Gain Access to Member Area


Signup for the free Bronze membership (it takes 20 seconds), which gives you access to not only the full 15,000+ story library, but also the exclusive member area with lots of cool features like: Voting on stories, Bookmarking stories, searching for stories, reccommended stories, member forums, profiles and much more!.

 
Click here to create your free account

 

 

Story Info

Posting Date 2010-01-25 00:35:08
Author riotpriest
Title Funny Squatting, Funny Squirting, Funny Money
Category slept with my boss/teacher/colleque
Where it happend Kitchen
Age then 21
Age now 40
Gender MALE
Viewed 148
Story Length 2298
Status
Rating

(18 votes / 141 points)

Rate this story

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

Bookmark this story! View Authors Profile!
Send comments to Author. View Authors BookMarks
Report this story to the admin!

Back to latest search results

Funny Squatting, Funny Squirting, Funny Money

Share

I took my first and only fall just shy of 19. Arrested in a stolen car guaranteed me 2-5 in Texas. In truth, it saved my life. The girl I was living with was a serious meth addict and we both got seriously into downs to break her trend. I was on a nod when I took my fall.

So I was supposed to do 18 months on a five year bit. Then I get into a couple of fights and end up doing 24 months. But I get a GED and training as a printing press operator; terms of parole.

I’m paroled and living in a halfway house, working a straight hustle. My PO, (sorry, that’s a parole officer) is a sorry-fuck. He sets me up to work for this Indian cat who got government dollars to employing ex-cons.

Patel, the Indian holds out a fat piece of my pay and splits it with the PO. When all is said and done, me and Tyrone, the other convict, are working for less than minimum wages; damn near slave labor.

After six months, we can leave the halfway house and look for a better paying gig. We’re nearly there when Tyrone gave me the bad news, on the bus to work. We worked from 1 until 9 without a lunch, leaving us just enough time to get a bus to the halfway house by 10 and lockout.

“Rip, I got problems.”

“What’s that to me?”

“Come on, man. If I got problems, you got problems. Help me or Stanley’s gonna send both our asses back to prison.”

Stanley was our PO.

“What’s the situation?”

“Patel’s wife trying to get me to kill him. You know they rope you for this too, just because you there.”

I damn near laugh in his face. Tyrone looks the part. He’s 6’4” and 260 in jailhouse muscle. But he’s dumb as a box of rocks and up the ass for a white girl back in Arkansas. Most importantly, he’s also scared shitless of me.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not impressive like him. I’m not even six-foot and back then I weighed 200 even. But I can bench press 200 pounds and I fucked up more than one convict in our cellblock that mistook me for soft. What scares Tyrone is I carried six wounds to get my point across.

We get to the print shop and Patel’s already gone for the day. Never knew the wife’s real name and probably couldn’t have pronounced if I had. We’ll call her Mahni, she’s there two, three nights a week; to supervise us and lock up when we leave.

That night she was wearing an orange and yellow sari, accenting every curve. Instead of the typical, fugly sandals, she’s in white, fuck-me pumps with a stiletto heal. Her toe nails are painted coral.

She was 30 at least but her 50 year old husband didn’t pay enough attention to her. That’s clear from the way she paraded her five foot-even, 120 pound, lovely body around the print shop. More than one late night found me beating-off to her swish and twist.

I didn’t know breast size from shoe size back then but she was generously endowed. Mahni also had a large nose, like Barbara Streisand, her hair was just as thick and curly but darker brown. Her eyes were light brown and electric with suggestion. Her skin was light-amber honey.

Through the door, she’s smiling at Tyrone and he’s all but pleading out loud for me to help him.

At five, Mahni locks the front door and draws the blinds before going to the kitchenette. I give it another 50 minutes while I set up a press for a run of job-manuals. Then I motion for Tyrone to handle the run. I go to the kitchenette where Mahni is sitting an office chair, feet up on a butcher-block table, watching some Bollywood musical in VHS. When she looked up to see me standing there, we both knew what we would talk about. She didn’t waste time with attempts at lies.

“Patel is planning to burn the business and send me and our children back to India. He has a young girl; lower caste. He will buy a motel in Oklahoma and live with her. I’ve been here since I was eleven. This is my home. If you or Tyrone get rid of him, I can stay. I’ll pay you both.”

I knew about the plan to burn the building. Patel had approached me about finding someone to do it. Which of course I would do myself for $5K.

“The cops won’t take two days to tie you up in this. Tyrone was in for dealing drugs. He can’t keep his mouth shut for shit and he’s scared to death of police. Patel turns up dead and cops lean on us, Tyrone will roll you like a dirty nickel. You’ll do time and be deported.”

“Please,” Mahni said, lowering her feet from table and leaning forward.

“What if I could get rid of him without killing him? He goes to jail and you keep the money, you get to stay here, or where ever. You could even divorce him. Buy that motel yourself.”

“How?”

“He’s going to Oklahoma next Tuesday. If he happened to pass some phony twenties, he takes a big fall.”

“What do you want?”

“The same thing you promised Tyrone,” I say pulling her chair, with her in it to me.

Mahni is trembling and for just a second, I think she is gonna cry. Then she smiles with her big-lipped, vulgar mouth. Almost two years of jacking off is coming to an end.

I kiss her, gently at first. Her long nailed hands are in my short-cropped hair. She’s pulling hard. I try to suck her tongue out of her face. My hands are under the top of her sari, fists full of tits. I sit back on the table, pulling her up by her fat tits and she moans almost growling.

Our teeth click and she slaps me in the face. I jerk her by the hair and she flushes with excitement. That vulgar mouth twisted into another profane smile. She’s between my legs now. My right hand is pushing on a bra that could support a four-lane bridge. My left holds a fist of her hair. I drive my right hand down her pants. The freaky bitch was wearing a thong.

Frustrated with the sari, I grab the thick bra with both hands and jerk it free in one motion. Mahni is shocked as her fat tits swing free. She pulls her top up to keep me from ripping it off of her too. Her breasts are perfect, round and honey-colored. Her nipples were cocoa dark. The areolas were large almost the size of tea saucers.

I licked and suck her tits until it felt like I drew blood. But blood don’t taste like bitter curry. I realized Mahni is lactating. Her knees give and she slumps.

In one motion, I hoist her up and put her on the table and now I’m between her thighs. I pulled at her pants and she struggled to pull them off. Her lacy thong, like her late lamented bra was yellow and the contrast on her skin makes me want to cry. Pulling her thong aside, I see she is clean shaven.

I haven’t had a nice pretty pussy since I went to prison. So I wasted no time eating this one from clit to crack. Mahni moaned, pulling me by my hair, pulling me closer to grind her slit in my face. I got a hand full of tit in my left and I’m fingering her pussy with my right as I eat her out.

Mahni is panting and gyrating her hips as she drips juices all over the table. She seizes up, clamping her thick, honey thighs around my head and simply says, “I’m cumming.”

I pull free of her thighs and stand up. She’s a moment recovering.

“What do…”

Before she can finish the thought, I’ve got another hand full of her curls and I’ve pulled her from the table. Mahni actually pauses to slip back into the pumps and I think I might be in love.

Rather than let her squat to suck me off, I make her bend from the waist and I gently push her back to the corner of the wooden table. As her head bobs and her vulgar mouth works on my tool, her sloppy wet cunt is swaying across the corner of the desk.

She is slurping and gorging on my cock for several minutes, when she stops and steadies herself against me.

“I got to squat,” she says before dropping low. Her dripping pussy just inches from the floor, squirted a foot and a half out.

“I’m cumming again.”

Unable to take anymore, I pick her up but I plant her in the chair sink my cock into her steaming hot pussy. For all the work I’ve given it, her snatch is still tight and I almost cum from the friction and constriction. Mahni yelps and pushes her ass higher in the air.

Beginning with slow shallow thrusts, I get used to the feel of pussy again. I kneed her ass and watch her tits sway back and forth across her chest. The chair rolls on castors and breaks my rhythm. Jerking her by the hair of the head, I pull Mahni back to a tacky couch Patel naps on sometimes.

Nothing fancy. Mahni is on her back, saying perverted shit with her vulgar mouth. I never knew missionary could feel so damn good.

“Fuck me, you pig. You dirty Irish bastard, fuck me with that fat, white hog. Bury it in my pussy.”

All the time I’m trying to keep count in the 100 deep thrusts, I alternated from squeezing her ass to squeezing her fat tits. Her milk squirts out in thick sprays. Her pussy is pulsating.

“I’m gonna squirt again, you thick cocked mother fucker! Fuck me, come on. Fuck mommy, fuck mommy.”

I gripe her hair with one hand and a milky tit with the other. Giving up on counting, I‘m rough fucking her. I’m roaring into her and she is shrieking and grunting with the effort to take every inch.

“Don’t cum in me, nasty pig. Don’t get mommy pregnant. Don’t cum in mommy’s pussy. Cum on me, cum in mommy’s mouth…”

I pull free as she screams she’s cumming again. We’re both off balance. Mahni is squirting over the arm of the couch and I’m spraying stream after stream of cum all over her face and slutty mouth.

We collapse in a heap together. I’ve left deep bruises where I had a death-grip on her tits, thighs, and ass. Mahni laughs, Patel hasn’t seen her naked since the second child. He screws her in the dark three or four times a year.

When I look up, it’s eight thirty. Tyrone is pissed because he’s struggling to finish his run and mine. Working together we do finish up while Mahni cleans up our secretions in the office. We’re done at nine-twenty and Mahni drives us to the halfway house. Nobody says anything.

Over the next two days I make the engraving sheets, sneaking around the equipment when Patel is there, bringing in my own paper; almost U.S. currency consistency. Three nights later I run off $120K in twenties while Tyrone did both our work. Mahni thought I had played her false until I gave her a stack of twenties to slip into Patel’s wallet and money belt. She also made sure Stanley got several in his weekly envelope.

Tyrone distracted Patel and Stanley while I planted $5K in the trunk of each man’s car. The engraving sheet went into a sleeve under Patel’s seat. It was nothing to drop a dime to a border patrol cop I knew.

The following week, Patel paid me $5K in cash before leaving town for Tulsa, Oklahoma and a sixteen year old girl/alibi. I rigged the print shop with a bad electrical connection and it burned the same night.

Stanley was arrested trying to deposit the funny money at his bank, before my guy could get him collared. Patel was pulled over as a result of an ‘anonymous’ tip about an underage girl he sponsored here from India. Based on the funny money and the printing sheet, as well as the girl’s story, the case quickly went from a statutory-story to a Mann-act violation, to multiple counterfeiting charges.

Mahni got her divorce, changed her name to Jeeda and bought a motel in Arizona. She paid me $10K. I gave $5K to Tyrone to take him back to Arkansas in style. Dropped another $5K on my man with the border patrol, just to keep him friendly. I walked with $5K in good paper and $100K in funny money that I traded off at 15%.

I still don’t know if Mahni/Jeeda was that hot or if I was that hard up. But in the years since then, I’ve gotten off with many a limp fuck by thinking of that vulgar-mouthed, fat-titted bitch.


Share

Gain Access to Member Area


Signup for the free Bronze membership (it takes 20 seconds), which gives you access to not only the full 15,000+ story library, but also the exclusive member area with lots of cool features like: Voting on stories, Bookmarking stories, searching for stories, reccommended stories, member forums, profiles and much more!.

 
Click here to create your free account