See part 1 for disclaimer.

WARNING: This is rated *****NC-17***** for explicit sexual content!

Girls' Night Out, Part 2 of 2

by Ginger

What I find most surprising, in retrospect, was the complete lack of
apprehension on my part. I never even once considered bailing out,
which I, again, ascribe to that little vacation from rational
thinking I was so enjoying.

There I sat, my feet dangling from the hood of Wonderboy's Mazda
Miata, as I sat back on my elbows, gazed up at the stars and waited
for him to materialize. I suppose there was a chance he'd spot me and
split on foot, but I guess I never seriously entertained that
possibility. I just *knew* he'd show up. And he did.

"I'm impressed," he remarked, stepping out of the shadows. "Getting
into my dressing room to swipe my car keys was a neat trick. Security
here is pretty tight because some fans can get... overzealous."

"Don't be too impressed, Jarod," I replied nonchalantly. "Sometimes
it's just a matter of knowing who to tip."

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to tell me what you're doing here."

"Here as in the hood of your car or here as in D.C.?" I responded
coyly.

"Either... both."

"Believe it or not, I was out with a bunch of old school chums. I
think you may have met some of them. They're big fans."

He emitted a dry chuckle and observed, "So, this is a coincidence."

"Looks like... And I guess you're either here on a pretend or
experimenting with new forms of self-expression."

"A dancer from the club was murdered a couple months ago and the
wrong person is sitting in jail for committing the crime."

"Ah," I said with a slow nod then sat up straight and dangled the car
keys in front of him.

When he made a move for them, I snapped my hand back and shook my
head. He folded his arms and issued a challenge through narrowed
eyes; I answered it by setting my jaw and raising my left eyebrow.
And thus we remained, locked in each other's gaze, for one beat, then
two, then three, then...

I've always known the boy was fast, and yet I was suprised by how
quickly he had me flat on my back with my hands pinned on either side
of my head. He had somehow maneuvered himself between my legs and was
leaning forward so that the top half of his body pressed against
mine. He was still standing so I wasn't bearing his full weight, just
enough to suggest how powerful and male he was, just enough to feel
really, really good.

"Aren't you afraid... someone will see?" I asked, somewhat haltingly,
and I was suddenly aware of my chest heaving delightfully into his
with every breath I drew. "Wouldn't want to blow your cover," I added.

"Actually," he explained softly, his head hovering over mine. "This
is exactly the type of behavior I need to exhibit this evening. In
fact, I was going to have to enlist the help of a bystander for this
part but then *you* showed up to play the role." He lowered his head
until his lips were less than an inch above mine then tacked on, "And
you're playing it beautifully, Miss Parker."

"You're kidding," I commented breathlessly.

"Nope," he replied with a grin then stole a quick glance at my left
hand balled tightly into a fist around the car keys and
suggested, "You drive."

Grinning back at him I replied, "You navigate."

*  *  *  *

There was something vaguely surreal about being in one of the lab
rat's nests at the same time as the furry little critter himself. It
was kind of like being at one of those places bearing a "George
Washington slept here" plaque and running into a 270-year-old guy
wearing a powdered wig and wooden dentures.

He let me have the run of the place, remaining silent and watchful as
I circled the large, one-room basement apartment, stopping
occasionally to run my fingers across the odd possession - a necktie
slung over the back of a chair, a magazine setting open on the small
table next to the kitchenette, a slinky (apparently, he hadn't
outgrown them) dangling over the arm of a rather worse for wear
looking sofa. The DSAs, of course, were nowhere in sight. Not that I
really gave a rat's ass (if you'll pardon the ironic choice of
phrase).

When I worked my way over to the sleeping area, things got a bit more
interesting. I smirked at the eight Mr. Potato Heads - all cowboys -
lined up in a perfect row on the tall chest of drawers. What
interested me more was the impressive array of rope looped around
hooks on the back of the closet door. I stopped in front of it and
immediately sensed his presence behind me.

"Nylon, cotton, hemp, silk," he instructed, his warm breath tickling
my neck, and the inside of his arm brushing the outside of mine, as
he reached around me to point out each one.

"Do you remember Florida?" I asked offhandedly as I pondered the
items hanging before me.

He emitted a soft chuff of amusement and replied, "Of course I do."

Lifting a hand to touch the various fibers, I inquired, "And which
one is the... softest?"

"The silk," he answered smoothly as his hand covered mine.

He moved my hand to the silk twine and guided my fingers over its
gently sloping braided texture. His chest was pressed against my back
and I could feel his heartbeat. I must have closed my eyes because I
sensed them opening as I pulled the silk rope off the hook. Then I
turned to face him and leaned back against the door to put a little
space between us before advising,

"You need to trust me, Jarod."

"We need to trust each other."

"My turn first," I insisted with an air of steely determination. He
shrugged and smiled, the look in his eyes making me flush... all over.

*  *  *  *

In looking back, I am amazed at how rationally we behaved even as we
embarked upon a totally irrational course of action. He didn't have a
headboard but, with a gesture and a nod, we silently agreed that a
pipe running from ceiling to floor in one corner of the room would
suffice and, together, pushed the bed into that corner. Fortunately,
it was queen size so his long, lean body would fit diagonally across
it.

Then, without ceremony, I tossed the rope onto the bed and motioned
for him to lie down. He hesitated just long enough to raise my blood
pressure a point or two then flopped onto his back and kicked off his
shoes. I nodded brusquely in the direction of the pipe and watched as
he used his elbows to slither into position. When he was exactly
where I wanted him, he stared intently into my eyes and uttered the
loveliest words I'd heard in a very long time:

"I am at your disposal, Miss Parker."

I must have been grinning like Cheshire Cat as I climbed onto the bed
and proceeded to walk my way up his body. Straddling his thighs, I
grabbed a handful of shirt and yanked it from his waistband. He took
the hint and sat up so I could pull it up and over his head and toss
it aside. He appeared poised to wrap his arms around me but I cast
him a warning glare, shook my head vigorously and, pressing my hand
firmly over his beating heart, shoved him onto his back again. He
sighed and raised his arms above his head.

"Now that's a good little cowboy," I murmured then inched forward to
settle across his abdomen and leaned over him to tether his hands
securely to the pipe. Testing the knots, I asked,"

"Is this too tight? I don't want to cut off your circulation."

"I'm just fine," he replied in a wry, muffled tone.

Feeling the vibration of his words through the thin fabric of my
halter top, I realized that he was getting a face full and chuckled
throatily then sat back on my heels to admire my handywork. I was
momentarily stymied. It was rather like being a kid locked in a candy
store - a candy store I passed everyday of my life but was never
allowed to enter. I couldn't decide what to sample first. Then my
eyes were drawn to that crooked smile and my decision was made.
Sighing and shaking my head, I leaned forward to press my lips to his
for only the second time in our lives.

Sweet Mother of God, Jarod's lips were everything I remembered and
more - so soft and yielding and sweet. When they parted to allow my
tongue to slip in and explore, I tasted heaven. He seemed all at once
to be both familiar and foreign territory. It felt as though I were
taking possession of a wild thing that I had no hope of taming. I
whimpered; he moaned. Heaven.

When I broke the kiss, he craned his neck to chase my lips, already
tugging at his bindings. I sat back and tenderly stroked his cheek to
quiet him as I struggled to get my own breathing under control. *Lord
help us,* I thought, *that was only a kiss.*

When I climbed off him and slid off the bed, a brief look of panic
swept across his face. My chest tightened at the prospect that he
didn't trust me, and I found myself reassuring him in a voice so
tender I barely recognized it as my own,

"Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere."

"I know," he replied with a small nod.

I then proceeded to shed my boots, socks and pants. His eyes flashed
with excitement as they drank in the sight of my black lace panties
and bare legs. His burgeoning erection was already visible beneath
the heavy fabric of his jeans and when I climbed back onto his body
to settle down against it, I thought I might die of pleasure.

"God, Parker," he groaned, gritting his teeth as I wiggled my hips.

I leaned forward to rake my nails across his beautiful, golden skin.
When I grazed his nipples, he yelped and I felt him surge beneath me.
The look on his face was absolutely priceless.

"So," I remarked, raising an eyebrow and grinning predatorily. "The
cowboy has sensitive nipples."

Licking my lips, I sank down to capture one between my teeth, nipping
lightly then soothing with my tongue. Meanwhile, I worked the other
one with my hand, alternating between pinching and lightly scraping
the gooseflesh with my fingernails. I don't know what language Jarod
was speaking by that point, but it sure as hell wasn't English.

I glanced up into his face and was rewarded with a glorious
combination of bewilderment and lust. Apparently his previous -
pitifully unworthy - lovers had lacked imagination and neglected that
part of his anatomy. Idiots. Clearly these women deserved nothing
less than to be wiped clean from his memory, which was precisely what
I planned to do. After switching sides to ensure that each nipple got
the same treatment, I rose up on my knees and announced,

"This cowboy is overdressed."

He practically howled with relief as I opened his fly, his rock hard
erection immediately bursting free from its denim prison. I pulled
off his jeans then took a moment to eye the tent in his silk boxers.
Concluding that I'd waited long enough to get a good look at the only
part of Wonderboy I had yet to see that evening, I shrugged and
removed those too then sat back on my heels to take in the view.

Wonderboy indeed.

After a moment or two, Jarod raised his head and cast me an
inquisitive look.

"Is there a problem?" I asked, stifling a smile.

"I'm feeling a little... exposed... at the moment," he replied
thickly.

"Are you? Well, we'll have to see what we can do about that."

I scampered up the bed and retook my position across his abdomen. I
pulled the rubberband out of my hair and shook out my ponytail then
made a show of untying the strings to my halter top, drawing out the
moment to further torment my hot and bothered cowboy. I noticed him
steal a desperate glance at his tethered hands and could see the
muscles flexing in his finely sculpted arms. I bit my lip and
shuddered. It felt *so* good to have that kind of power over him.

When I finally tossed aside my top, he gasped, "You're beautiful...
beautiful."

I slithered down his body until I could feel his erection bobbing
between my parted thighs and rubbed my breasts against his chest,
reveling in the tickle of springy hairs.

"Jesus, Parker," he groaned. "You're going to kill me."

Looking deeply into his eyes, so heavy and dark with arousal, I
warned, "I'm sure gonna try" then captured his lips in a rough,
punishing kiss.

By then, I doubt I was much more in control of the situation than he,
overcome as I was with a powerful urge to devour him. I worked my way
down his body with a series of licks, nibbles and kisses, tracing the
countours of his finely muscled abdomen with my tongue, dipping into
his belly button before continuing to his hips. The tickle of my hair
further teased his sensitized flesh as I moved over him. When I
reached his magnificently erect penis, I took it in my hand and
enjoyed its weight and girth. I dipped my head to capture a bead of
moisture from the tip and his body jerked in response. I heard a
something rattle and glanced up to see that he was straining so hard
against the rope that the pipe was actually shaking.

"Careful there, cowboy," I rasped. "We wouldn't want any accidents to
spoil our evening."

Still holding him in my hand, I looked into his desperate eyes and
nodded reassuringly. I waited until his arms relaxed and his eyes
fluttered closed to return to the task at hand.

I went down on him with reckless abandon. His moans and cries of
pleasure were exquisite, his musky scent delicious. When his body
tensed and I felt hot liquid hitting the back of my throat, I
swallowed and swallowed and swallowed, wanting to hold on to
everything, everything that was his.

*  *  *  *

When it was his turn, Jarod got his own back, of course. He made me
come once right away, but then tortured me by bringing me to the
brink over and over and over again but not letting me fall. The son-
of-a-bitch gleefully reduced me to a quivering, begging basketcase. I
could have killed him were it not for the explosive orgasm he
eventually let me have, watching in rapt fascination as I practically
bayed at the moon.

After that, the rope was forgotten and we delighted in mutual
exploration, making love until we were too exhausted to move. We
dozed, spooning, then awoke to renew our lovemaking. He took me from
behind, gently, as I lay cradled in his arms. I felt completely
possessed, safe, and worshipped. He whispered my first name over and
over again as he moved inside me, sending shivers up and down my
spine. I pressed his hand tightly to my heart; his heart beat in time
to mine against my back. It was like discovering sex all over again;
an experience reborn. It should have been terrifying but it wasn't.

*  *  *  *

I hear a sound but can't quite place it. I hear it again and realize
it's that of a throat clearing. My eyes snap open to find Sydney
standing in front of my desk and scratching his chin. Shit.

"Miss Parker, are you feeling alright? You look a bit flushed."

"I'm fine, Syd," I reply with a calm smile, as I shake off the
effects of my reminiscences.

"I trust you had a good weekend with your friends?" he inquires
raising an eyebrow.

For an instant, I entertain the thought that there are no such things
as conincidences, and that the man standing in front of me knows
*exactly* how good my weekend was. I quickly shove the idea into the
deep recesses of my mind and respond, "Better than anticipated,
actually. And yours?"

"Splendid, Miss Parker, splendid. Apparently, we have a package from
Jarod this morning. Broots is bringing it up now."

Bursting through the door, Broots appears with a large box he has
apparently taken it upon himself to open. He's grinning like an idiot
and he's beet red. Oh brother.

"Wait 'til you get a load of this!" he says as he clumsily drops the
box on my desk. I glare but he doesn't notice. "You'll never guess
what Jarod's been up to!" he adds, fidgeting like a hyperactive child.

"Then kindly enlighten us," I reply. My face could be on Mt. Rushmore.

He proceeds to pull items, one by one, out of the box. A white cowboy
hat... a white satin western shirt... white satin pants held together
with velcro... chaps... boots... a silver lasso... and finally... the
g-string, which he holds away from his body and quickly drops on my
desk.

I raise my eyebrows and look at Sydney, who is wearing that
expression of suppressed amusement I see whenever Jarod pulls
something like this.

"I heard about it on the news this morning," Broots announces
excitedly. A woman who runs a 'club for women' in D.C. was arrested
last night for the murder of one of her dancers. He had been her star
attraction and she apparently became obsessed with him and killed him
in a jealous rage after took up with a woman he met at the club. In
fact, his girlfriend was in jail for the murder until the police
received new evidence. Sure sounds like the work of Jarod and I guess
it was."

"Well, Freud, have you anything to say about Jarod's new found
exhibitionism?" I ask, crossing my arms at my chest.

"Not really. I believe that to Jarod this was simply another role to
play, a pretend like any other."

"Well then," I comment, pushing my chair back from my desk. I stand
up and continue, "It's too bad Wonderboy didn't send a video. Might
have been an entertaining way to start the week."

I move around my desk and dip into my jacket pocket to produce a
twenty dollar bill. I casually stroll over to Broots and stuff the
bill into the waistband of his pants. He flinches and swallows hard,
his eyes darting around the room.

"What do you say you go down to that new coffee stand on SL-3 and get
us lattes for the 10:00 a.m. briefing?" Glancing at Sydney I
add, "I'll see you both there."

And even though I can't see what's going on behind me as I glide
toward the door, I can well imagine. Broots casts a look of complete
bewilderment at Sydney, whose only reply is an easy shrug of his
shoulders. I exit smirking.

#  #  #  #

FIN

Author's Note: There's been a lot of weird coincidences lately. This
morning I watched CBS Sunday Morning and they did a feature
on "Exotic World," a museum of burlesque in the middle of the Mojave
Desert. With all the writing about the art of striptease I've done
recently, I figure I've just *got* to visit one of these days.