas chest tightens and he nearly drops his briefcase in surprise as he looks onward, seeing his neighbors talking to none other than Christine.

She leans back against the exterior wall of his cabin while other nearby workers make small talk with her.

Before he's finished approaching, someone asks, "Oh, good morning! Have you met Christine yet? She's a new transfer from the Chicago branch."

"We have actually," she says with a smile, and steps off of the wall, reaching her hand out toward him. "It's nice to see you again."

Running into the girl who sucked his cock the night before at the bar is the sort of coincidence he can get past.

It's not the ideal outcome of literally any situation, but it's not the kind of thing that he can't get over.

At least, not relative to what Christine is wearing, which is downright indecent. She wears a white blouse that has a wide opening all the way down her breasts, which aren't even really supported by the tenths-of-a-cup that the top has beneath her plump double Ds.

Her perky, perfect tits stand at eager attention, hanging out there, and she acts completely casual about that fact, like nothing is actually a problem here and it's just a completely normal thing to wear.

Her super short skirt seems absolutely formal by comparison, and you can't help but stare at her chest in equal parts incredulity and appreciation.

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