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The Firm Handshake: Chapter 5.
By OfficeAnon
Chapter 5, Fitting In
“Everything in the world is about sex, except sex. Sex is about power.”
Oscar Wilde
After dropping off the spare ink, you return to your office. That last encounter served as a good warm-up, but you feel you deserve something a little more substantial for doing such wonderful charity work to your erstwhile printerless colleagues. The number for the IT department sat on your desk, held in place by the phone.
The phone answers immediately. Were you a priority number or something? The same voice from yesterday answers, which was a stroke of luck. “Hello, are you the one who sorted the software update for me yesterday?” you ask innocently.
“Yessir, that was me! Do you need anything else?” the voice was teetering between eagerness and concern they’d got something wrong.
“I think you should come up here and make sure it’ll all working properly. Come to my office. Tell your manager Mr Anon asked for you.” You put the phone down before any objection could be raised.
It didn’t take long, you knew it wouldn’t. The voice on the other end matched your suspicions. Alligators, on the whole, did not tend to live in cities. Rural living suited them for many reasons, but occasionally ones such as this guy would go to the big city to escape country life and country thinking. “Traditionalism” was a popular ideology back home and skinny boys like this were anathema to their concept of manliness.
Pastel green skin on the tops faded to muted yellows on the bottoms. His white linen shirt didn’t do much to hide the colours or his flat belly, not that it mattered. His thick tail, almost his entire length again, tapered to a point behind him defensively and showed off the colours anyway. His thin limbs fidgeted with themselves, giving a timid aura about his leanness. His overall build was bottom-heavy, needed to support the tail, and it didn’t add to the outward masculinity in the slightest. A net negative, if anything. No wonder he’d picked a job in a dimly lit IT room. It’s why you’d closed the blinds to this room, to provide some comfort and familiar territory.
You can imagine that he was allowing his own mind to run away with itself trying to guess what was going to happen next. He’s standing there, index fingers circling each other because he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
“Come around and have a look.” You gesture for him to stand on the other side of the desk. You have your computer on with nothing out of the ordinary showing. He’s looking at it intensely, still worried this was some sort of set up to show it had been done incorrectly. “This is all fine, but what about this?” you open one of the drawers. The items inside it clicked and jingled in a way that was almost, but not entirely, unlike standard office equipment. “Or don’t you have this stuff down there?”
There was an intake of breath and the alligator’s hands shot up to cover his mouth in mild shame for making the sound. “We don’t.”
You could have sworn he was looking at a chest full of gold coins by his expression. His eyes don’t lose contact with it as you gently pull him to sit on your lap. His tail rolls out against his back, a pillar of cool flesh you find intriguing. The pattern the scales make, getting progressively narrower towards the end, the smooth yet knobbly texture, the yellow and green borders. It was a thing of delightful contrasts.
Your hand touches the tip, where it was the coldest, and begins to warm it up. The appendage becomes a leash in your grip.
He can hear you taking off your shirt, leaving your torso bare. This morning’s meeting with your manager and the walking around means you’re quite warm to the touch. You tell the alligator to do the same. You don’t even give him an excuse. It was just going to happen.
The scaled torso is now firmly in your clutches. His thin back is jagged with his scutes and while they could have stopped a number of weapons, they were no defence against a warm-blooded hug. It probably felt like liquid gold spreading through him. Pure comfort. You had always been good at hugs.
You keep him this way so he has plenty of time to see the contents of your desk before you stand up, taking him with you onto his small clawed feet. “You’re a little cold, buddy. Let’s get you warmed up.”
While his cheap nylon work trousers were buttoned over his tail, the bright red v-line mini briefs under them were not. Instead, they were raised as high as they would go, which given his pear-shaped proportions, they were only accentuated further. You drop your own trousers onto the floor, along with your underwear, leaving you with just your socks on and him in his skimpy briefs.
You recline your chair and pull him into you, front to front, chest to chest, belly to belly. Maximum surface contact. His coolness is rapidly overpowered by your body’s own heat. You trap one of his legs between both of yours and grip his ass cheeks under his underwear so your palms warm up those too. The reptilian femboy from IT had no chance of escape now.
“I think you need some warmer clothes. Some slutty thigh-high socks would be a good start for a girl like you,” you croon into his ear. The alligator doesn’t use words, only satisfied throaty hisses and trying to get closer still. He nods with the idea and tries to nudge his head into the crook of your neck.
You spin the both of you on chair so you can reach into a drawer for the suspiciously highly lubricating hand-sanitizer. You squirt it onto your hands and rub them together to warm it up for him. He briefly snaps out of his revery. Clearly, he knows what the sound means and was familiar with it.
“Be gentle, sir,” he asks in a timid voice “I’ve never had a real one before.”
Small surprise then why he’d looked at the interesting selection of silicone you owned that way. He probably wished he had some at home. He probably had a single cheap piece he hid under his bed and was too timid to get something better.
So, you are gentle. For now. You oil up his backside completely. It glistens in the dim light. He shuffles around a bit for a moment, trying to remove his scandalous panties, but you prevent any attempt at that. Good girls had to earn it.
Not even the most diligent human could achieve the same smoothness as a scalie when it came to a hairless ass. Your hands encircle and massage, grope and re-grope. The finer texture on the cheeks means the stimulation you’re giving is much greater than usual. The base of the tail, a dense cluster of nerve endings, gets thorough attention from you too. One of his legs kicks the air from it all, the other is pinned between your own unable to escape the all-encompassing hug. The lube increases the surface contact, forcing more heat onto him.
By this point, you were both hard. The thin red fabric was all that separated you both from full dick to dick contact. Whether from frustration or a desire for more heat, his hips moved so that his rubbed against yours. You had thickness, he had length. You could tell he was trying to gyrate his member out of its confines, but you had such total control that no direction had quite enough distance to achieve it.
Your hands finish oiling his cheeks and get on with the main event. In they went and with hardly a fight. At last, a proper butt slut. One finger goes in, back and forth, the liquid making some very interesting sounds.
“Good girl,” you praise him “want another?”
He nods, neck on your shoulder, trying to dig his face between your back and the chair. Two fingers go in, a little more resistance, but the fluttering flesh told you its owner had prepared for this exam. Still, even you had your limits to your dexterity. You weren’t some skinny scalie like this guy here and he could take more than this light touching.
You hoist him up with him still hugging you, and set him down on his back on the desk. He’s looking down his long mouth at you at you lift his legs vertical to expose his hole again. Two fingers go in, probing.
“Let’s find that button…” you study the face, every little twitch acts like a radar ping as you home in on it. You find it very quickly; its owner had played with it a few times before. “Let’s see if turning it off and on again a few times helps.”
You massage his bitch-button, watching the yellow of the skin show signs of the pink flesh underneath in response. You rub the tip of his penis through the red fabric. “Do you want these to come off?” you damn well knew he did.
He nods, arms covering his face to hide his expression.
“I didn’t hear you.”
“Yes. Please, sir,” came the voice.
“Good girl,” you remove them as promised, leaving the feminine reptile naked on your desk. “But something must replace it.”
You select a suitable piece of silicone from your desk. It’s a soft white piece. A tube whose internals are a forest of fun and titillating geometry. You give it a little squeeze like a stress ball so that he can hear the sound it makes.
“I bet you’ve always wanted one of these,” you pull one of his arms away to dispel any lingering doubts. “And I bet you want me to use it on you.”
“Yes, sir.”
You don’t need to lubricate it; the alligator has already provided an ample supply of his own brand. You position it on his tip, and encourage him to thrust into it. Normally, with a tail like his, laying on his back this way was more trouble than it was worth. But, with you supporting his legs over the edge, his tail is free to lash and thump the floor like an irregular metronome and he and you work in tandem.
After long moment you take it away from him suddenly, the sudden lack of stimulation causes him to whine girlishly and thrust into the air fruitlessly.
“Not before me,” and you slide yourself into him.
As you begin to enjoy this smooth-bottomed twink, you come to realise this desk hadn’t budged an inch the whole time. Another subtlety that would have gone unnoticed if this had been an ordinary job. A desk like this had probably been commissioned to ensure even the entire heft of the security bull wouldn’t shake it. The ceiling of this room probably had convenient places to install an entire sex swing assembly with all the accessories if you felt so inclined.
Another thought comes to your mind and you notice that being a reptile, this guy didn’t have any nipples. Just a smooth expanse over a weak chest. Poor guy would never get to experience getting them clamped, and he’d probably really enjoy that.
“If you cum before I do, you will be punished.”
He nods, then his head goes back again as your cock rubs his prostate again. He’s able to arch his back for you like this to ensure it strikes with each thrust. His chances of not blowing his load were low already, but they became slim to none when you reintroduce the masturbator.
His tongue is out now, mouth wide open. He’s swiftly also panting in a desperate attempt to comply with your command. With his only experience being whatever toy he had at home, it becomes all too much for him very, very rapidly.
Several shuddering spurts splatter his pale-yellow front with globs of fresh white. His hole clenches around you with each one. He looks up at you, perhaps expecting harsh words. You are not like that, but you did tell him he would still be punished.
Lunch arrived and so too did Blackthorn. What he found inside your darkened office was a nude alligator bouncing on your lap. At the end of his long mouth, where his nostrils were, were a set of red skimpy underwear. They had been tied so that the scalie was forced to breathe in the smell and be unable to open his jaw. As strong as their downward strength was, it did not take much to keep them shut.
You were only missing your shirt at this point.
“Who’s this?” Theodore Blackthorn asks, amused by the sight.
“I don’t know his name, I haven’t asked yet,” you admit “tell Mr Blackthorn here you name, girl.”
“’Omash.” Came the muffled reply.
“Afternoon then, Mr Thomas,” Blackthorn answered, as if this was a regular everyday occurrence that was an impossibility in most polite societies. “Mr Anon and I had a lunch appointment. So, I am afraid we’re going to have to let you get back to your desk.”
You nudge your knee a little harder to encourage Thomas onto his shaky clawed feet and let go of his hands which you had pinned in place with your own. You slip the masturbator off him with a sticky sucking noise. “Clean this and bring it back after lunch.”
Thomas nods, trying to avoid eye contact with the imposing form of your manager while freeing his nose from the fabric with his own scent on it.
“As for this…” you grip the metal base that was flush with his anus and extract it slowly. It takes a solid second for his hole to contract back to a reasonable diameter, during which some of your own cum dribbled out of it. “You can keep it, as a little treat.”
The expression on his face told you what you already knew, it was like his birthday had come early this year. The best gifts were the ones someone wanted, but wouldn’t buy for themselves. His time in your office was something he had also thoroughly enjoyed; a reward for a task well done, no matter how small it had been.
Blackthorn simply leant against the doorframe as Thomas scampered out of the room and you made yourself presentable once more. “He’s cute, reminds me of my boyfriend a little,” he remarked casually once he was out of sight “he’s going to treasure that little lump of chrome.”
“Confidence is in great supply with a lot of the lawyers, but it’s a tricky commodity to move about to everyone else. I think that’s the real superpower of the HDG.”
“Not the fact it’s like mind control?”
“I don’t think it works like that, from what brief experience I’ve had with it so far, it’s more like if they have even the tiniest crack in their armour it finds it immediately.”
“Which is functionally the same thing. Come on, let’s get an apple.”
The canteen still had the hustle and bustle of before, but fewer heads turned to see if you were real. The fact you had turned up for day two meant that everyone else was playing it cool in hopes of being selected. No need to ruin their only first impressions. Popularity on this scale was still an alien concept to you and it probably would take some time to fully sink in. Maybe it never would. You would just wake up each morning with terrible imposter syndrome as cosmic balance to the sheer good fortune that had been dumped in your lap.
For now, Theodore was acting a bit like Jupiter to Earth, deflecting unwelcome attention asteroids from you and letting them fall into his own ego’s huge gravity well. You couldn’t deny it; he handled fame better than you. It seemed to empower him because the apple couldn’t be providing enough calories.
“So tell me,” you say, leaning back in your chair, “why law, of all things? Don’t tell me you were one of those prodigies who wanted to argue with teachers for a living.” You wield the cereal bar in your hand like a cigar, swirling it around for added emphasis.
Blackthorn’s ears flicked. “Which do you think it is? Prestige, power or the thrill of shaping the world in one’s image?”
“I see three coconut shells and the ball isn’t under any of them. So, I’d wager none of those are true.”
He gave a single resonant chuckled. “It would be true enough for polite company.”
You roll your eyes. “Humour me.”
He set the apple down. It rolled slightly, then stopped against the curve of his wrist. His vision becomes less focused as his sight looks inwards. “I remember the day one of my classmates shoved me in the playground. What annoyed me wasn’t that it happened, what annoyed me was how he lied about it immediately afterwards. My hooves were scuffed, his were not. To me, it seemed obvious who was at fault. But what angered me was how the teacher took his side and didn’t hear me out.”
You study him. His tone is steady, but the measured cadence of his speech has softened.
“So,” he continues, “I decided to make a life where truth couldn’t be taken away. Law seemed like the safest place to keep it. The rules are written, the words mean what they mean, and if you’re clever enough, the truth wins.”
“You became a lawyer because you didn’t like being wrong?”
His eyes narrow, amused. “Because I was tired of being told I was wrong,” he corrects quietly. “It’s not quite the same thing.” The apple still sits between his hands, almost forgotten. He looks almost uncertain of what to do with it.
You snatch it up and take a bite out of it before he can object. In turn he pilfers it back from your grip easily and bites over where your lips had been, for that extra sweet taste.
He savours it and swallows. “You should come to the gym with me some time.”
“Is that a veiled insult to my otherwise perfect self?” you respond wryly.
“More that with your condition, you may find it difficult to know if you have genuine friends amongst anthros, as opposed to gene-addled sycophants.”
That idea had been forming in the back of your mind. It would be strange to be the object of desire, but not love. A series of endless hookups, and no dates. Some would enjoy that forever, but not you.
“And you think the gym is the best place for that?” You had been to a gym, once or twice. You understood the general principles at play there. When the weight was down, you lifted it up. Sometimes you rotated it and if you were feeling frisky you could also pull it back and forth. There was a certain irony you could enjoy also, such as driving 10 miles to walk on a machine.
“The gym is a nice social experience and, more importantly, well ventilated. Anything else is covered by the smell of sweat and feet. Even if you stood next to someone, they’d have to have their muzzle pressed into your armpit to know you carry the gene.”
You didn’t need the gym per se, you enjoyed sitting at the top of the bell curve for average body types. You briefly imagine your body as trim and immaculate as Blackthorn’s. You weren’t going to deny he and it were an attractive idea, but both were a lot of work. Even so, you could go once a week, break up your sedentary lifestyle and add a few more years to your life. More importantly, a few more years of good physique, which you’ll need if you intend to fuck your way through the firm and beyond.
“There is another thing to consider which you probably haven’t before,” the horse’s velvety voice brought you back to the canteen “and that is networking. I saw your employment history, and you have never had the need to do it before. But you do now.”
You frowned. Networking was one of those words managers used before handing you more work for the same pay. It conjured images of insincere smiles and business cards. And you weren’t a lawyer anyway.
Blackthorn leaned back, folding his arms. “It’s not what you think. It isn’t just for lawyers, or the ambitious. Even an admin clerk benefits from being known. If people know your face, then you exist beyond your desk. When an opportunity floats by, or a crisis needs fixing, the people who remember you are the ones who decide whether your name comes up or not.”
You hadn’t thought much of it before. In the human world, you showed up, did the work, went home. The lie they all told each other was meritocracy. But it wasn’t, not really. Merit was silent; familiarity spoke louder.
“And the gym?” you asked.
“The gym’s just an excuse,” Blackthorn said. “It’s where people let their guard down. Sweat, grunt, curse – then talk. You’ll learn more about someone on a treadmill than you ever will in a meeting. And I enjoy going.”
In many respects, it made sense. While it was true for humans for a lesser extent, many of the anthros ultimately descended from herd animals. Be part of the herd, be accepted. Be accepted, be valued. You had a new life here, you could reinvent yourself right now.
You pause for a bit. Some fundamental part of you disliked the gym. It wasn’t the exercise, it was the idea that you had a fault that could, and thus needed, to be fixed. ”You can always quit,” offered the committee ”Quit in front of all your new colleagues.” you retort back at them.
Screw your doubts. Confidence had gotten you this far. “Fine, sure. I’ll go. It’s not like I can’t afford it now.”
“You don’t sound all that keen?”
“I don’t think I am used to people being this forward and direct. Even with the whole hidden HDG thing you lot had going on. It’s…strange.”
Blackthorn chuckled softly. “You humans are funny creatures. You think of yourselves as individuals, but you spend half your lives terrified of what the rest of you might think. One mistake, one bad impression, and you never forget it, nor let anyone else forget it. That’s your real herd instinct: grudges. You don’t forgive. You catalogue.”
You can only nod apologetically. Your two societies did have a number of reasons to live apart, after all.
“We’ll go on Thursday. I’ll give you enough time to get some gym gear. I know you already know where the shops are.”
This time it was his turn to get up and leave before you could object. He’d given you an order, and somehow made it sound like a favour. The fiendish foal. He was a good lawyer.
Your office beckoned, you answered the call. An actual job-related task had fallen into your inbox. The advantage with the sort of spreadsheets you come across is that unlike a specialised job, the request was something you could always puzzle out. This was your original plan to earn money for a living before you even had the notion of the HDG.
It was certainly more of a challenge than what you had seen before, by quite a margin. The email chain that had accumulated under it also spoke of the troubles the others were having. Your suspicions around being given false and easy busy-work on the first day in the event you where an attractive dunce grew more concrete as you tried to parse the data.
This was the world that wasn’t advertised or spoken about. The secret life of anthros was a funny parody of the human one. Legal jargon and corporate lingo still existed, and was still as stupid as what you were used to. Both of the worlds still used the phrase “Barking up the wrong tree,” unironically. It was hard to take it all seriously at times.
This was a test. Live fire training to see what the upper limits of your skill was. You give a single short bark of a laugh to yourself. Humans were merciless and the job market for cushy office jobs was the most competitive thing outside of the Olympics. You’d seen worse than this, and fixed it in less time.
This time however, you had no distractions. You had your own office, eaten lunch, and even had a solid fuck little more than an hour ago. No wonder they wanted a human around. You set to work. You pause only once, to allow the sheepish alligator to return with the toy, freshly cleaned from spunk.
You give him your best “maybe next time” look and return to your work.
After giving him a quick playful spank on the way out, of course.