It wasn’t much longer until I heard the telltale creak of the chamber door. I’d been wiped after fucking Eric’s ass, not to mention all of the arduous cleaning I’d accomplished that morning. I was glad to see Matt’s study frame standing in the threshold, outlined in the fluorescent lights of the tiled shower. He peered inside, allowing a few seconds to adjust to the darkness, before sharply turning his head.
“Woah dude, I don’t need to see all that! Get dressed man, jeez.”
I was almost too exhausted to process Matt’s complaint. I grabbed my jock, pulling it on and cringing at the soaking patch of cool precum. I donned my shorts and tank top lazily before crawling over to the door. Only the firm outline of my time card in my shorts pocket reminded me to clock out at the scanner. I said my goodbye to Eric, wondering how the rest of his shift would go, and whether the prison guards might give him an easier time that night because of it.
Matt ushered me out while no guys were using the communal showers. He said that while guys are growing accustomed to the bioshowers, its best not to remind them there’s another human down there. More likely it was so no meatheads threw a fit about getting sucked off by a fag.
I followed Matt around the corner, down the hallway that held the bioshowers and over towards the lockers. It was a nice perk that I got to watch his toned ass in those joggers. I could see a couple guys at the lockers, though they were mostly dressed in gym clothes and preoccupied with their bags. Matt stopped at a locker on the closest wall, one of the larger ones reserved for trainers.
“I just finished my shift too, so I need to get cleaned up.” He peeled off his shirt, which had plastered itself to his wide back. “You can show yourself out if you want, just be here 6 am Wednesday. That timecard grants you access to the gym starting 15 minutes prior to opening. Don’t be late, or they might start forming a line.”
I wanted to keep watching as he continued to undress, but he turned and asked if I had any more questions. I said no, thanked him, and took the polite sign to stop bothering him. Stepping out into the bright afternoon sun, I noted my half-erection at the idea of Eric licking Matt’s fit, built body.
I slept for ten hours once I’d got home. When I woke, I chugged a half-gallon of water to soothe the scratchy soreness in my throat and napped for another few hours. After a meal and a joint, I was feeling close to operational again.
My first step was to search for public information on Vettera. Initial searches turned up very little: vettera.com redirected to cereslabs.com. I found one news article from a month ago announcing its formation. Back then, the journalist described it as a social media campaign. I looked through the linked posts, each of them a generic shot of humanitarian aid in African nations. It appeared that Vettera was a charity subsidiary of the the biotech conglomerate focused on media outreach. The journalist concluded their piece with an optimistic platitude about how far generosity can take you, but I was less upbeat. Furthermore, I found nothing to explain the company’s transition to a bioshowers employer.
I tried to search for the list of companies that work with prison inmates. Private operations imprisoned about half of the incarcerated population, and quick scans of their pages gave very little away. They were legally obligated to supply a list of partnered commercial enterprises, but most seemed to get around this by granting the information ‘by request only.’ I sent in a few requests, but was not expecting to hear back anytime soon.
That left the public prison databases. The website for the national prison system was difficult to navigate, but at the very least their list was present in full (if hidden under a few vague tabs). I queried the search bar for Vettera. No results. I referred back to my email, rechecked the spelling, and searched again. No results. I skimmed the list in full, a collection of fifty-some corporations packaged with their addresses, phone numbers, and public websites. None of them were what I was searching for. What’s more, after visiting each and every site, none of them were even in the biochemistry field. Manufacturing, agriculture, food preparation. Nothing close.
I sat puzzled for a moment. If Vettera wasn’t on the public list, it must be partnered with one of the private operations. If I’d asked what prison Eric was at, I could hone in on at least one partner. I went to search for Eric’s prisoner registration, but I didn’t know his last name. Searching only his first name came up with hundreds of results, most of which had blurry booking photos. What’s more, I didn’t know his spelling, and scrapped the idea.
I leaned back in my gaming chair, stretched my arms high, and took a few tired blinks. I inhaled and caught the musky scent of my own pits. I’d yet to shower after my shift, and hours of sweat and sex still clung to the dark hairs there. I rearranged myself in my sweatpants and pulled the sleeves of my t-shirt back. Shifting forwards again, I went to open a new tab next to all of the information windows. There was no harm in busying myself while I waited to hear back from the requests.
I searched up one of my favorite raunchy pornos. A bear, a muscle bottom, and a punk with a mohawk took turns sniffing and snogging each other. I threw off my shirt, rubbing my chest and pits for a few moments. The bear and the bottom were taking turns throating the lithe man’s long, hairy cock. I reached into my sweatpants, giving myself a few tugs. It felt great to spread out in my chair again after sitting on the chamber floor for much of yesterday. I lifted off the chair to pull my waistband down to my thighs before shaking my legs free. I used one hand to stroke my soft dick, the other clutched behind my head so I could sniff myself. My cock grew in my hand and my jerking grip spread precum around the head and frenulum. The blue glow of the computer screen bathed my stomach, chest, face and slick cock in artificial light. I looked down to my crotch, admiring my own penis as I listened to the fucked-out moans of the muscular pornstar.
All at once, my mind filled with Eric’s hushed moans as I suplexed his prostate. I was cast back to my memory of that dark cramped chamber, the taste of that tatted guy’s shaven cock, the hairy assholes I rimmed. I even the plush, loose hole around my dick when Eric had submitted. I throbbed at the thought of going back in to work tomorrow.
I continued to stroke my dick, spreading more precum on myself. I gave my pits one last sniff before I brought my hand down to tease at my balls. I shivered with the added touch and slotted one finger down below to rest at my hole. This was my routine for jerking off—it didn’t always include fingering, but resting a digit on my anus and varying the pressure burned off some of my horny steam.
The course, curly hairs around my hole felt great to rub against. I found that thoughts of Matt—his chiseled jaw and wide shoulders—consumed my erotic fantasies. I wished that this was his hole that I was petting. I wished I could dive in after for a taste. He really wasn’t all that pleasant to me, but neither were those asshole frat bros. Still, I loved sucking their cocks. It gave me some deep internal satisfaction that even if I was just a fag to them, I was still getting what I wanted out of it.
In that spirit, I decided I would definitely be fingering myself today. I lifted one leg up, planting my foot on the arm of the chair and enjoyed the feeling of spreading my cheeks apart. I rolled my forefinger around against my glazed cockhead, picking up some of the thin fluid. I tapped my hole a few times with mounting pressure until I twisted the finger in, parting my tight ring. I continued to push until the heel of my hand was pressed firmly against my warm, furry undercarriage. I moaned to myself, satisfaction taking over as I closed in on my prostate. With my other hand, I continued to stroke, stopping intermittently when I felt I was losing control over my arousal.
My eyes lazily watched the porn in front of me. I knew that the punk was about to stick it in the bottom; he makes this broken-off moan as the bear plugs his throat that always drives my dick nuts. But just as he’s about to ram his long cock in, I saw a red light blink.
The memory rushed back to me. That little red light, which indicated an active recording, had blinked just minutes before I got the email from Vettera. I had checked my webcam last time and I didn’t need to check it this time; I knew that it was off. I had completely forgotten it in my rumination on the new job. I already suspected that this company might be exploiting some legal loopholes, but I hadn’t considered that they could be actively surveilling me. I mean, it had to be them, right? I saw another red wink; It was too coincidental for it to be anything else. I stopped stroking myself and opened up my task browser, an option that I’d forgotten about before. For a split second, I saw the name of the remote extension which was accessing my camera before it erased itself from my screen. I processed it in the nick of time: Water’s Bridge. The blinking light extinguished, and I was left with a racing heart.
I realized that the moans from the porno were still being cast around the dark room. I closed the tab, no longer horny, and searched the name. I waded through countless insignificant pages before I found a comment posted only a week ago on a conspiracy theories thread. The commenter alleged that they were a government employee involved in a top secret mission called project Water’s Bridge. It was originally conceived as a defense measure against biological weaponry. Now, the project had morphed into a psychosexual public experiment. The commenter said they were only posting this as a last resort, as their superiors dismissed their concerns and put them on administrative leave from the department.
I scrolled the rest of the thread and found several similar anecdotes, all alleging to be government agents or witnesses to a UFO landing. Many even paralleled the Water’s Bridge comment by leaving a disclaimer about how “the feds are after them” or that they’d “probably be shot for posting this.” The user’s comment was sparse and didn’t add any more specificity than these clearly sensationalized stories. But the Water’s Bridge name matched. I looked at the user, but they hadn’t left any other comments on other threads. They were inactive.
I continued to sift through results for Water’s Bridge, but there were no other legitimate leads. My only remaining option was to message the user. I opened up a text chain and worked for a minute to formulate a sensible first message for a matter this urgent. It read:
Hello. I believe Water’s Bridge is watching me. Can you help?
Sent.
I breathed out, untensing my shoulders and caving my back forward. Head down, I saw my sticky cock hanging between my legs, still semi-thick. The slick surface reflected the screen, glinting blue-white. I thought about my message to that user; it was likely just a creepypasta that shared a very common name. I’d probably get some trolly response in a few days, either laughing at my gullibility or egging me on with more outlandish fairy tales. On the off chance that they were actually a government employee, the lack of any other comments on forums suggested they created an account solely to post that information, then logged out of it for good. They could have even burned the machine they wrote it on, depending on how serious this really was.
I shook my worries away, smoked half a joint, and finally mosied into the bathroom, nude. I took a shower, scrubbing at the cum matted in my pubes and washing the sheen of sweat from my body. By the time I left the shower, smelling light and clean, drowsiness had begun to creep in. I opened my computer one last time for a potential message, but nothing. I had to be up bright and early for my shift tomorrow. I went to lay down before thinking twice of it and shutting my laptop. There was no reason to let this Water’s Bridge watch me sleep. After a few moments, I drifted into heavy sleep, none the wiser to the message alert that jingled softly in the early hours of my rest. I would only read it at 5 am, when I woke and opened my laptop to find the following:
Water’s Bridge is watching everyone.
