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.I really mean it this time and decide to reward myself by using my increased credit-card limit to buy myself something.The car needs a service, I could use a new suit and the carpet in the flat is getting threadbare, but as candidates for expenditure none of those has very high self-reward status; minimal feel-good factors there.My mouth goes a little dry as I sit staring at the whisky story - which I'm reworking very slowly - and think of what I could buy with the extra dosh.Dosh/Tosh.Hmm.I pull open a drawer and dig out a computer magazine.Five hundred glossy full-colour pages plus a free software disk for less than two quid.It's the November issue but the prices might be out of date by now; usually with computers they go down but this time they might have gone up because, now we're out of the ERM and the pound's sinking against the dollar, the price of components bought abroad is sure to increase.I leaf through, looking at the lap-top adverts.Shit, I can afford one of these; I can afford a _colour_ one at last, one that'll play _Despot_.Especially as I can write it off against tax; I'll use it for work, after all.And even more especially as I'm giving up smoking; that's twenty quid a week at least I'll save, even if I don't stop doing speed.The price of 386 lap-tops has fallen quickly recently, and colour screens are no longer luxuries in the portable market.Yo! Before the more sensible bits of my brain can start coming up with convincing arguments for doing anything else with the money, I call up a manufacturer in Cumbernauld I've heard good things about and talk to one of the salespeople.I discuss what I want with him and we agree I might as well go for a 486.This means spending a little more money than I'd been thinking of, but it'll be worth it in the end.A decent-sized hard disk is a necessity too, and a spare battery, naturally.Plus I'll need cabling to transfer data between the PC at home and the lap-top.And of course for a little extra I can have a removable hard disk, which not only makes my data more secure but allows for easy up-grading of the disk unit if it ever proves too small.This is a quality machine after all and I won't need to change it for years.It's worth the little extra to future-proof it.They don't do part-exchange but the salesman can't imagine me having any problems selling a Toshiba, even an old one; they do have a good name, after all.We settle on the exact specification.They have one in stock.I can pick it up today, tomorrow, whenever, or they can deliver within forty-eight hours for a tenner.I decide I'll go and get it.I give them my credit-card number for the deposit and agree to show up at the factory within the next couple of hours.I'll have to buy the blighter on credit; the manufacturers have a deal with a financing company that sounds reasonable.(I'm close to the limit of my bank overdraft, even though it's nearly time for my salary to lift my bank account briefly into the black before it settles comfortably and familiarly back into the red for the rest of the month.) There are bills to pay but they can wait.I'm so excited I finish the whisky story in half an hour.'Right, Frank,' I tell him, pulling on my jacket.'I'm off to Cumbernauld.' 'Ah, you mean Cumbered.' 'What?' 'Spell-check; "Cumbered".Ha ha.' 'Oh yeah; ha ha.' 'Will we be seeing you later?' 'Doubtful.'I circle the room, breathing quick and deep.She swivels, following me, facing me, her body glistening.I'm breathing hard too; chest heaving, hands out in front of me, feet squeaking on the tiles.I'm conscious of my cock swinging between my legs.She gives a half-grunt, half laugh, and jumps towards the bath.I catch her ankle as her leap turns into a feint and she darts the other way, hauling the door open.Her oiled skin slides through my fingers as I stagger and almost fall into the Jacuzzi, banging a knee on its tiled platform while she disappears through the doorway, slamming the door behind her.I quickly rub my knee where I banged it, then pull the door open and race through the dressing room to the dimly lit bedroom.No sign.I stand there, rubbing my knee, breathing through my mouth to make less noise so that I'll hear her.The bed is king-size, still rumpled, its mahogany foot- and headboards shining lustrously in the glow from the concealed lighting behind the bedside cabinets and shelving system.I pad over to the bedside, glance back to the dressing-room door, then squat slowly, feeling my prick slide caught between my calves with a delicious, anticipatory thrill.I pull up the covers fallen over the side of the bed and glance quickly underneath.There's a hint of sudden noise behind me and I start to turn and rise (thinking, She _was_ in the dressing-room wardrobe), but it's too late [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]