A Touch Of Lube (All Calls Are Monitored Book 2) Read online

  EPISODE TWO

  A TOUCH OF LUBE

  ALL CALLS ARE MONITORED

  J. J. HUNT

  Copyright © 2017 Joseph Hunt

  Text written under J. J. Hunt

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, copied, or stored in any form or by any means without permission of the author. Your respect and support of the author is appreciated.

  All characters, events, brands, companies, and locations in this story are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual people are purely coincidental. This book is satire based on experience of working in a corporate call centre.

  If you are under the age of eighteen (18), then you cannot read any further. This literature is of an adult nature, containing sexually explicit scenes and language unsuitable for anyone under eighteen (18).

  18+ ONLY

  ALL CALLS ARE MONITORED

  Not Safe For Work

  A Touch Of Lube

  Mr. Right Now

  Books by Joseph James Hunt

  A High School Romance

  Prom Queen of Disaster

  A Gay Coming Out/Love Romance

  Rumour Has It

  Welcome to Fling

  The #1 hook-up on the market.

  Meet people and rent pleasure rooms,

  But don’t get too close; it’s no-strings attached.

  HAVE A FLING TODAY

  Episode Two

  A TOUCH OF LUBE

  Ready for a new sensation?

  Don't go in dry.

  Visit Alexa and Max on the graveyard shift at Fling HQ. But when a crisis calls sex-deprived manager, Veronica, into the office after hours, her carnal desires take over and nobody is safe.

  Get ready to slip and slide into this disaster; a perfectly sticky way of having fun.

  A TOUCH OF LUBE is all you need.

  Join my mailing list and claim this exclusive free eBook!

  Welcome to Fling

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  About the Author

  ONE

  Max sat in his car, playing the adventurous game of match with men in the nearby area on Fling. His phone flashed white and a voice boomed through the speakers. “Are you having sex?” it said. He pushed back in his chair and with a jolt in his hands, he threw his phone in the air. The advertisement continued to play; a giant pink bottle of lube fell from the sky. “Are you only having okay sex?” The video flashed black and white to a couple in bed, both clothed with their arms crossed, clearly displeased with their experience.

  Max grumbled to himself. “Let me guess—”

  “Sensalube!” the voice boomed again.

  The black and white faded to colour. The couple gave a thumb’s up to the screen and large toothy smiles. “Thanks, Sensalube!”

  He jumped again at a knock on his car window. Dropping his phone to his feet at the peddles of his car. “Shit.” His face stared back at him in the glass reflection of the window, but before his heart could race through his chest, he noticed the moving figure of Alexa.

  “What are you waiting for?” her muffled voice asked.

  In the warm July night, Alexa wore a black biker jacket and a strappy black tank top and white leggings. Her hair, as always, was pushed back with a headband. Over her shoulder, she carried a large black bag. Max wore light blue acid-wash jeans and a striped black and white t-shirt.

  He chuckled, opening the car door. “We match.”

  “Great. But, importantly, did you grab pizza?”

  “Course, I got pizza.” He grabbed the hot pizza box from the passenger seat and handed it to her. “One sec. Need to grab my phone.” He rummaged by his feet, feeling around between empty discarded wrappers for his phone.

  Twice weekly, on a Friday and Saturday night, the Fling HQ in London was alive with calls and queries from chronic masturbators and sex addicts; people wanting to find someone to fling with and people who wanted help booking a room, other times, just people pleasuring themselves to you on the phone.

  “I’m so excited for the first all-nighter.”

  Alexa sniffed the box. “It better not be pineapple.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not crazy.”

  She scoffed. “You are if you’re excited for this shift. They call it a graveyard shift because it’s dead. Basically, responding to emails and flagging as follow ups.” She opened the lid of the box and squealed in excitement.

  Max locked his car. “Half and half.”

  The pizza was plain cheese and pepperoni, a fifty-fifty chance someone would like one or the other, or both if they weren’t picky. Pizza was always on the newbie for their first nightshift.

  Max glanced back at his phone to a screen asking if he wanted to purchase a bottle of the lube. He snorted through his nose. “Since when did they run ads on paid accounts?” he asked, showing Alexa his phone.

  Alexa looked at it and rolled her eyes. “They’re getting ad revenue. Or commission, must be a good deal.” They walked through the deserted carpark to the front of the business centre. “Deandra told me they’re testing a pay to disable ads service soon.”

  “And the members are okay?” Max asked.

  They both scanned their cards at the door, beeping as they entered the reception area. Light came from dim blue sconces above the reception desk and vending machines, but most of the light flooded in from the illuminated neon fish tank.

  Alexa shrugged. “Not really, but they haven’t had enough complaints to rethink.” She sniffed the pizza box once again. “They don’t deal with complaints, we do, so they wouldn’t even give a shit even if the members did complain.”

  Max hummed, pressing his top teeth into his bottom lip. “Really?”

  Alexa pressed the elevator call button. They waited for the ding and the large doors opened, flooding the reception area with light. Max was stepped back, shying his eyes behind a hand from the sheer harsh fluorescent light.

  “They don’t turn the lights on upstairs either,” Alexa said, balancing the pizza in one hand and pushing the elevator button with her free hand. “We have desk lights, but that’s about it. Like, what it would be like to work during a power cut. It’s nice and calm, most of the time, plus, too much light draws attention, and the last time that happened, someone tried to break in.”

  “What?”

  “Months ago,” she said. “Someone saw the lights on and tried to break in, luckily the alarm went off and the police came.” Alexa continued to press the button for the sixth floor, but the doors wouldn’t close. “Ugh, I’m not walking.”

  “Wait!” a voice called through to them from the reception, in the darkness they watched as a dark figure hurtled toward them. “Ah, just in time.” Jeffrey, their supervisor. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and pushed his nose under his armpit. “Tried to squeeze in a fling before the night shift, but there’s no viable vagina in the area.”

  Alexa’s lip curled. “Viable vagina?” she muttered to herself.

  Max cleared his throat. “It’s not working.”

  Jeffrey pulled out his card and swiped it across a sensor. “New security.”

  Alexa grumbled. “Wish someone would’ve told me.”

  He wiped his forehead again. “Mmhmm, pizza.” He lifted the lid, pressing his nose close and inhaling the smell. “I’m starved.” He grabbed a slice and rolled it up. “You know how many calories you can burn masturbating for forty-five minutes?”

  Max noticed the blank stare on Alexa’s face, not humoure
d by him. “Nope.”

  He scoffed the entire slice of pizza. “Me either. But I’m sure it’s a lot.” His cheeks bulged with the pizza inside. He reached into the box for a second. “So hungry.”

  Alexa helped herself to a slice and offered the box back to Max.

  The sixth floor of the business centre held the U.K. corporate offices for Fling, they owned the fifth and sixth floors, however, the fifth floor was full of servers and the IT department. The sixth floor housed everything else, from finance to marketing, but most importantly, the customer service team and offices of selected senior VPs.

  It was dead. Usually, the reception of Fling was a lively place to be with the welcoming face of Rosie, always one step away from jumping over her table and hugging everyone as they hopped out of the elevator.

  “I’ll request a delivery of coffee and pizza,” Jeffrey said after already eating a third slice, leaving one left for Alexa and Max. “I’ll buy us all a pizza each, but don’t tell Veronica, I’ll put it as company spending.”

  They walked through the reception area, and the corridor of offices through the double doors to the call centre. It was a large square, filled with windows and lined with glass office spaces. During the day, it was covered in light, and the same was true for the night, covered in darkness.

  The only solid stream of light came from the TV screens, projecting the numbers of call queuing and interactions waiting to be picked up. There were other numbers and statistics, but calls waiting was the most important.

  Alexa glanced at the number. “Shit.” She looked again. One-hundred and thirty-seven calls on the board in red for the U.K. lines and triple for the U.S.

  “Oh shit, shit, shit!” Jeffrey said, slack-jawed as he jumped around, forcing his way to the control centre in the middle of the office. It was where the control computers were; the essentials to running the call centre.

  “What’s happened?” Max asked between bites of pizza.

  Alexa tilted her head from side-to-side, looking at one of the screens. “Looks like the lines are being flooded with calls. That’s the U.K. line, and that’s the U.S. which we don’t really work, and it’s always busy.”

  “But why?”

  “Don’t ask questions, just get logged on,” Jeffrey called out to them as they dawdled to their office spaces.

  8:51 P.M and from their calculations, they had another nine minutes until they were being paid to be there.

  Max took a seat at his desk and turned the desk light on. He turned his and Alexa’s computer on, while she approached the control centre to the visibly heated red face of their supervisor, Jeffrey.

  She tapped the wall with her fingernail. “We’re not really here for calls.”

  “Yeah, you are.”

  “Like, really, really?”

  “Alexa, you’re being paid,” he said. “You’ll answer calls, you’ll sort emails, you’ll do what you’re being paid for.”

  “If I get an earful from an angry member, I’m going to escalate it,” she said, flicking her back. “You’re welcome.” She walked away, peeling off her jacket and placing it around her office chair.

  “What did he say?” Max asked.

  “Nothing useful.”

  They prepared themselves, getting their ears used to the warmth of the headset. Alexa pre-emptively took two painkillers for the inevitable headache she would receive. She offered some to Max but he pressed his lips and refused.

  “I’ll take them when need to.”

  “No fun, it’s not codeine.”

  They watched the clock for the second-hand, chiming through the minutes. Their hearts racing with fear they would be taking call after call, and as every minute passed calls were added to the queue.

  “Also, don’t escalate any calls, because they go to me,” she said, seconds before switching herself to available on the system.

  In the same instance they became available, their statuses were switched to inbound, and the painstaking beep shot through the headset. In synchronised speech, they spoke, thanking the member for their call.

  “My name is Max, and how can I assist you today?”

  He was met with a groan. “Fucking hell, finally, get your shit together,” a deep voice greeted him. “I’ve been on hold for twenty-three minutes.”

  “I apologise for your wait, sir,” Max said, taking slow and deep breathes, confrontation was never his strong suit, especially when met with swearing and aggression.

  Alexa was in the same situation. “Well, we don’t open until 9 P.M. but I do apologise you weren’t aware of this,” she said. “How can I assist you?”

  “Account 746731,” the woman on the call said.

  Account #UK746731 belonged to Stacey Drummer, a thirty-two-year-old support worker from the Welsh/English border. She’d so far attained a 3.4-star rating on the app from over twenty-nine successful flings, and three flings that were no-shows.

  After verifying her account, the woman sighed. “It’s burnt my bits,” she said.

  “I’m sorry,” Alexa said. “What’s burnt you?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “I’m afraid I cannot assist you if you’re unable to explain what it is you want,” she replied. “Was this someone through the app? If so, we would advise you to make a police report immediately, we advise all members to fight against abuse at all costs.”

  “No, it wasn’t someone, are you bloody stupid?” she asked.

  “I’m sorry, but please do not insult me,” Alexa said. “I do have to advise, if you continue with your aggressive behaviour I will have to terminate the call.”

  “You stupid cow,” she said under her breath.

  “I did warn you, Miss. Drummer,” Alexa said. “I’m disconnecting the call.” And with a swift click, the call was cut. Alexa sat back in her seat, sighing. There was a thirty second period between calls, which was far too little, where she should’ve noted the account.

  Max continued his call, getting flustered, with sweat beads on his forehead and brow. Although his many skills as an actor with very little professional training hadn’t helped, his addiction to watching Inside the Actor’s Studio was all he knew, and from the several episodes he’d watched, nothing prepared him for dealing with stress in real-life situations.

  He was speaking to Harriet Wick, a fifty-year-old woman from Devon. “Explain to me, why I am paying you all this money, and I keep getting shafted with your stupid ads,” she said. “I don’t want your fucking lube.”

  “I will pass your complaint along,” Max said in a meek voice, getting smaller and smaller the longer she ranted for.

  “I can use a stick of farmer’s fresh butter, I don’t need lube, and—” she paused to take a giant inhalation. “And I think it’s absolutely disgusting for you to think because I’m an older lady, I require a little more lubrication. Well, I don’t!”

  Max nodded, concern creased across his face. “I completely understand, and now, all I can do is apologise.”

  “Your apology means shit.” Beep, beep, beep. The call cut off, not by his hand, which he thought he had. A wave of relief bashed him in the face once she was out of his ear; like she was there, breathing on the back of his neck, commanding his attention.

  Thirty seconds passed, and with each passing second, tension gnawed in their stomach, there was nothing worse than being verbally attacked, especially when you couldn’t see their faces so they could treat you like a human being.

  TWO

  Fifteen minutes after taking call after call, they received emails through as Jeffrey placed the calls through an automated service, it allowed the customers to place complaints and advised them on the necessary steps to take if they wanted alternate services, but it only dealt with so many people, as most people hated automated services.

  The image of a rash around the base of a penis appeared on Alexa’s screen. She pushed her hands to her face, gagging at the sight of the blotchy redness. “This is vile,” she said, showing Max. He had the sam
e knee-jerk reaction of almost vomiting.

  She read the attached text aloud. “I purchased the lube you so fondly advertised on your app and website. I don’t have allergies. But this burned right through me. I want my money back, you greedy bastards. From Mr. L—oh and he has this footer with his online accounts.”

  Working customer service meant access to the essentials, Twitter, Facebook, etc. social media sites where the company thrived.

  Alexa visited the member’s Twitter account to see several posts about his penis and the burns, alongside several other distressing images he hadn’t attached. Each one of them tagged the Fling Twitter account, asking for a refund.

  “Uhhhh.” Max’s throat opened as a heat crawled from his insides. He looked at an image he’d received in his inbox; a collage of pictures, stitched together to create an eyesore of an image, detailing a woman’s lips, red and enflamed, followed by her inner thigh and vagina, covered in the same red sores. “Don’t look,” he said, only to pique Alexa’s interested and pull her focus directly to the screen.

  Alexa blinked rapidly, trying to delete the images from her mind, or worse, regurgitate the pizza she’d been eating. “Let me have a look at something,” Alexa said, clicking through a couple of unread emails to see they all had the same problem, each one was a picture of someone’s mangled and mutilated genitals. She pushed her hand to her lips, begging herself not to show weakness. “Jeffrey, we have a problem.” She jumped from her seat and waved at Jeffrey in the control centre.

  Jeffrey ushered her back to her seat and approached them. He carried a cardboard holder with Starbucks cups on top of a stack of three pizzas. “I have a recurring delivery every time I’m nightshift supervisor, totally forgot until they said they were outside.”

  Alexa and Max didn’t look impressed, and as they moved away from their computers to reveal the large alien red splurged across their screen, neither did Jeffrey.