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(Also once again, I threw quite a few of the story / scenario ideas at him, which he then took, molded, and made into his own, ultimately writing up a story that so wisely disregards a lot of my naughty suggestions, thus ultimately resulting in a much better story that stays true to his Fuchsia Fox ideals, than I could have ever come up with.)
Yet again, though, Centurian has allowed some of my sexually kinky ideas to invade his writing. He kind of thinks that such sexual relationship explorations are not something anybody here will find of interest, but in the end, he was once again such a dear in indulging me. Anyway, I ESPECIALLY hope y'all like the story. And as always, your public (and if you prefer, private) feedback is very much encouraged and welcome.
Fuchsia Fox : "What Did You Do New Year's Eve?"
By Centurian
Chapter 1 -- Washington, D.C.; Thursday afternoon, New Year's Eve, 5:45 PM
The ivy-covered brick walls of the Arcadia Bank on Maine Avenue had stood for sixty-three years without a single breach of their integrity, but today their luck ran out. Lieutenant Harry Caldwell of the District of Columbia police department happened to be nearby on Seventh Street when he caught the call. He brought his car screeching to a stop across the parking lot entrance to keep the perpetrators from escaping that way, then kicked open his door and leaped out, drawing his sidearm. "Oh crap," he said bitterly, when he saw what he was up against.
The bank robbers were driving an armored car, a hulk of battleship-gray steel nearly twenty feet long and standing almost seven feet high, mounted on six huge, bullet-proof tires. It had already run over three automobiles, crushing them like tin cans, and had battered a hole in the outer wall of the bank itself. Guards were firing sidearms at it, bullets pinging uselessly off its thick armor.
This same gang had knocked over three banks in the last three weeks. Their vehicle gave them enough power to laugh at anything bank guards or even SWAT teams could throw at them. Caldwell snatched up his radio. "Unit 12, this is Caldwell!" he snapped, as two more squad cars screamed into the parking lot to block off the other side -- not that it would do any good. "Call out the Special Squad from Fort Myer! I want two Apaches here on the double! We've got one chance to stop these goons, and I--"
He broke off as a strikingly beautiful young woman suddenly dropped from the sky like an angel and alighted in the middle of the parking lot. The girl was wearing tight, purplish pink briefs from which a pair of mouth-wateringly gorgeous legs emerged, shod in sexy ankle boots. Above her lean, bare midriff was a matching halter top with a fox-head emblem following the smooth contours of her two exquisite breasts. Her slender arms were adorned with matching elbow length gloves.
"Uh... cancel the helicopters, Unit 12," Caldwell said with a wry grin. "The Fuchsia Fox is here."
The superheroine brushed her luxurious brunette tresses back over her bare shoulder and strode briskly forward. Grabbing hold of the rear of the armored car with both hands, the Fox simply lifted the twelve-ton vehicle and effortlessly dragged it backwards. The engine caught and began to roar. The tires spun, kicking out gray smoke, but still the heroine pulled it along with her as if it were a child's toy wagon.
Once it was clear of the bank building, the turret atop the vehicle swiveled smoothly around, the barrel of its main gun depressing to aim directly at the Fox! Caldwell shouted a warning, but the cannon had already fired a brilliant orange energy pulse. The gallant girl fell back a single step as her invisible force shield absorbed the full force of the bolt.
"Let's pick up the pace, you guys," the Fox snapped impatiently. "You're keeping me from something important." Then she attacked! Flying upward at the armored car like a devastating, spandex clad missile, the Fox's first punch crumpled up the energy cannon. Her second and third dented the turret and then knocked it completely off, leaving a gaping hole in the steel armor. Into this rent she thrust her hands and picked the whole machine up off the ground, holding it over her head -- upside down.
Lt. Caldwell, watching the fierceness with which the stunning superlady wailed into the thing, couldn't avoid the impression that she was upset about something entirely unrelated. Taking pity on the bank robbers, he ran forward. "Whoa, Fox!" he called. "I think they've had enough."
"Oh. Right." The alluring superheroine let the vehicle fall, nose first, onto the asphalt parking lot, then watched uninterestedly as it crumpled over on its side. A dozen policemen moved in to take charge of the shaken up criminals.
"Is there something I can help you with, Fox?" Caldwell asked, venturing onto ticklish ground. "Something you need to talk about?"
"What? Oh, no, lieutenant," the Fox said, biting her lower lip. "You can handle things from here, right? I've got to run or I'll be late." And without waiting for an answer, the young heroine soared upward and disappeared into the late afternoon sky.
"Happy New Year!" Caldwell called after her.
The Fox flew swiftly across the Potomac River toward Arlington as the evening sky darkened. Slipping through the balcony window of her sixth floor apartment, the beautiful brunette glanced at the clock. She had to hurry! Making certain that her laptop was open and ready on the bed, she undressed, shedding her clingy little fuchsia costume and leaving her ankle boots, gloves, halter top and briefs scattered over the bathroom floor. Only the Bracelets of Ishtar remained on her wrists as she stepped into the shower; those Zumerian power artifacts were beyond her ability to remove.
Happy New Year! she thought miserably, as the hot water poured over her face and hair, streaming down her trim, naked body. She had been looking forward to it for weeks! Usually she and Martin just went out dancing on New Year's Eve with a few friends, but this year Jennifer had been invited to the big gala put on jointly by the Smithsonian and the Cynthia Alessandro Charitable Foundation, as a thank-you to the contributors over the year. It was normally restricted to curators or people who had donated $10,000 or more, so how a mere tour guide like her had rated an invitation, she couldn't guess. But she had been so excited at the prospect of mingling with all those celebrities and millionaires while hanging on her husband's arm, she could hardly contain herself. Her friends Sharon and Liz had helped her pick out an amazingly sexy dress, one that she was sure would knock Martin's eyeballs out of their sockets and leave him on his knees, drooling. She had kept it carefully hidden inside its garment bag so that he wouldn't get a sneak preview.
But then, early this morning, her adorable husband had gotten a call from work. Some Army airplane had crashed somewhere in Alaska, and he had been assigned to the "post team" to search the wreckage and secure the classified material that it was carrying on board. He had been unbelievably profuse in his apologies, but he had to leave right away and wouldn't be back probably for a few days.
It wasn't as if she hadn't known what she was getting into marrying an Army officer. After all, he had been sent to Afghanistan for a year just after they had gotten engaged. She wouldn't want to make him feel guilty by complaining. But knowing that his job was vital to the security of the nation didn't stop the disappointment and the hurt of him being away from her. She certainly wouldn't be going to the gala without him...
Enough of this, Jennifer thought irritably, turning off the shower and reaching for a towel. Martin had promised to contact her via Skype at six o'clock on the dot, and she had to be ready. Once she had dried off and powdered, she fished around in her drawer for fresh panties and came up with the racy red lace thong from Victoria's Secret she had originally planned to wear tonight. Her eyes wandered to the dress, still hanging in its garment bag. Her lips curled into a saucy smile...
She slipped into the dress, for the first time since she had tried it on in the boutique. The polyester fabric was dark, wine red. Above the waist, it clung to her like a second skin, what there was of it. The halter style bodice was fastened at the nape of her neck and simply fell in two narrow swaths, each barely wide enough to cover her modest breasts as they plunged to her waist, leaving a delicious strip of bare flesh in between. Below the waist, the full skirt fell in delicate, whispering pleats around her bare thighs, stopping an inch or so above her knees.
Looking at herself appraisingly in her full-length mirror, Jennifer was dazzled. The way the skirt swayed seductively as she moved, combined with the fact that the dress was totally backless made her feel almost naked. And with no bra, her breasts felt VERY insecure. She could see her nipples making tiny bumps through the flimsy material. She reached into the garment bag for the detachable cups that came with it, intending to insert them for a little extra support, but just then she heard the tone from her laptop. MARTIN! With a flustered gasp, she dropped the inserts, turning toward the bedroom. Stopping, she impishly snatched up Martin's bathrobe and put it on over her dress.
"Angel?" Martin said, once she had activated the connection. "I miss you so much, baby! I'm sorry about this! I'll make it up to you somehow, I promise..."
"Don't worry about me, sweetheart," Jennifer said soothingly, perched on the edge of the bed. "Are you okay?" He was bundled up in the sub-arctic cold, there were flecks of ice in his hair, and he looked tired. Figure in four or five hours travel time to Alaska in a military jet, plus driving around for hours in rough country searching for wreckage, then trudging around on foot, probably in deep snow from the looks of it. No wonder the poor baby looked done in! "Are you all right?"
"I'll survive," he replied with a wan smile. "This isn't my first post team. We still haven't found the black box yet, though, and there's a blizzard moving in. We knocked off to grab something to eat and some shut-eye, but we have to go back out there before the wreck gets snowed in."
"Poor baby," Jennifer commiserated helplessly. "I wish there was something I could do."
"Just have a good time at the party for me," he said. "That's the best thing you can do." His eyes took in the bathrobe she was wearing and lit up. "Are you getting ready?" he said eagerly. "Are you wearing the oh-so-secret dress that I wasn't allowed to look at on pain of having both my legs broken?"
"Yesss," she said teasingly, getting up off the bed and stepping back a few paces so that the could see all of her. "I thought I'd show you something that might warm you up a little... that is, if you want to see it..." She glanced away at the ceiling, her fingers playing with the belt sash of the robe.
"Yes!" he said, leaning closer to the screen. "Yes, of course I want to see it!"
"I don't know," she said, pouting. "You don't sound as if you really want to see it..."
Martin drew in a sharp breath through his teeth, pressing his face right up the camera. "I want to see it! Oh my God, woman! I want to see it more than anything in the world right now! Do I have to get down on my knees and beg?"
Jennifer undid the robe and let it fall. Martin fell off the edge of his chair. His eyes were as big as saucers, staring at her nipples as they peeked against the flimsy front of her dress, and she knew then that wouldn't... couldn't dare to use the inserts after all... Jennifer felt a surge of animal arousal at the pleasure she was giving him. This was what it really meant to be a woman -- to make your man want you, to watch him melt like putty in your hands... She took a handful of her skirt and spun around to give him the full effect of her bare back and shoulders, twirling the skirt coquettishly. She stopped sideways to him, peering flirtatiously over her smooth, bare shoulder. "well? What do you think? Am I presentable?"
"Angel, you look so good I want to eat you! You're going to blow them away at that gala. I just wish I could be there."
"As if I'd go without you," Jennifer said, dropping to her knees in front of her laptop again.
"WHAT?" Martin interjected. "Jenn, you've GOT to go! You had your heart set on this!"
"But without you it wouldn't be any fun. I'll just go out with Sharon and Liz. It'll be okay..."
"NO! You won't!" he said sternly. "Listen to me, Angel. Go to the gala, for ME, okay? Dance and flirt with men and have a great time. Make eyes at some hot young millionaires, entice them with your body, tantalize them, make them ache to get into your pants, and then watch their faces fall as you turn them down. Just promise to save up the juicy details and tell all about it when I get home. Promise me?"
"Well..." Jennifer had to admit, the idea was tempting. The two of them had talked before of fantasies about her making out with strangers. They had even gone so far as to attend a rave separately, letting her be hit on by strange men. The sex afterwards had been mind-blowing!
"Okay," she sighed. "I'll do it for you."
****
Chapter 2 -- Lost River, Alaska... ten hours later
Martin Fletcher was beat. They had found the black box finally; the rest could wait until it was light. He waved a goodnight to the rest of the post team and tramped through the snow to the two-room tourist cabin he had been assigned as living quarters. He glanced at his wristwatch, remembering that it was still set on Washington time. It said 4:40 AM, which made it something like 2340 local time. As tired as he felt, he might well have been up the whole night through. He didn't feel up to fiddling with lighting the fireplace. He was just going to bundle up in his sleeping bag...
But as he undid the latch, it dawned on him that there was flickering light shining through the fogged window of his cabin. And as he opened the door, he was greeted by a welcome blast of warmer air. He stood in the doorway trying to flog his mind into working. Someone had lit the fireplace and cleared away the clutter of dishes he had left earlier. He took a step forward and his foot kicked something. He reached down to pick it up. It was a woman's high-heeled ankle boot!
The other boot was lying a few inches away. And further along, like a trail of bread crumbs, were a scrap of material that turned out to be an elbow-length glove, a second glove, a pair of briefs, and a halter top with a chest emblem that looked strangely familiar...
"Hey, dude!" said a female voice suddenly, "are you going to stand there all night letting the cold in? Don't make me come over there and tear your clothes off! I still have these bracelets on, you know!"
It was a dream; it had to be! Against all probability, Jennifer was lying there on his sleeping bag, stretched out in front of the fireplace. And she was wearing... well, what she was "wearing" was one of his spare shirts, but "wearing" wasn't the right word. She just had it draped across the middle of her perfect body like a very short blanket, with her lissome legs sticking out.
"I'm serious, Martin!" she said severely. "I hate to be a GIRL, but it's COLD in here!"
"Angel! How did you get here?" he blurted, kicking the door shut and frantically pulling off his parka and snow boots, stripping off the rest of his outer clothes as he came to them. "I mean... stupid question. How did you find me?"
"Superheroine trade secret, darling," Jennifer said impishly, batting her eyelashes.
By now he was down to his long johns, and she sat up to help him with those. Then she was blissfully in his arms, so warm and so soft, and he was touching her supple breasts while his lips found hers and kissed her. "Oh babe, this is such a great surprise!" he gasped, coming up for air. "But what about the gala? You went, didn't you?"
"Of course I did," Jennifer purred, her own lips wreaking soft havoc as she kissed his neck and shoulders. "It was amazing! But that was hours ago! You'll never believe what happened!"
He tugged a blanket over them and they settled in front of the fireplace. "Tell me everything!"
***
The gala was held at the National Gallery of Art. Jennifer arrived by taxi at around eight thirty, and climbed the steps in high heels, butterflies fluttering in her stomach as she watched the limousines coming and going. Inside the building, she let the attendant take her light wrap and suddenly seemed to feel hundreds of eyes zeroing in like radar on her red, backless dress, enjoying the sight of all that bare skin. As the Fuchsia Fox, she had gotten used to men ogling her wherever she went, but as Jennifer Fletcher, nobody but Martin ever looked twice at her. Suddenly she wished that she had put those insert bra cups into her dress after all. She tried to concentrate of keeping her posture straight, lest that plunging bodice sag and let something show, all the while hoping to gosh that her face wasn't as red as it felt!
One of the larger halls had been turned into a sort of ballroom, with a six piece jazz combo. The music was soothing and exhilarating at the same time. Jennifer gratefully accepted a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and drank deeply, hoping to calm her nerves. A moment later she ran into Lisa Maxwell and some of her fellow tour guides. Lisa was wearing a very becoming strapless pearl-colored gown that went all the way to her ankles.
"You look amazing, Jennifer!" she gasped.
"Thanks, Lisa! So do you!" Jennifer drained her champagne glass and exchanged the empty for another full one. "Not that I'm complaining, but do you have any idea why we were invited?"
"I think it was Catherine Alessandro's idea, to not only thank the stuffed shirts for their donations, but to get a head start on next year's."
Jennifer paused halfway through her second flute of champagne. "I don't get it."
"Oh, Mrs. Van Buren!" Lisa said suddenly, accosting an older woman, pushing sixty, who happened to be passing by. "Mrs. Van Buren, this is Jennifer Fletcher. Jennifer, Mrs. Van Buren is on the board of the Smithsonian AND one of the directors of the Alessandro Foundation."
"Ms. Fletcher?" the older woman said, her eyes scrutinizing every single inch of Jennifer's sexy dress. The younger girl tried to stand even straighter, suddenly wishing she had worn something less risqué. "Ah, yes! Dr. Gervais has spoken highly of you."
"Thank you, ma'am," Jennifer gulped. "Lisa was just trying to explain to me why we were invited."
"Maybe you hadn't noticed, dear heart," Mrs. Van Buren said, "but some of these gentlemen are, shall we say, not getting any younger? Even some of the young ones are heads of tech companies and would have an easier time splitting the atom than asking a girl out on a date."
Jennifer looked around. She had been so dazzled by the beautiful clothes that she hadn't noticed it before. The majority of the crowd truly were the Beautiful People, capitol B capitol P -- men who looked like movie stars and stunning women wearing dresses which cost fortunes. But here and there were the odd ducks, the older gentlemen by themselves and watching the dancing couples wistfully. And just a few yards away, she could see a nerdy young man with glasses wearing an Armani tuxedo and a diamond wristwatch, who nevertheless looked about as comfortable as a sheep in a roomful of hungry lions.
"So... we're supposed to...?"
"Mingle... talk to them... dance with them... You're attractive young women; do whatever it takes." Mrs. Van Buren raised an impatient eyebrow. "I'm not suggesting anything improper, you understand. Just make the gala a pleasant occasion for them. You can do that, can't you?"
On those terms, Jennifer was quite willing, because they meshed so perfectly with what Martin had asked her to do! The tech company wizard reminded her too much of Irwin Butz, but otherwise, with three more flutes of champagne in her (on a largely empty stomach because she had been too jittery to eat earlier), she was feeling much more relaxed, had indeed forgotten even to be nervous about her outrageously sexy dress. She chatted and she charmed. She let younger men dance with her, spinning her body so that her skirt swirled and rose up her alluring gams. She hung on the arms of older gentlemen and let them stare at her wonderful cleavage, even once, quite daring, allowed her breast to brush against a sweet middle-aged geezer's arm. Through it all she was thinking of her husband, and how jealous and envious and utterly turned on he was going to be when she told him all this!
By ten o'clock, Jennifer was feeling pretty frisky. She found herself left alone for a spell, resting on a bench near one of the many archways leading off towards exhibit rooms. The jazz combo had just struck up a slow, somewhat melancholy little number. She caught herself wishing that she were in Martin's arms, dancing with him. The frustration of not being with him came rushing back, along with resentment at the Army for taking him away from her. Savagely she tried to choke the feeling down by biting into one of those delicious shrimp hors d'oeuvres, washing it down with another flute of champagne.
"You remind me of Cinderella at the ball," said a quiet, masculine voice. "Are you waiting for the Prince to appear?"
The voice's owner was a distinguished-looking gentlemen, about fifty-five if she had to give him an age. There was gray in his dark hair like a whisper of frost on a crisp autumn morning. Jennifer had seen him from afar, hovering mysteriously in the background all evening. There was something terribly attractive and at the same time dangerous about him that she couldn't quite put her finger on. He looked at her, not the way other men looked, ogling -- but as if he were trying to fix her beauty permanently in his memory. It sounded silly put like that, but... yeah! Nobody but Martin had ever looked at her that way before.
"My name is Thomas," he said. "Miss--?"
"Fle--" she started to say, but changed it to, "Um... Jennifer. Just Jennifer." There was no reason for him to know her last name.
"Well, Just Jennifer," he said, smiling. "Would you indulge a decrepit old man in a dance? A slow one?"
Something inside Jennifer's head screamed, No! Get away from him!, but she resolutely ignored it. "You look like quite a vigorous man to me, sir," the girl said, offering her hand. "I'm sure you do yourself an injustice. But yes, I accept."
He took her hand and pulled her slim body into his embrace. Thomas was obviously an expert dancer, and Jennifer felt herself relax against his manly frame at once. Some undefinable quality about him inspired trust. He smelled of Old Spice, rich, musky and masculine. The scent went straight to her libido. His left hand held her right firmly but not tightly, so that he could lead where he wanted. His right hand lightly grazed her shoulder blades, making her silky bare skin tingle ticklishly, then found the small of her back, just where her skirt began. As he caressed that tender spot just above her rounded bottom, incredibly, she caught herself wishing that he would shift downward that extra inch or two and grab her pert caboose. Her slender arm clung to his broad shoulder as they danced.
"Could thou and I with fate conspire," he whispered, for her ear only, "to grasp this sorry scheme of things entire, would not we shatter it to bits and then, remold it nearer to the heart's desire?"
Jennifer's full lips parted, but she couldn't think of a thing to say. She only knew that it sounded so sweet, so right. Her cheek whispered lightly against his jaw; in another moment she would be leaning her head tenderly on his shoulder.
"Tell me, Just Jennifer," Thomas said quietly after a few moments, "how big a donation is it going to take to get you to agree to come back to my hotel room and let me enjoy this delightful body of yours tonight?"
***
Chapter 3 --
"He didn't!" Martin said, stirring next to her under the blanket. "He didn't say that! You're making that up!"
"He did! I swear he did!" Jennifer replied. Telling it to him, she found herself reliving the emotions. Naked under the blanket next to him, her heart was thumping, her skin tingling with arousal, and seeing Martin's heated reaction only added fuel to the fire...
"But... what did you say?" he demanded.
"You told me to flirt, didn't you?" she retorted. "You wanted me to entice these men with my body and mess with them..."
"Yeah," Martin agreed eagerly. He licked his lips. "But what did you SAY?"
"Well, honestly! What do you THINK I said?"
***
"Excuse me?" Jennifer said, pulling back a little bit. While they had been dancing he had led her into one of the exhibit rooms, where they could still hear the music, but where there were fewer partygoers to observe them. At least the old rogue was discreet.
"I know what Mrs. Van Buren is telling you girls," Thomas said, releasing her right hand. Keeping his right in the small of her back, he rested his left on the curve of her waist on her right side, half on the silky polyester fabric of her dress, half on her own satiny skin. "Mingle, flirt, keep the donors happy, that sort of thing. Well... ravishing your nubile, well-toned young body will make me happy." He was slowly moving his hand up her torso, along her ribcage, then back down. Up and down, slowly caressing her, slowly driving her wild.
"But... but you're old enough to be my father!" the beautiful brunette protested. She couldn't understand why she didn't just reject the idea out of hand. Maybe it was because in the back of her mind she was still thinking about Martin, feeling sexy and feminine because of the dress, feeling flattered at the attention by a man many times her senior, and with all of this going on, her imagination was running wild with the story she was going to tell her husband when he got home...
Moving his mouth to her left ear, Thomas whispered, "Or possibly even your grandfather. I am sixty-three, after all. But still vigorous. You said so yourself." On his next stroke, his left hand continued upward along the bare skin of her abdomen, tickling her, until it reached her chest level. Without the slightest pause, his thumb slipped under her halter top, pushing aside the unresisting polyester fabric until his big hand slowly engulfed her bare, unprotected breast!
Jennifer gasped, goosebumps of pleasure rising up all over her velvet skin as he gently squeezed her supple boob, his thumb discreetly rubbing her hard little nipple. Meanwhile his right hand had grabbed her butt, holding her trapped against his body so that she could feel his erection, warm and alive down near her thigh. God, he wasn't kidding! He really WAS vigorous for his age!
As if from a great distance, she heard him say, "I'm prepared to make a donation of $100,000 if you will indulge me with your fine young body. For the whole night."
The music suddenly stopped, followed by a scattering of applause. Mercifully this brought Jennifer partly back to her senses. "It would take... a lot more than that," she said shakily, wondering why she didn't just slap his face and flee. But his hand felt so good massaging her pliant tit, and his body felt so warm and so strong...
"Jennifer, my sweet," the older man said, "you drive a hard bargain. How much would it take?"
This is just a game to him! Jennifer realized suddenly, some kind of sex play. And I don't know the rules! Wildly she tried to think of a number that would put an end to the game. "More like a million!" she said in triumph. There! Game, set and match!
Thomas had backed her up against the wall in between two paintings. Jennifer had nowhere to move. His hand on her rear came around to her front, sliding along her torso so that both hands were now on her coconuts. "A million dollars, eh?" he whispered, shaking his head slowly as if with bitter disappointment. "That's a lot of money."
His mouth moved to Jennifer's right ear, lips taking in her earlobe and sucking it. The girl moaned, while at the same time his capable hands circled her pliable little B-cups. Suddenly grabbing hold of the flimsy material of the front of her dress, he pulled it in opposite directions, completely exposing both of her braless breasts!
Before she could do more than gasp in reaction to that, Thomas had seized hold of the nape of her neck, bringing her face up to his. "But I'd say that a million dollars is a bargain. Done and done!" Without further ado, his lips crushed hers in a passionate kiss. Jennifer couldn't move, she couldn't think. His tongue invaded her open mouth like a pillaging army, pushing aside her feeble defenses and taking what it wanted. Her body shivered with an electrifying thrill of adrenalin in response, her skin flushing hot and cold at the same time. Oh he's a damn good kisser, that's for sure! she thought, her knees trembling.
Just as abruptly, he released her and stepped back. Jennifer slowly opened her eyes, lost in this naughty moment of dalliance with a strange man. Her hands dreamily touched her naked breasts.
"Thomas, you scoundrel!" said Mrs. Van Buren, stepping into the exhibit hall at that very moment. "I had no idea you were in town!" She brushed her cheek lightly against the cheek of Jennifer's dance partner -- the twinkle in her eyes somehow giving the impression that she knew from personal experience exactly how good a dancer he really was -- and then seemed to notice Jennifer standing there, frantically tugging her bodice back into place. "And I see you've made the acquaintance of Ms. Fletcher! Excellent! I hope she has been treating you well?"
"Jennifer and I are just concluding a private agreement, Matilda," the man said austerely, scribbling in some kind of notebook. As Jennifer watched, he signed the note with a flourish, ripped it free, and handed it to her.
Jennifer just froze, aghast. Her clothing was rumpled, her lipstick was probably smeared, and she was holding in her hands a check for one million dollars, payable to the Alessandro Charitable Foundation! "Mrs. Van Buren, I..." she stammered, holding the check as if it were a dead rat. "I... I can explain! This isn't what it looks like!"
"I'm sure that it isn't, dear heart," the older lady said calmly, taking the check from her hand and glancing at the amount, looking quite impressed. "Thank you very much, Thomas. We really must have a get-together while you're in town." She ran her eye over Jennifer again. "When you have the time to spare, of course."
Thomas gave the young brunette a wink. "By all means take a few moments to freshen up. My limousine will be waiting at the Constitution Avenue entrance when you're ready." He kissed Mrs. Van Buren's hand and walked off.
Jennifer hurried to catch the charity director before she left the exhibit room. "Please, Mrs. Van Buren! You don't understand! This was all just a joke! He was putting me on! That check is probably worthless! Nobody really has a million dollars he can just throw around on a crazy whim! Heh-heh..." She tried to laugh light-heartedly.
"Ms. Fletcher, I assure you," the older woman said, "Thomas J. Westerton does not joke about things like this."
"Thomas... WESTERTON?" Jennifer blurted. She didn't know him by sight of course, because he was reportedly a recluse, but everyone knew the name. She had only been dallying with one of twenty richest men in the country! And he had apparently just bought her for the night!
"And, dear heart," added Mrs. Van Buren, patting the younger girl's bare shoulder, "if you don't mind some friendly advice from a woman who's been there--" There was something different in her voice now. Was it sympathy? Or was it envy for the girl's youth and beauty? "--it doesn't do to keep him waiting."
Oh my God, Jennifer thought. What am I going to tell Martin?
***
Chapter 4 --
"I always knew you were worth a million dollars to me," Martin groaned, kissing Jennifer's neck. His left hand was cupping her right breast, squeezing her soft orb ardently.
"You can laugh," she scoffed. "I felt like some high-class call girl!"
Underneath his flippant words, she could sense the growing agitation boiling within his hard male body. This whole thing was getting him very excited. When she had described Thomas holding her, nibbling on her ear, then kissing her, Martin had echoed each one, acting them out on her body on the floor of the cabin. And yet it didn't seem to be enough. It dawned on her that he was jealous -- not of Westerton's billions perhaps, but of his ability to manipulate his woman's libido so expertly.
"Too bad you couldn't change into the Fuchsia Fox and set him straight," he said, nuzzling her ear, "That would have been a sight to see."
"That's just it!" she said. "Earlier in the evening, I had broken a TANK for goodness sakes! And now none of my powers were the slightest help..."
"So... what did you do, Jenn?" Martin asked eagerly, his voice husky with arousal as his hand continued to lightly fondle her breast. "D-did you go through with it?"
***
Jennifer dashed into the nearest ladies room, twitched her dress straight, fixed her make-up, and brushed her hair into some semblance of decorum. She retrieved her wrap from the attendant and hurried to the Constitution Avenue entrance. Sure enough, there was black stretch limo waiting. The smartly uniformed chauffeur opened the passenger door as soon as he saw her and stood silently, respectfully waiting for her to make up her mind whether to step in or not.
The lovely brunette wondered briefly how many such liaisons he had presided over, how many pretty young women he had watched hesitate in exactly her situation, before plunging into the lion's den. The expression on his face was discretion itself, giving absolutely nothing away.
Jennifer climbed in to find Thomas Westerton sitting directly opposite. He had removed his suit jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves, as though making himself ready for action. Flustered, hampered by her wrap, the girl forgot all about watching the bodice of her dress. The two strips of wine-red polyester that covered her two marvelous breasts, held up solely by the tension between the nape of her neck and her waist, sagged open, giving him a spectacular view! He couldn't possibly miss the fact that her pert little B-cups were topped by beautifully erect nipples, before she interposed her arm and dropped into her seat, blushing to the roots of her hair.
"M-Mr. Westerton, I think..." she stammered, looking nervously around at the lush, expansive interior of the limo. The car was already moving, turning into the avenue, presumably en route to his hotel. The idea made her pulse race. "I think there's been a--"
"Let me interrupt you there, Jennifer," the older man said smoothly, pouring a flute of champagne from the ice bucket at his side. "If you'll forgive me. First a toast. It's from my own vineyard in the south of France. Not quite as good as what they served at the gala tonight, but presentable." He handed her the full glass and she took it automatically, struggling out of her wrap and letting it fall to the seat, revealing that sexy, wine-red dress again in all its glory.
"To a true angel," he said, clinking his own glass against hers, "for making an old man's night."
Watching Thomas take a drink from his glass, Jennifer couldn't resist taking a sip from hers. "Please Mr. Westerton," she gulped, trying again, "I think there's been a misunderstanding--"
Thomas reached over and laid his right hand on the bare skin of her left leg, just above her knee. "Jennifer, my dear... do you mind if I call you Jenn? It seems to suit you better."
"Why no," she said, startled. Martin called her Jenn when he didn't call her his Angel. "Of course not." She took another healthy gulp of his champagne, which was excellent.
"Very well, Jenn," he said, his hand beginning to gently massage her leg, inching seductively up her creamy thigh toward the hem of her dress. "What is it that you think I have misunderstood?"
His eyes were regarding her with rapt attention, not the way most men did, ogling her boobs or her legs, but taking her ALL in, every last inch of her! In that risqué dress, Jennifer felt almost indecently exposed. Her breasts, barely held in by that sexy plunging bodice, felt as if they were on display.
"Well," she said, licking her lips, "when you asked how much for me and I said a million dollars, I had no idea you'd take it seriously. I thought it was sort of a joke." She somehow sensed that she had said the wrong thing. Still his hand continued its expert manipulation, fingers brushing the hem of her garment, then sliding underneath it, raising goosebumps on her bare skin. Her heart was thumping; she was sure that her nipples must be visible through the skimpy fabric of her bodice. "I mean... I mean, I'm a happily married woman..." she added, wondering why it was that her voice seemed to lack conviction.
"This is very disappointing, Jenn," he said, frowning but still sensually massaging her gam. "Do you have any idea what my lawyers can do to people who disappoint me? Obviously we had no written contract which could possibly stand up in court. But they have plenty of other ways of venting my displeasure."
Jennifer's heart seemed to skip a beat while for a moment she pictured it all too clearly. Whispering campaigns, frivolous lawsuits which would be dismissed but which would drain their bank accounts. A single word to Mrs. Van Buren would not only get her fired from the Smithsonian, but blacklisted in Washington. She might even have to move back to Georgia. Possibly he even had ways of getting at Martin, ruining his career. Whatever the consequences for her personally, she could never allow something like that to happen...
"But what are we talking about?" Thomas said brightly. "I'm sure it won't come to that."
"I'm sure it won't," Jennifer agreed, smiling along with him. She marveled at the way he could so easily control the conversation. And her own emotions seemed to follow along behind his like a puppy behind her master. When he professed himself disappointed, SHE felt disappointed. When he was happy, SHE was happy... And she WAS happy right now! He was leaning closer to her, his Old Spice smell strong in her nostrils as his experienced fingers ventured between her inner thighs, further up underneath her skirt.
"Good," the older man said, leaning in even closer, pushing her back into an almost reclining position. "I instructed my driver to take the scenic route back to my hotel. That gives me approximately twenty minutes to convince you to give up your lovely body to me voluntarily."
Jennifer licked her lips, squirming a little in the luxurious leather seat as his exploring fingers arrived at her cleft, encountering that super-sexy red lace thong she was wearing. Undaunted, they followed the V to its point, gently rubbing her moist cooch right through the fabric. "I h-have to warn you, Thomas... I have a pretty strong willpower."
"And I have to warn you, Jenn," he replied. "I can be very persuasive when I wish to be." Without further warning, his fingers pushed aside the laughably inadequate protection of her lace panties and plunged into her honeypot! Jennifer gasped out loud at his presumption, and the moment her mouth opened, he claimed it, clamping his mouth over hers in a passionate kiss, his left hand grabbing her neck to prevent her from pulling away.
It was heaven! Fireworks bursting in the night? HA! If only that were all! Jenn felt the earth move beneath her, but that was only the limo seat reclining into a bed. She found herself spread out in a fully supine position, with Thomas splayed on top of her, holding her body prisoner by the weight of his masculine frame. His left hand had to release its hold in order to give him support so that he didn't crush her, but still she could feel his linen shirt pressed hard against the bare skin of her plunging cleavage, rubbing against her tender breasts as he rocked back and forth. And his right hand was still down there, fingers playing with her labia, blindly seeking and finding her sweet spot as they relentlessly coaxed her toward a climax.
"Oh God this feels so nice," Jenn moaned, surprising herself with the realization that his lips were now working their way down her neck and she had spoken this out loud. "I can't believe..." His hot mouth had now reached her collarbone, tracing its line toward the little dip at the base of her throat. Jennifer's head lolled backward as her body wiggled helplessly underneath him. A shudder ran through her spine, a sure signal that she was approaching an orgasm.
To her utter astonishment and disappointment, Thomas immediately withdrew his attack and redeployed. She watched in an erotic daze as he sat upright, both hands reaching under her dress to take hold of her panties and work them over her bottom. Jennifer had neither the opportunity nor inclination to resist as he swiftly stripped the lacy little garment down her slim legs and over her ankles, tossing it aside.
Then he spread her legs wide, pushing her skirt up to her waist as he slipped his face in between her thighs. Jennifer gasped as his mouth covered her wet cooz, his talented tongue taking the place of his fingers on her juicy pussy lips. "Oh God... please..." the girl groaned, writhing on the leather couch. Her hands needed to be doing something, so she grabbed hold of her supple little coconuts, rubbing her nipples, pushing them free of her confining halter top as she fondled them. "Please... Please don't stop, baby... please..."
Jennifer felt as if she couldn't hold back a moment longer. To her shame, he was going to make her cum in his mouth, and then she would be lost. At that point, she would submissively agree to anything, even to the point of letting him fuck her...
And just then, suddenly the whole world seemed to crash around them! The limo swerved violently to the left, then back to the right. Something struck them in the rear with an earth-shattering BANG, sending them both tumbling out of the bed and across the inside of vehicle. As the limo shuddered to an abrupt halt, Jennifer's lightweight body literally flew across the compartment and bounced off one of the other seats, her head striking the armrest hard enough to make her see stars.
"Mr. Westerton... are you all right?" Shaking her head painfully, Jennifer looked around. He was unconscious, knocked out by the impact. Through one of the broken windows, she could make out the shadowy forms of at least three men, their faces masked and carrying guns, converging on the limo.
***
Chapter 5 --
Jennifer heard the sound of the driver's door being opened, followed almost immediately by the zap of a Taser discharge. She struggled desperately to get up off the seat where she had been thrown, but for some reason, she couldn't seem to move her legs. A moment later, the girl found that it was because her hands were leaning on her skirt, pinning it to the seat.
She realized that she must be slightly concussed from hitting her head. She wasn't thinking clearly. Everything seemed confused, moving too fast for her. One of the passenger doors gaped open, and two of the masked men were grabbing Thomas by the arms and legs, dragging the unconscious billionaire out of the car and quickly carrying him across to a black van. Jenn tried to rouse herself to go after them, but the third man had appeared, pointing a Taser at her.
"What do we do with the babe?" the man called over his shoulder. "Kill her?"
One of the other two men called back interestedly, "Babe? What babe?"
"The cat said there might be a chick in the car," said the other. "But didn't say what to do with her."
"She's a looker," commented the man with the Taser, as his eyes ran over Jennifer's body, clad in that alluring wine-red dress. Her bodice had slipped, giving him a splendid view of her two naked titties. He picked up something red from the floor... which turned out to be Jenn's panties. She could see his lecherous male mind working as he stared at her sexy stems and grinned, making the obvious deduction.
The first two hoodlums, having bound and secured Westerton, came back to look her over. "Oh what the Hell," said one of them. "We don't have any instructions, so I say bring the hottie along."
"D-don't touch me!" Jennifer tried to fight them off, but she was still so unsteady from her concussion, she couldn't even throw a punch, let alone focus her invincible power bracelets. Helpless and vulnerable, she was in no position to resist as one of the men plucked her from the limousine and threw her, kicking and struggling, over his shoulder.
In the back of the van, Thomas was bound wrist and ankle with plastic cuffs. He was bleeding from a gash on his forehead, but to Jenn's immense relief, he didn't seem to be hurt badly. His pulse was strong, his chest rising and falling steadily. Their captors secured the girl's wrists behind her and threw her in a heap beside him.
The van hummed through the night. Eventually their abductors pulled into what seemed like the underground parking garage of an abandoned building. The three men manhandled Thomas and Jennifer through a concrete passage and into an empty storage room. There they sat Westerton in a scuffed up wooden chair, and the girl in another chair a few feet away half-facing his. Then they stepped back to the other side of the room where they could see into the garage while they stood guard.
By this time, Jennifer was feeling the cobwebs in her head start to clear. She was barefoot, her high heels having come off during her struggles. As she tested the strength of her bonds, she was thinking of the bracelets of Ishtar locked to her wrists. Even without fully transforming into the Fuchsia Fox, she thought smugly, she could summon enough power to deal with three ordinary hoodlums. But she sensed that it wasn't the right time. Who was this "cat" they were working for?
"Jenn..." Westerton groaned, coming around and finding himself tied up. "Jenn, I'm sorry... All my fault you're in this mess..."
"Shhhh, save your strength, Thomas," the girl hissed tenderly. "I won't let anything happen to you."
"You were so sweet, Jenn," he said wistfully. "I feel so shoddy for taking advantage of you as I did..."
"Never mind about that now," she whispered, her cheeks coloring.
"I had an unfair advantage, you know. From earliest youth, I realized that I had a power, a psychic ability to physically get into people's heads, to manipulate them for my advantage. Especially women."
"What are you saying?" Jennifer said.
"When I first saw you at the gala, you looked so delicious in that dress. Naturally I probed your mind. I don't read thoughts... only impressions. But I knew that you were lonely, missing someone you cared deeply about. I tried to insinuate myself there, transfer that longing to me."
Jennifer was speechless with outrage.
"I found an unexpected resistance there, a strength of will I had never encountered in a woman before. I must say it turned me on. You presented a challenge I couldn't resist. I had to have you. I ignored the other women at the gala and bent all my will solely upon you, determined to have you at any cost... any cost whatsoever."
Jennifer was aghast. She couldn't help but be flattered, and yet to be used like that...?
The seductive sound of a woman's high heels suddenly echoed through the concrete garage. The three thugs came to attention, making a path as the woman entered, her hips swaying sensually. Black leather boots, sheer fishnet stockings, black steampunk bustier and wrist-length gloves, all covering a sleek, heavenly body crowned with shoulder-length cornsilk blonde hair, her features hidden by a black mask and cowl.
Alley Cat! Jennifer was aware of her heart beating faster. As the Fuchsia Fox, she had tangled with this villainess more than once.
The blonde walked past her henchmen and stood, cocking her hips as she smiled down at Westerton, the swagger stick she held in her right hand slapping lightly against her exquisitely shapely leg. "That will be all, Clarence," she said without taking her eyes off him. "You men can go. You'll be paid in the usual way."
The three henchmen didn't stir. All three of them were staring at Alley Cat's delightfully pert derriere. The one who seemed to be making all the decisions cleared his throat. "We was wondering, Cat Lady," he said, "...Uh... if you didn't need the babe for anything... maybe you'd let us keep her."
"Cat Lady?" said Alley Cat coldly. She spun around like lightning, her swagger stick catching the man who had spoken precisely in the crotch. There was a zap sound as the man screamed, dropping to his knees and clutching his balls. The other two men went for their sidearms, but the blonde villainess pivoted, bringing her high heel around into one's stomach, then executed a graceful half-cartwheel to high-kick the other in the jaw, all without letting her stick leave the first man's gonads.
"Get out of my sight while I'm still in a good mood," she snapped, removing the swagger stick and stroking it seductively against her swan-like neck. She watched the three groaning men stumble out of the room and sighed. "It IS so hard to find good help these days..."
"...isn't it, Mr. Westerton?" Alley Cat abruptly turned to face her male captive with a bright smile.
"There's no need to hurt the girl," Thomas said. "She's done nothing to you. Let her go. Please. It's me you want--"
"Ohhhh yes!" Alley Cat hissed, dropping into a feline crouch, her alluring thighs spread wide, butt nearly touching the floor. "It's you I want! It's you, always you!" She crept swiftly toward him with exaggeratedly sensual stalking motions until she was practically in his lap, peering up into his face as he sat slumped in the chair. Jenn thought that he probably had a good view down the top of her bustier at her perky tits. "And you always know exactly what a woman wants, don't you, Thomas J. Westerton?"
Jennifer couldn't sit still any longer. She concentrated on her power bracelets, feeling the energy flowing through her, filling her lissome arms with enough strength to break her plastic cuffs...
Suddenly Alley Cat spun around behind Thomas, laying her swagger stick athwart his Adam's apple and using it to jerk his head back. Jennifer froze! If she made her move now, the beautiful blonde could easily break his neck!
"Please..." Thomas said. "How much... do you want... just to let the girl go? I can pay..."
Alley Cat leaned over the defenseless man, rubbing her tight leather bustier against his shoulder, her toned arm keeping the swagger stick rigidly holding his head still. Rising up, she lifted her right leg and placed it smoothly into his lap, letting her beautiful, nylon-clad gam slide seductively across the front of his unbuttoned shirt. Thomas groaned, arms tugging in vain at his bonds, and Jennifer could only guess at how much torture it was for him not to be in control for once.
"Your little girlfriend," Alley Cat said, stroking the side of his face with her lacquered nails, "is going to watch you die tonight, Mr. Westerton. She's going to watch me kill you."
Another moan from Thomas. He closed his eyes, concentrating. Alley Cat shook her head, cornsilk tresses dancing, and slapped him. "Stop trying to get into my head, Westerton!" she snarled. "You wouldn't like it in there! There's nothing in there but blood, and death..."
She spun around, careful to keep the point of her swagger stick firmly against his Adam's apple, and slid her saucy tail into the chair with him, her long alluring legs astraddle his waist, her firm boobs dangling in front of his face like some psycho lap dancer.
"Do you think money will make it go away?" she laughed, smiling again as her nails lightly raked his face. "Do you think money will make me forgive what you did to my mother? How you seduced her, corrupted her, turned her into your whore? You didn't think I saw, but I did! I was there! I was watching you, forcing her to suck your filthy cock and swallow your filthy jizm... forcing her to take your filthy dick up her bum! I was watching the whole thing! I was eleven years old the first time, but I was watching the whole thing!" The room fell silent from shock.
"When my father eventually found out what you did years later, he was heart broken," she continued. "They never talked about it, but I knew. After he committed suicide, I swore that one day I would get revenge. And that day is today." She reached up with her free hand and removed her mask and cowl.
Thomas gasped out loud, obviously recognizing her. "Cat?" he whispered. "Oh Cat..."
Jennifer also recognized her, and was struck dumb by the revelation. Alley Cat was Catherine Alessandro, beautiful young heiress of the world-wide Alessandro Hotel chain!
"Cat, you have it all wrong!" Thomas moaned, struggling. "I cared about your mother! I never made her do anything she didn't want to do! I can suggest, influence, but I can never make anyone do anything that they don't really want to do, deep down inside!"
"You're a liar," Alley Cat stated matter-of-factly. "My mother was a saintly woman, until you got your dirty hooks into her--"
"Your father was my good friend!" Thomas continued doggedly. "He died in a mountain-climbing accident! An accident, Cat -- not suicide, no matter what the tabloids say! Please, Cat--"
"Silence!" the blonde warned, using her free hand to clamp his mouth shut. Abruptly, she smiled, caressing his jawline, leaning her face close to his. "I thought I would send you out with one final kiss, since after all it is New Year's Eve, and almost midnight..." She moved closer until her lips were a hair's breadth from his, teasing him.
"...But fuck it!" she laughed. "Cats are nothing if not fickle!" Bending her spine backwards, she touched the floor behind her and executed a perfect somersault, landing catlike on her feet, whereupon she stepped back several paces and drew an automatic pistol from the side pocket on her steampunk bustier. Grimly she jacked a cartridge into the chamber and with both hands took aim at Westerton's chest! "Give my regards to the Devil!"
Jennifer was calculating rapidly. Alley Cat was standing approximately eight or nine feet away. If she broke her bonds and tackled her, would the girl still have time to pull the trigger, and drill Thomas right through the chest? Did she have anything to lose by trying?
Just then, a telephone started ringing out in the garage.
***
Chapter 6 --
It wasn't a cell phone; it was one of those old-fashioned rotary wall phones. It rang with an insistent clamor -- jing-jing!... jing-jing!... jing-jing!... over and over again incessantly. It was extremely irritating. Alley Cat maintained her aim at Westerton's chest, shaking her head petulantly as she tried to ignore it.
"Oh what is it now?" the blonde villainess snapped. "Can't a person commit a murder in peace?" She stalked to the doorway, paused. "Don't go away now," she admonished her two bound and helpless captives, then spun on her heel and left them alone.
Instantly Jennifer snapped her cuffs, leaping to her feet and flying to Thomas' side. Over the course of the evening her feelings for him had been led from attraction to affection, from scandalized acceptance to reluctant submission, and finally to outright erotic surrender. Even learning that it was all because of some psychic power he had couldn't entirely erase all those emotions. On top of everything, his admission that he couldn't make a woman do anything that she didn't want to do deep down was going to haunt her for a long time...
"Jenn... get out of here," the older man said. "Don't worry about me. The police will locate me soon enough. Run, before she comes back."
"I can't leave you like this, Thomas," she said, fingering the cuffs at his wrists. No... Alley Cat was as tricky as she was crazy. She needed to transform into the Fuchsia Fox! And to do that, she had to deploy the full power of her bracelets, which would destroy whatever she happened to be wearing. She looked down at her beautiful, sexy red dress. "Just... just give me a second," she said to Thomas.
"Jenn... there's no time! You have to get out of here..."
But the girl had already stepped behind him, out of his line of sight. In the corner, she reached up and undid the clasp at the nape of her neck. The dress dropped to the floor around her ankles, leaving her absolutely nude in the chilly storeroom. Thomas thought he saw a flash of light from behind him, but he was too busy watching the doorway for...
Alley Cat came strolling back, heels clicking rhythmically on the concrete floor. "That was my lookout, telling me that a swarm of police are heading this way with sirens blaring. You don't have a locator chip hidden on your person, do you, Mr.--" As she entered the room, she froze. "FOX?" she shrieked. "Where the Hell did you come from?"
The Fuchsia Fox dropped to one exquisite knee beside the captive billionaire, in two swift movements snapping the plastic cuffs on his ankles, then on his wrists. From his vantage point, Westerton had an excellent view. Her divinely beautiful face was approximately on level with his shoulder, giving him a close-up look at her deep brown eyes and high cheekbones. The flawlessly smooth skin of her bare shoulders served to contrast her tight fuchsia halter top, sheathing her youthful bust like a second skin. Noticing his scrutiny, she smiled and patted his arm.
"It's over, Alley Cat," the alluring superheroine said, rising to her feet. "Give me the gun before I'm forced to hurt you."
"Stay out of this, Fox! This is personal!" Raising the gun, the villainess opened fire on Thomas, but the young heroine dashed in front of him, shielding him with her delectable body. Seven bullets in rapid succession ricocheted harmlessly from her invisible force shield. Throwing the empty gun at her with a cry of rage, Alley Cat drew her swagger stick and charged.
The Fox ducked, caught her wrist and twisted it, hearing the stick clatter to the floor. Now that the villainess was disarmed, she risked relaxing her personal force shield somewhat. With the headache still throbbing from her concussion, it had been something of a mental strain.
This proved to be a mistake. Alley Cat spun, her gloved fist catching the stunning superheroine a glancing blow to the jaw. The villainess followed up with another jab (which missed) and a side kick to her groin. Jennifer winced at the shiver of pain that ran up her svelte torso, but her superior reflexes still enabled her to catch her adversary's lissome, nylon-clad leg when she tried another high kick.
Alley Cat lunged, biting and scratching like her namesake. Westerton, sitting dazed in his chair, could only watch the catfight, spellbound as the two beautiful, scantily-clad women went into a clinch. Catherine somehow got behind the Fox, briefly fondling the heroine's soft, supple B-cups as both arms wrapped around her slender neck in a sleeper hold.
"That's... enough!" the Fox hissed. She didn't even need her force shield to deal with this. Grabbing Alley Cat's wrists, she overpowered the girl with her super strength and plucked her hands away from her body. Out the corner of her eye, she saw the blonde slip a small gas cylinder from her glove...
There was a low hiss. The catnip bomb had no aroma, but the drug's effect was instantaneous -- the stunning superheroine's head began to buzz as if she had just chugalugged a quart of tequila! Her brown eyes slid out of focus, her bloodstream surging with lust. She had just enough presence of mind to fling Alley Cat away, knocking her into unconsciousness against the concrete wall of the storage room, before she totally succumbed.
"Thomas, oh Thomas my darling!" she gushed, throwing herself into Westerton's manly arms, planting a shower of wet, ardent kisses all over his face and neck, while tugging at the opening of his shirt. "You're not hurt are you? She didn't hurt you? I couldn't bear it if she hurt you..."
"Young lady?" he stammered, confused, trying to hold her off of him. "Miss, I don't know you, but--"
"It's me, Jenn!" the Fox blurted, all inhibitions fled clean away as her hands went to her own costume, unfastening her halter top and peeling it off. Westerton gaped at the sight of her perfect, naked B-cups, bobbing free and unashamed. "I want you, baby!" the superheroine pleaded, tugging at his trousers. "I need you to finish what you started in the back of the limo! Please? Pretty please?"
"Jenn?" Westerton babbled. "That's impossible. Jenn is--" His eyes went to the corner of the storeroom, where he expected to find a rear exit or ventilation grill or something which the girl had used to escape. What he saw was nothing of the kind. The room was a dead end. But lying in the corner was a crumpled wine-red dress that he remembered very vividly... "Jenn?" he gasped.
"Ohhhhh I gotta have it," the Fox moaned frantically, sliding down his torso, pulling down his trousers and boxers. His rod rose up like a flagpole as her fingers took hold of it, rubbing and manipulating him. "I gotta nosh on that all-beef American wazoonga of yours..." And suddenly, unbelievably, the sexy young goddess was on her knees, her heavenly lips fastened around his iron-hard cock. "Mmmmmm!"
Westerton felt the blood draining down his body. To steady himself, he reached out and grasped the Fox's luxurious brunette tresses, pulling himself closer as her mouth engulfed nearly his whole length, bobbing up and down his shaft, her tongue doing things to him that no other woman had ever done in his long experience. A river of fire seemed to be filling his entire body. With a groan, he felt himself ejaculate just as she pulled her mouth free, letting his hot, sticky cum splash onto her face.
"Come on down!" the Fox giggled, rolling onto her back and peeling off her briefs, throwing them aside. "I need to feel you inside me!" Her long, gorgeous legs were now spread, letting him see her beautiful pink pussy in all its glory as she fondled her own breasts. "Come on, I want you to nail me with that big torpedo, baby!"
Thomas dropped to his knees, fighting free of his trousers. Few men in his position -- alone with the world-famous Fuchsia Fox, who had somehow been rendered helpless with lust and was literally begging him to fuck her -- could have resisted the urge. And Thomas Westerton was not one of them...
***
"Give me a break, Angel!" Martin groaned. "Don't keep me in suspense! Did he... you know? Did he do it? Did he... put it to you?"
He was lying on his back, his head propped up on the pillows. Jennifer was in his arms, resting her head on his marvelous broad chest while one hand stroked her round, baby-smooth bottom. She could tell he was aroused. While she had been telling him the story, his one-eyed monster had sometimes lain quiescent, had sometimes sprung suddenly to life, but now it was hard as a rock. It was tempting to keep him hanging, but she couldn't do that to him...
"Funny thing is, he didn't," she confessed. "I don't know why not -- I was helpless, I was in absolutely no position to resist. Maybe he had an attack of conscience, because his dallying around was what had caused the whole mess in the first place." She sighed. "But the next thing I knew he was bundling me into the back of Alley Cat's van -- and I can tell you I wasn't making it easy for him..." She blushed. "Somehow he found the exit from the underground garage just before the police sealed off the building."
Martin groaned. "Good thing he did, too, or else--"
"...Or else D.C.s Finest would have found the Fuchsia Fox behaving like the poster girl for Chicks Gone Wild!" Jennifer said, blushing. "I probably would have tried to jump Lt. Caldwell, too; he's always been a sort of father figure to me! God, that would have been humiliating..."
She didn't tell him, yet, how Thomas had driven her around for twenty minutes or so until the catnip bomb wore off, or about her mortification when she realized what she had done and how she had revealed her identity to him. Or how she had had to grovel and plead with him not to ever, ever tell anyone. He had regarded her with that roguish look of his, and for a terrible moment she was certain that he was going to exact some sort of sexual price from her in exchange... But he had only smiled and held her for one final embrace, whispering in her ear, "Could thou and I with fate conspire, to grasp this sorry scheme of things entire, would not we shatter it to bits and then, remold it nearer to the heart's desire?"
"Martin..." she asked uncertainly, "what if he HAD? You know... entered me? How would you feel about that?"
He was silent for a moment. "I don't know. I guess the important this is how would it make YOU feel? You know, having a complete stranger totally dominate you like that..."
"Well, I've had the advantage a couple of hours to think about it," Jennifer said coyly. "I think... when I was under Thomas' influence, and under the influence of the catnip bomb... it was like, just physical, you know what I mean? Like hunger or thirst. They were digging into the core of my brain, messing with my hormones and things. My body had no choice but to respond the way it did. But you and me... what we have is love... Real Love. You captured my heart when I first met you, and no matter what anyone does to my body, they can't ever change that or take it away from us. I give my body to you freely, without any coercion, just because I love you and I want to make you happy."
"Yeah..." Martin said. "I guess I feel the exact same way. Come here, lady... let me make you happy..."
He rolled over on top of her, kissing her sweet, supple breasts as he pushed away the blanket. He entered her like a hand thrust into a glove, all snug and comfortable, the well-remembered feel of him making her shudder with pleasure. She was expecting him to be hard, but the intensity with which he fucked her took her breath away. She was clinging to his broad chest, her breasts bobbing against him while he kissed her neck, thrusting into her, making her butt cheeks rub up and down against the nylon surface of the sleeping bag.
"Oh God darling...!" Jenn whimpered, as her legs rose up, wrapping around his waist out of sheer longing to hold him closer. After a couple of minutes, she could feel his penis start to spasm, getting ready to erupt. A tidal wave of emotions surged through her body as he let go a geyser of hot sperm, her vagina clenching tightly around his rigid torpedo as if to squeeze out every drop... "OH YES! MAMAYESS!!! GOD!" If Thomas Westerton had been fireworks, this was a supernova!
As Martin finished, all the exhaustion of his day seemed to catch up with at once, and he fell into a deep slumber across Jennifer's body. She squirmed into a more comfortable position, carefully so as not to awaken him. In the process, she had to shift his arm off of her breast, and saw the time on his wristwatch. It was five minutes after midnight. Another New Year's Eve had come and gone...
She listened to him lightly snoring and smiled contentedly. And all was right with the world!
>>>>> THE END>>>>
A Story By Centurian