Cin Ch. 02-03

Note from author: All of the characters depicted in this story are 18+.

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Chapter 2

As I held the armrests the 45M-MRBB started creeping along the runway headed for Dubai. It turned, curled; maneuvering and inching toward an indicated take-off route.

When the path was clear I listened and felt it gather more and more speed, then felt it rise over the asphalt and tackle the sky. Once we vanished into cotton-like clouds leaving the airport behind on that clear blue afternoon, memories of the drive there began reapplying themselves inside my mind.

My mind carefully spliced together remembrances of a few steamy moments with her. We had strategically parked near some dumpsters behind a hardware distributor on York, very close to O'Hare. I entertained vivid flashes of her pale, sweaty, waifish nude body tightly pinned against the backseat of the vehicle by my massive arms.

Her gi, peeled roughly off her, was wildly strewn in its parts all over the interior of the car, mixed in with my clothes. From where foreplay escalated into sex, a bra turned inside-out and still warm from her lay splayed upon the steering wheel.

Cin's satin yellow panties hung from my left ear, her flushing body wound neatly under me. I relished pushing her thighs wide apart and down in a reclining lotus position, my giant palms leaving markings on the backs of them, ogling her strawberry red mound as my throbbing swollen cock dipped into her frothing slit, my scrotum heftily hitting her slender ass. Barely able to stand obliquely in just my socks, her long, skinny legs remained cemented in place as I speared harder and faster.

Deborah (my ex-wife) was home, but I hardly had to deal with her. The only useful things Cin had done while in my care was getting a driver's license, and taking some karate lessons. On the day of my business trip, after plenty of nagging, my ex-wife allowed Cynthia to drive me to the airport to say goodbye after a morning lesson. Cin enjoyed driving my Jaguar.

"You conniving little bitch, are you still going to keep eating supper with this fuckin' leg up on the chair, cunt?!!" I asked, biting down hard on her big toe before shoving my cock back in her, to the hilt.

"Fuck, mmmmmahh aaammmahhhhh yeah!! Fuckk shhhmohhhaaahhhh yess, I fuckin' will!!" she cried. My right hand reached to cup Cin's left breast, flicking her pink, wet nipple; then I squeezed as much pleasure out of her breast as I could.

Upon taking more control over her, her head sailed backwards. Beautiful long, red tresses spilled over behind her head exposing densely freckled shoulders. The erotic oceanic odor of Cin's pussy became mixed with the dense scent of the leather inside our car and filled my nostrils.

I kept on slamming Cin, making her mine, again. I fucked her so hard she bounced off me like a paddle-ball, my fat stomach zipping through the air; holding both of Cin's long legs against my shoulders with my eyes shut, addicted to her cunt.

Soon her yearning stare kept mine and Cin's freckled complexion flushed, her lips releasing controlled, clipped squeals; eventually orgasmic screams as we both helplessly neared the end and both began crying out in crescendos.

Our climax I tantrically prolonged, ordering her not to move, stopping for a few moments before animalistically flushing three gigantic, heavy wads of come into her, the immense pleasure that came with every gush making me holler her name.

Letting nature take its course Cynthia was injected with a fresh dose of my potent, salty seed. Her body was still so tight I felt it sucking the hot semen from my loins leaving my head in complete limbo, and my body at rest with waves of contentment.

Our Lear jet bumped everyone around a bit establishing a presence in the sky, stabilizing its own altitude. I experienced some dizziness after finishing a third bowl of miso soup on board. I felt like something deep inside of me was crying; there is no other way of explaining it.

It had been my fifty-third birthday a few days ago, and usually I felt strong as a horse when my alarm went off every morning, but I felt exhausted now. I couldn't stop thinking about the last few weeks; about discovering that my eighteen-year old daughter Cynthia was not really related to me at all; that my ex-wife betrayed me with such a despicable lie.

I took advantage of the situation, as usual. Always opting to be a filthy scumbag I fucked Cynthia to get even. She let me for the same reason because Cynthia and her mother were polar opposites. I realized I belonged on this jet in the company of eight other corporate parasites. I adjusted my seat back all the way. I went to sleep feeling depressed, I kept trying to ignore the sadness.

As I slept I had a nightmare. I dreamt I was alone in a desert. I walked, and walked; but felt empty and without mind. I felt nothing but what was outside of my body. In the dream I lost the capacity to feel emotions. As is often the case this dream would be impossible to put into words. I only knew the intensity of the sun, until finally, screaming and delirious, I died from the heat among infinite dunes.

I awoke and was afraid. I was ashamed of myself; my greed, misanthropy, hypocrisy, and vindictiveness. I had been doing this since I was a child. I lied so much it was second nature. Professionally I conspired against everyone I ever knew to get where I needed to be.

Through the years I spread rumors against rivals so they would go to war, served others only to betray them, stole information, conceived plans to make rivals fail leading them to the guillotine. And I did it, most of it, with an innocent smile. Nobody knew what a slime I was except for the ones that were true observers.

Cin agreed to keep what we had shared a secret until we figured out how to see one another. But with my second wife forcing Cin back to Mississippi, from Chicago, to live, I knew I had to take measures to protect my assets. Before leaving on my business trip I made an appointment with my attorney, one of the finest. The only thing left to do now was relax some. So I started talking...

I met Murray River eight years ago; he was sitting close to me on the jet. When I beckoned him over he smiled coming right to me. Sitting beside me, beaming as usual, he hadn't changed since I saw him last. Murray River wore a dark suit, his black as sin hair was neatly combed in a sort of swoop, eyes like pale sapphires shone on me. Murray was Australian by birth, and also happened to be the reason my second marriage to Cindy's mother failed.

Murray River was a talented musician turned music executive. Due to a drug related accident he was forced to go back to college and make a career change. His weakness had once been not really knowing this business. At the time he was too busy dealing with addiction, and trying to recapture his better days.

I took advantage of his incompetency paying him back by stealing away his prospects. I also had Murray's network black-hatted. The real revenge was fucking his sister who was the only family member Murray had relied upon for sobriety throughout his life.

When Murray found out I slept with his sister he never spoke to me again, but as we got older we mended ties. His sister Isla later tragically committed suicide over something unrelated and he only had a few people left to turn to. I was one of these people. When I met Helen and re-married for a third time I no longer cared what men Deborah took her panties off for.

Murray went on to have an engagement Deborah. At the time he was at near bankruptcy so I gave him some of my clients from the surplus I had managed to amass, but refused to share up until then.

"She was a sheila," Murray River said, reclining. He was recalling the few times Helen had visited me at our recording studio.

"A little too subdued for you, Murray," I teasingly replied, knowing my third wife might have actually gone for a guy like Murray River.

I told Murray about some of the problems I was having with Deborah; about the added responsibility of caring for my eighteen year old daughter. I didn't tell him Cynthia was not my daughter or put down her mother.

He reminded me that when he had been in the picture, Deborah controlled Cynthia by hardly letting her have any friends, also by keeping her practically housebound. No wonder Cynthia sought out danger and mixed with a weird zombie crowd. She had been living in a box. I told him how my ex-wife put me in charge of Cynthia demanding some time off.

I opened up because Murray was one of the few genuine people I knew. I could trust him because he knew me and those in my life. He also chose to call me "Ellis" -which I liked. I liked it more than my birth name "Elvin", more than what people usually called me at work: Brown, my last name. And I liked it even more than my phony changed legal name.

Murray always found ways of making others feel good about themselves. He deeply cared for my ex-wife and Cynthia. But not even he could fix things once I fell off the picture. I came to the conclusion that Deborah was just an evil, selfish person like me because she took poor Murray down; AA meetings, DUI arrests, and more.

"So, Helen had a PH.D.?"

"Yes," I said; my thoughts wandering back to the present.

"I adore having a naughty with a woman like that."

"Helen was boring in the sack, not to mention uptight," I responded.

"At least it was something."

"Half of something good can be worse than nothing..."

"She was the hottie with jet black hair styled in a sleek bob, heh?"

"Yes."

"I remember her; she had a very cute freckled face with this sexy overbite, right?" he said with a knowing smile. Murray had described my third wife to a t. I also fell in love with her black hair and freckled Irish features.

"Glad you never told me before how attractive she was to you," I said with pursed lips. I began to wonder whether or not these two were acquainted, but realized it was improbable. Maybe I was losing my mind because this was how a crazy person thinks.

I admired Murray's nerve, but was very angry over his lack of respect for me. He wasn't just that way with me; Murray thought he was better than everybody. Even though I was now divorced from my third wife, I felt talking about her was out of line considering our past history. I decided not to talk to Murray River much at all for the rest of the trip.

I felt a few chills and knew that flu, or something else was settling itself quietly in my body. I requested a glass of water and demanded pills determined on heading back to sleep. I asked for a blanket and rested for hours on end. The pills induced a clinical sleep that carried me far away from everything. When I was finally awakened by a stewardess as our jet made a short stop in Lisbon to re-fuel my body felt a lot better.

I started making up my mind to begin a self-improvement regimen of some kind once I returned to Chicago. I had been a solid atheist all of my life, now maybe church and prayer could help. This sadness inside was a warning that I needed growth where there was none. Growth in my wallet wasn't the remedy for whatever it was I was feeling, or not feeling.

Chapter 3

Our body of eight associates met in Dubai with the management of artists from every continent in the world, and maybe beyond! It was probably the most auspicious time for my corporation. This had also been my dream when I was younger; to form part of a group landing a company upon the most successful plane of its existence! But I was feeling too ill to enjoy it.

I was asked to sift through thousands of portfolios, find and approve promising candidates, make thousands of phone calls, send out even more e-mails and defer hundreds of tasks to our litigation department! Also recommend clients to corporations we had agreements with.

At one time it would have been easy for me to move through that amount of work, but now my energy was, simply put; sapped.

And although I tried to avoid Murray River, and he sensed this, to my surprise he came to the rescue. In addition to handling his amount of work, Murray took care of most of mine without letting people around us realize what was happening. When I thanked him he motioned for me to go back to my room and rest.

He would secretly bring tea and soup to my room when he was finished, day nor night, and talk to me about his job and how much he missed Deborah. Although his professional life was moving along excellently, he said he could never find a woman like her again.

She had cheated on him. The relationship with the next man didn't last however, and after that Deborah permanently went back to our hometown in Mississippi with Cindy. She continued to see Murray on and off until she got fed up of watching him go back and forth on a plane every weekend from Illinois to Mississippi; one day she finally decided to dump him.

Murray, still in his late thirties, was a disciple of healthy eating, and exercise. I think he barely slept four hours a night because he enjoyed staying up late and getting up early. Murray confessed that constantly working helped neutralize addiction.

I often asked myself why he was bothering to help me. I was so sick I didn't even consider that perhaps he wasn't, that maybe he was setting me up. Part of me didn't care. With this guy nursing me it also occurred to me that he was just attracted to Deborah because she was a backstabbing bitch.

It had turned him on to steal her away from me, but he knew that by doing that he was putting the same curse on himself. Love was just a funny little game to someone like her. Of course there was always that one man she invested in emotionally, but as I recalled, she always had a line of men following her around, waiting for the green light to fuck her.

I was horrified that he could still love her after what she did to him. I would have gotten as far away as possible. I wondered how self-destructive this man was. If you are digging a hole for yourself you have to stop digging. I was tempted to tell Murray that I was not the real father of Deborah's daughter, that the father was an ex-con from Mississippi. I didn't because Murray had been Cynthia's stepfather after me.

Before leaving, Murray would also fill me in on the latest business developments, I kept up with the incredible progress our company was making via a laptop in my room. Our company stock was going up every day, and the information available online, which I thought was hyped, was nowhere near as impressive as the information available on our intranet network.

On my way down to an important meeting one morning after sleeping like a corpse, I received the one message on my smartphone I dreaded the most. I heard it begining to unfurl before getting into the elevator. The message was interrupted halfway through as the elevator doors enclosed everybody and the machine's cords lowered our bodies down toward the main lobby.

I held onto the fear in terrifying disbelief for about eight minutes, then listened to the message three times in the hotel lobby. Cindy was pregnant, and knowing that I had been her sole lover; I had to be the father. When my ex-wife confronted her about whom the father was, Cindy simply said she had had anonymous sex with several guys; that it could be anybody.

My ex-wife badgered me consistently on the days that followed insisting on more information; she even persisted while I tried to sleep, calling several times a night. I was besieged with messages from Chicago at the front desk when I arrived from meetings.

Finally, I called Chicago and told the ex-wife I had no idea who the father could be either, that her daughter was hanging around a pretty strange crowd from what I knew, that her daughter was a consenting adult, I added for my ex-wife to try some anonymous sex.

There was a scheduled launch party to be hosted by a known R&B artist congratulating new performers signed to us, also celebrating the new ones we were able to find homes for elsewhere. Before the party we had one final meeting where hugs, handshakes, congratulations, as well as bonuses were alotted. I was pleased it was over.

Murray, of all people, had saved my ass, possibly saved me from getting fired. The same guy I once conspired against and almost ruined. Mr. Jacob, our boss, thought all the excellent work was my doing, when in reality it was Murray who deserved credit. Being a born talker, whenever I had to attend meetings, I carefully interpreted Murray's dossier and made his efforts my own.

Some people noticed something was off because my way of doing things was more discriminating, interpersonal, yet quick; Murray's, more intuitive and labored. I also practically walked into meetings with a pillow over my head. In other words, I wore a suit and tie, but my mind was still in my hotel room, asleep. I couldn't believe Murray had become that good on the business front.

To demonstrate even more appreciation, our company arranged to drive the ones with the biggest quotas out to the desert for bonuses that were so plush they were bankrolling them using the company slush fund.