This tale starts immediately after "Office Mating Ch. 3" where I got reinstated to my Director position by my boss's boss and met Clara's latest visiting niece Rose, a runner with strong legs who had a lesbian incident with her coach and was vehemently against letting me probe her pussy with my prick. I mean, what's with young women these days, anyway?

The next morning I awoke with thoughts of Rose, my neighbor Clara's niece, who got some great oral attention but rejected the thought of full-on sex. Maybe I'd be lucky; Clara would work her over with a vibrator and send her home, artificially satisfied.

My day was all planned out: bowling in the morning with Smith and Jones, and then Harriett's return with her British assistant. And, if I were very lucky, somewhere in between or during, I'd find a young woman who'd appreciate eight inches of the Midwest's finest man sausage. There had to be at least ONE!

Smith hadn't been thrilled with the idea of bowling at ten A. M., just as the lanes opened. There wouldn't be many pretty young female bowlers to ogle, and his favorite waitress wouldn't be working that early in the day. Maybe she'd be in class at a local university or working her day job. None of us knew who she was or what he life was like when she wasn't dolled up in her waitress uniform at the alley.

I got out the old bowling bag, dusted off my Black Beauty ball and knocked the cobwebs out of my shoes. I'd had the same size feet since college, when I first bought that gear. Other bowlers probably considered them antiques, belonging in a locked glass case in some bowling museum, but they still worked for me. And the shoes saved me a few bucks on rentals when my buddies and me went out to the local lanes.

Traffic was moderate, putting me at the bowling establishment a few minutes early. The guy behind the counter, with his name Stan embroidered on his shirt, was still doing opening duties when I asked for a pair of lanes, so Smith and Jones and I would have some elbowroom. And, if I were off target, I'd just be throwing my ball down an alley we'd rented.

"Bar's closed," Stan muttered. "Snack Bar is open, though."

A folding metal gate blocked entrance to the normally dimly lit bar area. Neon flickered to life down the way at the Snack Bar counter, as somebody turned up that roller device that slowly cooked hot dogs to death. Heat lamps were tanning yesterday's nacho chips, and the smell of oil meant that popcorn would soon be available.

Smith came through the door just after my conversation with the clerk. "Hey, Harv, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" The greeting was punctuated by a hard slam on the back, one that contained more aggression than warm feeling. What did he have against me? I punched Smith's shoulder, and didn't pull it. He smiled but rubbed the point of impact.

Jones was through the door a minute behind Smith. "Hey Harvey." No physical contact, just a wave.

We jockeyed for position, taking seats around the electronic scoring desk. Combined, the smell of our socks and shoes polluted the air for six lanes in either direction. It took us no more than three frames each before we ran out of things to talk about, so the barb trading began. Smith wanted to know if I was gaining weight.

I ignored his question and parried. "Too bad the bar is closed. You won't have a chance to flirt with your girlfriend."

"She's not my girlfriend. I just like looking up her skirt, and she doesn't mind as long as she gets tipped for her trouble."

I held back a reply about how he might think about giving her a different tip, the tip of his dick, as she bent over. No need to flaunt my promiscuity with these two blabbermouths.

Smith asked about Annie, and I gave him some bullshit about her success at college. The truth was, I wasn't plugged into her schooling, just her coed pals. About half a dozen of them, one at a time back on my birthday.

"Jaqi is coming into town next weekend. She said if I saw you to say 'Hi.'" Smith wasn't happy about being the message courier, given his sour expression.

"Tell her 'Hi' back. What is she now, a senior?"

"Yeah, graduates next year. No more college bills, thank God. Too bad the job market is in the toilet. She'll probably come home and live off her old man." Smith wasn't too happy with that idea either. He put his emotions into his next roll, which splattered the ten pins in all directions.

"You know, Jaqi has a thing for you," said Jones.

Smith strutted back from his strike and aimed a finger at me. "Listen, you stay away from my kid." His face was redder than his favorite Christmas-themed bowling shirt, the one with "Ball Busters" on the back.

I raised my hands in surrender. "Sure. No problem. I don't expect we'll be running into each other. I don't hang out in the same places as college kids." Not that the idea hadn't crossed my mind.

Smith seemed to take me at my word, maybe the first time, and calmed down. However, from that point on he bowled awful. Maybe the mere idea of his daughter and me threw off the rest of his game. He didn't mark for the rest of the line.

We'd just started our third game when I saw the bend-over waitress come in and converse with Stan the opener. She was in a t-shirt and jeans. "Hey, look who's here." I pointed.

Smith dropped his ball at the sight of his favorite server.

"Hey, watch it!" hollered Jones. "I only got two feet."

The waitress looked over at the commotion, recognized us - I knew because she smiled - and headed straight to our lanes. She waltzed down two steps into our field of play. Unlike when she was working as a waitress, she had no make-up on, a distinct improvement. More pretty, less slutty. "Hi." It was a breathless sound, more exhaled than spoken.

"Smith here didn't recognize you in civvies," said Jones.

"Oh, maybe this would be more familiar." She turned to face away and bent at the waist. Even with jeans on, we all knew just how fine an ass she had. We'd seen it peeking out from her short black waitress uniform lots of times. She straightened, and so did my cock. "You're early today. Guess I won't have the chance to play our little game. Unless-" She approached Smith and took his chin between her thumb and index finger, "you'd like a cup of coffee."

Smith swallowed hard but didn't disengage from her light grasp. "Sure. Bring some for these two Bozos, too."

Her eyes rolled back and she shook her head. Her brown hair waved like the starting flag at the Indianapolis Five Hundred. "I'm off duty. What I meant was, would you like to go for a cup of coffee? With me?"

Smith looked at me and Jones. Shit, she was offering Smith the chance of a lifetime, to make good on his lecherous flirtations and have some quality time with a sexy young woman. I'd have accepted in a microsecond. But she'd asked Smith.

"Uhhhh," stammered Smith. "There's a Starbucks on the corner."

"Let's go to my place," she replied. "I make a mean latte, with milk that's really hot." The last word was a sharp exhale.

Shit! She was inviting him to her place? For coffee? For a bend over and fuck me, more likely.

She didn't wait for a reply. She led Smith away from our lanes, up the stairs and out the door. Any resistance on his part was feeble, because she led him out the door despite their relative differences in height and strength. Must not have been trying too hard to get away. I didn't blame him one bit. I shook my head. "I guess Smith forfeits this line." We had a standing deal, loser pays.

"He left his street shoes," said Jones. "I'll hold onto them for him. And his ball."

The young woman would be caring for Smith's balls within the hour. I was sure of it.

Jones paid for all three lines. I didn't have to outrun the bear; I just had to outrun one of my companions.

I was jealous that the sexy waitress picked Smith instead of me. I probably wouldn't have gone with her anyway, afraid to expose my promiscuous nature to my big-mouthed buddies. But the incident sparked lascivious thoughts. When I caught a glimpse of Sgt. Papa's Bytes and Pieces alongside the highway below me, I remembered the stealth videos of mismatched fathers and daughters that Zenellis had captured during his invitation-only encounter in Wisconsin. All at once, my curiosity overflowed about those videos. They were safely stored on four hard disks in my basement crawl space. I'd need a RAID drive cabinet to reassemble them into a useful configuration. In my town, the obvious place to shop for such an item was Sgt. Papa's used electronics emporium. I had time for a quick stop. Harriett and her Brit assistant wouldn't arrive for hours.

I swerved onto the immediately available exit ramp but made a sharp left turn before it became a highway merge lane. Just down the access road, his store was a rusty Quonset hut with a faded and flaked hand-painted sign that had seen better days. I parked on the gravel patch that served as his lot. Several cars were present. Maybe the Sarge was having a sale.

An electric chime played Revile as I swung the door open. Over a dozen long tables held mounds of surplus electronics, wires, batteries, motors, and logic boards for computers whose companies had long since disappeared but who lived on in my t-shirt collection. At the far counter, Sgt. Papa stood proud in his military short-sleeved shirt and matching cap. The caricature of his face on the sign depicted a younger proprietor. He was in an intense conversation with a young woman whose back was towards me. Only when her arm swooped her dark hair back did I see the blonde streak. Damn, he was tailing to Nashta, the pizza delivery girl.

I casually strolled towards them. Sgt. Papa glanced towards me, away from the young lady and the white MacBook covered with stickers on the counter. "I'll be with ya' in a minute, fella."

Nashta's hand was stroking the old Mac. She didn't look up.

"That's okay. Just curious what you've got here."

Nashta turned her head, her eyes wide, and stumbled back. "You!"

"I leave my house sometimes. Whatcha shopping for?"

She patted the MacBook. "I need computer for school."

"Listen, we're doing business here, fella. If you'd kindly wait your turn, this won't take long." Sgt. Papa held up his palm, intended to stop my interference.

Which made me all the more interested in their discussion. I had a feeling Sgt. Papa was going to take an inappropriate amount of Nashta's hard earned money. Not that old Sarge was a crook. Maybe just not the most trustworthy guy in town. "I know this young woman."

"Yes. He Mister Large Sausage."

The Sarge smiled. "Quite a nickname, fella."

"Nashta delivers pizzas to my house." I took hold of the computer, which was plugged in behind the counter. "That's my usual order."

"If you say so." The Sarge snickered, but then noticed I was opening the lid of the Mac. The tip of the power adapter cable glowed orange. The battery was charging, maybe because the Mac had been on the shelf for a while. Positive interpretation. Or maybe something more serious. "I'm just going to check this out if you don't mind."

The Sarge pressed his lips together. He wasn't appreciating my intervention. Nashta wore a concerned look. "Is okay?"

Clicking on the Apple, then About, the MacBook had been upgraded to one gig of memory. I clicked on More info and examined the power statistics. The battery had been cycled over five hundred times. The chemicals inside were long dead. "How much are you asking for this antique?"

"It works fine. Perfect for school. Five hundred." The Sarge crossed his arms. Not a happy soldier.

"Four hundred would be too much. And she'll have to buy a replacement battery for about one hundred thirty. Three fifty is a fairer price, and at that, you're making a few bucks." He probably got the computer from a school liquidation for a hundred, once of those One Student One Computer lease programs.

"Okay, three fifty, plus one hundred for the power adapter."

I ran my hand along the cord. It was dirty and rough. The owner hadn't been gentle. "A new one is only seventy nine. But you'll throw this one in, just because you're a nice guy, right?"

Sgt. Papa growled. "Okay, three fifty including the power cable. Final price."

Nashta smiled and dug deep into the pocket of her tight jeans. She retrieved a fistful of crumpled cash. We watched as she flattened the bills: singles, fives, tens and an occasional twenty.

"Three hundred and fifty," she announced with a smile.

"And you'll eat the tax for this promising student," I suggested.

Nashta put her hand on my chest. It was the first time she'd touched me. I looked down at her thin fingers and polished nails. "No. I pay tax." She counted out thirty-four more singles.

He unplugged the machine and the screen went black. Yep, the battery was shot.

Nashta smiled. "Is okay. I use plugged in." She pulled at my shoulder and kissed me on the cheek. Not a peck. A long warm smooch.

I was sorely tempted to turn my head ninety degrees, to feel those firm lips against mine. But a public display of affection in front of Sgt. Papa was ill advised. He already thought the two of us knew each other intimately. No need to feed that fantasy.

"I repay you. I promise." Her grin lit up the room. With MacBook in her arms, the power cord dangling after her, Nashta ran for her car, the same one she delivered pizzas in. I stood a bit taller for having done a good deed for a deserving young woman, with no sex involved.

"Now, for me," I said.

"Huh?" Sgt. Papa dragged his eyes from the departing young woman's behind and tilted his cap.

"I need a four-slot RAID array box, SATA drives with a SCSI interface." I had an old PowerMac perfect as the host.

"Hmmm. Might be hard to find." Sgt. Papa disappeared down a deep thin aisle. A few minutes later he waddled back to the counter holding the exact item I'd requested. "You're a lucky fella. I have just this one."

It had a familiar logo - a black Z on top of a hound's-tooth pattern. "Where did you get this?"

"At a liquidation sale. Some company went belly up." Sgt. Papa hoisted his pants over his beer belly but they didn't reach.

Given the distinct logo, the drive bay had been used by Zenellis in his company. Maybe the exact one that had housed the drives I'd confiscated. "I'll take it."

"Five hundred bucks." He grinned.

The guy probably had a stack of them in back. "You wouldn't be able to get me a few more, would you? I'm putting together a small data center." My turn to be less than honest.

"I probably could. How many?"

I made a guess. "Twenty?"

His eyes gleamed. "Hang on."

He vanished down the same aisle and came back almost immediately. "I moved a few crates and guess what I found? I got a pallet of these babies in prime condition. And I'll let you have them all for two hundred a piece."

Two hundred times twenty would be a windfall sale for a place like the Sarge's. "Tell you what." I pulled two crisp one hundred dollar bills from my wallet's secret pocket and put them on the table. Then I placed Sgt. Papa's hand on the bills. That left the RAID box unencumbered for me to heft from the counter. "I'll try this one out and if it works like you say, I'll be back for the other nineteen."

Sgt. Papa sputtered as I walked away. He shouted something as I pushed the door open with my foot, but Reveille announcing my departure drown him out.

After putting the RAID hardware downstairs on a folding table, my new makeshift computer desk, I swept the house for remnants of my porn collection I'd taken out and forgotten to put away. Harriett was ignorant of my adult reading and photographic materials, and her first day back was not the time for her to learn, especially with a houseguest in tow. I crawled into the attic and repositioned my collection of paperback books and magazines deep behind a stack of abandoned plywood and framing.

I was as nervous as a schoolboy preparing for a first date even though Winifred and I would never have that kind of relationship. If my rule prohibiting sexual relations with co-workers had failed in the past - and it had - then it couldn't fail with my wife's assistant. I'd been on the wrong side of blackmail and I didn't relish the possibility of another instance. This was just too close to home.

I recalled Harriett's comments about Winifred Cummings, the college grad with no place to live. 'It'll be like having another daughter without all of that messy stuff.' Yeah, like sex and pregnancy.

I dressed down, cotton drawstring shorts and a t-shirt. I didn't want to give Harriett the impression I'd gone out of my way to look special, and I didn't care what kind of impression I made on Winifred as long it wasn't the attraction kind.

Harriett's leased Lexus pulled into the driveway. My coupe and her sedan occupied the garage. My heart was beating like a drum solo. How would living with a stranger affect my life? Not in a good way, I was certain. Harriett came through the front door all smiles and giggles. Of course she was happy. I'd be grinning too if Tashun allocated me a company car allowance. Although it wouldn't be a Lexus sedan. The cheap bastard might not have even paid for a Chevy subcompact.

"I'm back!" Harriett shrieked. I was standing right in front of her, no need to announce. She waved both arms as if in a parade, then stepped aside. One look at Winifred and I sighed with relief. One time I'd seen a commercial for the TV show 'Super Nanny' where a British woman invades a family, makes the parents feel inadequate and terrorizes the children. Anyway, Winifred looked like a younger version of the title character. Except with darker and bushier eyebrows, frizzier hair escaping from a bun, puffier cheeks, and a cleft in her round chin. Otherwise identical. And she was yawning like a hippo.

She wasn't my type! I didn't know there were any females who occupied that category until Winnie came across the threshold. Winifred was even chunkier than Anita the pretend Little John from my birthday celebration who was a bit heavier than my usual. Not even a flinch from my dick. I was safe.

"Harvey, this is Winifred my new assistant."

There hadn't been an old assistant. "Hi," I said.

Winifred yipped as she closed her mouth. "How do you do?"

Harriett joined Winifred in yawning. "That trans-Atlantic return flight was so noisy. I couldn't catch a wink of sleep."

Huh? I thought Harriett had been at a convention on the East coast. "You were overseas?"

"Yes, at headquarters. They flew me out suddenly in the middle of the conference, introduced me to the worldwide marketing manager, and assigned Winifred to me. I told you England is where Winifred is from originally."

Winnie spoke up. "Yes, quite, but I attended business school in Boston."

I was angry and jealous and confused all at the same time. Harriett's employer flew her out to headquarters in the UK so she could meet the brass? And they assigned her an assistant? I'd never been outside the continental United States except for a few hours on the Canadian side of the Ambassador Bridge when I was in Detroit, and that was no big deal. Just a movie and dinner with a blind date.

"We're both going straight to bed," said Harriett.

Together? Had Harriett gone lezzy?

"Put Winifred's bags in Anna's room," she continued.

"So where will Annie sleep? When she's home on break?" In bed with me when you're not here? But then Winifred would be gone and Annie's bed would be available. Sometimes I confuse myself.

"Anna won't be coming home for break. She's going to visit - how many were there? - five or six friends at their homes."

I'd hoped that Annie would earn a few bucks during break to help with her college tuition, room and board. "A great way to avoid working." Five or six? The same girls that had their way with me? Would she pay them back by fucking their fathers? I'd bet on it and I'm not a betting man.

"May I freshen?" asked Winnie. "And then perhaps a bite to eat?"

"Sure. Follow Harvey upstairs. The bathroom is just across from Anna's room."

I took one suitcase in each hand and trudged upstairs. The third step groaned twice: once with my weight plus the two bags and again when Winnie stepped on it.

"Oh my! Does it always do that?"

"Yep. Step lightly." An impossible task, given her heft.

Winnie made a right into the bathroom while I turned left and put down the bags.

Harriett was at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for me with her lecture look. "I want you on your best behavior. Winifred is an absolute gem. She does things even before I ask. I'll beat quotas this quarter for sure with her help. Which means a nice fat bonus."

Nice and fat described both Harriett and Winnie. It was unlikely that either of them lost weight during their travels. Eating at restaurants provides less meal control. "I'm always a nice guy. Just remember that this is our home, not boarding house. Winnie will need to make some accommodations too."

The last sentence was delivered to Harriett's back. What she had to say was vital. What I had to say was worthless. I followed her into the kitchen.

Harriett chattered on, expecting to hang on her very word. "I'm busier than ever. We have clients to call on, all over the country. But I insisted on coming home for a couple of weeks."

Did Harriett miss me? She made it sound like she'd done me a favor. "How come?"

"Don't you remember anything?" She waved the top page of our fridge-sized calendar hard enough to create a breeze. "We have Emanuel's Bar Mitzvah and Peri's wedding."

Sure, two upcoming family events were the draw, not her husband. "Oh yeah, the next two weekends."

"Speaking of family events, how was your visit with Anna? For your birthday, I mean." Harriett puttered around the kitchen, moving items an inch one way or the other on the counter.

"Fine." All of the attention my dick got from Annie's dorm mates had left it red and sensitive, but I'd healed.

Harriett opened and shut various cupboard doors. "She told me she had a surprise planned. What was it?"

"A sampling," I said. Of several of her friends.

"You didn't over-do it, did you? Your eyes are always bigger than your stomach."

And around those coeds, my cock was bigger than normal, sticking out below my belly.

Harriett clucked her tongue. "I'd wager you did. Did Annie make everything herself?"

I hadn't made it with Annie. She was off with what-was-his-name. "Her friends helped." Besides the girls Annie had recruited, I'd added Inga, Claudia and Robin. "And I may have overindulged a bit."

"See, do I know you or what?" Harriett rummaged through the fridge contents.

I hadn't been dutiful in shopping while Harriett was away. Occasionally I'd buy milk for breakfast cereal, and some cold cuts for sandwiches and snacks.

Harriett peeked around the fridge door. "Speaking of food, you didn't plan anything for dinner tonight, did you? Never mind, I'll whip up something. Leave it to Harriett to take care of things."

There wasn't much for Harriett to work with, but that never stopped her before. The doorbell rang. I wasn't expecting anybody.

When I opened the door, Nashta stood there in her uniform of jacket and jeans. In her hand, my usual - a large sausage pizza. She grinned a lovely smile. "For you. No charge."

I took the box from Nashta. Harriett joined me at the door. I'd been caught red-handed with contraband in a cardboard container. "You know this stuff is poison, don't you?"

"You not alone. Other peoples?" asked Nashta.

Harriett leaned over my shoulder to get closer. "You know each other?"

"She's delivered here before. We got a coupon in the mail a few weeks ago and I decided to support a local business. But there's been some mistake. I didn't order this."

Nashta's smile disintegrated. "No mistake. Present."

This was Nashta's pay-back for getting her a better price on her MacBook.

"Why would you get a present from -" Harriett read the name on the cardboard box. "-One Hot Piece? What kind of name is that? What, are you in their frequent buyer's program?"

"No. Just once." That was a lie. I hoped Nashta wouldn't contradict again.

Nashta stood speechless, shaking. Harriett scared her. Not an atypical response, which is why I was surprised that Harriett had been successful with clients. "Sorry." Nashta ran from my doorstep, muttering something in her native tongue.

I pointed at the retreating young woman. "See what you did? You frightened her."

"So what? She's only a pizza delivery person. Maybe she'll stay away. Your health is more important than her feelings. Throw that thing out. I'm going to check on Winifred."

"Okay." I waited until Harriett walked upstairs before sneaking the pizza into the basement. Nashta had paid for it with her own limited funds, and I was not about to waste her money. Besides, cold pizza is good the next day. Or even the day after that.

The door rang. Had Nashta forgotten something? As I ran upstairs, I prayed for someone else to be at the door. Inga looking to get laid. One of Annie's friends in a negligee. Inga's father with a shotgun. Anybody.

Rose, Clara's niece, stood in jacket and skirt, her athletic legs on display. "Hi. Got a minute?"

I was delighted at the prospect of getting my hands on that young lady but not with two chaperones in the house. The third stair groaned. Without looking, I knew Harriett or Winifred was behind me. "For your portrait sitting? Of course. Right this way." I glanced back and saw the Brit. "I promised I'd take a few shots." My last shot at taking a shot between Rose's legs had failed.

"You're a photographer then? Harriett told me you were a computer systems person. I thought we might have a chance to talk about technology and your experiences-"

"Maybe some time, but now I really have to-"

The stair groaned again. "Hello." Harriett joined the growing throng in the foyer. "And you are-"

"Rose. I'm visiting my Aunt Clara across the street and I need to see Dr. Marcus because-"

Harriett snorted. "Doctor?"

I intervened. "I'm taking a few photos of Rose for her portfolio. She's an athlete. Just a favor for a neighbor." My hand gently on her back, I hustled Rose to the door leading down one flight. "Besides, you're always telling me to use my equipment." There'd be no chance to use my equipment with Rose. Too much risk with two folks rumbling around upstairs. "We'll be in my studio."

"You mean the basement? Don't be too long. I've got dinner in the oven."

As Rose descended, she looked back at me. "She's huge!"

I didn't know if she meant Harriett or Winifred. I guessed the latter. "My wife's assistant." I assumed the sway of Rose's ass was unintentional, but I could have been wrong. At the bottom of the stairs, Rose opened the door and stepped through. I followed and shut the door behind me. There was no lock or I would have latched it.

Just around the corner, I'd set up the backdrop and lights I'd borrowed from Angie at the Underwuud Studio. While Harriett had been away, I scrounged a few wooden skids for a platform, and covered them with cheap plywood and remnants from a dumpster behind the discount carpet store. The backdrops flowed onto the platform, covering the patchwork of solids and patterns. My digital still camera, a point and shoot model, was mounted to a professional tripod. A maple stool sat in front of the dark brown backdrop.

Rose faced me and drew an invisible circle on the floor with her pointed foot. "I'm sorry about my behavior. I should have showed more respect."

I wandered towards the camera. "You didn't break anything, not even my morale. And you're not the first patient who got angry with me." I needed to keep up the ruse of being a physician.

"Oh. I wasn't angry. Just startled and really confused. That's why I came over. Aunt Clara said I should talk my confusion out with you. You were pretty cool discussing private stuff before."

Actually, I'd been pretty hot. Hard and erect, ready to violate her. She was the one who was icy and uncooperative. And with a vise-tight pussy. "I'd be happy to. About your coach, right? Have a seat."

Rose approached the stool, clasped her hands, rubbed her thighs, folded her arms then grasped the stool and sat down. "Well, actually, there's more. God, I've never told anybody the whole story. Not even Aunt Clara."

This was an unexpected twist. I thought Rose's confusion was about lesbian tendencies. "Go on, dear. I'll just get my camera ready."

"You mean you're actually going to take photos?" She ran fingers through her hair. The gesture made no difference, maybe because of the short length. "I'm not wearing make-up or anything."

I wondered if the 'anything' included underwear. "I'll need to have something to show my wife if she asks. Please, a few shots to give me cover."

"Okay. Maybe it'll help." She unzipped her jacket and threw it to the side. A plain blouse matched her plain face. "So, what happened was, after Coach went down on me, I was really confused. I mean, since I enjoyed it, was figured I was a lesbian."