This started out not being an SRU story, but it was too easy to slip it into the 
SRU universe by the time I got into it. Hope you like it. 
elrodw@nym.alias.net

SRU: The Stock Broker
by Elrod W

"No, I understand," George Martin said, faking a smile as he shook the hand 
of his now-former client. "I wish you luck." George escorted the guest out of 
his office, and when the man had gone, George closed the door, plopped 
heavily into his chair, and spun the chair so his back faced the door. "Shit!" 
he swore as he rubbed his eyes. "What the hell is wrong with me?" he asked 
softly, venting his frustration. "I get good returns for my clients. Not the 
best, but still solid! So why have I lost four clients this month?"

George stared at the ceiling, as if the skies would open and an answer would 
be revealed to him. But he had no such luck. No matter how hard he tried, 
George was always lagging. In his early 30's, George was not dashingly 
handsome, but was not unattractive either. Unlike his colleagues, George 
was still single - despite trying hard to start a serious relationship. The 
wedding bands on the co-workers' fingers was salt in that wound. He knew 
that being single gave an impression of instability to prospective clients, but 
he couldn't seem to attract women. Maybe if he had the best earnings for his 
clients, he could have attracted a larger and richer client base. Then the wealth 
would have helped him gain a wife. But these days, with the volatility in the 
market, solid returns were not enough for most of his clients. They wanted 
spectacular returns. And so they were leaving. George sighed aloud. "I wish 
I could do better predicting the market." He checked his day planner, and 
saw, to his relief, that he didn't have any more clients.

George grabbed his briefcase and left his office in a hurry. "I'll be out for the 
rest of the day, Sonia," he said as he sped past the office receptionist. George 
got in his Lexus and drove, not knowing where he was going or why. Within 
minutes, George found himself wandering through the mall. And then he 
spied a curious little shop. "Spells R Us," he mumbled softly. "I haven't seen 
that one before. Must be a new store." Curiousity forced George toward the 
store, an unusual shop with windows and even a door - unusual in a mall!

Inside the door, George found a quaint little shop, full of odds and curios. 
George raised his eyebrows as he spotted a row of apothecary bottles. Some 
of them looked ancient, and since George collected antiques, he was trying to 
estimate their worth. Yet another rack displayed jewelry - rings, medallions, 
amulets, bracelets, from elegantly simple to ornate and intricately inscribed. 
So absorbed was George that he was startled when a friendly voice 
answered. "Do you see anything you like, George?"

George spun around, startled. He found himself staring at the shopkeeper, a 
small man wearing a long flowing robe of a velvety dark blue cloth. His eyes 
twinkled mischievously over his white moustache and long white beard. And 
atop his head was perched a conical wizard's cap, of the same color and 
fabric as the robe.

George's jaw flapped. "How did you know ..."

The old man shook his head. "I get so much of that," he muttered. "Really, 
it's very simple. I'm a wizard." George was still staring, his mouth open. 
"You know, Spells R Us? Spells? Magic? Wizard?" George still looked 
confused. The old man rolled his eyes. "One of these days, I'm just going to 
quit. Such simple things to understand!" He was muttering to himself.

"So you know what I want?" George asked, dumbfounded. "Even if I 
don't?"

The old man nodded. "You wish to be able to predict the market, so you can 
make more money for your clients and be a more successful broker. You also 
want to be able to attract a mate."

"How..." George sputtered, then stopped himself. The old man drew back 
indignantly, and started to open his mouth, but George interrupted. "I know, 
you're a magician."

The old man smiled. "To be a good broker, you have to know your 
customers, right? What they want? What their goals are?" George nodded. 
"Well, it's the same for me. As a good storekeeper, I need to know my 
customers."

George nodded slowly, still not sure he completely understood. "You said 
you can help me?" he finally managed to ask.

The old man smiled and reached around George, picking up a medallion. 
"This medallion empowers its wearer to shape his or her destiny," he 
explained as he handed it to George.

George took the medallion, and gasped. The bronze medal was intricately 
carved, with heiroglyphs or runes. It was beautiful piece of its own right, 
regardless of the implications of magic. "Wow! This is fabulous!" George 
said softly, revering the obviously ancient medallion. "And it grants wishes?"

The wizard frowned. "It lets you shape your destiny to whatever ..." He 
stopped abruptly when he noticed that the detailed explanation was lost on 
George. "Yes, it grants wishes."

George's gaze wandered. He could already imagine what his wishes would 
be, and they would solve all his problems.

The wizard sensed his distraction. "The magic is said to originate from the 
Norse god Loki, the god of mischief. You must be very precise in your 
wishes," he warned.

But George wasn't paying attention. "How much?"

The wizard looked off for a second. "For you, let us say four hundred 
dollars."

George looked up sharply. "Four hundred? That's a bit steep, isn't it?"

The magician smiled. "Perhaps, but it is magical."

George thought for a second, then dug out his wallet. "You do take plastic, 
don't you?" Seeing the old man's smile, George handed him his credit card.

"And do be careful in how you word your wishes," the old man called as 
George left the shop. The old man shook his head. "He didn't listen. Well, 
he's in for a surprise or two," he muttered to himself, half smiling.

George decided to stop at the local strip joint, the Gentleman's Grill. The 
name sounded sophisticated, and as strip clubs went, the place was 
reasonably upscale. And even though he knew that such a club didn't fit the 
image of a conservative stock broker, he figured it was as good a place as any 
to hoist a brew and maybe get some spicy chicken wings. Besides, the 
entertainment was usually pretty good.

Many beers later, George was sitting back, staring appreciatively at the 
dancer on the main stage, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Want some 
company?" he heard a soft voice ask.

George spun, startled, and started to mutter some lame excuse. But then he 
saw the woman leaning over beside him. "Uh," he stammered, "I guess so." 
The girl quickly sat down, raising her hand automatically to signal a waitress.

And as she sat, George saw the woman completely. She was a stereotypical 
stripper, big-boobed, probably silicone-enhanced, wavy long hair, narrow 
waist and nice ass, and wearing a tiny thong bikini and a top which barely 
restrained her breasts. Her green Irish eyes complemented the red color of her 
hair nicely. "I'm Trixie," she said in a bubbly yet surprisingly sultry and sexy 
voice.

George smiled back. "I'm George." He was starting to relax - this had been a 
good idea, after all. After a couple of beers, George let Trixie do a private 
dance for him, her bare boobs jiggling tantalizingly close to his face, her arms 
wrapped firmly around his neck, and the intoxicating scent of Trixie's 
perfume numbing his mind. He let her entertain him for the rest of the 
evening.

George stepped outside, feeling the crisp autumn air cut through the fog in 
his mind. He swayed, half drunkenly, feeling in his pocket for his car keys. 
And he found the medallion. "Wishes?" he said to himself as he started to 
stagger across the parking lot. "Let's see if your wishes are any good." He 
stopped, concentrating on what he might want. "I wish I could predict the 
future of the market," he said to himself. He paused, and nothing happened. 
George shrugged. "Okay, let's try something else." He screwed up his face, 
thinking, then it suddenly hit him. "I wish I could live ten times as long. And 
that I could pass this on to others." He waited, perhaps for an obvious sign 
like a bolt of lightening. It didn't come, disappointing George. He wrinkled 
his forehead. "Okay, then I wish I could be attractive."

This time, there was a flash of lightening, at least to George. A bright, 
blinding flash, with a loud thunder clap. And when he recovered from the 
stunning light, George realized something was wrong. He started to take a 
step, and realized that it felt wrong. He nearly tripped, and caught himself on 
a car. And then he saw his hands. They were tiny, fine and delicate, very 
feminine. With long fingernails!

George's mouth dropped open, a scream choking in his throat. He lifted his 
hands from the car, staring at them for long moments. And then something 
clicked in his alcohol-slowed mind. He looked down, and saw that his shirt 
was pushed outward. His hands shot up, grasping the protrusions on his 
chest. And even as his fingers felt the firmness of breasts, his chest felt the 
hands cupping them, new sensations which were all wrong for his body - his 
male body. And as he stared down, he noticed for the first time the long locks 
of auburn hair swirling down around his face, falling from his shoulders. 
George's mind struggled with the new data, all seeming to confirm that he 
was no longer in a man's body, but rather in a woman's body,

And as he stood awkwardly, unsure of what had happened, or how, or 
whether it really had happened, George heard a car door open nearby. He 
looked up in shock, glancing toward the sound. He found himself reaching 
up with his tiny hand to brush the long wavy hair from his face.

"Hey, baby," a burly man called out, half in his car and staring at George. 
"You want some company tonight?"

"No!" George screamed, surprising himself with the sound of his own voice. 
He spun, looking desperately to where he had parked his Lexus. Behind him, 
the man drove off, leaving George alone in the half-empty parking lot. 
George walked around a bit, awkwardly in the heels and skirt he was now 
wearing, frantic to find his car. Finally, he gave up, and plopped heavily 
down on the curb, feeling like he was going to cry.

"Hey, honey," a woman's voice sang out as a hand brushed George's 
shoulder, "are you okay?"

George turned, dazed, tears running down his cheeks. Through blurry eyes, 
he saw the woman leaning over him. "Trixie!"

The woman flinched. "You know me?" she asked, startled.

George opened his mouth, then froze. "Yes." Then George realized that his 
story would sound unbelievable. "No," he stammered. "Well, sort of."

Trixie shook her head. "Amnesia," she said softly. She sat down beside

George. "Do you know who you are? Where you are?"

George looked at Trixie, staring hard. Finally he spoke. "I'm not sure who I 
am. At least now."

"Now?" Trixie sounded confused. George's statement was kind of unusual. 
"Let's start with who you are. Do you have a purse?"

George didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "I don't know!" he finally 
wailed, surprising himself as the tears began to flow again.

"Did you get mugged or something?" Trixie asked softly. "I think I better call 
a doctor." George shook his head violently, protesting. If he couldn't tell 
Trixie, what would happen when he told a doctor? They'd probably lock him 
up. "Well, then," Trixie continued, "let's see if we can find your purse, and 
then get you home." Trixie helped George stand, then they started walking 
back to the parking lot. "Whoa," Trixie exclaimed as she grabbed George's 
arm to steady him. He had nearly toppled off his heels. "Are you sure you're 
okay?"

George tried to smile. "I'm okay. I'm just not used to these heels."

Trixie looked puzzled, but continued. Almost immediately, Trixie spotted a 
slender handbag near where George had changed. "Is this your purse?" she 
asked, holding it out to George.

George shook his head, taking the purse awkwardly, like it was a snake 
about to bite him. "I don't know."

Trixie opened it and took out a wallet, then opened the wallet, looking for 
some ID. She pulled out a license, looked at it, then at George. "Bad 
picture," she said lightly, "but it's you."

George grabbed the driver's license from Trixie and stared at it. "Georgia 
Lee," he said to himself softly. "Born 1978. That mean's I'm 20." Not
having seen himself in a mirror, George was immediately taken with the 
image in the picture. Even if it was a bad picture, he was now a reasonably 
attractive 20-year-old woman. Not a beauty queen, but not bad.

"The address is across the state," Trixie observed, looking at the license over 
George's shoulder. "Do you know where you're staying?" George shook his 
head sadly. "I shouldn't do this, but you seem like a nice girl. If you want, 
you can spend the night at my place. Maybe tomorrow you can figure out 
some more things."

As they drove to Trixie's apartment, George silently inventoried the contents 
of his purse. Besides the driver's license, there was nothing. No money. No 
credit cards. No photos. Nothing. George suddenly felt the enormity of the 
change, and he began to sob.

By the time George sat on Trixie's couch, the sobs had given way to full-
scale tears. George felt hopelessly trapped. He had nothing. No money, no 
job, no friends, no house, no car. The Lexus - gone. The nice house - gone.

His broker's job - gone. Trixie sat lightly beside him, lightly touching his 
shoulders as he buried his face in his hands, tears streaming down his 
cheeks. Trixie pulled George's head onto her shoulder, hugging him tightly 
as the tears continued. And eventually, the tears slowed, then stopped.

George found himself being held tightly by Trixie, feeling warm and 
comfortable. And he smelled Trixie's perfume, a sweet intoxicating aroma. 
George began to find himself aroused by Trixie.

George was surprised to find a pleasant sensations spreading from his crotch, 
but within him. Almost of it's own, his hand reached slowly upward until it 
gently cupped Trixie's breast. Trixie drew back sharply, her eyes wide.

And George leaned slowly forward, his own eyes closing, his lips reaching 
until they met Trixie's. As George kissed her, his hand began to caress

Trixie's boobs. And then his own breasts felt a gentle touch as Trixie touched 
them.

Trixie pulled back from George and stood, then reached out her hands to pull 
George up from the couch. Trixie led George by the hand back to the 
bedroom, where Trixie gently pushed George down onto the bed. Trixie 
slipped off her blouse, then reached behind her and expertly unfastened her 
bra, exposing her ample bosom and fully aroused nipples. Then Trixie 
dropped her skirt to her ankles and stepped out of it. And as George sat, 
dazzled by Trixie's stunning body, Trixie unbuttoned George's blouse and 
pulled it off, then removed his bra. She leaned forward until she was kissing 
George's nipples. George moaned at the sudden strange but intensely 
pleasant sensations. His hands lifted themselves, one cupping Trixie's boob 
while the other slid toward Trixie's crotch and inside her panties.

Ant the next thing George knew, Trixie and he were exploring each other, 
kissing and caressing. George felt almost overwhelming pleasure at the new 
sensations of his new body as Trixie massaged his new clit. And despite 
knowing that he was really a man, George didn't want her to stop. He closed 
his eyes as the sensations built within him, until finally his new female body 
exploded with its first orgasm. And still Trixie kept kissing his breast, kept 
massaging his hot wet cunt. And the orgasm went on, wave after wave of 
pulsing pleasure spreading like wildfire from within his belly. George cried 
out, overcome by the ecstacy he felt. And as the orgasms washed over him, 
leaving him drowning in a sea of ecstacy, George suddenly saw an image. It 
was blurry and almost indistinguishable, but George saw it clearly, even 
though he didn't know what it was. George shuddered involuntarily.

Trixie noticed, and stopped. She glanced cautiously at George. "What is it?" 
she asked. George's reaction wasn't something she had ever seen.

George shook his head. There, in his mind, he saw some fuzzy symbols. "I 
don't know," he said warily. "Some kind of memory or vision."

Trixie was sitting up beside George now. "A memory of who you are?" she 
asked hopefully.

But the vision faded. George shook his head. "It's gone now."

The next morning, Trixie called a friend of hers, a cop, to check on Georgia. 
They found that she wasn't a missing person. Or wanted. That gave George 
only a small amount of comfort. Trixie offered to let George stay a few days, 
in the hopes that some memories would return. Then she had to go to work, 
leaving George moping around the apartment. Automatically, George's habits 
surfaced. He turned on the television, settled into a chair, and switched to the 
PBS channel. It was, after all, time for the Nightly Business Report. And 
then the revelation happened. As the screen displayed the daily 'big gainers', 
George's eyes widened. He recognized the image from his vision the 
previous night! He had seen, but not recognized, the screen now on the TV.

George's mind reeled. He had wished to predict the market. And last night, 
he had, even though the image was fuzzy and unreadable! George closed his 
eyes and thought about tomorrow's market, trying to concentrate on a vision. 
But nothing happened. Finally, frustrated and tired, George gave up. He felt 
pressure in his bladder, so he went to the bathroom. And there, he looked at 
himself in the mirror. Really looked for the first time.

Trixie had been correct, George decided. He - she - was pretty. Not drop- 
dead gorgeous, but pretty. Attractive. George gasped as the word went 
through his thoughts. That was what he had wished for - to be attractive. And 
how he was! She was! Like it or not, George was Georgia for now. Quickly, 
she stripped and stood naked. Georgia turned back and forth, examining her 
body carefully, and admiring what she saw. Trixie had much bigger boobs, 
but Georgia's were very nice. Maybe a C-cup? Maybe a bit smaller. But very 
nice. Firm and perky, she decided. Her waist - maybe 25 or 26 inches. 
Definitely not wasp-waisted, but then, Georgia never did like tiny waists. 
And a nice firm, rounded toush. Wider than Georgia had as George, but not 
too wide. Curvy, but not dangerous curves. Georgia cupped her breast and 
caressed her nipple, delighting in the sensations. For a brief second, George 
resurfaced, thinking that the change wasn't so bad, that he could get used to 
this. Then his alter- ego, Georgia, pushed his male thoughts firmly away. 
Georgia resumed her exploration. And as she massaged her crotch, revelling 
in the warm tingly feeling within her, the orgasm sneaked up and overtook 
her. Georgia's eyes closed, her head tilted back, as the pleasure washed over 
her.

And then Georgia's eyes snapped open, her body tensed. Once again, there 
was a vision. Only this time, Georgia recognized it. It was the same as last 
night's vision, only not as clear. Once again, Georgia saw a screen from 
NBR. And as she concentrated on the screen, she quit touching herself, and 
the orgasm and pleasant feelings quickly subsided. And with them, the vision 
faded.

Trixie came in late, but Georgia was up to greet her. In fact, Trixie had barely 
closed the door behind her when Georgia practically pulled her to the couch. 
"Good news?" Trixie asked, noting the excitement on Georgia's face. "Do 
you remember anything?"

Georgia smiled enigmatically. "I figured out a few things." Georgia frowned 
momentarily. "This is going to sound really strange. I know it will. I still 
don't believe it myself." Georgia waited a moment, but Trixie was more 
curious than concerned. "Last night, you were entertaining a man for most of 
the night." Trixie nodded. "The man's name was George. A stock broker."

Trixie's frown wrinkled her forehead. "I told you that ... " Her mouth 
stopped moving, seemingly frozen. "No, I didn't. How did you know that?"

Georgia looked down, then back at Trixie. "This is the part you aren't going 
to believe. That was me." Trixie's jaw dropped open, then she recovered. 
"No, I'm not joking!" Georgia insisted. "A magical medallion changed me 
from George into Georgia!"

Trixie crossed her arms, staring at Georgia for several long seconds. "You're 
crazy, girl."

Georgia shook her head. "I told you. It sounds incredible, I know, but I 
wished with the medallion, and here I am." She laughed lightly. "I told you 
that I really needed to settle down, so I'd look more stable to clients.

Well, after I left, I wished with the medallion to be more attractive." She 
giggled. "This is what I got. I guess I should have been more specific."

Trixie wasn't convinced. "You're telling me things that happened, that I 
didn't tell you about. There's no way you could have known." She shook her 
head. "But changing? That's just too unbelievable."

Georgia smiled. "That's what I thought. Ever hear of a shop called 'Spells R 
Us'?" Trixie shook her head. "It's a magical shop in the mall. Sells spells and 
magical stuff. Or so the owner claimed. I didn't believe him. Now I do."

Trixie looked at her warily. "Let's say I do believe you. What then?"

Georgia slumped back in the chair. "I don't know. We might try to find the 
store, to find some way to change me back." She sighed. "But I'm not sure I 
want to do that."

Trixie's eyes widened. "You want to stay a girl?"

Georgia bit her lip. "I think so. One of the wishes was to see the future. Of 
the market. Last night, when we - you know - I had a brief vision. I 
recognized it tonight. It was a report of the stock market. So I tried a little 
experiment." Georgia blushed.

"You played with yourself?" Trixie asked, laughing.

Georgia turned beet red and dropped her gaze. "When I had an orgasm, I saw 
another vision." She looked back at Trixie, her eyes almost pleading. "I need 
some help, Trixie. I need a place to stay, and a job. I need to save up some 
money so I can get a computer and have some money to invest."

Trixie looked at Georgia for a few seconds, then relented. "Maybe I'm out of 
my mind, but I'll help." She smiled. "We can get you a job at the club." She 
suddenly reached out and cupped Georgia's boob. "They aren't great like 
mine, but they should help bring in some cash."

It took a few weeks to save up the money, but Georgia and Trixie bought a 
computer and got connected to the net. In the meantime, Georgia was getting 
pretty good at jiggling and entertaining. The tips were not as good as Trixie 
got, but they were still good enough. But the vision wouldn't get clear 
enough for Georgia to read.

Trixie smiled. "Even if you can't predict the market, you're still a wonderful 
roomie." She playfully squeezed Georgia's ass.

Georgia was sulking. "I don't understand it. I made the wish. Why isn't it 
working?"

"It wasn't very clear when you masturbated, was it?" Trixie observed. 
Georgia shook her head. "But it was clearer with me?" Georgia nodded. 
"Well, then," Trixie concluded in a leap of logic that confused Georgia, 
"maybe it only works properly with a man."

Georgia's jaw dropped. "A man? But that's ..." she stammered, unable to 
complete the thought.

"Perfectly natural for a young lady," Trixie finished with a grin.

"I can't have sex with a man!" Georgia protested. And then she thought. This 
was from Loki, the god of mischief. It would be a mean trick to have the 
vision only when having sex with a man. After an awkward silence, Georgia 
looked back at Trixie. "This is going to be so weird," she said softly.

"We'll get you through your 'deflowering'." Trixie grinned wickedly. "You 
may even get to like it."

Georgia stared at Trixie, unbelieving, then grabbed a pillow and tossed it at 
her.

"When do you want to do this?" Trixie asked, ducking the pillow.

Georgia bit her lip. "We'd better do this before I lose my nerve," she said 
uneasily.

Trixie made a quick phone call, and a couple of guys came over. Under 
Trixie's guidance, Georgia had a couple of glasses of wine. Not enought to 
get drunk, but enough to get relaxed. And then the guys watched as Trixie 
and Georgia had some lesbian sex. And while Georgia was occupied with 
Trixie, one of the guys slid behind her. Before Georgia realized what was 
happening, she felt a large shaft of manhood slide between her legs from 
behind, pressing into her warm pussy, and then it was inside her. She gasped 
at the strange and wonderful feelings, and felt the guy's hand slid around her, 
massaging her clit as he thrust deeply into her. The orgasm was sudden, and 
incredible. Georgia nearly screamed at the intensity. And then the vision 
appeared.

Amidst the rolling waves of pleasure, like a boat being tossed, Georgia was 
riding the orgasm, and at the same time, trying to concentrate on the vision. 
"LRT. Twelve and three quarters, down 32 percent!" Georgia gasped, calling 
out the contents of the vision.

Trixie looked at her, then grinned as she pushed her partner away and 
grabbed a pen. Frantically, she looked for a piece of paper, and found none. 
Before she could forget, Trixie scrawled the information onto her palm. The 
guys looked at the two, puzzled. Or at least Trixie's partner was. Georgia's 
partner was too busy having an orgasm to particularly care whether the girl he 
was fucking was a little strange.

"Got it," Trixie sang triumphantly. She watched as Georgia's partner finished 
and withdrew, then turned to her partner. "I've got to write this down. Why 
don't you, you know..." she tilted her head toward Georgia. "I'll be right 
back. Then..." She let the thought hang. The guy looked at her, puzzled, then 
at Georgia, still wiggling from the orgasmic aftershocks. And as Trixie found 
some paper to write, the other guy mounted the still receptive Georgia.

Georgia lay on her back, the sunlight filtering through the shades. "Wow!" 
she said again.

Trixie just grinned. "I told you that you'd like it." Then she gasped. "You 
aren't on anything, are you!" Seeing Georgia's puzzlement, she went on. 
"You know, birth control."

Georgia's mouth dropped. "You mean I can get ... pregnant?"

Trixie nodded solemnly. "I've got some pills in the cabinet." She showed 
Georgia the proper 'morning after' dosage, then got dressed. Georgia joined 
her at the table and accepted the coffee Trixie had made. "Okay, now what's 
with that stuff you rattled off last night?"

Georgia took a deep sip. "LRT is the stock symbol. 15 3/4 is the value at 
close, and they are down 32 percent on the day."

"So?"

Georgia grimmaced. "It'd be easier if they were up, but we can make this 
work too. We sell short when trading opens, then buy just before close and 
cover."

Trixie shook her head. "I don't understand a word of what you told me. But 
if you know what you're doing, let's do it!"

Georgia sat back from the computer, grinning. "That's a pretty easy $700. 
We made the sale just before close, covered the short position, and pocketed 
the profits."

Trixie whistled. "So we make $700 every night? That's pretty good money."

Georgia smiled. "No, we use the $700, plus the original investment, plus 
whatever we make at the club, and every night we have more to invest. It 
compounds pretty quickly." Georgia glanced at the clock as she signed off 
the Internet. "Let's get going. We've got to be at the club in a little bit."

A few months later...

Behind the lavish mansion, Georgia and Trixie floated lazily in the pool, 
drinks in their hands. Trixie glanced at Georgia. "How'd we do?"

Georgia smiled. "Another 22 percent."

Trixie feigned a frown. "Down a bit, isn't it?"

Georgia laughed and splashed her wine on Trixie. "I'd say we could suffer a 
few off days, wouldn't you?"

Trixie glanced at her Rolex. "Time to get to the club."

Georgia frowned. "You know you don't need to go there. Fritz is perfectly 
capable of managing the place."

Trixie smiled. "I know. I just like being there. Besides, it's paying off pretty 
nicely, don't you think?" She splashed her way to the side of the pool, then 
snapped her fingers. Almost immediately, a young well-muscled and bronzed 
man, wearing a skimpy bathing suit, appeared with a towel. Trixie accepted 
his hand and pulled herself up. "I'll be taking the Porsche tonight," she said 
casually.

"Yes, Miss Trixie," the young man replied quickly. "I'll have it brought 
around front immediately."

Trixie smiled. She reached behind the young man's head, then pulled his face 
into her cleavage. "No hurry. I've got a few minutes." She led him toward 
the mansion, her hand already massaging his bulging crotch.

Georgia watched them go, then paddled herself to the side. Gracefully, she 
climbed from the pool and toweled herself off. She picked up a small silver 
bell, which she tinkled.

"Yes, Miss Georgia?" The voice belonged to a rather somber-looking 
gentleman, wearing a butler's tuxedo. He was, of course, English. It 
wouldn't be proper, Georgia had convinced Trixie, to have a butler who 
wasn't English.

"James," Georgia began sweetly, "you know what time it is?"

James nodded. "Yes, Miss Georgia. It is time for your market research." And 
as Georgia leaned forward, bending over a table, her bikini already on the 
ground, James dropped his drawers, sliding quickly up behind her, his erect 
organ poised to penetrate her from the rear. It was as well that she couldn't 
see the grin on his face - such a grin was certainly not appropriate for a 
proper English butler.

Eventually, Georgia moaned in pleasure as the orgasm overtook her. James 
knew that, in the midst of her orgasm, she would call out some stock 
symbols - she couldn't help it. And James would remember them. Already, 
he had accumulated a small fortune - nothing like that of Trixie and Georgia, 
of course, but enough. After all, their wealth was somewhere in the hundreds 
of millions, and growing daily. James didn't have to stay at this job, in fact. 
He could retire any time. But, as he had so often noted, the job did have its 
rewards. He smiled again as he thought of how lucky he was to have Georgia 
as a stock advisor.

FIN.