Hot Bermuda Night
I stand in the elevator, looking at the reflective door in front of me. Beside me stand a tall, thin blonde woman with the figure of a runway model. I am about a hair shorter than her, but with a slightly wider shoulder and perkier chest and rear. She’s the secretary of the billionaire CEO Zack Bermuda, the mysterious man I am going to interview today.
“Here we are.” On the 13th floor, the elevator stops, this supermodel named Eliana leads me out, and points at the door next to us. To say it’s a door would be a gross understatement - it has a luxurious red wood arch, decorated with gold, jade and even some unknown gems that flicker under the chandelier above.
Eliana brings me through the door and into a spacious office. Behind the beautiful desk at the center sits a handsome, young man with a pair of hypnotizing blue eyes and a full head of shiny black hair. This is him, Mr. Bermuda himself, in the flesh.
There is a chair in front of the desk prepared for me, so I sit down on it. I almost trip before doing so, I cannot believe I am still clumsy at this important occasion.
“Eliana, coffee.” Bermuda stands up, snaps his finger and points at the door.
“Yes, master - I mean, sir.” Eliana bows and rushes outside the room with her back hunched.
“Miss Brandachevsky. Please be at ease. I won’t bite.” Zack Bermuda asks me as he walks to the front of his desk. His figure is slim, but the tightened upper sleeves on his gray suit tell me he is packing a pair of buffed guns underneath. He can tell that I am nervous, as I have my pen in my right hand and am shuffling through my purse trying to find my notepad. “You - you okay?” He asks with a gentle but slightly threatening voice.
“I - I - ” I look up at Mr. Bermuda, his eagle-like blue eyes are looking straight at me. My heart pounds my chest so much I can feel the ripples undulating on my breasts, pushing the button on my blouse closer to the brink of being flung away. I think I effed up, I remembered to bring my pen, but I forgot my notepad, what should I do!?
“You forgot something?” Mr. Bermuda leans slightly back, still staring at me. But just when I think he is about to sit on the edge of his desk, he jumps up, backflips and lands on the top of his desk, squatting. I am vastly impressed, not just by his agility, but also by the muscular outline of his legs. He is trying to dominate me, I can feel it. And I think I might need new pants when I get home.
“I - do you have a notepad here?” I say with an apologetic tone, scratching my head.
“This is your first strike, baby girl.” Mr. Bermuda narrows his eyes. He then took off his jacket. I am confused, but excited. Then he took off his luxurious-looking silky white shirt, revealing his smooth bronze skin, chiseled abs and marvelous pecs. He throws his shirt at me: “Here’s your notepad. I can get a new one” He then hops back onto the ground. “Eliana!”
“Here!” Eliana rushes into the room, holding a cup of coffee in her hands.
“Hmm.” Mr. Bermuda takes a sip of the coffee, then frowns: “This is not Columbian Coffee, Eliana. How dare you cheat me with McDonald’s Coffee?!”
“I - I am so sorry master!” Eliana immediately bows and apologizes, crying: “This must be a mix up. Please forgive me!”
“This is your first strike, stand up straight.” Mr. Bermuda orders, with unquestionable authority and power.
“Than - thank you Master!” Eliana stands straight, her eyes filled with tears.
With the clunk of something metal, Mr. Bermuda takes out a gun, with rubies on its barrel and diamonds on its handle. Before Eliana can say or do anything, the gun opens fire. Her body falls against the french windows behind her. The windows crack, and blood is dripping down from her body.
“You ruined my window!” Mr. Bermuda raises his left leg and kicks Eliana in the stomach. Her body bursts through the window and falls towards the ground outside. Before long, I hear a loud crash.
“Now, let’s get back to our interview.” Mr. Bermuda gets back on his desk, squatting again: “What do you want to know?”
“I - ” I stammer, for I am both confused and nervous, and eventually I come to a question: “What - uh, what do you usually eat for lunch?”
“Wagyu burger, a side of sea bass salad.” Mr. Bermuda scratches his jaw while playing with his gun, smelling the muzzle and looking down the barrel. Then he turns his attention to me: “But I am hoping I can have something different today - today, I want to have … you.”
“Me?” My heart skips a beat at this flirty answer, I can feel myself blushing, and my inner thighs tingling. I do not know how to respond, and I feel I can only evade his gaze for so long. After a while, I bring up the first words that come to my mind: “I didn’t bring condiments…”
Mr. Bermuda frowns, seemingly unhappy at my answer.
Hoarse and gurgling roars come from the floors below. Before long, one man and one woman with pale skin, murky eyes, drooling mouths and bloody bites on their bodies burst into the office.
“Zombies!” With only one look in their eyes, I immediately recognize what these are. I jump up from my chair, flipping 1,800 degrees in the air and draw my daggers from my boots. The two daggers shoot through the air when they leave my hands, and sink right into their foreheads.
A third zombie tries to rush in when the first two fall to the ground. Mr. Bermuda opens fire again and blows the chubby middle aged zombie’s combover head up.
Beep, Mr. Bermuda presses a button below his desk. The door to his office locks down, two thick steel plates spring up to fortify the door, cutting the third zombie in half.
Mr. Bermuda jumps off his desk and pulls me closer by my blouse: “I want you, now.”
I cannot say no to him. How can I? When he rips open my clothes and sent the buttons flying, my hands find their way to his belt and loosen his trousers. When his pants drop, his raging member almost gives me an uppercut. It does not bring our flames down.
When we reach our third climax, the police and military have set up barricades on the road and are firing at the hordes of zombies. None of that matters anymore, for we have each other now.
My purse falls on the ground when the entire building vibrates with motion from the explosions in the street. My notepad pops out, from a side pouch where I usually put my car keys.
This is a cringe stream submission for deliberately cringey stories. Check out the live reading here!