Getaway

He smacked her with his dick across her right cheek, then her left, making her laugh while she stroked her fingertips across his scrotum, light and playful. "Open up," he said. "I'll show you how easy this dick is."

She shook her head with mischief. Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! His organ connected with her face a few more times, leaving steaming trails of precum across her features. "You're gonna be a good little hostage and take what I've got."

"Or what?"

He figured she was waiting for a threat to use the gun in his hand but he couldn't bring himself to do it, worried he'd sound lame and break the whole illusion. Instead he looked at her, splayed out, arms hanging off the bed, and he quickly swiped her armpit with his fingertips to pull a squeal out of her. Mouth open, he shoved himself inside, and she accepted him with only the briefest show of an objection.

He started moving his hips, fucking her face at a relaxed pace while taking hold of her flanks, pushing her tank top over her stomach. She closed her eyes, swirling her tongue around the hot, fleshy invader pistoning into her throat, enjoying the sensation of his sweat-slick balls gently tapping against her forehead. She thought of how degrading this all should have felt; maybe it was. Maybe she'd been riding high for so long she could stand to be a little degraded. Or maybe she was too turned on to care. Either way, she wasn't about to let something as silly as pride get in the way of some surprisingly good dick.

What'd she say about pride earlier? Whatever it was, it was smart.

Her hands glided up and down his thighs, her tongue and nose relishing his thick, salty musk as he continued to casually hump her face and she moaned lovingly around his maleness. His hands roamed across her torso, over her shirt, testing and shifting the modest weight of her breasts and the stiff buds of her nipples. This encouraged her hands further upwards, over two small and pleasantly pliable asscheeks that she immediately wanted to see for herself.

As it turned out, she wasn't the only one who wanted to see more. He could've easily face-fucked her to completion, but the tank top had a strange and frustrating ability to keep the rest of her covered up. So he disengaged with a pop and a satisfied sigh from her—"Me encanta tu grueso chorizo," she moaned with a couple of warm, wet strokes of her hand—and directed her on her knees, remaining on the bed. "Take off your shirt," he said.

"No," she countered, turning her body ever so slightly as her arms formed a "v" over her chest.

"You said it yourself," he said, pointing the empty gun at her. "I got the gun, I make the rules."

"And I said..." In a single, dazzling move, she popped the gun out of his hand and reclaimed it in her own. "No," she finished with a cocky smile.

He blinked, mentally checked to make sure he didn't just shit the floor, and said, "I just gotta say, I'm really glad that I haven't actually pissed you off."

She cocked her gaze. Still smiling.

"...I didn't actually piss you off, did I?"

She shook her head. "I would like to see what you're working with, though." She motioned for him to take off the shirt; he grabbed the hem to pull it off his body in a swift motion, but she stopped him. "Do it slow," she said. "Tease me."

He started gyrating his body; a little awkward, given the lack of good bump and grind music, a shortage of confidence in what he had to offer, and the fact that his dick was already out. But she enjoyed the show, sitting cross-legged on the bed, cheering him on as he slowly hiked the shirt up his body before lifting it overhead.

He let the last of his clothes fall to the ground and posed as best as he could without breaking into mortified laughter. As expected, there wasn't much to him; pale-skinned, light-weight, little definition to his body. But it worked for him; a gentle body for a gentle soul. And when he turned around, she was far from disappointed in the subtle trim shape of his behind.

"Mmm," she moaned, crawling over to him, kissing her way around his cheeks, "tienes un culo tan lindo..." For longer than a moment she was tempted to just dive right into his asshole and start licking while jerking him off, but thought better of it. I'll save that for the shower, she promised herself.

"So when can I see what you've got?" He turned around, and she sat back onto the bed, cross-legged, covering her pussy but leaving her sparse bush casually exposed.

"I dunno," she said. "What can you offer?"

"What do you want?"

"Good question," she said, smiling. "What does anybody want?" Her gaze drifted toward the duffel bag between the beds before reconnecting with his lust-drunk eyes.

As usual, he understood right away, pulling a bonded stack of hundreds out of the duffel bag. He assumed she wanted him to just throw the stack at her, but what he really wanted to do was treat her more like a stripper...a stripper with a gun in her hand, granted, but a stripper nonetheless. "It'll be cool?" he whispered, pulling at the purple strip that held the hundred-dollar bills together.

"Yeah, of course," she whispered back, and he ripped the strip apart and let it flutter back into the duffel bag. The bills remained secure in his hand.

He took one bill out, holding it in front of her face. He used to have a college buddy who paid her way though stripping; super smart, enjoyed showing herself off. He saved up a bunch of money to blow on bottle service to celebrate his graduation, and his friend gave him advice back then that rang clear in his mind that night: "Don't go in and make it rain right away. Give each girl a chance to work for their dollars at first; let them show you what they can do."

He dragged the first hundred over her face. He remembered her enjoying the smell of money in her hand, so he teased the edge of the note over her features, waving it past her nose, watching her take in its scent. He brushed the bill up and down her lips until she stuck her tongue out, then he slid the bill down her tongue. She craned her head back, and he teased the bill down her neck and chest, ultimately leaving it in her tank top.

The next hundred started at her stomach, brushing back and forth across her navel. Ever so slowly the path of the bill arced upwards, and the hem of the tank top arced up along with it, upwards and upwards, until the underswell of her breasts were revealed, followed by her quarter-sized areoles and erect nipples—the color of dark brown sugar, looking just as sweet. She pulled the tank top off, letting the bill stuck inside of it flutter downward, and she reclined back, letting him rest the second hundred across her sternum.

The third hundred started brushing up the sides of her thighs, alternating legs as it slowly creeped toward the moistened juncture up her body. Her fingers followed each stroke of the bill, up to and including the stroke against her lips. Even after he dropped the bill between her legs, her fingers kept stroking.

She continued like that, gun in right hand, pussy in left, writhing theatrically for him, for the money that continued to trickle down onto her body in increments of $100. "Ay, más," she cried. "Dame más!"

"More" was what she got; he ripped open another stack of hundreds and she spun onto all fours, twerking her ass at him. She knew the game, and he rewarded her for it, flinging hundred after hundred upon her tight, gyrating booty and sweaty back at a more generous pace while she laughed in a sweet, carefree register that he never expected to hear.

When that stack was exhausted, she turned once more onto her back, dipping two fingers into her pussy while thrusting her sexy, modest chest toward him. Surrounded by loose hundreds, she still called "Dame más!" as her fingers plunged in and out of her.

He was patient once more with the third stack, using a single bill to lead her fingers out of her snatch and up her stomach. Once she got the idea, he moved the bill behind her fingers, mopping up the trail of juice leading up her body and out over her nipples, before hovering the bill over her face. She slipped her fingers back into herself again and took in the combined scent of arousal and wealth before he moved the wet bill over her open mouth, dripping onto her tongue before he let it flutter down to her chest.

"Dame más," she panted.

He brushed the stack up and down her body. "Earn it," he said.

She didn't think she could be surprised by much these days but this stoner kept surprising her; just when she thought he was the kind of guy that needed a flow to go with, he had created a flow of his own and goddamn if it wasn't a good one. She grinned at him, doubling her efforts, then tripling them when he opened up another stack and added it to what was left of the current one. He crawled onto the bed, moved above her head, edging her closer by continuing to brush the cash over her body while he leaned into her face with a serene yet spicy look in his eyes.

At one point he removed the cash, only to dip down and take her tits into his mouth, prompting her to cry out, to lean forward, to lick his chest in turn wherever she could. She gasped when he came back up and she saw two fresh stacks in his hand, bindings broken and added to the wad that now fanned her saliva-slick nipples, sending delicious shivers up and down her whole being. Her senses deliciously overloaded, there was no other option but to explode, and just as she opened her mouth, just as her hips reared back to buck violently outwards, just as the empty gun slipped from her grip to tumble unneeded to the floor, a veritable mushroom cloud of cash opened up above her and fluttered down upon her quaking, sweaty body, followed by another, and another.

She was panting, smiling, covered in and surrounded by her hard-stolen greenbacks, sixty in all totaling six thousand dollars, plenty more where they came from. If even one of those bills was left behind she'd have a problem, but that was for tomorrow. Tonight she gathered up armfuls of her cash, spreading it over her belly and chest, relishing the feel of so much wealth on her skin, wealth that had gone unappreciated by those who had claimed it, wealth used to indirectly oppress her and her kind, to oppress her unlikely partner, to oppress so many others.

She felt powerful.

She felt victorious.

She felt like celebrating with him.

She turned over and took his cock back into her mouth; gently, slowly, just to get it ready. By whatever miracle he didn't seem like he was about to pop, but she didn't want to take a chance. Once it was nice and wet, she turned her body around and jiggled her ass at him once more.

"Metémela," she said. "Fuck me, guero."

His approach was slow, but it wasn't gentle. His left hand took a firm grip on her hip, and suddenly she felt her lips split open and she felt every inch of her canal embrace his burning, turgid length until he was buried to the hilt with a mutual gasp. She was tight and sopping wet, and whatever he did to her she was clearly loving it, grinding back in a vain attempt to get as much of him inside as she could.

He withdrew from her. He penetrated her. He withdrew. He penetrated. Withdrew. Penetrated. The pace was relaxed but this wasn't lovemaking; it was more like a slow-motion fuck, with him crashing into her ass with every forward motion, ultimately pushing her face down into a cluster of bills. The smell of sex and wealth overwhelmed her, not helped by him grabbing some bills of his own and teasing them against her ass, causing her to fuck him back as best she could. The room spun for both of them. They were vaguely aware that the TV was still on, talking about something decidedly unarousing, but it didn't matter. It could've been helicopter footage of the FBI breaching the hotel room and they still wouldn't have stopped fucking.

When he did pull out, it was to turn her around and pin her onto her back, entering her missionary-style. He stayed upright at first, watching her keen eyes study him, watching her sexy lips twist into moans, watching her delectable titties bounce along with the rest of her lithe body. There was so little to either show and yet they were both so appealing; the skinny little hostage conquering his captor, the ice cold bank robber cutting loose. Eventually the need for touch became too great, and he laid down upon her. They embraced each other, caressed each other, nibbled at each other's neck's, panted into each other's ears, whispering nasty little desires directly into their brains:

"I want this bed to break underneath us."

"I want to lick every inch of your skin, inside and out."

"I want to drink everything that comes out of you."

"I want to fuck you so hard you get pardoned for time served." That one made her laugh.

Through it all they mostly kept up their steady yet savage pace, never speeding up or slowing down. At some point she took control and rolled him onto his back and she rode him far more aggressively, but it wasn't long before she mellowed out and settled into the pace he had set, raising herself upright, grabbing handfuls of cash, raising them above her head and raining it down upon both their bodies. He wish it never had to end.

But steady pace or not, a man could only take so much before he had to start thinking about the end. "Damn," he said, "you're gonna make me nut real soon."

"Aye," she said, slowing into a luscious grind. "Where do you want to come?" she asked.

She grabbed a wad of bills and brushed them over her forehead and eyes. "On my frente?"

She opened her mouth and licked the bills in her hand. "In my boca?"

With both hands, she spread the bills across her breasts, emphasizing them further with a few shakes. "All over my tetas?"

Then she dragged the bills down her stomach. "Across my vientre?"

Somehow, she turned around without uncoupling from him, flaring out her hips and dropping the bills down her back and across her ass. "Perhaps my espalda and culo?"

"How about 'as many of those places as possible,'" he answered. "This is gonna be a big one."

She laughed in anticipation, slowing to a stop as she considered her options. Then she disengaged, sliding down his skinny body until her head rested between his legs, giving her a view of his now swollen balls. "Here," she said, pointing to her forehead. "Jerk off from here."

He leaned over to get a fresh stack of hundreds, then rose to his knees, straddling her head from above, beating off over her face. His erection was wet, stinking of wonderful sex, their juices splashing on her face in a fine mist from his masturbation, his balls quivering...again she was reminded of how degrading this should feel but instead she felt free and wonderful and turned on, the thought of his impending tribute inspiring her hands to journey downward to her swollen, glistening lips once more.

Having pulled out a bit prematurely it took him some time to get there, long enough to push herself to the edge, waiting for his anointment to send her tumbling over once more, and the anticipation was driving her to near tears. "Ay, ay," she started chanting, her Spanish tongue further weakening his resolve, shallowing his breath, parting his lips in erotic panting. "Ay, ay, voy a venir! Ven conmigo! Mmm-mmm, derrama tu leche sobre mí! Voy a venir! AY!"

He barely made a sound but she saw and felt his whole body shake as his first shot spewed out above her head and splashed down hot across her right tit and forearm, triggering her own orgasm in time for a second shot to spill across her left tit and sternum. She convulsed and cried repeatedly in release, bright white streaks basting her tiny brown tits, slowly inching up to her neck and then her chin, his release falling into her open mouth—salty, heavy, sensational—tears of white drenching her cheeks, gluing her eyes shut, matting her hair. Finally, a groan of his own as his orgasm released him, the head of his still-drooling cock warming her painted forehead.

And then, as she felt him drop from exhaustion next to her, the unmistakable sound of money in the air, fluttering back down upon their sticky, sweaty, freshly-fucked bodies, glued to them by their congealing fluids. She wiped the cum from her eyes but kept them closed, taking a moment to be present; the heat of the air on her naked skin, the warmth of the man next to her, the droning TV in the background, the pungent, addicting aroma surrounding them.

He opened his eyes first, her legs being the first thing he saw post-coitus. Without moving his head he tried to follow them upwards, across the traverse of his loving captor, adorned with her money and his sex. He couldn't see for sure, but he knew she was smiling.

She spoke first. "Fuck," she groaned. "You turned me into a pornstar."

"Um, sorry," he said, half meaning it. "Told you that weed was good shit."

"...No you didn't."

"Oh shit, no I didn't." A long pause. "Well, it's good shit."

"Mmm, yeah it is. Lemme know where I can get some. I might risk going back to LA."

He took a moment before speaking, reminding himself that of course she would have to move on. Maybe it was for the best; he would've hated being the reason she got caught, and it wasn't like what just happened could ever be repeated. Still, he wouldn't have minded trying a few hundred more times. "Yeah, sure," he said, pushing himself to terms. "Hit me up and I'll get you set. You know where I live."

More silence, save for the TV being the TV. They thought to turn it off. They enjoyed being present in their sweaty, beautiful nudity too much to change anything. Now she was looking him over, enjoying his serene posture, remembering wanting to absorb some of that serenity. Realizing that she had.

"You know, I was thinking," she said. She turned onto her side, cash still sticking to her skin, looking up his slick, slim body, drawing little circles on his thigh with her finger.

"Thinking what?" he asked.

"I mean, I could send you home tomorrow...but if I wanted to be sure, I'd hold you for a little longer. Until the cash was laundered and I was ready to divide it up. Then I'd cut you in. So on one hand, that'd make you an accomplice, which kinda sucks for you, but it assures me you won't go running to the cops."

"Which you totally need since you can't trust me."

"Obviously not. On the other hand...my guy gets 20%, leaves about $464K? You'd get the 15% my driver was gonna get from that, maybe even a little extra from my cut for 'services rendered...'"

"Sure, sure."

"Leaves you with at least $70K. Not a bad way to compensate you."

"So how long would you have to keep me tied up?"

She braced herself to answer him. "I usually get the money back in two weeks," she admitted. "Maybe longer this time; this was my biggest haul yet, so..." She shrugged, inwardly cringed.

He had to meditate on it for all of four seconds. "Well, shit," he said. "You're the one with the gun."

She smiled, relieved, thrilled. She showed it by rolling on top of him, skin and cash crushing against skin, coming face to face with his glistening, dormant dong while giving him a lewd look at her sopping, gaping slit. With a gentle kiss, and another, and a lick and a suck of his helmet to take in his thick, sweaty flavor, he started to come back to life.

"Sí," she said, popping off his reinflating cock with an audible smile as he leaned up to taste her once more. "Yours is bigger."

= = = = =

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