Frau Alpert and the Office Bore

He has his wunderwaffe.

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Copyright © 2007, Michael M Wayman

Every office has one. He pesters all the women in the office. He boasts of his conquests; he has his wunderwaffe. He wants to take all the women home with him or worse. He tells the new girls to dance on the table and brings them to tears.

He once made disgusting suggestions to me at an office party. I told him that with a wunderwaffe like his, he should try his luck with men. He did not find this very funny. Fortunately he is not in my department and I have never worked with him. I call him Six-Foot because nothing about him is that big, not even his mouth.

It was a quiet time at the end of the year and it had been a good year. I had sent my team for a short break to the other side of the planet. The holiday without me was a reward for work well done. I thought it was worth it; the company paid half and I the other.

An unexpected call from my best client woke me up. I say my best client; it is in fact the best one my company has; they wanted a presentation in two days time. I could not do it alone; my team was gone and the only one available was Six-Foot.

I wrote the presentation that evening. The next day Six-Foot sat down opposite me at my desk and I explained very forcefully the importance of the client, the importance of the presentation, what he was going to do and that I was going to intensively coach him for the whole of that day.

I did not give him time to open his mouth. I made it very clear that he was going to do exactly what I said; he did not have to understand why or how or anything else – just do it.

I took him to a seminar room and did what was necessary to give eight weeks of training in eight hours. Oh, how I shouted at him, bullied him, insulted him, mistreated him. However he took it all without complaining. I think he was pleased to get the training.

We met at one of the those business hotels made of cardboard boxes on the edge of town. This was only place to be found so quickly. This was going to be a disaster. There were five people from the customer, I knew them well, and Six-Foot and me.

My opposite number at the customer said that unfortunately he could only stay for ten minutes; he had to go to a very important meeting. This was going to be a disaster.

I asked him what he was doing at the weekend. He said that it was a quiet time of the year and his company was having its big annual sales force jamboree in a swanky hotel. It started on Friday night, events all day Saturday and gala evening, and a big Ra!-Ra!-Ra! motivation breakfast on Sunday. Was I disappointed!

He said that he had booked a double room in my name for the Saturday and Sunday nights in the wellness hotel next door. “Oh, a thousand kisses!” Was I happier! Both our teams know about our relationship, but keep quiet about it – the management would not like it. Six-Foot had no idea about us two.

Despite everything the day went very well. I did my stuff, Six-Foot performed much better that I expected, and the customer bought the concept. The night was not going to be so good.

The six of us decided to celebrate in the hotel that evening; we were all staying the night. Of course I had not trained Six-Foot for this. Six-Foot started drinking. Six-Foot opened his mouth. Six-Foot said at great length what he was going to do with me that night. The four of them thought that it was hilarious; they really thought that the two of us had planned it – as a piece of entertainment. Groan!

Six-Foot was getting difficult. I walked with Six-Foot to his room. Hopefully he would sleep the night and the next day through. Hopefully I would never see him again. He managed to open the door of his room, I was watching him.

Suddenly he came alive, he grabbed me and pushed me through the door. He locked the door from the inside and stuffed the key in his pocket. Six-Foot opened his mouth. Six-Foot said at great length what he was going to do with me.

I decided not to shout and cause a commotion in the hotel, a bad idea. Nor was I going to make the mistake of trying to dig the room key out of his pocket.

Six-Foot rushed at me, I moved to one side, and he ran into the curtains that covered one wall of the room. Each curtain, one by one, fell from the ceiling and draped itself on top of him.

I had been drinking fruit juice all evening and needed to wind down. Six-Foot was providing the floor show and his mini-bar the drinks. I poured myself a double something. Six-Foot took his time to separate himself from the curtains.

Six-Foot charged me again. This time I had no need to move. He missed me and rushed into the bathroom. There was a noise like someone dropping drawers of cutlery. Did he want to star in a slapstick movie? I drank a double something else and another one.

Six-Foot did not come out of the bathroom. Perhaps it would not be a good idea if a colleague of mine were to be found dead in a hotel room. I looked into the demolished bathroom. Six-Foot was lying in the shower; he was still breathing but unconscious.

I could or should have left him there but curiosity got the better of me. I put the lavatory brush across his chest, pushed my arms under his arms from behind him and grasped the brush handle.

I dragged him backwards out of the wreckage and onto the bed. I took the clean white shirt that was hanging up for the next day and wiped the blood from his head; he was still breathing.

What would I do if he woke up again? Tie him up of course! I pulled his jacket and shirt over his head and used them to tie his hands; I tied his trousers around his ankles.

Well, what a surprise! Six-Foot's wunderwaffe was just regular size, nothing special. I was totally unsurprised. The next drink was a mixture of goodness knows what from the mini-bar.

Six-Foot opened his eyes and looked at me with fright. I shoved a pair of his underpants in his mouth. I was feeling vicious. I won't tell you what I did with the brush. I impaled myself on him and was ruthless. Time for another drink. I stared at Six-Foot.

Frank, you should be grateful to me, very grateful. I've given you the orgasm of your life. I've almost doubled the size of your wunderwaffe, and I've given you THE story to tell in the office. How you got your way with that stuck-up bitch in the prima donna department. Oh, what a tale to tell.

But no, Frank, you are not grateful at all. I can see right through you. You won't boast of it to anybody. You are scared silly of me. You will never go near me again. You will avoid me. You think that I might pick you up and throw you against the wall. Why should I bother? You've already run into the wall twice. You can do that all by yourself.

Frank, you look ridiculous, all tied up like that. Pull yourself together!

We are going to make you ready for Xmas, Frank. Next we are going to rub salt and pepper all over you. And then you go in the oven. A big porpoise like you is going to take over ten hours to cook.

Big problem – there is no oven big enough for a porpoise in here; not even a little one. Frank, you should complain about this; I think that next time, you should ask for a room with the right sized oven.

Frau Alpert was very tired. She sat on the side of the bed, finished her drink, and rolled Six-Foot off the bed. He landed with a painful thud on the floor and she clicked out the light.

The sequel is Jack to the rescue.