True Corruption Pt. 04

THURSDAY

Sam awoke the next morning in his little apartment. He rolled out of bed and stretched; he was pleasantly surprised how well rested and relaxed he felt. On a whim, he threw on a pair of sneakers and went for a jog.

When he got home he headed straight to the shower. He washed off the sweat, saliva and any cum Miranda hadn't tongued off of him in the car last night; after dropping her off at the condo, he'd stumbled straight to his bed once he got home. He sighed contentedly as the hot water soaked his skin.

He was in no rush; Barnes had got someone to take over most of his work in Metro so he could devote his time to his story about Luc Mane for the investigative team. That meant his schedule could be much more irregular, and since he was ostensibly working late last night nobody would raise an eyebrow if he didn't come in until the afternoon.

It was a good thing too, because he sorely needed to go shopping. He was not going to go to work in the same outfit twice, and besides, that outfit was ill-fitting and rather uncomfortable. He had some room on his credit card, and his wardrobe could probably use some updating anyway. Viv would be pleased, no doubt; she was always on him about staying within at least two years of the current style.

He thought about his little red Irish fireball and smiled. He'd call her after he went shopping and apologize for ... something ... and work himself back into his good graces. He'd make it up to her with a lavish home-cooked meal and then lavish makeup sex.

He imagined her pert little breasts and her big pale pink nipples, remembered the taste of her tight little pussy and the sound of her ecstatic moans. He felt himself start to swell and lightly fondled his own balls, getting a jolt of pleasure that widened his smile even further. Today was going to be a good day, he knew it.

**

Sam pulled open the door to the clothing boutique he'd always really liked but rarely ever purchased from; it hadn't ever been in his budget. He stepped in and took a quick look around.

The first thing that drew his eye was a cute girl with purple hair and a beautiful full-length tattoo on her left arm of flowering vines with menacing thorns. She was dancing along to the loud rock music filling the store, folding pants over at the counter, her tall athletic body swaying. Sam knew it was her job to dress well and look cool, but she was doing a hell of a job doing it; she wore a sleeveless top and a chic skirt that swished as she danced, both black. He strode right up to her and looked down at her nametag.

"Hi, Lauren?" he said. When she looked up at him, still bopping along to the music, he gave her a big smile. "I love your style. Can you help me work on mine?"

Lauren looked him up and down and smiled; Sam felt a little shiver when she met his eyes again.

"We'll see, won't we," she said, stepping and dipping with the music. She snatched up the pile of pants in rhythm, spun, and looked back over her shoulder at him with a grin and a fluttering of heavily done-up eye lashes. "Follow me."

Sam returned her grin and set out after her. She strutted along to a shelf where she deposited the pants, spun again and struck a pose just as the song ended. Sam's grin deepened and he clapped politely for her.

"Thank you, thank you," Lauren said, with a bow. "Now, what's your name, sailor?"

"Sam," he said, holding his out to shake hers.

She took his hand with mock coquettishness and gazed at him from under her long dark lashes like an early cinema femme fatale. She let go and put her hands on her hips, Wonder Woman style.

"Okay Sam, stand up straight and let me get a look at you," she said.

Sam followed her orders, and she took a slow circuit around him. Standing behind him, she brushed off the shoulders of his dress shirt and ran her hands down to his biceps, giving them a light squeeze. She put her hands under his arms and patted them, and he held his arms up. She ran her hands down his sides, feeling his strong frame, and then tugged down on the sides of his ill-fitting shirt, letting slip an dramatically unimpressed groan.

She walked back around in front of him, and then stepped in close. Sam could smell her skin; she smelled like a rose. She reached down and snaked a finger through each belt loop and tugged side-to-side. Sam stood his ground but his pants swiveled, the hem of his pants leg travelling half way up his calf.

"I see," she said, flatly.

She took a step back and struck a classic thinking pose, hips thrust to one side. She tapped a finger on her lips, which were pursed in intense concentration, round and plump. She looked him up and down again.

"Yes, just as I suspected," she said. She straightened and looked him in the eye.

"You're very fortunate, Sam," she said sternly. "If you had waited one day longer, you might have been beyond saving. But today is your lucky day, because I think we caught it just in time. There is hope for you yet."

She winked a him, and he laughed. He let out an exaggerated sigh of relief.

"Oh thank god," Sam said. "I'll do anything you say, Nurse Lauren, just get me well."

"You'll be back on your feet in no time," she said, reaching up to tap him on the nose. "I've got just the cure: clothes made this decade."

With that she set off across the store, hips again swaying so her skirt fluttered. Sam watched her go and his pulse quickened.

'She'd be a lot of fun,' he thought.

"Well are you coming?" she said without turning around.

"Not yet, Nurse Lauren, I'm saving it for the sponge bath," he said without thinking. He tightened a bit internally when he heard himself, but didn't let it touch the smile on his face. Uh oh, that was waaaay too forward, he thought.

Lauren turned, flipped her purple hair and looked back at him, hands on hips.

"Easy there," she said, giving him a level look that devolved into a devilish smile. "I doubt you could handle the stress, given your condition. Now get over here, or I'll call in the orderlies."

Or was it? he thought. Any internal tension evaporated instantly, and Sam's pulse quickened again as he walked over to her.

Sam let Lauren frenetically pull him around the store for the better part of an hour, collecting clothes for him, her hands all over him. Once she put together a combination she liked she'd bodily shove him towards the dressing room. He'd try things on and occasionally step out to pose for Lauren, who'd stand elegantly, nose in the air, and give a thumbs up or thumbs down like an emperor passing sentence at the Roman Coliseum.

Once Sam modeled three outfits met her approval, he clapped his hands and rubbed them together.

"Okay!" he said. "Am I cured?"

"Hardly," she said. "This is only the first phase of the treatment. We've still got a long road ahead."

"Only phase one?" Sam said. "What's phase two?"

"Outerwear," she retorted. "Obviously."

Sam let out a big groan.

"That will have to wait for another day," he said. He turned and headed back to the dressing room.

"It's your funeral," she said, following him in. Sam walked to the stall and slipped in, starting to undress.

"I'm going to wear the first one we liked out," Sam said, unbuttoning his shirt.

"Give me the stuff you're buying, and leave the rest," she said thrusting her hand up over the door to take the garments from him. "And burn that stuff you wore in here."

Sam kicked off his shoes, dropped his pants and shrugged out of the shirt, bending over to put them on a little bench on the far wall under the mirror. When he looked up he could see in the mirror Lauren was up on her toes, peeking over the wall to look at his ass as he bent over. He paused, and she caught his eyes in the mirror. He stood up straight and turned. She winked, smiled and slid back down to her heels. Sam felt his cock stiffen with a jolt.

Sam yanked open the stall door, reached out and hooked Lauren by the waist. She dropped the clothing she was holding in surprise, and he pulled her in swiftly and slammed the door shut, latching it. He spun her so he was between her and the door, and then stepped in close.

"Please, by all means, take a closer look," Sam said to her quietly.

She didn't flinch, or push him away, she just shot him a patient look.

"Sorry, sailor," she said. "Didn't mean to give you the wrong idea. I'm not for sale."

"Who says I'm looking to buy a naughty sales girl?" Sam said. "I do think I'll try you on, though."

Sam grabbed her arms and pulled them up over her head, and then pinned her wrists to the wall holding them there with a single strong hand. He leaned in and kissed her hard on the lips, pressing his body into hers.

She pushed her face forward to separate their lips, then pulled back. She looked up at him defiantly but did not struggle against his grip.

"First of all, that's naughty boutique owner to you, you presumptuous little prick," she said. "And secondly, another customer could walk into the store at any moment, and this isn't exactly the brand image I'm trying to project. So how about you let me go, and maybe I'll let you buy me dinner."

Sam let go of her wrists, grab her by the hips and spin her. He stepped forward into her and she had to place her hands on the wall on either side of the mirror, arms straight to keep him from pressing her shins into the bench, her ass pushed out into his crotch, her legs apart.

Sam met her eyes in the mirror; they were beginning to hood over slightly.

"First of all ... " he retorted, gaze never leaving hers in the reflection as he reached under her skirt to run two fingers along her panties. She was wearing a small thong that barely covered her lips, he realized, and they were completely soaked through. He held up his fingers and spread the slickness with his thumb. " ... tell me what image are you trying to project, exactly?"

"And secondly ... " he continued, then pulled down his boxer briefs and stepping out of them, letting his straining erection pop free. He saw her eyes dart down to his cock, standing straight out from his body impressively, and when she looked back at him he felt her shiver ever so slightly.

" ... let's face it, the prick ain't all that little."

He reached down and tugged on her black lacy thong, pulling it down so it stretched between her thighs. He lifted her skirt over her ass, then licked his already moist fingers. He rubbed the spit on the head of his cock, and then slid his cock up and down her slit. He looked at her in the mirror.

"I'll try to be quick," he said. "You try to be quiet."

With that he thrust his hips sharply, entering her all the way until his balls slapped against her with a jolt. She was very tight, and Sam would have had to work slowly - if she hadn't been sopping wet. She groaned loudly, and then she closed her eyes.

"Well," she said quietly, "how do I fit, sailor?" She opened her eyes again and looked at him in the mirror. "Remember, if you don't love it in the dressing room, you'll never want to wear it at home."

Sam pulled his hips back and then plunged forward, and Lauren struggled not to groan again, biting her lip. He ground himself into her, and then began to fuck her in long hard strokes. She held herself against the wall, arms straining, as Sam kept up his fast pace pushing into her, his eyes never leaving hers. They watched each other in the mirror, and both heard the wet slaps as Sam fucked her hard and deep.

Sam pushed into her then pressed into her back. Lauren's arms gave out and she fell forward, just catching herself as her shoulders and upper chest pushed to the wall. She turned her head sideways, and her left cheek pressed against the mirror, her breath fogging it quickly. Sam wrapped one arm around her ribs, lifted her knees onto the clothes-covered bench, and snaked the other hand down the front and under her skirt. As soon as his fingers found her clit, he started to rub it furiously. The new angle had his cock head grinding into her G spot in short forceful strokes, back and forth. He leaned forward and sucked her earlobe into his mouth, nibbling on it.

"Ohhhhh, fuck," Lauren let out in a low growl. "You bastard, you actually know what you're doing ... oooh I'm gonna cum. Fuuucccck!"

She began to shake, holding her breath, trying to be quiet. Then she let out a out moan, and Sam felt her pussy squeeze him, milking him in waves. He kept fucking her that way, kept rubbing and pinching her clit while he pressed against her, holding her in place. She gasped in and out trying to catch her breath. After another minute, she came again, harder than the first time.

She threw back her head and sucked in a huge breath, but before she could scream Sam brought his pussy juice-soaked hand up from her clit and clapped it around her mouth. He pulled her away from the wall and held her as she started shaking violently, continuing his thrusts, muffling her cries. This time her pussy clamped down on his cock the spasms were too much for him. With a growl, Sam felt his hot semen boil up and out of his cock, filling her with spurt after spurt, still pumping until it filled her and began to leak out around his shaft.

He took his hand from her mouth and she gasped in some oxygen; he wrapped his arms around her and held her in place, his cock slowly beginning to soften inside her. They stood there awhile, catching her breath.

"You," she said finally, voice low, "you son of a bitch, are not allowed back in my store ever again. If you need more clothes, I'll bring them to you after I close up and you can try them on somewhere with a bed, or a couch. Or a balcony, wherever. Just not in my goddamn store. Because I could definitely get used to that, and that would be very bad for business."

With that, she reached down to the bench and grabbed the shirt Sam had worn in. She pressed it to her cum-dripping, still-quivering cunt, and then slowly lifted herself off of Sam's shaft, their juices caught by the wadded up cloth. She cleaned herself with it, then turned and handed it to Sam, pulling her thong back into place with a shake.

"There, now you can burn it," she said. "I guess it was good for something after all. Now let me out of here before I scream for help."

Sam leaned in for a kiss but she quickly pressed a finger to his lips and pushed his face away.

"Don't ruin it," she said with a smirk. Then she pushed him out of the way by the face, stepped around his naked body and out of the stall.

"Bring what you're buying to the counter, then get the fuck out of here," she said through the door.

"Do I get a discount?" Sam said with a smile.

"Don't push your already incredible luck," she said. "I'll write my number on your receipt; call me. Soon."

***

Sam's first stop when he finally arrived at the paper was the men's room. He freshened himself up as best he could from his romp, and then he strolled into the newsroom and to his desk. His Metro reporters came over to say hi and congratulate him on the move to the investigative team; he did nothing to dissuade their assumption it was a permanent move, as that's exactly what he hoped it would be. After 10 minutes of conversation the small crowd dispersed, and he was able to get down to work. He signed the camera back in, holding on to his SD card with all the photos, then he sat down at his computer.

He scrolled through his email looking for anything semi-urgent, and found an email from Miranda waiting for him from earlier in the day.

-

Sam,

Get those pictures ready for the story on Luc's artwork please, looking to have that in for Saturday in Lifestyle. Make sure you choose the photos carefully :)

I'm making some headway figuring out patterns with who was and who wasn't at the party on Monday, thanks to our list and some well-placed phone calls. A few people who weren't there have noticed interesting cliques forming; at first glance it seems to be Luc's guests are young-up-and-comers and older power players who have seen their time at center stage come and go.

Max, who isn't really facing a challenge for his seat, seem to be an outlier, but Bianca, who has her eye on the news desk instead of being weather girl, is much more like it. Stuff like that. Maybe Max is an older ... member? ... and Bianca's ... acquaintance? ... is a benefit?

Thinking about our evening photoshoot; it's proving rather ... distracting. But I keep coming back to it and how great it was. I'm not at the office today, but I'd love to put our heads together soon to keep this moving. Call me tonight, I've got something just for you.

R

-

Sam smiled after a brief snapshot of Miranda passed out in front of the fire last night entered his mind, but then he moved on to her notes about the patterns in Luc's party goers. Monday's party list was only a single data point, so it was important not to draw too many conclusions, but Miranda's hunch was certainly worth noting.

He skimmed through the rest of his email and fired off a few short replies wrapping up some business. He had a 30-minute meeting with Patricia, who was stepping into Metro for the time being, and got her on the right footing.

Then, finally, he had time to head to the media room and get to work on the photos from Luc's mansion.

Sam fished the SD Card from his pocket and stuck it in the computer the paper reserved especially for multimedia, more or less because it was the only computer in the building who could handle the software for video editing and the like. The computer sat in its own little room, complete with decent headphones and blinds on the window.

Sam called up the photos and quickly went through them; anything involving Miranda's bare flesh stayed on the SD card, everything else went onto the media computer's hard drive for the time being. Sam didn't linger on the Miranda photos; he didn't want to get sucked into those when there was work to do, and it wasn't exactly safe to have those on a computer at the office. He just dropped them into their own folder on the SD card and moved on.

Sam spent an hour picking through his shots of Luc's artwork, doing a little color correction where he could and writing captions for the photos. He got them ready for print, then put them in a story folder on the paper's server where Miranda and the ladies at the layout desk could access them.

Then he studied the photos he took at Luc's when he was snooping around. He came to the picture of the book in Luc's office, hand-written in Latin. He wasn't crazy about using Google translate for this; he needed an accurate translation. Sam sharpened up the image as best he could, then emailed himself a copy. He reached out to two professors at the city university with an urgent request for help understanding the contents, asking for their agreement to confidentiality. One responded quickly, and Sam sent her the photo. Then he waited.

He started going over all his notes about the story, looking for angles they hadn't yet considered. But his mind kept wandering to the previous evening, and Miranda. And almost without thinking, he opened the folder with his photos of her.

As soon as he opened the first image, he felt a shiver go through his body. There was his longtime friend - and now lover - in her underwear only, illuminated only by firelight, giving her skin a bronze glow and artfully throwing shadows across her curves. He clicked through them slowly, admiring each one in turn. He finally got to the shot of her back arched, her bra off and dangling from a finger, her gaze directly into his lens, and he fell completely into reverie.

He saw her below him, grinning up as she unbuckled his belt pulled out his cock. He shivered as he remembered her taking his cock into her mouth, sucking expertly. He licked his lips as he remembered her taste, flexed his hands remembering the sensation kneading her full breasts, the feeling of her hard nipples between his fingertips.