Cash

by Hildreth, Scott

  “What the fuck’s it matter?” I asked.

  “I need to get a mental picture and I want it to be accurate.”

  “Breakfast nook,” I said. “Between the table and the sink.”

  His eyes thinned. “She just got on her knees, right there in the kitchen? After dinner?”

  “Yep.”

  “And, she’s a big-tittied hottie?”

  “Yep.”

  He looked at Goose.

  Goose nodded. “She’s smokin’ hot. Older, but smokin’hot.”

  “Older?” He shifted his eyes to me. “How old?”

  “Fuck, I don’t know,” I said, even though I knew exactly what her age was.

  “So, what happened?”

  “I been trying to tell you for an hour,” I complained. “If you’d quit asking questions, I’ll let you know what happened.”

  “I’m done. Go ahead.”

  “Okay. Now, I’m not one to argue with a bitch if she wants to suck my cock, so I unzipped my pants and flopped the fucker out.”

  I paused, and scanned the men’s faces. Wide-eyed, they sipped their beers, ate their Chex Mix, and stared back at me.

  “She looked at it, looked up at me, and popped her neck from side to side like she was preparing to wrestle a fuckin’ Alligator. Then, she popped her knuckles, got ahold of it, and guided the tip into her mouth, real slow. Then, get this, fellas. She fuckin’ winks at me.”

  Reno gave me a puzzled look. “That’s it? That’s your story?”

  “No, motherfucker,” I complained. “Just like I said a minute ago. Keep your yap shut, and I’ll tell you what happened.”

  He gave me a shitty look. “Well, you keep stopping.”

  “I’m pausing for effect.”

  “You’ve got everyone’s attention. Quit stopping, and tell your fucking story.”

  “And, hurry the fuck up with it,” Baker said. “We need to get this meeting underway.”

  I let out a deep sigh and then looked the men over. “Okay. So, she’s got the tip of my dick in her mouth, and she winks at me. I’m looking down at her, wondering what she’s got planned. You know, wondering what that wink is all about. Then, all of a sudden, she just swallows it. All the way to my nuts.”

  “No practice strokes or nothing?” Reno asked.

  I shook my head. “Nope.”

  He swallowed hard. “Damn.”

  “Damn’s right.” I took a step back and lowered my hands to my waist. “So, I’ve got her head in my hands, and I’m fucking her throat like it’s a pussy. I’m pounding my stiffy in and out of her mouth and watching my nuts slap against her bottom lip. This bitch never coughs, gags, or says one fucking word. Just takes it like it’s her job. Next thing I know, I’m getting ready to bust a nut, and I asked her where she wants it. I’m thinking she’s gonna want me to blow it on those big titties, but that’s not what she said.”

  “What’d she tell you to do with it?” Reno asked excitedly. “Did she take it on the face?”

  “She wanted it down her throat,” I said. “So, I fucked her mouth for another fifteen minutes or so, and then I busted a nut down her throat. After that, we had a glass of wine, and she said I could stop by any time I wanted for another blowjob.”

  He gestured toward my pocket. “Show me a picture of her.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “I didn’t take her fucking picture, you perv. Is that how you do it in Texas? Snapping pics of chicks with dicks in their mouths?”

  “Why not? I keep pictures of all the chicks I bang. Like trophies.”

  “Well, I’m not from Texas.” I tapped the tip of my finger against my temple. “My trophies are right up here.”

  “Still doesn’t explain why you haven’t whacked off since Saturday,” Goose said.

  “Well, I was saving up my cum for the next time I stopped by her place for a little deep throat action. I was going to plaster her pretty face with it. But now that Tito says that isn’t possible, I guess I’ll just whack off in the bathroom after the meeting.”

  “Whack off at home,” Baker said flatly.

  I let out a laugh. “I whack off in there every Wednesday.”

  “Since when?” he asked.

  “Since forever.”

  “God damn it,” Ghost said. “I wash my hands in there.”

  “I don’t spray the shit all over the bathroom,” I said defensively. “I come in the toilet. The sink’s clean.”

  “You stroke your dick with your hand, and then you touch the faucet with the same hand,” he said. “Just as well be touching the handles with your dick. I don’t like the thought of having another dude’s dick matter on my hands.”

  “You touch your dick with your hand when you piss, and then you touch the faucet. I’m not complaining about that, am I? There’s dick matter all over the place.”

  “I sit to piss,” he said. “My hand never comes in contact with my dick. It’s a much cleaner operation, all around. Keeps all the dick butter from being spread all over the place.”

  I stared at him in disbelief. If he were anyone else, I would have called him a pussy. Instead, I merely challenged his claim.

  “Are you serious?” I howled, wondering why no one else had burst into laughter. “You sit down to piss?”

  “Dead serious. I have since I was a kid, It’s cleaner.”

  “I do, too,” Baker said. “Unless I’m outside or in a bar.”

  I turned to face him. “You’re shittin’ me.”

  “I’m not. It doesn’t splatter. Just like Ghost said, it’s cleaner.”

  “Same here,” Tito said.

  Reno chuckled. “I stand, like I’m supposed to. God gave us a dick so we could stand and piss. Twats were built for sitting.”

  I looked at Goose.

  “I sit at home. In public, it’s a different story. I won’t sit on a public toilet. I don’t even drop a deuce in public.”

  I fell into my spot on the couch, wondering if I was more masculine than the rest of the men, or if I was simply less concerned with hygiene. Whatever it was, I wasn’t sitting down to piss, that much I was sure of.

  “Well,” I stand to piss, and that’ s that,” I said.

  “With that, I’ll call this meeting to order,” Baker said with a clap of his hands.

  All eyes shifted to Baker.

  “A guy in Encino was charged with possession of 200 kilos of heroin, and he beat the charges,” he said, scanning the men as he spoke. “The news showed him leaving court with his girlfriend in a Ferrari Enzo. The car’s worth two-and-a-half-million. I say we need to do a little research and see what we can get out of this guy.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Ghost said. “If the fucker was trying to peddle 450 pounds of horse, he deserves everything he gets.”

  “Happen to know his address?” Tito asked.

  “I was hoping you could help us out,” Baker said. “I have his tag number and his name.”

  Tito was much more than a walking library. He was an expert on hacking computers and did so without leaving a trace of his existence. Capable of even prying his way into the most secure government computers, he was the club’s hacker, alarm expert, and guru on the manipulation of electronic funds.

  “It’ll just take a minute,” Tito responded.

  “After we get his address, we’ll need to a little reconnaissance,” Baker said. “If we can determine what his schedules are – and figure out what he’s got for an alarm system – then we can plan on hitting this prick and hitting him hard. If he’s driving a two-and-a-half-million-dollar car and in possession of forty-million worth of heroin, he’s got to have money. My guess is that he doesn’t keep it in the bank.”

  “If this asshole’s selling 400 pounds of heroin in SoCal, I say ‘fuck this prick’. He’d kill at least a dozen or more by overdose,” I said.

  “Statistically speaking,” Tito chimed. “He’d kill--”

  “I don’t give a fuck about statistics,” I said. “The guy’s an asshole. I vot
e we take him down.”

  “Second.” Ghost said.

  Baker looked at Goose.

  “Agreed,” Goose said.

  “Same,” Tito said.

  Reno gave a nod. “No argument here.”

  Our club was made up of six men who were as close as brothers. Each one had their specialty, and the club relied on them to perform their task throughout the course of the robberies we committed.

  Reno was the explosives expert, Ghost was the mechanic and getaway driver, Tito was in charge of alarms, computer hacking, and irritating the fuck out of me. Goose was the weapons expert and resident cook. I was the muscle, and Baker was the brains of the operation.

  As far as outsiders were concerned, we all worked for Baker, who owned several car washes. He filtered as much of our stolen funds through the carwashes as he could, returning the laundered money to us partially in cash, and partially in legitimate wages.

  We normally robbed the underbelly of the city, focusing on the shit hats, drug dealers, and those who presented a problem to the city’s inhabitants who yearned for nothing more than to live each day free of worry.

  We did, however, infrequently rob those who had no more common sense than to put their money where it was easy to access. Federally insured investments were always a target, and we viewed the victim not as the target, but as the government.

  Planning a robbery required a unanimous vote. Now that we had one, our next step would be meticulously organizing the robbery of his home, office, or anywhere else that he kept his funds.

  “Any new business we need to discuss?” Baker asked.

  “I say we make a rule about whacking your junk in the bathroom. If a club brother can’t wait to stroke his stiffy until he gets home, he needs to go see a doctor or a shrink,” Goose said.

  “Sounds like he’s on the wagon,” Ghost said. “As long as he’s pounding this chick’s throat.”

  Reno barked out a laugh. “It won’t last longer than a fart in a whirlwind. Never does with him.”

  Baker looked at me and shook his head. “Do I need to make a rule, or are you preoccupied enough with this chick that we don’t need to worry about it?”

  I was torn. At present, my thoughts didn’t drift far from her gorgeous face, ability to cook, or her oral skills. Statistically speaking, as Tito often said, I’d be somewhere else doing something else to someone else within a week.

  I knew me well enough to know she’d eventually be where every other woman ended up.

  On my bad side.

  My best advice to myself would be to stay away from her. I liked her enough that I knew I didn’t want to hurt her. Sooner or later, I’d do just that. Hurt her.

  I looked at Baker. “You better make that rule.”

  He looked me over. “A blowjob like that, and you’re telling me you’re done? You’re back to beating off in the bathroom?”

  I gazed at the toes of my boots and gave his question some serious thought. I enjoyed my time with Kimberly, but when she sucked my cock, she took possession of me. I didn’t want to stop seeing her but being owned by a woman wasn’t something I could make sense of. It left me feeling weak, and incapable of walking away. If I went back for more, I’d only become weaker.

  Then, if I continued, I’d eventually become dependent upon her. No woman was going to make me weak for her, no matter how good she sucked a dick. The answer I needed to give was evident.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’m done.”

  NINE - Kimberly

  Jennifer stepped out of the dressing room and turned to face me. She tugged against the hem of the dress and wiggled her hips from side to side. For giving birth to two children and living on a planet where gravity worked against them, her boobs looked great.

  The little black dress she wore was just that, little. Her breasts heaved out of the plunging neckline, leaving nothing but her nipples to the imagination. In fact, the areola of her left breast was one breath away from bursting from its confines.

  “Well?” she asked.

  I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “Tell me why you think you need this?”

  She turned a quarter of the way around and gave me a side-eyed look. “Because it’s sexy.”

  “And, you need a sexy dress…why?”

  She shrugged. “Because I want one.”

  “You have some.”

  “I don’t have any like this.”

  I glanced over each shoulder, and then looked at her. “You’re hanging out of both ends of it,” I whispered.

  She looked down her nose at me. “It fits perfectly.”

  When she tugged at the hem, her boobs all but fell out. When she adjusted the neckline, her ass cheeks were exposed. The miniscule piece of black fabric was clearly meant to be worn by someone much younger – and much more promiscuous – than my fifty-year-old neighbor.

  “You don’t need one like that.”

  She looked in the full-length mirror and grinned. “I think I do.”

  I let out a sigh. “What’s going on?”

  She adjusted the shoulders, and then looked at the reflection of her exposed butt cheek.

  “Nothing,” she said over her shoulder.

  She faced me. For being fifty, she looked damned good, I had to give her that. Wearing that dress, however, she looked like an overzealous short, blonde, tan, prostitute with oversized boobs.

  “Have you got another Match dot com date?” I asked.

  “I told you, I’m done with that.” She exhaled, allowing most of her exposed breast flesh to settle behind the skin-tight black fabric. “I want a well-hung biker to come over and give me some dick.”

  “Go stand in the street wearing that, and you’ll have the entire block trying to give you some dick,” I said with a laugh. “Is that what you’re after?”

  She glanced in the mirror. “That’s what I want, yeah. But, not from just anyone. From a biker.”

  Her relationship with Frank was an on again-off again affair that had spanned over a decade. They couldn’t get along for more than ten minutes but couldn’t go six months without fucking one another. The five months and thirty days of inactivity that separated their sexual sessions were difficult for her.

  She needed to meet someone else, no doubt. She didn’t need to use the postage stamp sized dress to do so.

  I looked her over for amusement’s sake, and then shook my head lightly. “What is the deal with this sudden fascination with bikers? You’ve been watching that ridiculous show, and now you’re obsessed with them. You’ve spent four years bitching about the guy down the street. What changed?”

  “I met one face to face,” she said. “He looks like trouble, walks like he fears no one, and smells like pure adrenaline. What’s not to like?”

  I couldn’t agree with her more, but I wasn’t about to agree with her out loud.

  “He’s okay,” I said. “But that doesn’t explain the dress.”

  “Biker like skimpy dresses, so I want to have one.” She sucked in a deep breath, caused her breasts to heave, and stole a look in the mirror. “Just in case.”

  “I think the dress is too much. Too little, I mean. There’s not a time or a place that you can put it to good use.”

  “I’ll wear it the next time he comes over.”

  I couldn’t believe she said it out loud. Thinking about it was one thing, but saying it was another. If there wasn’t a girl code to address wearing undersized clothing in front of a woman’s sexual interest, there should be.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I wrinkled my nose at the thought. “It’s just some weird fascination you have. It’ll pass, no differently than the surfers you lusted after, and the businessmen that were before them.”

  “No, this one’s going to last.”

  I glared. “Since when?”

  “Since I met Dolla Bill,” she said with a laugh. “Watching him walk gives me hot flashes.”

  “It’s not him, it’s menopause.”

  She gave m
e the stink eye. “It’s not menopause. He’s mysterious, and it makes me sweat.”

  “He’s far from mysterious. He puts it all out there. There’s not much left to the imagination.”

  “I was imagining being force-fucked by him last night,” she cooed. “Under the car port, of all places.”

  I gave her a look. Enough was enough, and it was time I put my foot down.

  I cleared my throat. “He’s off limits.”

  “Settle down.” She glanced at the mirror, and then tugged against the hem of the dress. “I’m not even sure if it was him. It was a pretty weird dream, and it was hard to tell. Everything he was wearing made it seem like him, but he was faceless. I never got a good look at him.”

  “So, it wasn’t him?”

  “Hard to say. I don’t think so.”

  “What’s it mean to be ‘force-fucked’?” I asked.

  She took another admiring glance at her reflection. “Being fucked really hard.”

  I was puzzled. “There’s a name for it? I thought that’s what adults did when they had sex.”

  “No, really hard,” she said. “He was stuffing me so full of dick that we pushed his motorcycle from the carport to the fence. I was grabbing for something to hold on to, and he was fucking me so hard I couldn’t keep my footing. I’m not sure, but I think my feet were coming off the ground. Then, when the motorcycle tipped over, he didn’t even stop. Just smashed my face up against the fence and kept pounding away. Gas and oil were pouring out of it like mad.”

  I chuckled a laugh. “A biker would stop and pick up his motorcycle. He’d never keep fucking after his bike tipped over. That’s how you know it was a bullshit dream.”

  “Yeah. That, and it was raining. It never rains here.”

  “Rain? You were doing it in the rain?”

  She nodded. “Purple raindrops. I woke up drenched.”

  “You’re a weirdo.”

  She turned toward the dressing room. “I need to know if Dolla Bill has friends.”

  “He’s got friends,” I said. “They ride up and down the block once a week.”

  She pulled the door closed behind her. “I need to know if he’s got friends that are willing to force-fuck me under the carport.”