Web knew this. Nichole never came to his home wearing any underwear. The young girl shuddered to think what he would do to her if she were to be so careless.

He stood smiling down at her, his face tanned, his features distinguished. His tan hid an alcoholic flush, for Web Hardman drank hard and long, and Nichole was truly afraid of him when he drank. Once past a certain point, he was capable of anything.

At the moment, he had yet to have a drink. It was still early afternoon. He looked down at Nichole sitting so sensually poised in the big leather chair and spoke quietly, with an easy authority, for he was used to being obeyed. "Pull your dress up."

Nichole obeyed immediately, hiking her dress high, almost exposing the "V" of softly curling pubic hair that was half-buried up between her thighs.

"Pull it all the way up."

His voice was still quiet, and Nichole again obeyed, pulling the dress up so that it was around her waist, completely exposing the softly fleshed flanks of her naked buttocks and her pubic hair. She sat, feeling the cool leather against her warm skin, staring up at Web with an attentive expression on her pert, Gaelic-looking face.

The middle-aged financier pointed with one long manicured finger. "Put one leg over the arm of the chair."

Nichole only hesitated a second, blinking, before she obeyed, swinging one long leg up and over the arm of the chair. With a barely audible sigh, she sunk back in the chair, her eyes almost glassy, looking up at Web with an expectant, almost depraved expression on her face.

Web looked down at her so obscenely posed.