Message-ID: <29089asstr$983110203@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Message-ID: <011401c09e99$d55c1320$e102fc3e@enterprise> Reply-To: "Hecate" From: "Hecate" X-Priority: 3 X-MSMail-Priority: Normal X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V5.50.4133.2400 Subject: {ASSM} <2ndS> The Server by {Joe} (MF, voy, job) Date: Sun, 25 Feb 2001 09:10:03 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: assm-admin <1st attachment, "The Server by {Joe}.txt" begin> The Server "'Ere! Don't bother trying to log in - the server's down this morning!" "Damn", I thought tetchily, "I knew getting out of bed this morning was a mistake." Out of habit I reached down to my PC's power button. I stopped myself before touching it. Glancing around, my eyes settled upon my expenses claim. After adding a final hurried signature I turned round with a flourish and headed for the door. "Is the copier down too? I don't suppose it's national `fix-the-office-equipment' day today, is it?" "No," the voice called as I opened the door, "but Carol's using it." "Damn!" I thought once more. "Carol eh? That's ok, I'm sure she won't mind letting me slip my little thing in between her sheets." I rather liked Carol. She was fun, but not in a `lets go and get ratted and shout at passers by' sort of way. She'd left that behind just a year or so before. She was the one who came and sat and talked to me at the Christmas Party as I sipped my third orange juice. She'd joined the company a year or so before me. Always efficient, and always smiling, even when she hassled me for my timesheets, which she did often. Some said I deliberately `forgot' to do them just so that she'd have to chase me up,. They weren't right, though they could have been. She was to be married soon, I didn't whom the guy was, but he was certainly lucky, no doubt he'd be able to name the soft hint of fragrance that she always carried about her. No doubt he'd know the effervescent thoughts that swirled behind her liquid eyes. I smiled as I approached the photocopier. She was there. Beyond her, the door of the server room stood firmly locked. "Do you mind if I slip one in?" "If I weren't getting married I'd think you were flirting with me!" I waved my expense claim form. She smiled back, half-laughing, and pressed the interrupt button. The copier stopped its rhythmical shish- stick and, with a final whimpering whirr calmed its self. Carol held out her hand to me. "Its ok, I can do it." "No, I'll do it for you. If you do it you'll mess up my piles," she said with a laugh. "Come on, hand it over!" Her warm scent melded bizarrely with the strident rasp of ozone. I did as she asked. Turning the single sheet over she placed it in the feeder. With an indelicate thrust of her finger she sent it chasing into the machinery. "Do you know when the server'll be up?" I asked feigning innocence. She laughed "Soon," she said, trying to restrain herself, "very soon." "What happened?" "I don't know. It was down when I got her this morning." "Wasn't it supposed to be doing a back-up last night?" I asked, hoping to appear professional. "Yes, I think it was." I walked to the door and peered thorough the small square wired-glass window. There, to the side of the comms patch-panel, sat the server. Such a small thing for a company to rely on I thought. "Is the server man coming?" Carol burst out laughing, her laugh barely rising above the steady rhythm of the copier as over and over it slew paper out. "What's so funny?" She gave no answer, and handing me my now copied claim, waved me away. Shaking my head I walked off, leaving Carol to her laughter. I was sitting at my desk, looking blankly at my dead PC screen, sipping a coffee when the shout went up. "Carol! The Server's here!" "Funny..." I thought. I put down my cup and walked towards the door. Before I reached Carol bustled past, ignoring me. She let the door swing shut in my face. "Thanks!" I called. Turning away I went to the nearby admin office. "She's a bit keen isn't she." "Yes, she is," blushed one of her colleagues. "So what's the deal? Is she THAT keen to receive her e-mail?" "No, she's keen to see The Server." The tone of voice told me that all was not what it seemed. "Yes," added another hushed voice from a mouth lowered as if to hide what it said, "I'd be that keen to receive The Server's mail anytime." "Is it me or is something going on here?! What's all this about the server?" "No, not the server. The Server..." "What?" "No, no what: who!" "The server's a who?" "Yup. He certainly is." I was confused. It showed. "Don't tease the poor boy! The IT guy who comes to fix the server -everyone calls him The Server." In a land with relatively few names it was common for people to be known by their profession - Dai the Bread, Jones the Coal. It was only a matter of time, I supposed, that the concept should be brought up to date: Stu the Satellite Dish and Dave the Server. Then again, my upbringing betrayed me as images of a white cotter-clad, candle carrying youth setting up RAID controllers sprang into my mind. I shrugged it off and left shaking my head as I returned to my desk. All that did not explain why Carol was so eager to meet this `Server' guy. I considered eating something from my lunch as the following minutes crept by. Everything, every part of my working life revolved around that hidden machine, the server. The sooner it was up, the sooner I could get on, but it wasn't sooner at all. It was to be nearly an hour before `The Server', stuck his head around the door and announced that the server was up and running. He didn't say what had happened, just that it was now running. I switched on my PC and, after yet another age for the thing to boot, I logged on. Life had returned to normal. I printed off something to send to a supplier. When I got to the printer to collect it I remembered that I needed another copy for myself. I could have gone back and printed another off, but thinking Carol might still be at the copier, I decided to take a photocopy. Even as I left the office I knew the copier was not busy. When I reached it, it stood silent, its work done, its products stacked neatly in the trays of the collator. The original lay face down, a half-inch thick wad of paper, in the collector. Carol was not there. Unlike others she didn't smoke, so couldn't be outside in the miserable drizzle grabbing a quick drag. I'd not seen her come back into the office either. It was not like her to leave work lying around like that. I checked to see that it was here work. Yes, it was the same document I'd seen her copying earlier. Then I heard her name. At least I thought I heard her name there, somewhere in the background. It was far off. no, it was close, but quiet. Then I heard the server room door tap in its frame. I went to the door and looked in through its small window. I was nothing, it was dark, blocked by something. The door knocked again, louder this time, banging hard. I heard a muffled cry and the door shook. I heard her name again, repeated this time: "O Carol, O Carol." The door thumped again, I started, pulling back in surprise. The window suddenly lightened as whatever had been covering was dragged away. I stared, transfixed by what I saw. Bodies, intertwined and upright. Legs around legs, arms holding thighs high, buttocks, hair and thrusting. A face, a woman's face, her face, Carol's face, eyes tight shut, lips open and gasping, chin and cheeks on the other's shoulder. The buttocks pumped at her body, a man's hands clasped under her bare, stretched thighs, holding her up against the white wall. Her dark hair fell over another's head, covering it. In, in, in. Over and over she was thrust into the wall. Her voice began to flood the tiny room with cries barely audible through the thick fire door. I could imagine her driving aroma, every bit as hard as the pounding her hips were taking, filling the room and my head. She saw me. Her eyes opened and she saw me, our eye met, each staring into the other. I could not believe she was doing what she was doing, and I hoped she could not believe I was there, watching. Abruptly the buttocks rhythm changed. In three sharp upward movements they forced her higher up the wall. Then, pinning her hard against the wall they stilled, shaking and rippling. They jolted twice, then were still. I heard someone approaching. Instinctively I turned away from the scene in the server room and thrust a few of the sheets back into the copier and hit the go button. The copier drowned the few passionate moans that filtered through the server room door. The person walked by. My heart pounded with fear and guilt. I could not help myself but go back to the door when they were gone. I saw the buttocks swing back from her well-pounded hips. I saw a few milky drops slip from her hair- darkened cleft before the hands released her quivering thighs. I saw the buttocks be replaced by a head. I saw her stand before it, her ribcage rising and falling heavily, her nipples pouting prominently. I couldn't help but watch; I couldn't help it. And she couldn't help but stare back, open- eyed but unseeing, all absorbed by the feelings, welling up, flowing through and coming over her. I longed to be in there with her, sharing her thoughts, feeling what she felt. The head that gave her those feelings thought different. When it saw me I fled. The following day I arrived as normally as I could. Carol came up to me as I switched on my PC. She said nothing, though surprisingly she didn't try to avoid my gaze. She handed me an envelope. I put it in my pocket, not daring to open it for days. That Sunday I eventually did. It was a wedding invitation, her wedding. I went. It was an interesting affair, as interesting as they can be when you hardly know anyone. The groom was a nice enough guy, even though I'd never met him either. All through the service I wondered. I wondered what epithet they'd have given him, `John the Writ' perhaps. Later I learned that they had indeed updated those names, they'd have called the IT guy `Dave the Goat'. Funny that, I never did see him at that wedding.... Joseph Lawrence, copyright 2001 <1st attachment end> ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. The post was sent as an email attachment and has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software. ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+