Seven Pi Taus: A Short Story
Booker's head wrenched backward, the belt wrapped around his neck tightening alarmingly, causing him to choke. The buckle dug painfully into his larynx, and rearing up, his fingers grappled frantically at the strap that was slowly suffocating him. But when a rough hand grabbed his erect cock and squeezed callously, a strangled scream spilled from between his lips, and he obediently dropped back to all fours. With his neck muscles visibly cording from the strain, he stared wildly at the ceiling with panic-stricken eyes and wondered if it was Holland’s plan all along to asphyxiate him and dump his body in the desert. It wasn’t as far-fetched as it sounded, after all, dead men told no tales, and he had enough information to put seven Pi Taus
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It was his first day back at work, and after spending the last three days holed up alone in his apartment, the cacophony of noise assaulting his ears grated heavily on his frayed nerves. He longed to turn around and flee to the sanctuary of his home, but he knew if he did, it would raise suspicion amongst his captain and friends. The last thing he wanted was unwanted visitors turning up on his doorstep and asking him if he was okay and interrupting his solitude. Except, he wasn’t being entirely honest with himself. There was one person he wished would knock on his door, but that person appeared to have vanished into thin air. After explaining he had things to do, Booker had not made contact for four days, and during that time, Tom had gone through a full range of emotions. First he had experienced the loneliness of abandonment, and he had wallowed in self-pitying misery for an entire day, staring morosely at the door, waiting for the knock that would signal his friend’s arrival. Next came anger, and he had stomped around his apartment, loudly cursing Booker for being such an inconsiderate prick. But when Sunday morning dawned, worry replaced his anger, and he had spent the day pacing the floor, procrastinating over whether to call his friend or let sleeping dogs lie.
It was his first day back at work, and after spending the last three days holed up alone in his apartment, the cacophony of noise assaulting his ears grated heavily on his frayed nerves. He longed to turn around and flee to the sanctuary of his home, but he knew if he did, it would raise suspicion amongst his captain and friends. The last thing he wanted was unwanted visitors turning up on his doorstep and asking him if he was okay and interrupting his solitude. Except, he wasn’t being entirely honest with himself. There was one person he wished would knock on his door, but that person appeared to have vanished into thin air. After explaining he had things to do, Booker had not made contact for four days, and during that time, Tom had gone through a full range of emotions. First he had experienced the loneliness of abandonment, and he had wallowed in self-pitying misery for an entire day, staring morosely at the door, waiting for the knock that would signal his friend’s arrival. Next came anger, and he had stomped around his apartment, loudly cursing Booker for being such an inconsiderate prick. But when Sunday morning dawned, worry replaced his anger, and he had spent the day pacing the floor, procrastinating over whether to call his friend or let sleeping dogs lie.