THE FRUITS OF VICTORY
By BOS


	It was over now, finally. 
	It had seemed like it had lasted forever. She was sweating, and her 
chest was heaving with oxygen depletion. She hurt in several places, and 
she guessed there were several other places she didn't even know about yet, 
not yet having tried to move some parts of her body. 
	She was naked. That much success they had had.  And she was sure 
her hair must be a mess.   But she was vertical -- or at least  halfway so, 
propped up on one knee -- and they were not. And she was conscious, and 
they were not. And she was alive, and a couple of them did not seem to be 
breathing.  
	She counted them now as she knelt there over and amidst that pile 
of bruised, scratched and bleeding bodies, their clothes disheveled and 
torn, their hairy limbs --  some muscular, some flabby -- lying at odd 
angles over each other's. Four.
	 My God, she thought, it sure seemed like a lot more than that.  So 
she looked up for others.  That was the first she knew that she was not the 
only conscious one in the room.  
	One of them was standing there, almost in a corner, a large knife 
in his hand.  He was a tall one, maybe 6-3, with a thin, badly tended 
beard.  He was wearing a pair of old Army fatigues, the shirt hanging free 
of the pants.  There was an angry welt over his left eye, and the hand that 
was not packing the knife was holding a rag to his nose, apparently 
staunching a flow of blood.  He was moving until she saw him; then he 
stopped. But he seemed to be eyeing the door that Caroline Maculster's 
naked form separated him from. 
	Damn!, she thought, frustrated by this abortion of her 
recuperation. She started to climb to her feet, then let out a moan as her 
hand darted to the small of her back in reaction to the pain.	
	She stood there now completely exposed to his gaze.  What the hell, 
the girl thought, I've got bigger problems.  
	Gaze he did, as she bent backwards testing her body, both her hands 
now at the bottom of her back.  She took the opportunity -- the luxury, it 
seemed, in comparison with the foregoing activities -- to size him up, to 
plan;
	Big; a hell of a lot bigger than her. Yet probably quick; he was 
trim, and he looked agile.  But he seemed apprehensive. She thought saw 
fear in his eyes, even as he held the knife on the naked girl in front of 
him.  At any rate, she knew she didn't see the overconfidence, the 
exhilaration and anticipation she usually saw when she faced off with a 
guy.  
	But this one had seen here at her best.  She was not going to be 
able to surprise him. Still, she knew that she had messed with his head. 
Now, if it had not been for that knife she would have considered him hers 
for the taking.
	She walked slowly toward him -- slowly so that his eyes and mind 
would not be suddenly torn from her naked body and forced to focus on the 
battle ahead.  Perhaps the distraction of her nudity made up for his 
advantage in armament, the girl thought as she climbed over the inert 
bodies of his colleagues.  So let him look all he wants.
	He didn't move as she approached, though she came within a yard of 
him.  She stood directly in front of him, looking up into his eyes.  She 
could sense his body quivering ever so slightly. She didn't know if that 
was fear or lust, but she knew that -- either way -- he was in no condition 
to fight. Not with her.
	"Drop the blade, gorgeous," she said. "It's all over.  Your side 
lost."
	He was holding it chest high.  He sneered and made a swipe at 
Caroline's round breasts.  She chopped his attacking wrist.  At almost the 
same instant as the chop, the back of her other hand came flying across the 
man's face, knocking his hand away from his nose and sending a stream of 
blood flying across the room to splat on a mirror.  Then she closed the 
fist of that hand and delivered an uppercut cleanly into the tall man's 
belly.  
	She wouldn't let him double over to ease the pain.  She put her 
hand on  his throat and pushed back hard until his head hit the wall.  Then 
her same hand brushed his hair out of his face and remained on his forehead 
possessively.	
	Her other hand was on his wrist, the one that held the knife.  Her 
blow to his wrist had robbed that wrist of much of the strength that had 
remained in it.  As she was distracting him with her attack on his face, 
she had straightened his attacking arm until it was hanging straight down 
at his side, in the control of her long , elegant , manicured fingers. 
	"Drop it or eat it, lover," she said throatily, as her fingers 
gently stroke his captured wrist.   
	He stared at her, and he seemed to make an attempt to move his 
knife hand; but Caroline's thumb was pressing hard into his veins, even as 
her fingers stroked him. That  weakened him further.  Besides, she had more 
weight bearing down on his wrist than he realized.  
	All he knew was that his arm stayed pretty much put.
	 "If you're going to think about this, big guy," she said, her 
breath brushing his cheek. "Think about where my knee is." 
	It was comfortably ensconced between his two legs. She slid it up 
and down his in-seams, showing that it  had a full range of movement. 
	He had the sense of being surrounded by this beautiful girl. She 
was simply all over him. 
	He couldn't figure out how that had happened, given that he had 
started with the advantage of the knife and had made the first move. But it 
was true. 
	He had one free hand, but he knew that if he tried to use it, the 
girl would  bounce his head against the wall, knee him successfully and 
relieve him of the knife, which he was having trouble holding anyway. 
	She had him.
	She saw his eyes glance over at the bodies behind her.  She was not 
worried about them anymore. They had stayed engaged with her for too long.
	She was not worried about anything. And she was in no hurry. She 
would give this big hunk plenty of time to realize that he was afraid of 
the little lady in front of him, holding him. What the hell. It must not be 
easy for him, she thought.  She could wait.     
	The knife dropped.  
	She made no move to retrieve it.  It just lay there.
	Her hand on his forehead now moved to his jaw, which she grasped 
and moved so that his eyes were pointing right at hers, whether he wanted 
them to or not. She said nothing, just stared at him. She wanted to burn 
this moment of truth into his memory. 
	He stared at her and did nothing. 
	Then, casually,  her two hands joined at the top button of his 
green shirt.  They began to undo it. 
	 "Hey!"  he said, his hands folding around hers. "Whattaya doin?"
	"Back off, lover, or I'll knee you so hard you'll wish you didn't 
have any."
	"Wh ... Whattaya doin?"
	"I'm takin' your shirt. Whattaya think I'm doin'?" she said, 
imitating him. "Then you and me are going to take a little ride.  You don't 
expect me to go out there like this, do you?"  
	Even as she spoke, the man was distracted by the movement of her 
big, soft, red lips.  He longed to press them against his own. 
	He shook his head to indicate disapproval of her course.  
	"Oh, right.  Good," the girl said sarcastically.  "Get me mad at 
you, why don't you?  After all, what can a little bitch like me do to a 
big, strong hunk like you?"
	His hands came off hers.  
	And his eyes came off hers. But she followed his head around with 
her eyes, making it difficult and embarrassing for him not to look at her 
as she undertook the slow and deliberate denuding of his torso.  
	Her fingers worked their way down his buttons at her own pace, 
gradually exposing more and more of his long, hairy, well chiseled chest.  
The occasional light, brief delicate touch of her hands on his skin did not 
go unnoticed by the man. 
	When the unbuttoning was complete, Caroline stepped into the man 
and put one hand on each of his shoulders and pulled the shirt down behind 
him and off. Their two naked torso's came together briefly as her eyes 
continued to pursue his. A small , insulting smile played at the edges of 
her beguiling lips. 
	The girl's bruised neck was beginning to throb with the pain caused 
by its upward tilt.  But as near as the man could tell, she was feeling no 
after effects of the earlier brawl. 
	She bent slightly at the knees and pulled the shirt of his hands 
and stepped back. 
	Now slowly, deliberately, she began to don his shirt, buttoning the 
buttons upwards and slowly hiding her delectable body from his continuing 
gaze. 
	The man was experiencing growing discomfort over the growing 
exposure of his body.  Somehow it seemed to him that the more covered she 
was, the more naked he was.  
	When she had completed the hiding of her breasts, she began to roll 
up the long sleeves of the man's shirt to a length more suitable to the 
shorter arms of the shirt's new occupant. As she dressed, the girl's eyes 
traveled brazenly up and down the man's chest.  He was built even better 
than she had realized. The shapelessness of the untucked shirt had hidden 
the fact that his wide chest tapered down to a tiny waist.  
	Caroline was impressed with herself, that she had made such a jock 
afraid of her. As she nodded appreciatively at the man's body, she was 
complimenting herself as much as the man. 
	The large fatigue shirt hung way below her waist, but Caroline's 
lower legs remained bare. "Now the pants," she said.
	"What?"
	"You heard me, pal.  The pants.  C'mon, c'mon.  Snap it up."  She 
put out her hand to receive the man's pants.  
	"Why don't you take their clothes?" the man asked pathetically, 
pointing at his fallen comrades. 
	"Because, macho man," she said, taking a threatening step forward, 
"you've got the prettiest body.  Besides, a naked guy doesn't do a thing 
for me if he's unconscious.  I mean, they couldn't exactly appreciate 
what's happening here, could they?"  
	He was backing away, and she was approaching, and his back hit 
another wall.
	She snapped her long, slim, commanding fingers in front of her.  
"C'mon, c'mon.  You don't want me to have to take them."  Her impatience 
was entirely feigned.  She was enjoying this little bit of vengeance.
	The big man's hands went to his belt and began slowly and 
uncertainly to unbuckle it, his eyes all the while furtively darting around 
the room in search of some alternative.  Caroline was confident there was 
none.  
	Finally, he unclasped the top of the pants, unzipped the zipper and 
began dropping his pants, his black briefs coming into view, amply 
displaying a more than respectable sexual organ.  The girl stepped back to 
allow the tall man to bend over enough to pull his pants down his very 
long, hairy thighs to his knees, then, finally over one black shoe, then 
the other.
	She put out her hand out to meet him halfway, and the man handed 
her his combat pants.  
	She didn't put them on immediately, but rather just held them while 
she gave his body -- covered now only by his black briefs, socks and shoes 
-- a visual going over.  A slight smirk came to her face.  
	Then she slowly -- still looking at him and smiling -- put on his 
pants.  She tucked his shirt into the top of them and rolled the pants legs 
up to accommodate her shorter legs.
	"Now, like I say, beautiful, you and I are going to take a little 
ride," she announced.  "And I don't want any trouble out of you."   
	She stepped into him so far that the shirt now touched both of 
their bodies.  "You got that?"  
	She waited for him to answer, and he nodded.  
	"Okay,"  she said. 
	She turned her back on him and searched the room for her own shoes, 
the black, open-toed high heels that had come off in the fight.  The she 
gathered up her other necessaries and checked her face in a mirror. She saw 
the man staring at her from behind. Casually she applied some bright red 
lipstick and brushed her long auburn hair. 
	Eventually, she turned to the man as she replaced her utensils in 
her purse. She put the purse under one arm and used her other arm to turn 
the unresisting man around by his shoulders. She grabbed a chunk of his ass 
and steered him across the room to the door.  Reaching in front of him she 
opened it.  They walked down the plushly carpeted hallway to the elevator.  
	There was a woman alone in the elevator.  Caroline smiled at her 
and said, as the woman looked at the battered, nearly naked, passive man, 
"Sometimes you just have to get rough." The woman smiled briefly, then 
averted her eyes. 
	 Caroline and her prisoner walked out into the street in broad 
daylight. The man was sure he was attracting stares from every direction. 
He kept his eyes glued to the ground and let Caroline steer him with a hand 
on his elbow.
	She put him in her car, walked around to the driver's side and 
drove off.