The light was soft that filtered through the stairwell windows and turned the white walls to a muted yellow. The clear windows were the same shape, but replacements from the stained glass originally put in the 100-year-old church.  Of course, it was no longer a church having been rezoned as office and residential lofts with a pub in the front.

Luckily, for Megan, two o’clock on a Friday afternoon before a long weekend meant the offices were empty. With the elevators recently having been serviced, the odds of anyone coming into the stairwell were slim. The fact that she lived in this place…a reborn atheist, no less, always brought a smile.

Megan was a writer. She had published her first horror novel fifteen years ago under the pseudonym of Edith Cabal…something of a joke tipping her hat as a fan of SCTV growing up in the 80s by combining the character names of Edith Prickly and Guy Caballero. It was the first of many horror novels that were written with Eve Barker…another hybrid name for two of her favorite authors, Clive Barker and Evan Hunter..who was still better known as Ed McBain that wrote the 87th Precinct crime periodicals.

The first horror novel, however, had not been her first book published. The four erotica novels written under the pseudonym of Alexa Daniels all predated Edith Cabal. Those were not huge money for her, but much more her own voice.

Being she was currently starting down the right end of an erection in the stairwell. “You are gorgeous,” she lied, taking it in both hands and stroking it in all its tiny glory.

Her partner stood, obviously enjoying the impromptu hand job with his deep breathing. He was plump and wore plaid…lots of plaid with cream chords as pants that were currently opened and revealing the majestic tiny erection…well, majestic-ish.

Megan bit her lip, knowing that she would not be getting much out of this beyond the thrill of potentially being caught. From her experience, she had chosen poorly. Tiny, here, would likely scream or do something else to draw attention to them having it end in a flail of buttons being redone up as she would abandon him running back to her condo.  With no security cameras in the living areas this was easier than it sounded, but still annoying.

This guy was not a regular at the pub, and that was part of the reason she choose him. She shied away from regulars as she did not want anyone expecting this to be an ongoing event. At some point, after meeting her prey, she always let slip the infamous and completely untrue words, “I never do this.”

In typical fashion, tiny plaid boy here had eaten up her words. He was a construction worker…claiming to be a scoundrel ala Han Solo.

Somehow Megan suspected that Han Solo, even as a fictional character, was better endowed. Here she was, a best-selling horror novelist on her knees for a guy with a dick the size of a peanut…and she kept thinking this idiot was the type that would turn the ribbed condom inside out for his pleasure, ala Dick Soloman. Something seemed very wrong. By now, Megan figured some Hollywood actor should be coming to her for research on the part he was playing…which she would gladly give for a ride on his tongue first.

Bring on Morgan Freeman.

Bring on Michael Caine.

Hell..bring on the entire make cast of the Dark Knight trilogy and Anne Hathaway, too.

But here Megan was with Bob the Builder, about to blow him.

And she did blow him. His breath turned to a caught gasp as her tongue first flicked at the tip of his cock and then she deep throated him…who was she kidding? He was not worthy of the term “deep throating”. With the speed of his orgasm, she was not even sure that this event was worth the term of “blowjob”.

Mr. Plaid gasped and leaned back against the wall. “Thank you beautiful.”

Megan pretended to wipe stray cum from her lips as she stood. Small as his duck seemed, he towered over her.

“Now turn around and bend over against the stair rail.”

She turned quickly, surprised by the strength in his hands that grasped her hips. “You have a condom?”

“Fuck, no.”

Her leg tensed, ready to kick as this was not the right answer.

“I’m not fucking you. I just came and won’t be hard enough…however…”

To Megan’s surprise, his hand had slipped beneath her long black skirt. With one quick push aside of her pink thong…not that anyone other than Megan knew out wad pink until now…his fingers were inside of her and drew a quick scream from her lungs.

The orgasm that followed could only be described by the mighty Barney Stinson…legend…wait for it…dary!

Megan had never been through such an orgasm in her three marriages nor the twenty-seven boyfriend she had…never mind the random guys, like Bob the Builder here, that she picked up at the pub.  She even stifled a scream as she came…and the thought of someone else hearing her quickly vanished as his fingers thrust in again and again…

His onslaught continued until the unthinkable happened…Megan squirted.  Her skirt, her stockings and even her shoes were drenched from the flood. This, finally, seemed to be enough for Tiny.

Turning, Megan found him licking off the tips of his fingers.

“Was that okay?”

The question caught her like a right hook.  He was genuinely concerned…not confident at all in what he had just done.  “That was fantastic.”

He zipped up his own pants and turned.  “Thank you.  This was fun.”  He stepped away from the landing and down the first step.

“Wait!”

His eyes turned back, but he slowly continued down.

“What’s your name?”

“You don’t need to know that.”  He then stepped quickly and vanished.

Megan leaned back against the wall until she heard the heavy click of the exit door opening and closing down below.  She knew what she had to do.  She had to have him again, and she knew exactly how to make it happen.

At a near sprint she sprang up the stairs to her floor and quickly into her unit.  Divesting herself of all wet clothes and changing into clean dry white “granny panties”, she sat at her desk in nothing more than the panties and a black bra.  Her fingers flew across the keys…

“His name was Bob.  He was a scoundrel, and he always wore plaid. Currently, he was on his back, laying on the stairs.  Not an easy task considering the hunger of the brunette riding him…she would kill him, of course, but only after a little death first.”

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