Lisa looked everywhere for Auguste. At last she found him in the second floor executive board room. “Auguste,” she exclaimed, “What are you doing here? And what happened to your clothes?”

“Strip poker,” Auguste sighed. “I was looking for you, and I figured the poker tables might be a good bet. You weren’t there, but I thought I’d wait, and while I waited, I got lured into one of the games. Three hands later, well, you see ... So I signed one of the promissory notes and got some tokens and set off again and again I didn’t find you anywhere. Maybe upstairs, I thought, and I discovered this room. The door was code-locked, but I remembered your birthday, and Sesame Shazam. All these almost socially-distanced slot machines waiting to be plundered. I tried a token in each one. No luck. I’m down to the last machine and my last lucky token.”

“Um, I don’t think they’re plugged in,” Lisa said.

“I guess that could explain it,” Auguste said. “Stupid one-armed bandits.”

“Right,” said Lisa.

“And I have to say, I’m disappointed in the arms. As limbs go, these levers are exceedingly deficient. So stubby. A cute cheerleader’s nose might be bigger.”

“What about a cute cheerleader’s clit?” Lisa asked.

Almost the moment Auguste’s cock entered Lisa’s cunt, her orgasms began. Auguste fucked her gently, tenderly, firmly, fiercely, ferociously, tenaciously, passionately, wildly, relentlessly—and Lisa came and came, her cries of climax unabated, and with each orgasmic utterance, the one-armed bandits gave up their loot, token after token jetting from their slots, falling upon each other, metallic clanks and jingles louder and louder as coin after coin joined the fast-growing mountain of winnings. So into each other were Lisa and August, they noticed not at all.