Chapter 8: Paying the Piper

Daylight broke on a Thursday morning. Arabella wiggled her rump, pressing against Simon's morning hard-on.

"Well good morning to you too." She luxuriated in the feel of his cock nestled in the crack of her ass.

Simon buried his face in the nape of her neck, enjoying the smell of her hair and the warmth of her skin. His hand moved from her stomach to cup her firm breast.

He whispered in her ear, "Hurray, hurray it's the eighth of May. National Outdoor Intercourse Day."

His poor poetry was rewarded with a giggle. "It's too cold to go outside." She craned back her neck and kissed him. "We can stay here where it's warm instead."

They made love spoon fashion, both lying on their side. Simon thrust from behind Arabella in a slow, deep way as he enjoyed the silken feel of her tight pussy around his organ. His thrusts became more insistent as his balls tightened in anticipation of orgasm. His hands grasped her hips, holding her steady as he churned her syrupy cunt. Neither of them said a word but the sounds of their gasps and heavy breathing filled the dimly lit bedroom. Finally Simon stiffened and released his seed into her, burying his cock as deep as he could. He felt her body clench his cock in return, milking cum from his cock.

Afterwards, they lay in the afterglow of the early morning sex, both surprised at themselves. The rest of the morning seemed to pass in a happy haze and Simon was already looking forward to coming home and restarting their passionate coupling after work.

Simon entered his office, greeting everyone on his way through the maze of cubicles when his assistant, Felicia Thompson, burst out from behind her desk like a quail from a bush.

"Simon! Simon. There are two strange men in your office waiting for you."

"Strange as in 'weird looking' or what?"

"Strange as in 'dangerous looking' is what. They just showed up about a half hour ago and asked to see you."

"So what makes them dangerous?"

"Expensive suits and cheap shoes. Bulges under their left arms. Mirrored sunglasses with earphones. It all adds up to the Feds."

Simon tried to calm her down as they walked toward his office but a sense of foreboding had started to grow inside him.

"Look, I've got a plan." Felicia stepped in front of him and stopped his progress to the office door. As usual, she was dressed in her usual tight blouse and short skirt. She smoothed her skirt with her hands, emphasizing her flat stomach and braless tits. "I can distract them and you leave like you've never been here. Call me with your cell phone in an hour and we'll pretend that you've got a trip to go on. You know some kind of short-notice emergency."

Taking one look at her erect nipple poking through the thin blouse, Simon had an idea what Felicia meant when she said "distract them" but he let it pass. Simon had met Felicia in a refugee hostel run by the late Reverend James Lot and she had a habit of seeing bad guys at every turn.

Standing in his office were two men, anonymous in their gray suits and dark sunglasses.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" Simon knew that they weren't selling life insurance. Looking at them, he tried to weigh the chances he could get his pistol from his desk drawer.

"Major Simon M. Woodsman." The first suit spoke in a flat Midwestern monotone. Simon could see a hand mike on the one standing behind him. Whoever they were, they were definitely Government goons. And they probably weren't alone.

Smoothly, Simon closed the door. "I'm sorry you must have the wrong address." The first suit sat in a chair and crossed his legs.

"You can talk to us now Major. Or we'll be back when your girlfriend gets home. The choice is yours."