For the Love of Candy

"Oh I'm good. It will be at least a couple of hours before I have to drag him back out here to do that again." The look of shock on the old guys face as we turned to walk back into the mall was priceless. I think I heard him choke when I reached under my skirt for my first finger of our juices. Jackson's warm and creamy man juice with a touch of horny slut. Jackson grinned watching me lick my finger clean.

He grinned every time I did, and I thought his lips would meet on the back of his head when I retied my halter. I crossed the straps in front of my neck exposing the sides of my boobs almost to my nipples.

We only made a half an hour more before we had to leave. He bent me over the trunk again, but no security this time. I rode home in the fading light with my skirt up under my boobs and my halter around my waist. Jackson's hand was going back and forth between boobs and nipples like it was a tennis match.

I stayed that way walking into the apartment and dropped to my knees to clean the last of our cum from his dick. He snickered for the next couple of hours when I'd catch him looking at me. His eyes were devouring my body on display for him. Skirt hiked up to show my sloppy dribbling pussy and plugged ass. My halter flopped down to let my boobs with darkened nipples swinging free.

It worked. I had his dick in my mouth sucking down another creamy load just before bed, his eyes glued to my lips as I let a little of his cum dribble onto my boob. I went to bed a happy slut, filled and slightly covered in his cum. It was only on one boob, but it was his.

I didn't really want to go into work the next morning. I did tease Jackson putting my sports bra on. I chuckled at one of the new nurses practically swooning at Dr. McDreamy. That was me before Jackson. Now I just smiled thinking of where he was going to put that dick into me next.

And the life of a happy slut went on. Jackson began working with computers. It was all side work, only charging what they could afford. Most of the time it was minor things according to him, but they always preformed like new when he was done.

Occasionally when I was on nights Jackson would sneak into an empty room and replay his comatose patient role. It didn't work very well, he couldn't keep his hands off my boobs.

Things were going great. If you didn't know what to look for, you would never know Jackson had been injured unless he was really tired. We were kicked back after fucking each other's brains out for the fourth time today watching the news.

There was a blurb about a problem with a big mob trial out in New York, they were all ready to tie the mayor and governor to one of the biggest mob bosses and send them all to prison... and it seemed the prosecution was having a problem locating their star witness.

Jackson snorted, "Like they really need me to testify. All I'm going to do is turn over the thumb drive and Georgio and the rest of the politicians on his payroll will be rotting in a jail cell until they die of very old age."

I looked at Jackson, "What?..."

Jackson waived to the TV. "All they need is the thumb drive. Everything else is just window dressing."

I was still staring at him, "How do you know that..."

"They hid me out here until..." his eyes went wide. I could see them flickering back and forth. "I remember..."

"Remember what?"

"I know who I am, what happened," he looked at the TV. "That asshole tried to have me killed!"

He sat down hard on the couch, a blank stare in his eyes. He looked up at me staring at him. "Now what do we do?"

I smiled, "We?"

Jackson put his hand out, and I took it. "I hope."

I smiled even more as I fell to him and curled up under his arm. "We."

It took a while, but 'Jackson' laid it out for me. He was the mobs banker. Their on-line banker. Think the dark web meets bitcoin. He had the records of all the mob payoffs to the politicians, all the numbered bank accounts and the decryption codes.

He started out a young and innovative techie banker, totally clueless about who he was doing the banking for. Everything was right on the ragged edge of baking rules, most old laws not taking into account new technologies. It was only a little over a year into his 'career' being their banker that the 'other shoe' dropped. He questioned a few transactions that were strikingly close to bad events in the news, and went further back and discovered a bit of a pattern.

If he went to the authorities the mob guys would implicate him in the whole thing and he would be sharing a cell right next to them and be labeled a snitch. Not good for your health behind bars.

So to them, he became the proverbial yes man. They asked, he did it. Not always quite the way they wanted it, but it was done. He twisted things like pretzels to keep himself clear of the law.

And he began keeping records of EVERYTHING and getting what copies he could of old information. By the end of that first year, he had the goods on over two thirds of the operation, and a few of them paid the price via some anonymous tips. He was looked at, but he was with upper management when all the tips were called in. Ain't technology grand?

But that last upper third of the organization took three more years to fill out. The last year and half for the top man. When he had the last of it, he made a dozen copies and took a small sample to one of the few prosecutors he knew wasn't taking bribes. He got lucky in he wasn't one of them taking it out in kind, off the books, in hookers and drugs.

After two weeks of video testimony and a few verified transactions, charges were brought and he went into Witness Protection. That was about three months before everything blew up, literally.

After several long nights and days of digging on sites I had no clue even existed, Jackson had a pretty good idea of what happened. Chocolates.

It's hard to believe I had my Jackson because some stupid bitch ordered a box of chocolates.

Claire, the wife, had been whining about the lack of a proper social atmosphere here. She had been pestering him to get WitSec to put them someplace better, and to butter him up, she ordered his favorite chocolates from Jacques Torres. She was going to give them to him on the evening of the big blow up. But Jerome, his 'real' name, had caught her getting a bit too friendly with a young man, and a big fight had ensued.

He stormed off straight to a bar. Several hours later Claire and her boy toy pull up in his convertible to haul his very drunk ass home. He was in the back seat when the bomb under the drivers feet went off. He apparently was blown clear... barely.

When the sheriff arrived, he had a burnt car with a man and a woman in it. Identifying the bodies was near impossible, but the height and such was close, so it was assumed it was Jerome and Claire. Case closed of two new people in town with no trace of relatives. With all the casts and bandages no one recognized Jerome in the coma. I didn't help that the bomb went off at the top of a hill. The car and the remains kept going at seventy five miles an hour, Jackson was blown back down the other side... of the county line.

I sat back taking all this in. "So now what, you just come back to life and testify?"

Jackson shook his head, "Hell no. Everybody thinks I'm dead. I come back to life and there will be a price on my head so high even you would think about it."

I stared at him, "I would never..."

He took my hand a and kissed it. "I know, but you know what I mean."

"Yeah, but now what do we do?"

We tossed ideas around for two days, then Jackson had a brain storm. It was so simple and yet so elegant, and it not only kept him dead, but reinforced that idea.

The email was sent via an automated server. It was sent to both the bad guys and the good guys.

'Eleven month log in failure notice. In the event of the twelve month log in failure of Jerome Sims, all data will be disseminated.'

In some ways it was almost anticlimactic. We expected some kind of action, but there was nothing on any news feed we could find. The bad guys thought they had a month. It took us a week to make our plans.

Jackson had new identities for us in the Caymans. I knew that part, but... "Jesus Jackson, who's bank account is that?" There were a lot of numbers there.

He turned and nibbled on my nipples a bit trying to distract me. I eventually tipped his head back, he was still grinning. "One of ours."

"WHAT!"

And I got the 'rest of the story'.

In the five years Jackson was amassing all that information, several of the members had died, were killed, or went to jail. Jackson had persuaded the upper management to leave the accounts in place untouched for a while to allay any suspicions. Most of them were simply forgotten about. Those accounts where the member was dead went into one of Jacksons accounts six months after the death, and his memo on the original account simply said 'reabsorbed'. It just didn't say where.

For the active and jailed members, all their public accounts were untouched, but all the 'hidden' and dark web accounts were zeroed out the day he went into WitSec. Even with no investing for almost a year, he said it was a little over five hundred million give or take.

"Have I told you lately how much I love you?" I asked as I cupped my boob and held it to his lips.

"Mmmmmm," he hummed around my nipple as his hand went up between my thighs. I sighed as his thumb slipped into my pussy. I squeaked as it left my pussy and went into my ass. I screamed like a wild woman when he thumb fucked my ass through one long orgasm.

I wanted to roll up and suck on his dick, I only had the energy to think about it.

Jackson spent a lot of time that week on the computer, and Saturday evening we went for a walk. We caught a cab around the corner to a cheap motel across town, checking in with no baggage and a new bad fake ID for Jackson. We went into the room, took a shower, went through the connecting doors naked and dripping... water. Well maybe my pussy was dribbling just a little.

I tried to get Jackson to take advantage of my naked body bent over the corner of the bed, he made me get dressed. All black for both of us, caps, wigs, sunglasses, and rubber cement on my fingertips, he still didn't have any. We wiped everything down and went out to a pre-delivered rental van and disappeared from our old life.

Two days of driving and camping out in the van got us to Houston, where we caught a flight to Miami. I did at least get Jackson to do me in the family bathroom at Miami. A girl can go without only so long.

Monday evening as the sun was setting as we boarded, Jackson sent a 'coded' text to a delivery service from a burner he tossed just before we went down the gangway. He has a really sick sense of humor. 'Here's lookin' at you kid.' The thumb drives would go out in the morning, a few weeks ahead of their expected twelve month time table. It was the best way to get the rats before they jumped ship.

With new ID's in Grand Cayman, we made the final leg of our journey to Saint Martin. I still smile at that. "Why are we going to Saint Martin? I thought you wanted to stay in the Caymans."

Jackson reached around and grabbed my ass, "Because the only thing you need to wear on the beaches in Saint Martin is your sunblock."

We spent a lot of the layover between Grand Cayman and Saint Martin with his hand on my ass, usually under my dress, and preferably with his fingers in either my ass or pussy.

We spent a month renting a villa in Saint Martin watching the carnage unfold in New York. The prosecutors had only made their original charges based on the sample Jackson had given them. Lots of people thought they were safe, especially three of the prosecutors and the judge assigned to the case. As much as the panic media didn't want to cover it, three prosecutors and a judge being hauled away from the courthouse in handcuffs was big news. They didn't even let the judge take his robes off.

Couple that with the governor and mayor voting the graveyard and the nursing homes to get them and their underlings elected and it was quite a circus. Jackson chuckled, with him poking his fingers into the last election, they even had to get a few of Casper's relatives to vote to make it over the top.

Some of the little guys flipped and testified, went into WitSec, and died soon after. Many more stood silent and went to jail. It took over a year for the last of the big guys to plead guilty to take the death penalty off the table.

His attorneys were throwing a fit a week after the sentencing. Seems that while Georgio had agreed to a minimum security country club, the agreement they signed showed the Southport supermax. Nobody could trace the change or who made it. The hand written notes said minimum security, but the computer spit out Southport on the official document. And that's what they signed. Damn those pesky computers.

Jackson is sitting at his computer grinning, with the occasional look at my oiled ass. He's typing like mad since I dribbled a bit of lube between my cheeks. As much as he loves fucking with his old employers, he loves fucking my ass in the bright sunshine even more. The computer picks one of his favorite inmates every month at random, and he goes in to see how he can screw with them in the prison.

"DONE!" he hollered out. I looked over my shoulder and grinned. That nice hard dick was bouncing in front of him as he almost ran to me. I just spread my legs and enjoyed him driving deep and hard into my ass. Grabbing the arms of the recliner, Jackson was just ramming that dick home over and over until he unloaded in my ass and laid on my back. I felt him still twitching in my ass. "You did, didn't you?"

"What?" I heard him snicker before her kissed my shoulder and unsuccessfully tried to drive his softening dick further into my ass.

"You got Marco his boyfriend back didn't you?"

"Now why would anyone ever want to break up such a happy couple?"

I giggled and clenched on the dick in my ass. Marco was EXTREMELY homophobic. Hector was one of the Hispanic porters that missed his old boyfriend. A two hundred and fifty pound muscle buildering man wearing lipstick and fingernail polish is not something old Marco could hold off even if he wanted to. The guards all bet on how long it would take Hector to pin Marco to the bed and ravage his ass whenever he went into Marco's cell.

For some odd reason, the secure video servers never managed to capture the hour or so of the passionate lovers getting it on. Damn those pesky computers. Hector had twenty more years to go on his sentence, Marco was in for life. I bet from time to time he wished they hadn't taken the death penalty off the table...

I wrapped my sheer coverup over my bare boobs, and turned to shake my ass at Jackson. He groaned as he saw the giant plug in my ass. The one tied onto the back of my bikini. I could feel the tails of the front strings hanging in the bare crack of my ass. Jackson reached for my barely covered ass.

I intercepted his hand and brought it to my boob. "Oh no you don't mister. I'm cutting you off. No more ass fucks until I get my boobs fucked. I want at least," I made him pinch my nipple, "AT LEAST, three titty fucks and creamy facials before you get to fuck my ass again, and there better be a few pussy fucks in there as well."

Jackson cupped both my boobs and rolled my nipples making me moan softly. "Is that before or after we leave the restaurant?" I moaned a lot louder, I never should have admitted to that.

Jackson had fucked me every way from Sunday on the beach, and I loved the feeling of his cum dripping from my face to my boobs as we left for more hard fucking at home. It was a bit of a fantasy he had coaxed out of me one afternoon keeping me on the edge of orgasm for almost an hour. I fantasized about sitting in a posh restaurant with his cum on my face as we ate.

"Behave, or I'll make you watch while I ride the Sybian for an hour or so." It was his turn to groan. He played with the plug in my ass all evening. If we hadn't been going to such a nice restaurant, I would have put in the handled plug instead of the big steel one. It feels sooooo slutty to be directed around town by the plug in your ass.

Wait until Sunday, I'm going to lay out and put a Hershey kiss on each nipple and make him wait until they're melted before he gets to lick them off. He does love his chocolate after all...

And now for my disclaimers which were inspired by JimBob44, thanks for the inspiration.

Yes, I never met a comma or ellipse I didn't like.

Yes, it jumps around too much.

Yes, it's in the wrong category.

Yes, it's too long.

Yes, it's too short.

Yes, this is stupid shit.

If you want a perfect story go find one written by Mr. Data.

And, yes, I suck.

Go have yourself a warm and fuzzy day.

BTW, you only get to comment on spelling and grammar if you are volunteering to be an editor. Those comments and rants will be deleted, you've been warned.

Ladies, please comment, or better yet become a beta reader.

AND DON'T FORGET TO VOTE!

And for my last gem of wisdom and food for thought. Consider this the next time you watch the 'news'. 'Just because they write the shit down and call it history, doesn't mean it's true.'