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The Easy Winner



Pendrake's ample behind blotted out the sun. Climbing behind him up
the narrow stair to the "L" platform, Wilson slowed down so that he
might fall a few more steps behind his lumbering boss. The heat and
the stench of urine were overwhelming. Finding himself trapped in the
fetid damp stairwell brought on a sudden bought of claustrophobia.

"Chicago, what a great town!" Pendrake boomed to no one in particular
when they had mounted the platform. Mopping his jowls with an already
saturated handkerchief, he surveyed street below and the people around
him with a look of self-satisfaction, supremely sure of his mastery
over all that he saw.

Wilson stood quietly by him, like a rook beside its king awaiting
orders. Although they could have easily taken a cab, he had to humor
his boss, no matter how uncomfortable it got. When in Chicago,
Pendrake insisted on taking the "L".

"Jeez it's hot here," Pendrake muttered, still not addressing anyone
directly, certainly not Wilson. "Look at these poor slobs," he said.
"How do they stand it? Broiled in the summer, frozen in the winter.
Jeez! What a town!" He shook his head.

Together, the two of them made up Pendrake Enterprises. The firm
specialized in deal making, corporate mergers, takeovers both hostile
and amicable: any kind of transactions requiring the skill and finesse
of a man like Pendrake. When it came to the art of the deal, Pendrake
had the Midas touch. He possessed the uncanny ability to bring the
most unlikely parties to an agreement, seeing in even the most
hopeless situation the small piece of common ground upon which he
could bring them all together. He commanded a hefty fee for his
skill: Pendrake Enterprises was much in demand. As a result, they
spent most of their time on the road, traveling to wherever their
services were required. Wilson, the accountant and the firm's only
employee, was the one who scurried around madly, trying desperately to
transform his boss's flights of fancy into something that could be
written into a contract and signed by often-hostile parties.

The only deals Wilson saw Pendrake botch were in his personal life,
with women. He had been married once - Wilson had seen pictures of
the stunningly beautiful wife - but ever since the financially ruinous
divorce, Pendrake had chosen to live in a twilight bachelor's
existence, becoming the denizen of so-called gentlemen's clubs, strip
joints, and various smoke-filled hotel bars which were the abodes of
lounge lizards, casual hookers, and various lonely traveling
businesswomen who might be foolish enough, or drunk enough to let him
get near. A big, gregarious, and totally fearless man, he cut a wide
swath wherever he went, from Tokyo to Toledo. Still, as adept as he
was in his business, Pendrake's instincts were all wrong when it came
to women. As far as Wilson could see, he scared the normal ones off
with his crass behavior and unpalatable physique, and, although he was
wealthy enough to afford the classiest paid company, he claimed to
have a thing against call girls, so he abstained. The various
bargirls and strippers he hopelessly lusted after were only trying to
squeeze as much money out of him as they could anyway. Pegging him as
a naive mark, they had no intention of giving him satisfaction.
Wilson couldn't recall seeing Pendrake getting laid once, in spite of
all the effort he put into it.

A shy, unassuming man, Wilson had more success with women than his
boss as far as he could tell, although he was often at a loss to
explain what his appeal to them could possibly be. He was a rather
unremarkablel looking man from a physical standpoint, albeit with a
slightly down-beaten expression to his face. Still, he had his small
successes. For him, the most important factor in meeting women seemed
to be getting out from under Pendrake's shadow. The man was cursed in
some way, Wilson decided. But almost like magic, on the rare
occasions he found himself on his own, Wilson managed to stumble into
his fair share of casual encounters: perhaps a moderate number by the
standards of other single traveling businessmen, but enough for his
modest appetite.

A recent trip to Miami had been typical. After lounging at the hotel
one evening, Pendrake got a bug under his skin to go out. As usual,
there were some nightspots he couldn't do without seeing and so he
dragged Wilson away from the idyllic poolside. Back in his room,
Wilson was summoned out of the shower by a knock at the door. After
throwing on his clothes and opening it, he found not Pendrake but a
beautiful woman in a swimsuit, dripping wet. Her name was Brenda, she
said. She had become locked out of her room while down at the pool
and wondered if she might trouble him for one of his towels and the
use of his phone to call the front desk. The towel Wilson offered up
right away, but events taking the course they did, the telephone was
never put into use by Brenda. Eventually it did ring, and Wilson,
brushing one of Brenda's ankles away from his ear to make room for the
receiver, found himself confronted by an impatient Pendrake calling
from the lobby. Thinking quickly, Wilson offered up the first excuse
that came to mind - a sudden illness - and Pendrake went on alone.

The trouble for Wilson was that Pendrake almost never let him out of
his sight. He liked having company along on his futile forays into
the seamy nightlife of whatever city they happened to find themselves
in, someone to pour him back into bed at the end of another wasted
night. And Wilson knew it was all a complete waste of time. All the
drinking, the hundreds of dollars paid for lap dances and whatnot
never amounted to anything, for either of them. But Pendrake's
optimism and enthusiasm were boundless. Besides, he was the boss, and
when the boss said 'jump to it!' Wilson could only ask how high. He
often considered leaving Pendrake for employment elsewhere, for a less
tyrannical boss who would appreciate his talents, but just when his
spirits were lowest, someone like Brenda would come along and his job
wouldn't seem so bad after all.

Already, Wilson was ready for a cool bath and a nap. The workday
stretched out ahead like the dusty roadside to a prisoner on a chain
gang. He knew there was no relief in sight because, as usual, the
things that wore him down and sapped his strength were the very things
Pendrake seemed to thrive on. The "L" train groaned and slowly grated
its way along the tracks. Without air-conditioning, the car was as
hot as a furnace. Pendrake was talking about something in animated
fashion, pointing out things on the ground below, his voice booming
uncomfortably in Wilson's ear. Arriving at the client's office, he
bounded past the receptionist and into the conference room with Wilson
in tow clutching the laptop and staggering to keep up. All the rest
of the day he bombarded the weary accountant with a rapid-fire series
of questions about interest rates, amortization, and the tax code. By
the end of the day, Wilson was exhausted.

Their hotel was one of the finest in the city. The lobby had a
cavernous, high arched ceiling covered with murals. Pendrake stalked
through it, leading them to the plush, dimly lit bar, where they
lowered themselves into low-slung leather chairs.

"Ah, that's better," Pendrake said, fanning himself with the laminated
card advertising the many tropical drinks on offer. "Now Mr Wilson,
at last we can talk about tonight's entertainment." He dropped the
card and rubbed his hands together as if he was about to dig into the
most delectable meal. "Chicago has some fabulous clubs, if memory
serves me. The women in this town...Let me tell you..." He grabbed
for an imaginary pair of breasts. "The city with big
shoulders...That' what they call this place! Heh, heh. There was one
girl in particular I remember...Her name was...Buffy...? No!" He
snapped his fingers in the air. "Bambi...? No, that's not it
either... What the hell, it doesn't matter," he said, falling back
into his chair. "But the tits on her! Whew! The most memorable lap
dance of my life Wilson, really: it was something special, something I
want you to see. I've been meaning to get back there ever since,
hoping I would pass through Chicago again some time. I think she had
a thing for me, Wilson," he said earnestly. "She came and sat with me
when her set was over. She let me buy her a drink!"

Wilson cringed. Weariness seeped through to his bones, and the
thought of another night carousing with Pendrake made him even more
tired. He cast about for just the right excuse to offer to avoid
having to go: tonight might require a particularly convincing one
judging by the gleam in Pendrake's eye. Wilson was about to speak,
staring at the tabletop to avoid Pendrake's eye, when a shapely pair
of legs came into view. He took them in as he slowly raised his eyes
- from the delicate pair of ankles and shapely calves, which he could
see through the glass table, to the soft curving thighs, bisected
tantalizingly above the knee by a short black skirt.

He closed his eyes and let out a silent groan. Those legs were clad
in tight, black nylons: there was something about a woman's legs
encased in sheer black stockings that made him want to run his fingers
up and down them, encircle them with his hands, feel the firm muscles
respond to his touch. The urge was almost uncontrollable. Above the
short black skirt, the woman had on a crisp white blouse that modestly
advertised her ample breasts, and where Wilson noticed her nametag.
Just below the Hotel's insignia was the name 'Stephanie'.

"Something for you gentlemen?" she asked in a low, contralto voice
that sent another pang through Wilson. Women with low voices had a
power over him he could do nothing about. In fact, he was convinced
that if a woman came along with just the right voice, she could rule
him, send him willingly to his own destruction by the power of that
voice alone. Stephanie had such a voice, satiny and rich - the kind
of voice that buzzed softly around the ears while leaving a gnawing,
hungry feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Sure toots," Pendrake grated and ordered two scotches. He elbowed
Wilson as they silently watched her retreating thighs work back and
forth under the miniskirt. Her shapely backside gave the pleated
fabric a life of its own.

"Holy shit, what an ass" Pendrake said under his breath.

Wilson was too flustered to respond. When Stephanie came back, he let
his eyes reverse their course and take in her legs from top to bottom.
They were pressed together while she leaned over to set their drinks
before them, and Wilson desperately tried to imagine the smooth, toned
thighs tightly clasping him about the waist, the ears, anywhere. When
she left, the two men were silent for a while, each nursing his own
drink, lost in his own thoughts.

"Why don't you settle up here, Wilson," Pendrake said at last, gulping
the rest of his scotch. "I'm going up for a quick shower and to
change out of this." He flipped up the end of his tie as he rose and
made his way towards the elevators in the lobby.

Too preoccupied with Stephanie, Wilson realized he had let Pendrake
get away without producing one of his excuses. He sat for a moment,
staring at his drink, feeling the weariness descend over him like a
lead blanket. He could still call Pendrake, he thought, but he had
forgotten which excuse he had decided on. Was it a sudden bought of
nausea, food poisoning, an allergy, fatigue? He had to act quickly.

Glancing around in search of the phones, he became aware of Stephanie
out of the corner of his eye. She was leaning over the bar, chatting
with the bartender. Wilson watched the way her short skirt pulled up
in the back when she leaned forward. Laughing, she tossed back her
light brown hair, and at the same time bent her left leg at the knee,
raising her foot behind her like a lady being kissed in one of those
old movies. Wilson could not take his eyes off those black,
stocking-clad legs. The little hollow behind her knee, just above the
rounded calf, he found particularly fascinating. He imagined the
smoothness, the firmness of those legs beneath his fingers, what it
would be like to move his hands over those calves, to linger in that
little hollow before proceeding to her thighs and under her dress.

With a start, Wilson realized the bartender had noticed him staring
and was pointing in his direction. Stephanie left the bar with an
over-the-shoulder comment and headed his way. He gulped the rest of
his drink, hurriedly putting the glass down while trying to act
casual.

"Another drink sir?" she asked, with that achingly melodious voice.

Wilson mumbled something she must have taken for a yes and watched her
return to the bar to place his order. He tried not to follow her too
obviously with his eyes, but she seemed to be surrounded by a halo of
light, bathed a glow that drew his attention back to her from wherever
he tried to look. She was young - in her early twenties he guessed -
and she had a fresh, innocent air about her that only seemed more
wicked because of the way she was dressed. When she bent over to
place his drink before him, Wilson inhaled deeply, trying to infuse
himself with some of her essence. A few loose strands of hair trailed
across her soft cheek. Around her slender neck, she wore a small
silver chain.

He watched her with intense but outwardly noncommittal attention while
she came and went, losing all track of time, until Pendrake's arrival
snapped him out of his reverie.

"Jeez Wilson, are you still here?" Pendrake scoffed. "Look at you;
you've still got your briefcase for god's sake! Settle up here and
leave that at the desk. I'm going to check on the train schedule."

He was gone like a puff of vapor. It took a moment for Wilson
remember what he was in for that night: the strip clubs, table
dances...the drinking, all the drinking, he thought with dismay. He
would be shepherding around a drunk and belligerent Pendrake before it
was all over; he could see it coming. And now there was nothing he
could do to stop it from happening any more, he realized glumly.

Summoning Stephanie one last time, he signed the bill. After she had
gone, he reached for his wallet and left her a twenty dollar cash tip,
thinking how she had to be more alluring, more desirable than any of
the women he and Pendrake were about to encounter on their long
descent into the sordid nightlife of the city.

The first stop on their itinerary was a restaurant, since neither of
them had eaten. Pendrake had an uncanny knack for finding great
restaurants. As usual, he pulled a miracle out of his hat and led
them to a wonderful Italian place right on the way to the "L". After
that, they rode the train north to the club where Pendrake thought he
remembered meeting Buffy, Bambi, or whatever her name was. It was
then that the most wonderful thing happened.

The doorman asked to see their identification.

"Sorry gentlemen, its the rules," he said in response to Pendrake's
snort of disgust.

With a flourish, Pendrake had out his wallet, flipping his I.D. in the
man's face. Behind him, Wilson patted down each of his pockets in
turn. His driver's license was nowhere to be found. Much to his
secret glee, no amount of cajoling or bribery would make the doorman
relent. Wilson had no idea where he had lost it, no idea when he had
seen it last.

"That's just bad luck," Pendrake said as they parted in the doorway to
the club. "Hurry back, if it turns up."

Wilson set out in the direction of the nearest "L" stop with no
intention of returning, whatever happened. Replacing the license
seemed a small price to pay for his freedom. After walking several
blocks in the direction of the train station, Wilson asked himself
what the hell he was doing and hailed a cab. At the hotel he went
straight to his room and looked through all of his things in search of
the missing license. Not finding it, he meticulously replayed the
events of the past few days, trying to remember when he last had it in
his possession. He remembered leaving Stephanie a generous tip;
perhaps it had fallen out then. The thought of seeing her again made
the idea of going back to the bar very appealing.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. On opening it, he found
Stephanie standing in the hallway.

"You must be Mr Wilson," she said, sounding apologetic.

Wilson tried to disguise how thoroughly startled he was.
Involuntarily, he raised his eyebrows in surprise. Immediately he
imagined how ridiculous he must have looked and tried to compose
himself.

"I have your driver's license," she said, holding it out to him. "You
left it in the bar. I tried to catch you on your way out but I was
too late. I hope it didn't cause you any trouble..."

Wilson took the wallet. That mellifluous voice was almost too much,
especially when it was tinged with concern...

"Thank you," he said, wondering if he should offer her a reward. He
was embarrassed for having left such a large tip earlier. It was one
of those situations where he thought he could safely be extravagant,
never expecting to see the object of his generosity again; otherwise,
he would have been far too self-conscious.

"I appreciate your bringing it up to me," he added. "I could have
easily picked it up myself."

"It's no trouble," she said.

Stephanie made no motion indicating she was about to go; she seemed to
be waiting for something. Wilson decided that offering a reward must
be the appropriate thing for him to do. Opening his wallet, he
wondered what amount would be appropriate as he thumbed through the
bills inside. "Let's see," he mumbled.

At that moment, with a clatter, two busboys rounded the corner pushing
room service carts. Side by side, the large domed lids resembled a
pair of oversized metallic breasts. Wilson leaned forward to see what
the commotion was while Stephanie, stepping into the doorway to get
out of the way, bumped into him.

"Oops," she laughed soft, close to his ear.

For a moment, they stood close together as the clickety-clack of the
carts receded down the hall. Wilson still had the distinct impression
she was waiting for something: was it the reward, or...? He
remembered Miami. Close beside him he heard her drawing a breath,
seeing the gentle rise of her breasts beneath the crisp white blouse
out of the corner of his eye. A small wisp of hair trailed over her
cheek, just in front of her ear; Wilson wanted to brush it back into
place with his fingertips. His hand began to move involuntarily until
he caught himself.

"I'm off work," Stephanie said in a soft, matter-of-fact voice. "I
was just about to get changed and go home when I remembered your
license. Do you mind if I close the door?" She moved another step
into the room.

Blood roared in Wilson's ears. Suddenly he could hear the smallest
sounds with vivid clarity. The rush of the air-conditioning carried
an ominous portent; water dripping in the bathroom echoed unnaturally
loud. He imagined the murmur of a conversation in the next room. In
the basement, through layer upon layer of carpet, plaster and steel,
he imagined he could hear two bellboys arguing in Spanish. The door
latch clicking shut sounded thunderous: Stephanie hadn't waited for
his answer.

"Put that away," she said, indicating his wallet.

"Oh, you get changed here, at the hotel?" was the only thing he could
thing of to say, shouting at himself: stupid! stupid! stupid! What a
stupid thing to say! He froze, not wanting amplify his bumbling.

Stephanie had edged even closer. She was so close it made him tingle

"I'm glad you lost your obnoxious friend," she said, in a tone of
voice that made Wilson reel.

All at once her hands were on his chest, her breasts pressing into his
ribcage. Wilson could feel their firm, fleshy weight flattening out
against him, moving with her rapid breaths.

"Thank you for bringing the wallet," he said, wincing to himself over
being at such a loss for words.

"You're cute when you're flustered," she said, wrapping her arms about
his waist and looking up at him, oblivious to his inner turmoil. "I
like shy men. They make the best lovers."

Fearing to do anything else lest he compound his foolishness, Wilson
leaned forward and they kissed. For an instant he felt resistance
before her lips softened and her mouth opened wider. She seemed to go
limp in his grasp, a gesture Wilson found thoroughly feminine and
alluring - a sign she had willingly yielded herself to him.

Somehow, they stopped kissing long enough to make their way to the
bed, where Wilson guided her gently. Her lips were ripe and moist; he
couldn't keep his mouth off hers, and they resumed their lengthy kiss
sitting side by side. Wilson was literally bowled over by Stephanie's
ardor. She pushed him onto his back and got astride him, sticking her
tongue deep into his mouth. He let his hands run up and down her
thighs, over those silky black hose, up under her dress to the firm
roundness beneath.

She was as firm, as smooth as he had imagined. He grabbed to handfuls
of her flesh and held tightly.

Stephanie tore her mouth from his and began kissing his neck while
with one hand she worked at the buttons of his shirt with a teasing,
deliberate slowness. With the shirt undone, she played with his
nipples, biting them gently through his undershirt. Wilson could
barely stand it. He was squirming from the intense pleasure, but
Stephanie's weight had him pinned down.

She stopped playing with his nipples and helped him out of his shirt
and undershirt. Wilson began to sit up but she pushed him back down
with a surprising amount of force.

"Shh, be still," she commanded in a low voice. "I want to suck your
cock." Her hands were at his belt; he felt the zipper to his pants
being pulled over his growing erection. No one had ever said that to
him, Wilson realized, not in any tone of voice. The thought that she
was so willing, that she had appeared out of nowhere and was offering
to do for him what he could have only dreamed about a few hours ago,
made his head swim.

"Say that again." His voice was a barely recognizable rasp. His
words hand come out unconsciously. He was not even aware he had
spoken aloud until she answered him.

"Ah, I see...You like dirty talk." she said while pulling off his
pants.

Something in her voice, the way she said it, so matter-of-factly, made
Wilson incredibly aroused. It was like she had said, "would you like
fries with that?" or something equally innocuous; but she was talking
about sucking on his cock! The reality of what was happening to him
hit home with the utterance of those few words, in her matter-of-fact
voice.

"My mouth's going to be full very soon" she said, "but I'll indulge
you as best I can: I'm going to suck your cock like it has never been
sucked before."

She slid his underpants down to his ankles, where Wilson kicked them
off impatiently. The cool air of the room made him aware of how hot
his cock was. Stephanie didn't touch it right away, even though
Wilson was silently begging for her to, gyrating his hips to try and
bring it into contact with some part of her body.

"You have nice legs," she said, running her hands over them. "And
what's this?"

Wilson gasped, feeling her fingertips gently lifting his balls. He
squeezed his eyes and mouth shut, tensing his entire body to hold back
the spasm of pure ecstasy that took him.

"Mmm, that's where all that hot come of yours is waiting," her voice
hummed. "I can feel you've got a lot of it."

Stephanie began lightly walking her fingertips up the shaft of his
cock.

"One, two, three, four..." she was counting the steps. "So big...and
so thick..."

Then her voice grew muffled. Her hair came cascading over his belly,
his thighs, like a cool, fragrant waterfall. He felt the softness of
her tongue. At first a gentle flickering, then a more pronounced
stroke, up and down the length of him. When her lips parted and
engulfed him, a jolt of pure, animalistic desire went through him. He
felt his cock swell in her mouth and heard her moan in response, or
felt it rather, as a vibration which passed directly from her throat
to his body, never traveling through the air as sound. He grasped the
back of her head and pushed her mouth farther onto his cock.

He could feel more and more of himself passing into her, and the
deeper he got, the thicker his cock seemed to grow. To Wilson his
cock felt as thick as a giant oak branch, and Stephanie was taking it
all in. She began to move her head, slowly up and down, her hair
tickling his belly where the tresses coiled and uncoiled. Then,
grasping her with the flat of his hands at either side of her head, he
held her still and, gently at first, began to thrust himself in and
out of her. Sensing no resistance, Wilson began to lose himself,
fucking her mouth more and more forcefully until he was giving her all
that she could handle.

Finally, Stephanie pulled her mouth off him, separating with a loud,
wet popping sound. She had crawled up his body and was kissing him;
her lips felt wet and bruised, like mashed fruit. Her hair hung
messily across both their faces.

"Fuck me. Fuck me with that hard cock of yours," she was whispering.

The softness of her crotch pressed against him, between the two
jutting pelvic bones that were digging into his stomach. She began
pulling her blouse out from the waistband of her short skirt. Wilson
reached up and undid the buttons as quickly as his trembling fingers
would go. Sitting upright, straddling him, Stephanie pulled the shirt
from her shoulders. The bra came off quickly after, and then she was
lowering herself onto him again. Her warm, heavy breasts descended
about his face, like soft parachutes puffing out over the ground after
a safe landing. Wilson breathed deeply of the musky air between them
before turning his head first one way, then another, tasting that
soft, milky-smooth flesh.

Stephanie swung her body, raking her swollen nipples across his face
until Wilson finally caught one between his lips and sucked on it.
Her body shuddered, as if he was drawing the life force out of her
through that one throbbing nub of flesh.

She pulled away. "It's time," she panted, brushing the tangled mass
of hair from her face. "It's time for you to fuck me."

She began undoing the buttons at the side of her skirt, but Wilson
stopped her. An idea had come to him. He quickly got up from the bed
and, with his erection waggling before him, hurried to the bathroom
and retrieved the small pair of scissors he kept in his shaving kit.
Seeing him return, Stephanie's eyes grew wide.

"It's OK, I won't hurt you," he assured her, sitting down on the bed.


Moving between her thighs, he kissed his way up the inside of her
legs, one after the other, from ankle to crotch. Her nylon encased
legs felt heavenly, and Wilson lingered over each one, feeling the
smooth muscles beneath his hands. Hiking up the short skirt, he could
see the white of her panties showing through the sheer nylons.
Following the centerline, he grasped the crotch panel of between his
thumb and forefinger, separating it from the panties beneath. With
the scissors, he cut a hole, just large enough to slide two fingers
through. He stroked the soft white 'v' of her panties, feeling her
warm yielding flesh through the thin cotton fabric, before cutting a
hole in them to match the one in her pantyhose. A few curly, silky
hairs protruded from the opening he had just created.

Stephanie was lying very still; her head turned to one side, as if
asleep. Only the quick rise and fall of her breasts gave away that
she was aroused. Wilson positioned himself between her legs, giving
each breast a soft kiss. Stephanie was reaching down, grasping his
cock, guiding him into her. He heard the tear of fabric: he had cut
the hole in the wrong place...

She was wet and ready for him. The nakedness of the warm flesh
wrapped around his cock in contrast to the slightly rough nylons was a
novel, highly arousing sensation. They began fucking slowly, with
Wilson pushing and pulling his entire length in and out of her. She
crossed her legs behind him, letting the nylons rasp against his
buttocks.

Stephanie began to coax him to go faster, whispering the most dirty
and compelling things in his ear, and Wilson responded, losing
himself, beginning to fuck her ferociously, like an animal. He turned
her over, making her pose for him on all fours before slowly driving
himself into her from behind. The sight of his own glistening wet
cock disappearing into those black nylons drove him even more wild.
In the back of his mind, he though that he ought to go slow, savor the
moment, but his excitement was too great. He straddled her, moving
his legs outside of hers. Pushing her head down to the pillow, he
drove his cock into her with all his might from above. He could feel
his balls slapping against the nylons. Stephanie was still coaxing
him, goading him onward. Bringing his head lower so that him might
kiss her naked shoulders he could here her whispering to him.

"Come on...Yes, that's it...Fuck me! Harder!"

With one hand, she reached between his legs and grasped him by the
balls.

"Mmm, I can feel your balls...they're so heavy... I want you to drain
them. Empty them into me."

Wilson couldn't stand anymore. He had reached the point from which
there was no turning back. His cock seemed to have a life of its own,
pulling his body after it on its mad, piston-like thrusts. He felt
the itching, tingling sensation just before his orgasm and pulled out
to shoot several heavy spurts of come onto her ass. He watched as the
thick liquid soaked into the nylons, its whiteness transforming to a
darker black stain.

She collapsed under him, and the two lay that way together for a long
time.

When Stephanie came out of the bathroom, dressed again minus the
nylons, Wilson kept apologizing for ruining them. She assured him it
was nothing: she had a complete change of clothes in her locker
downstairs.

After they parted with a lingering kiss, Wilson lay back on the bed,
trying to figure out what had just happened. He felt as if he had
been struck by lightning and survived to tell about it: he felt
incredibly lucky, but also a little perplexed by the whole incident.
"Why me?" he kept asking himself, getting from his orgasm mellowed
brain only the response of: "Who cares?" Before long, certainly
before he had his answer, Wilson was asleep.

Far across town, Pendrake was ordering another drink, looking at his
watch with a distracted glance.

Meanwhile, at her locker, Stephanie fingered the envelope left for her
at the front desk. She thought about the repulsive but strangely
compelling man who had approached her the night before, considering
herself lucky he hadn't wanted her for himself. He did have a way of
putting things that made his offer hard to say no to... Pulling them
out, the three crisp hundred dollar bills made a squeaky sound when
she rubbed them together.

End of Story