Geek's Revenge Ch. 04

"Nice," she breathed. "That was nice. You -- don't take this the wrong way -- you fuck pretty good for a white boy."

"I take it your pimp is black," I mentioned.

"My boyfriend is," she said, the p-word stinging a little.

"If he was just your boyfriend, you wouldn't have to call him after every john," I pointed out. "Call it what it is. He's your pimp."

"Fine," she said, "Whatever. Yes, my pimp is black. You got a problem with that?"

"Not at all," I shrugged. "Interracial dating has enjoyed a long and distinguished history in the South. I bet he's hung like a horse, too. Which means that my 'white boy' dick probably barely touches both sides."

"You aren't that bad, actually," she admitted. "I mean, a girl likes to know when there's a dick in her pussy, but there's also something to be said for not having your cervix bruised every time you want a piece. I like big dicks, but a medium sized one is actually more fun, most of the time."

"I bet you say that to all your little-dicked white johns," I accused, playfully.

"Well, duh, yeah," she said, rolling her eyes. "You know how many four-inch long white frat boy dicks I've sucked?"

"Today? Or aggregate?"

"Um . . . a lot," she said, confused by the term. "If you don't make them feel like they're swinging ten inches of pipe, they don't call you back."

"Riight," I said, nodding. "Good business practices."

"Yep. You ready to go again?"

We did it another two hours, on and off. I worked her through several different positions, and she performed very well. Not as well as she would have in High School, at her peak, but good enough. She was good pussy, and knew how to fuck. I got my money's worth.

And before I was done, I'd thought about my situation and had developed a business proposition for her. While she was in the bathroom getting cleaned up, I had opened my hidden safe and pulled five hundred dollars out. She came back out a few minutes later, wiping her nose, her eyes gleaming. She didn't look like a well-fucked whore, but maybe a cocktail bar haunting slut who'd given a parking lot BJ. Much more respectable.

"Here," I said, handing her our agreed-upon fee. "And I've got a . . . I want to hire you again tonight."

"You want another go?" she asked, cocking her head. "My meter's still running. We can—"

"No! Four orgasms in one night is my limit," I said, holding my hand up in protest. "No, I wanted to hire you to go suck off that bastard that's holding me up. I've got his home address right here. It occurred to me that the fucker probably hasn't had his oil changed since the turn of the century, so I want you to go over there, tell him 'This is Mr. Cooper playing nice,' and suck him dry. That's it."

"You want me to go suck off some old guy?" she asked, wrinkling up her nose in distaste.

"Exactly. With my compliments. Afterwards, tell him if the papers are not signed in twenty-four hours, that word on the street is that there will be a very public drug bust and arson at the old Victory Warehouse, followed by a public outcry to have the site condemned and bulldozed as a matter of public safety."

She studied me warily. "You don't play fair," she decided, finally.

"What, you think I'm being too harsh?"

"No, not at all. It's a smart plan. You always were a smart guy, Coop. Yeah, I'll do it. I hate sucking old geezer dick, but if you're buying, I guess I can do it as a favor."

"Keep the rest as tip and cab fare," I said, pushing the rest of the money at her. Her eyes lit up at that. It was a pretty substantial tip for a school night. "If this works, you just saved me ten grand, and got a two million dollar project started."

"Wow," she said, amused, the cocaine really starting to hit her system now. "I always wanted to work in real estate."

I shrugged. "You do this well, I might have more work for you. Very lucrative," I assured.

"I don't care if it's lucrative or not, as long as it pays well," she said, which made me giggle.

"Say, you ever do parties?" I asked, having another good idea. A great idea, actually. "For this weekend? Friday night, probably."

She smiled and wiggled her braless boobs at me. "What do you think? Seven hundred for parties up to six, with an additional bill for each guy thereafter."

"It's only five of us," I said. "But it might run a little outside of your normal job. You mind getting kinky?"

"For you Coop? I'll wear a bunny suit. Um, no hardcore, okay? And no real pain. I don't mind a little spanking one-on-one, but in a group shit can get out of hand, quick. And . . . you don't . . . actually want me to wear a bunny suit, do you?"

"No," I chuckled. "But the reality might be even more bizarre."

"I'm not sure I like the sound of that," she said, doubtfully.

"No pain, no hardcore, no serious injury. Just a simple train with some dress up. I'll have the costume ready. Good money. Maybe even a steady gig."

"I could use the work. Call me by Thursday, I'll put it on my schedule. Now off to blow an old fart."

"You run out on me, I'll be irritated," I promised.

"Take it up with my . . . pimp. You paid, you get to play. That's the rules."

Oh no, Carla, I thought to myself as I walked her out. Your rules might be about to change.