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Story Info

Posting Date 2009-09-13 11:02:51
Author riotpriest
Title Payday Loan Part III
Category slept with my boss/teacher/colleque
Where it happend Hotel
Age then 27
Age now 40
Gender MALE
Viewed 71
Story Length 2372
Status
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Payday Loan Part III

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Decisions are a bitch. I had some tough ones to make. Once you're grown, are they ever easy?

I had made more money out west. But in California, you had to deal with hicks, with pretensions. I had made more money up north and back east but you had to deal with cold that would freeze the balls off a billy-goat.

In central Texas, winter was cold and occasionally wet but snow and ice were scarce and it never got bitter like Illinois or Massachusetts. One year in San Antonio, the high on Christmas day was 72 degrees. Winter was coming again, the busy season. I weighed it all out; decisions, decisions.

I had to do something, decide something soon; not the least of which involved Keesa. As if on cue, I heard her coming into the office from her lunch. She would’ve seen my car in the garage. Let’s see if there are any tells in her behavior. I pressed the intercom.

“Yes, sir,” Keesa answered.

“Coffee, please.”

Who was it? I wondered, watching the ceiling drop as fat rain drops fell sporadically. I had just made a sale, delivering a paver, grader, and front-end loader to a freight yard at the Houston ship channel. So I’m sitting on almost 75-K in cash and I can’t find anyone to drop my usual 5K pay-off to. My woman in customs is on leave, according to her voice mail. My man with the locals is out of pocket completely as his pager had been deactivated for at least two days.

That could only mean fed-action. If it was local, or a customs-beef, those two clowns would’ve gotten swept up with me, or one or the other would’ve fallen away. They didn’t know each other, so for both of them to drop out on me and my monthly paydays meant something.

Was it the Nigerian I had just delivered the equipment to? Not likely, or I would’ve been busted at the point in which I took the cash. The feds are not real imaginative and they don’t flash that kind of genuine currency on a deal.

Hopefully, that meant I was in the early stage of an investigation. It could’ve been the Mahmood, the Jordanian that wasn’t really a Jordanian. He was not happy that I held to 30 cents on the dollar for the cement pumping truck. Or, of course, it could be Keesa.

After about five minutes, I heard the Krupps coffee pot beeping. Then Keesa knocked on the door to my office. Normally, she would’ve walked right in and taken a spanking for the offense. She must not want to play today. I wondered why?

“Yes,” I called.

As she crossed the threshold, I immediately wanted her. Café latte-toned, with dusty blond hair, and hazel eyes, Keesa was bi-racial and devastatingly beautiful. She wore a soft pink dress that did nothing for her figure. But even seven and a half months pregnant and maintaining her poise in four inch heels, she was painfully beautiful. She was also pregnant for a fool who was doing a twenty-year bit on drug and weapons charges.

Carefully, Keesa sat the cup of steaming coffee on the desk, bending from the waist, just as careful to show maddening cleavage. Her D-cups had grown in proportion to her beautiful, round belly. Her long legs were still shapely and she had not become engrossed in fat like some pregnant women.

“If I had known you were here, I would’ve brought you some lunch.”

“If I had wanted lunch, I would’ve called you for it,” I replied tersely. “The coffee is too hot.”

“Would you like me to blow on it or would you like some milk instead?” Keesa’s smile promised sexy mischief.

“I’m the only one who drinks coffee and I keep our tiny refrigerator full of water and fruit juice. Where would you get milk?”

“From the bounty of my bosom,” Keesa replied with slight shimmy of her body and a throaty-laugh that set me off like a rocket.

I’m not the get hard instantly type, but Keesa’s voice would put any hetero-man well on his way.

“Show me,” I managed to say, pressing the pass switch to lock the main entry to our suite as well as the door to the outer office.

Without theatrics, Keesa unbuttoned the bodice of her dress. She unsnapped the brocade bra that strained to hold her full titties. Cupping her right breast in her hands and again bending from the waist, Keesa pinched her nipple and squeezed her breast. Three jets of milk sprayed into my coffee cup.

Keesa looked back at me, her gaze was excited and slightly intoxicated. I felt as high myself.

“More,” was all I could say.

Again, caressing her breast, Keesa squeezed a spray of milk into my coffee. Without intending to, my hand was up the hem of her dress and caressing her leg. Slowly, my hand wandered up her thigh and I was shocked to realize she wasn’t wearing panties.

“You naughty, naughty girl,” I said.

“You said when I was too fat to wear the sexy-panties, to wear nothing at all,” Keesa replied.

Rising from my chair, I kissed her for the very first time. Almost as surprising as the lack of panties was the return on that kiss. Keesa responded passionately, sucking on my tongue and lips, running her left hand through my hair. I had tried to keep our interaction professional, even the sex. This was more than that.

“I want to do that,” I said.

“What, milk me?”

“Yes.” Now I was hard.

“Let me pour out your cup…”

“Oh no,” I said. “Waste not, want not.”

I drained the milky-coffee in two gulps.

Before I could say anything, Keesa was on me again. She kissed my hard, all the while tugging at my jacket and tie.

“I want you in me,” Keesa said groping my crotch as I sucked on her milky titties and worked her pussy. “I’ve never had that in me.”

It was true; I had fucked her mouth, gotten a hand job, and fingered her everyway imaginable but I had not had true intercourse with her. That had to change, no mater my other problems.

“Not yet,” I said, turning her around. “Now, I want to milk those full titties.”

Keesa shuddered and let out a low laugh/growl. Then she bent over the desk, pressing her incredible ass against my erection.

“Wait,” I said.

“What, why?”

“We need lotion, or you’ll chafe…”

“Damn that…” Keesa argued.

“I only hurt you by intent and purpose,” I said sternly. “I do not misuse my possessions. Go and get lotion now, or I will punish you now.”

“No, I want that cock now…”

Faster than she could inhale, I grabbed her tightly braided cable of hair and forced her to the desk, toppling everything. In the same motion, I pulled the automatic from my waistband, placed it on the desk and removed my belt.

“Pull up your dress.”

“Yessss,” Keesa hissed in reply.

The first swipe of my belt was slight and poor. The second popped on her naked ass and the snap almost overwhelmed her shout.

“God-dammit, you son of a bitch.”

I lashed her ass again.

“Ooo, again, do it again.”

Four.

“I’m gonna cum…”

Five.

“Can I play with it?”

Six.

“Please?”

Seven.

“I’m almost there…”

I stopped.

“Get your lotion now.”

Keesa looked sullen; like a buzz interrupted or an orgasm left incomplete.

“Leave your tits out like that.”

She walked from the office to her desk petulantly. When Keesa returned she threw the bottle of hand lotion on the desk. She stood defiantly in front of me.

“Turn around and bend over.”

She did.

“Hike up your dress.”

“You won’t like my ass,” Keesa said.

“I don’t want your ass. I want to see you play with your pussy.”

Keesa spread and then locked her long luscious legs. She began to work her slit as I rubbed lotion onto the welts my belt had left. Then I moved forward and righted my cup.
Slowly, I worked lotion onto the skin of her perfect breasts. Then I began to squeeze. Milk sprayed into my cup. More hit the desk than the cup but it was instantly intoxicating and again I was hard. My cock strained against my trousers and pressed into the cleft of her ass. Keesa continued to work her pussy.

Again before she could cum, I stopped.

“What are you doing to me?”

“Shut up,” I said, turning her around and lifting her to the desk.

Keesa, spread her legs wide and some how managed to keep her heels on. Instead of poking her as she expected, though I began to lick and suck on her beautiful cunt.

“No, I want you in me.”

“Maybe,” I replied.

Keesa’s back arched as sucked her clit but then she broke the spell.

“I said, I want you in me.” With that she pushed me away and closed her legs.

“Not here,” I said. “Not now. I just wanted to play.”

“I’m not playing anymore,” Keesa said. “I want to give you everything. I want everything..”

“Tonight,” I said. “Dinner and a hotel.”

“That’s not necessary…”

“Yes, it is.” I said. No more certain of what I was going to do than before. “Now, go home, rest, and get changed.”

Six hours later, we were in high-rise hotel looking over the Riverwalk. I didn’t remember dinner or our conversation. The lights were out but the sky had cleared and glorious light from a full moon bathed Keesa’s body in a celestial glow.

Keesa was in my lap, or more appropriately cradled between my thighs. Her black dress was pulled down below her swollen tits and hiked up over her sensual thighs. She rocked back and forth on my cock. I was nestled in her pussy, all at once wet and tight. I could feel her cervix and clit working my shaft as she began to shift left and right. Between the rocking and shifting, she made a drunken circle on my cock. I gripped her right knee and left tit while licking at her nipples and biting at her neck.

“Almost there, you fat-cocked bastard…”

“Ride it bitch, ride it hard,” I said. “Then I’m gonna pound on you and break…”

“Ng, ng, here it comes,” Keesa said. “Oohh, yeah, cum, cum. Now, now, NOW.”

I rolled forward, gently laying her back as her pussy spasmed around my cock. Against my intentions, my phallus popped out of her and we both cringed in delightful pain.

Then I pressed my cock back into her heavenly fold and sunk it as far as her cunt would take it. I began with rocking as well but I couldn’t take the delayed pleasure anymore. I had denied myself long enough.

Thrusting forward as hard as I could, Keesa shrieked and squeezed her legs around my waist has hard as she could. Her pussy locked around my cock and I pumped frantically. Keesa gripped my ass, clawed my back, and said completely vile shit as I rode her.

“Fucking white bastard…nasty mother-fucker… pussy-eating son of bitch…I bet you would fuck my ass if I let you, hemorrhoids and all.”

“Keep talking you high-yellow cunt,” I gasped. “I gonna fuck you senseless.”

Keesa was sweaty and her beautiful body glistened in the moonlight. I stroked her thighs, her ass, her tits; my hands were trying to devour her. My balls burned, my cock felt as if it would split, and my thighs ached.

I pulled her forward by her loose hair, the braid long-gone, and kissed her deeply as I came hard. Keesa screamed through our kiss and bit my lower lip drawing blood. I could feel her pussy juices and my cum flowing back out of her.

Two hours later and I was watching Keesa sleep. I had never seen a woman, any woman who was a beautiful as her. She was out cold. I had fed her a good meal, we had exhaustive sex, and a room-service snack. She was out for the night. Now was my chance to know for certain. It wouldn’t take much to find out if she was loyal or if she was my problem. People didn’t realize how much about themselves they left laying around their cars. Lose mail, receipts, crap like that.

Hell, I could toss her apartment and be back before she woke. If she was loyal, which I was almost positive she was, I could make my pitch. Come with me and have the baby in Hawaii. A few months off the continent, letting my Fredericksburg alias go dormant and we would be fine, I could tell her. Maybe set up shop right back in San Antonio or Biloxi or Las Cruces.

But if she was my problem, what then? I tended to avoid violence. I only carried pistols to defend myself, not to be Tony Montana. What would I do if she were trying to make a deal to save her ex or herself? I know how the feds play and I’m not the vengeance type. Experience had taught me there is no-end of excuses and everybody has a story.

I dressed quietly, still trying to make up my mind. At the dresser, I opened her purse. Her keys were on top of all the junk that women carry, even in the cute little, strapless numbers. I sat the purse back down, keys still inside. On the floor was my valise. I strapped on my automatic. The revolver went in my jacket pocket. Beside the purse I placed a manila envelope with enough money for her to live well for a couple years or to just squeak through her remaining two years of college. Decisions are a bitch.


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