Even with Hannah nearby, her words continued to haunt John's work as he struggled through expanding the new sections. Everything felt wrong, but he managed to push it aside at least to fill in the sections with the rough ideas before going back to refine them.
He had just gotten into a groove of writing when a knock on the door interrupted him. He jumped in surprised as an instant feeling of dread draped over him. He didn't relish being insulted by Hannah again.
“You got a package, John.” It was Erin Porter, the Assistant Professor and another member of the department.
“Thank god,” John muttered underneath his breath. Then he spoke louder. “Come on in.”
It could be a lack of girlfriends, but Erin was another distraction of John's. She didn't have the voluptuous figure of Hannah, but her beauty looked more like a painting: smallish breasts that pushed up from her blouse, full hips that begged to be grabbed from behind, and a warm smile that drew his eyes to her lovely mouth. She wore a button-down shirt and a pair of slacks, a conservative outfit that matched well with her reddish hair.
She carried a heavy-looking box. With a grunt, she leaned it to the side and stared pointedly at his desk.
“Oh, sorry.” John carefully relocated his piles of papers and statues away from her to give her room setting it down. When she bent over to place it, he caught a hint of her nipples sticking out from the thin material of her blouse.
“This just came in. The label is hard to read, but you're the only John in this building so I assumed it was the books you ordered last week.”
He frowned momentarily. “Yeah, but I never got a shipping notice.”
“Maybe they forgot?” She tapped the box. “It's really heavy, it has to be books. Nothing is heavy as books. Anything good?”
“I hope so. A bunch of letters during the era from Yale's collection: pretty much the entire section of books that indicated they had writings in the margin, a third edition copy of Letters From the River, and what I assumed was another copy of Vermont in the Making but some annotations from the original writer.” He chuckled. “Though, I found my original copy this morning.”
Erin pushed her short hair over her left ear. “Yeah, that would make it a heavy box of books. You want empty it and let me take it recycling. I was about to meet my sister before she finishes her lunch hour and heads back to Foggy's and I can take the empty box on the way out.”
John thought about Olivia and then up at Erin. To his surprise, there was a resemblance between the two of them. “I… I didn't realize anyone else went to Foggy's.”
“Well, she got a job there a little while back. Since she's so close, I try to visit her to keep her spirits up.”
“Olivia?”
Erin's smile could light up the room. “You know her?”
He thought about she barely remembered him. “Not really, she was there when I got tea earlier today. She knew I liked sugar and milk.”
“She's a good girl girl, just having a little bad luck. I mean, no one wants to be a barista for a living.” Erin grinned and then tapped the box. “Well, open it up.”
John grabbed a pen from his desk, jammed it into the seam, and tore it down the middle.
“No grace there. I thought you British people were supposed to be graceful.”
He shrugged. “It works. Besides, we are responsible for most of the atrocities in many countries. I doubt grace is something I would use to describe us.”
Reaching down, he pulled it open and then stared at the particle board underneath. It appeared to be a wooden box inside the cardboard one. “What in the bloody hell?”
Erin leaned over. She had a fruity perfume that teased him. “How much did you pay for shipping!?” she gasped.
“Apparently too much.” He tapped on the corner that had been cracked. “And yet not enough. Good thing I wasn't paying by the stone.”
John tugged on the cracked corner of the wooden box and it came off in his hand. Inside, there was black foam that was also crushed. Some of it glistened. Curious, he reached out and pulled it open. It was sticky and wet on his fingers as he pried out a chunk.
Instead of books, there were bottles of something. The one in the corner looked like it had been cracked with the contents spilled out into the foam. He leaned to the side and then reached it to pull the bottle free.
Something sharp cut into his fingertip. “Shit,” he muttered and yanked his hand back. It was only a moment but blood was already welling out of shallow cut. “Bloody hell.”
Erin let out a sudden shuddering breath that sounded strangely like a moan. He looked up to see her eyes had gone unfocused for only a second. Then she shook her head. “Oh… you smell nice….” Then her eyes drifted down. “Oh, blood. Let me get a bandage, I know where they are!”
She spun and hurried out of the room.
John stared at her in confusion, what was that comment about smelling nice? Then he grabbed a napkin from his drawer to wrap his finger before returning to the box. Gingerly, he pulled more of the foam apart until he could ease the broken bottle out of the container. His hand glistened with the liquid that had soaked into the foam and he worried that he was pulling out acid or some neurotoxin.
When he didn't start screaming in agony or just drop over dead, he carefully rotated the glass bottle to read the neatly printed but soaked label. It was just a lot of written symbols arranged in a chemical formula that required a higher level of chemistry than he had ever taken. At least, he knew that nothing good came of a formula with that many parts to it. The corner of the label caught his attention, “Dr J Woods, Dartmouth College, Medical Sciences”.
“Well, that explains it,” John said to himself. “The wrong John Woods.”
Even as he said it, sweat prickled his brow and his chest began to ache. The feature of poison rose up. He rubbed his fingers on his pants to try getting off the moisture while he sat down to bring up the staff directory. His mind helpfully started into doom scenarios as he found the other John and then dialed his number.
As he listened to the ringing, he kept rubbing his hand on his pants. He tried to think if he had hand sanitizer or something stronger.
Erin came back. “Here you go.”
She came around his desk, with the bandage in her hand. Then, she stopped and did a double take.
John looked up, a phone in his hand and his cut finger pressed against his jeans. There was something about her eyes, a glassy looked that somehow took on a different tone as she took in a deep breath. Her nostrils flared for a moment and then her lips slowly parted.
“Here,” she said in a much softer tone. Then, to his surprise, she slowly sank to her knees in front of him. “Let me get that.”
Maybe it was his recent thoughts or a lack of girlfriend, but seeing a beautiful woman kneeling in front of him brought a surge of inappropriate thoughts flooding through his mind. There was no way he was living out a porn video, but for a brief moment, all he could think about was her lips on his now-hard cock.
Erin reached up and rested her palms against his knees.
His cock surged painfully against his jeans, bulging out his pants.
She rested the bandage and antibiotic on his knee and then carefully unwrapped both. Her movements were slow and she kept taking deep breaths. Even from his vantage place, he could see her eyes drifting toward his crotch, thought it was hard as he watched her tits rising and falling.
The door at the end of the hall opened up and Hannah's voice came bouncing down. “I don't care if you were in the room, those idiots are one step away from an active shooter scenario and I'm not going to put my babies in there.”
“Mom,” said a younger woman, “we're sixteen.”
“We aren't exactly babies anymore,” said another woman.
Even though John had never met them, he could tell Hannah's twin daughter's voices almost immediately. They were softer and more musical, but they had the same accent and quality.
Erin's fingers brushed against his inner thigh, well away from his hand but dangerously close to his aching hardness.
He tensed as he looked down. Her head was bowed over him, almost as if she was blowing him, as she carefully wrapped his finger in the bandage.
Hannah stopped in front of his office, did a double take. “What the fuck!?” she snapped before storming in. “What the hell is going on!? Who's feet are those!?”
John's cheeks burned as her daughters squeezed in after her. Both were younger versions than their mom, though one had her mother's large bust and soft curves while the other was a slimmed-down version. All three wore the same type of wire-frame glasses.
Still on her knees, Erin looked up with a gasp. “Professor?”
“What in the hell are you doing on your knees in here?”
John's cock should have shriveled at the accusing tone, but it only got harder. He wanted to cover it, but it would have been too obvious.
Erin held up the remains of the bandage. “He got cut on a bottle.”
“And you had to blow him while putting it on?” Hannah's voice beat against the walls, shrill and piercing. She came around. Her padded hip bumped Erin as she reached down and grabbed John's wrist. With her fingers digging into his skin, she pulled it up.
John winced as he shifted in his position. Her rough yanking pulled him closer to the edge and his face was almost dragged into her cleavage.
One of her daughters, the slender one, giggled.
“You call this a cut? Please, a piece of paper does worse when…” Her voice softened as she stared at it. Then, her chest rose as she took a deep breath. The barely hint of her top rubbed against his nose, bringing the flowery scent of her perfume. “Then… then….” Her voice trailed off.
Her finger tightened on his grip.
John winced. “Could you let go? That hurts.”
Hannah didn't move. Instead, her eyes grew more unfocused as her body seemed to freeze. Her sudden deep breath caused the front of her breasts to bump against his face, a soft padding that brought a new surge of heat to his length and a burn on his cheeks.
John glanced over to the door to where the two daughters were standing. Both of them had the same look on their face as they stood there, the air from the conditioner plucking at their hair and clothes. They were almost breathing in unison, taking it deep as if they were sniffing perfume.
Hannah's fingers relaxed and slid down his arm. He started to pull, but then she drew it back up. The motion was unusual, but then she stroked down as if she was pumping his hand.
With Erin's hand on his knee and Hannah jacking his arm like a cock, he couldn't help but think about sex. His cock grew even harder, grinding against his jeans. He tried to squirm, but he was just as transfixed at the other two women.
The door at the end of the hallway creaked as it opened again. Olivia, still in her Foggy's outfit, and another woman came in. They walked forward, slowing down to peer into Erin's office, before they looked up.
Closer, it was easy to see how both of them were related to Erin. They shared the same hair color and facial features. The newcomer was almost as curvy as Erin; compared to her, Olivia was a slender beanpole.
Erin's fingers curled over his knees, gently increasing the pressure on the inside. He could feel his leg starting to part and he found himself in a position where he desperately wanted to be somewhere else at the same time wishing no one was wearing any clothes.
Olivia leaned into his office. “Have you seen Erin… oh my god!” Her eyes were wide as she stared at her kneeling sister in front of him. Then she reached out and grabbed the newcomer's hand and pointed to his desk.
The newcomer looked around, somehow missing Erin as she looked over Hannah and then to her daughters. The front of her blouse strained at her breasts and he could see how the wrinkles accented her hips in the trousers. She had some sort of badge on her waist but he could only read “Veterinarian” on it.
Olivia smacked the other woman again. “Look!”
“At what?” snapped the newcomer.
“Christine, our sister is blowing that guy.”
The entire room gasped at the words that filled the room. Then Christine's eyes widened as she stared. “Oh my god, Erin!”
“I'm helping him with a bandage! He cut himself,” she said but made no effort to stand up or take her hand away from his upper thigh. Her hand kept the pressure on his knee, drawing it further apart.
Hannah finally stirred as her eyes came into focus. She shook her head and stepped away, the heat from her breasts fading with the distance. “I-I… I need to get to my office.”
She pushed her way past the four women at the door to his office.
Her daughters started after her but the curvier one stopped to wave at him with a smile on her own.
“Ester!”
Ester rolled her eyes and then gave him a smile. “I like your cologne,” she said before trailing after her mother.
“Oh,” Olivia said as she took a deep breath. A ghost of a smile cross her face. “I… never noticed that before. It smells really good.”
Christine didn't say anything, but she leaned on the door with her eyes half-closed. She licked her lips as she stared at her sister who said nothing as she leaned back on the door.
Erin's hand inched up toward his aching hard-on.
Christine finally stirred. “Erin, not work appropriate.”
Erin froze.
“You don't see me jacking off my coworkers.”
Olivia snorted. “You work with three women and your customers are all dogs and horses.”
“Maybe I like women too?”
“Yeah, that's the day. My half-sister munching on rugs. You like the cock and you know it.”
Christine gasped. “Olive!” Then she looked sharply at John as her cheeks colored. Slowly, she reached up and pushed her hair over her ear—it was a gesture much like Eric, her apparent sister.
The ribbing somehow broke the tension. Erin stood up and tugged down on her shirt, giving him a brief view of hard, puffy nipples. “You… I should probably be get going,” she said with her cheeks burning.
Without waiting for his response, she hurried out.
Her sisters followed after her, not without both of them giving him appraising looks. They smiled at each other before following after their sister.
In a matter of seconds, John was alone with a hard-on and a fresh bandage. He looked around and then sighed. “What the bloody hell is going on?”
He groaned and mentally prepared for the inevitable visit from human resources that would do doubt happen right before he was fired.