Karen

"Network Marketing or Multi-level Marketing, Internet Life Coaches, they're all scams. If someone made it rich, they would not be emailing you about it, or personally marketing their own product. A social media life coach may really be making a fortune, but they're earning it by selling you nonsense, lies and a shirt with their brand on it." Tim put his phone on his knee and continued, "I have been listening to you get. . .get spoon fed the make-believe path to the dream life all day. You want to make it big? You want to get rich? Don't pay the fool on the computer screen anything and get a real job." Tim shook his head in disbelief and picked up his phone again.

He had recently started attending a community college somewhere and was home between semesters. Cynthia and I were seated on the sofa, next to the chair that he was in. Her face flushed, "Timothy, my friend and I are having a conversation. If you would like to speak to her, or myself please wait until we are finished."

"He has grown into a tyrant. I can't do anything right. I am being driven mad by the criticism of my 19-year-old. Ugh!" Cynthia said. Hearing this, her son casually walked out of the room, never disengaging from his phone. "Ok, like I was saying, my coach can help you too. It's really simple and I can just walk you through the website. It is only a small fee to sign up. I think this is really our answer." She smiled.

A future of luxury and endless cash flow flashed through my mind. My heart began to race with excitement at the notion of being rich. "Yes, please help me sign up! Thank you, Cynthia! Thank you for this." I said almost squealing with joy. "Of course! . . .Of course. You are my best friend. Let me get you started." We stood, and I followed her to the family desktop.

She sat in the office chair and spun to face the computer. "Here just give me your debit card real quick," She said. I retrieved my purse. She had started navigating the website and was already filling in my contact information. I put my card on the desk in front of her. The screen contained large fancy pink words, large pictures of an affluent woman, more images of the company's advertising on the site, and finally the text boxes to fill out customer payment information. What the site was selling and what I was buying wasn't apparent to me.

Cynthia stopped typing and turned triumphantly in her chair towards me. She got up grinning and hugged me. "Welcome to the club. We are going to be rich together." She said, "Let's go into the kitchen and grab some wine to celebrate." Her invitation sounded like a statement or demand not needing acceptance or a response. I dutifully followed her to the kitchen.

Cynthia and I met in school. She was the prettiest, and most popular girl in school until she dropped out to give birth to her son, Tim. She was truly the golden child of a wealthy family of six and of our high school. Well, she was golden until she got pregnant. She started to recognize my existence when the whole town ostracized her and then we became friends. Neither one of us had graduated from college, she had not even earned a G.E.D.

She shortly thereafter married a decrypted old man with a large retirement fund, and never worked a job in her life. Her lackluster list of accolades was a point of contention with her child, but not with me or her husband. I was proud to be her sidekick, the unofficial personal assistant that she felt that she deserved. I enjoy her theatrics, her acting as though she belonged to high society. It helped me pretend, if only for a moment, that I was a flamboyantly rich, elitist, judging the impoverished masses for their perceived inferiorities.

Allen, Cynthia's husband, was older than her parents. He was a silent cripple that walked with a cane, involuntarily shaking his head "no" constantly. He sat in the kitchen and stared at us as we took our seats. I felt the weight of his gaze on me and shifted uncomfortably as Cynthia talked. She seemed oblivious or immune to his blank stare.

Cynthia took a tiny sip of wine, "My coach told me that I would be reasonable to expect a six figure a month income after the first year. Isn't that wonderful?" I smiled, "Oh my that's wonderful!" I was still not sure how exactly this coach and their website was supposed to make anyone money. "Yes, and I am going to buy the beautiful two-story home, the one with the maple trees, that is across the street from the park. I am also going to buy the newest. . .uh. . .of whatever kind of car Clair drives. So, I am still better than her. I am also going to buy some new bags and take a trip to Europe." She sounded certain that this was her future.

Doing my best to ignore poor old Allen, I asked "How does this work? Like how will you make the money? I mean, how will we make all this money?" Cynthia maintained her eye contact with me while her face became one of absolute confusion and embarrassment.

I glanced at Allen in the awkward pause. He had fallen asleep. "Well Lauren, my coach is much smarter than you and she does not need to explain anything. I trust her and that's as good of a guarantee that you should need."

I felt ashamed for questioning her. My face burned with embarrassment, I looked at my hands, massaging them with my thumb. "Sometimes I swear you forget that I am smarter than you." She said while she straightened her posture as I sank into my seat, "Sorry." I said softly. "I am not mad at you. You are just always so jealous of me, and always so wrong." I didn't look up from my hands.

Cynthia began to speak again when Tim walked into the kitchen. "I..." She stopped. I watched Tim grab a handful of cookies and prop himself against the doorframe. He looked at me, then at Cynthia, then back at me. He proceeded to eat one of the cookies and glanced at my cleavage. "I am going to need the car tonight." He said. His handsome features and his confidence had me distracted for a moment. I looked at Cynthia dismissing my inappropriate attraction to him.

"Actually Tim, Lauren and I are going to use the car. In fact, we were just talking about leaving right now." He looked at me. I smiled awkwardly, like an insecure little girl seeing her crush at school. He chuckled, "Alright." He restocked his handful of cookies and left us.

"Let's go." Cynthia said. She had not consumed a perceptible amount of wine from her glass, she poured it out. I handed her my glass. "Did you not like the wine?' she asked, offended by the small amount remaining. "I did."

We started toward the door, "So my coach told me about this secret place that is a perfect lunch spot. She knows the owners. We are going, and you need to try their amazing special. My coach loves it and so do I." She grabbed the debit card off the desk in front of the keyboard and put it in her purse, then handed me my purse. "Sounds great. Is your coach also going to be my coach?" I asked. She looked at me with a dismissive glare. I followed her out to her car.

It was a nice SUV; one I could see myself owning. The interior was littered with stuff. Who Cynthia and Tim were as people was spelled out in the ever traveling, discarded collection of things spread throughout the vehicle: A recently worn school shirt with the tag still attached and a food stain halfway up the front, an unopened envelope with "URGENT" stamped on the face of it, a seminar pamphlet, for a course on taking care of the elderly.

The restaurant was one that I had never seen before. Nearly every vehicle in the parking lot was worth double or triple what her SUV was worth brand new. We were clearly not high enough on the socioeconomic ladder to be desired patrons.

Two men stood outside in suits greeting people. I generally don't go anywhere that has staff dressed in suits. "This place looks nice." I said nervously. "Shoot, I can't afford to eat here." I thought, but I could not bring myself to say anything.

We parked and she led me confidently to the entrance. "Mary and I come here all the time." she said as we stepped up to the counter. "Hi. Table for two please." She said to the employee. Professional but still noticeably annoyed that we were even talking to him, the man guided us to a table. Disapproving stares came at us from every occupied table and staff member. I attempted to smile politely at someone, and the entire table returned sarcastic and passive aggressive smiles back at me. The whole place was a nightmarish flash back to twelve-year-old me trying to find a seat in school.

The man placed two menus on the table. "Ladies." He said, we sat. He was gone before I looked up. Cynthia talked as I looked at the menu. ". . .Don't worry I am paying for it." She concluded. "I-I can't let you pay for all this. I mean look at how much the salad costs." She placed her napkin on her lap. "Stop thinking like a poor person. You are not one anymore. This is your new normal and we, being high value ladies, can afford this." Our waiter took our orders and he made me feel like I truly belonged, like I really was one of the upper class. I ordered the salad.

The most expensive salad I had ever ordered was also the smallest I had ever seen. Four individual pieces of lettuce, and a slice of fruit, of a kind that I had never seen before, with some dressing applied in a perfect pattern covering the plate. I looked at Cynthia's plate, there was an equally underwhelming proportioned, rectangular piece of fish and a decorative plant.

I ate my salad and sat watching Cynthia meticulously slicing her bite sized piece of fish into even smaller pieces. A party of four sat at the table next to ours. Two married couples sat opposite each other. The younger husband of the two had been talking about himself since we had arrived. He and I made eye contact. Cynthia was talking as well, I sat nodding in agreement at random. The man at the other table was more interesting to me. We made eye contact again and he momentarily lost the flow of his self-aggrandizing monologue.

I refolded my napkin and pushed it into my lap squeezing my breasts up and together between my arms. I glanced at the other table; his wife was staring at me. "Busted." I thought, disappointed that the fun was over. I looked around the room discreetly "Who else can I tease?" I thought, scanning for another admirer.

"Lauren. . .Lauren." Cynthia whispered. "Let's get out of here." She said, I didn't even think about it, I followed her toward the exit. We were stopped at the door. "You need to pay." the man said with contempt in his voice. Of course, they were watching us, if someone was going to dine and dash, it was obviously going to be us, and Cynthia had just tried.

Cynthia's face turned pale in fear. "This is outrageous! I know the owners and they know me! I will not be treated like this! I . . ." She paused her blatantly dishonest rant to judge the response she was getting. The employee was calm and expressionless. Cynthia continued "I know members of the school board-I mean on the city council! I will not tolerate this! I demand to speak to your manager right now!" We were guided through the restaurant towards the back. I looked for cell phones recording us and dreaded the thought of being the costar in one of those mean women freak-out videos on the internet.

Through a door, at the end of the hall were a pair of offices. My stomach began to hurt as we stood waiting for one of the doors to open. A surprisingly normal appearing man emerged from one of the offices. The two employees exchanged a few words and the one who escorted us left. The Manager, presumably, stood with one arm across his chest grabbing his bicep, and his other holding his chin. We both looked at Cynthia expectantly, she was trembling gently and looked like she had the flu.

"I'll talk to you in my office." The Manager said to me, he went and got another employee. "Could you take care of this one until she calms down?" He asked the woman. Cynthia and I were guided in opposite directions.

The office was well organized but unextraordinary. He moved the chair from behind the desk and offered me a seat, then took a seat on the desk. "I am Richard." He said calmly, but his demeanor didn't register. I was in an almost uncontrollable panic. "I will do anything just don't hit me! Please I did not even realize she had not paid. I will pay you right now. . . "I said as I desperately tore through my purse looking for my wallet.

He put his hand on mine. "It's ok, you can calm down." I looked at him. "It was not that big of a deal. One of you asked to speak to me?" He asked. I was expecting a mob style "Give us the money" scenario to play out in the office. "She asked to see you. I promise I will pay." He got off the desk. "Ok. Let's go get her and resolve this debacle."

We walked to an employee bathroom with the door held open. "Give us one second." A woman said from inside. "You sounded like you were expecting a beat down, like straight out of a mafia film," he joked. I smiled, "I actually was." He peeked inside the bathroom; his eyes lit up as an idea dawned on him, his calm, friendly smile turned to anger.

He walked into the bathroom, "She's fine." he said sternly to the woman, he exited the bathroom with Cynthia's arm firmly in his grasp. He looked at me, "Let's go." He ordered.

The three of us entered the office and he shut the door behind us. Cynthia had been jarred out of whatever mental state she had previously occupied. She was also anticipating getting hit and stood ridged with fear.

"He is kind of cute when he is mad" I thought. Cynthia wasn't as enamored with our host as I was. She said the first thing she thought of to escape with the least amount of harm to herself.

She abruptly pleaded, "She'll suck your dick if you let us go." I was stunned by this remark. "Cynthia!" I gasped. The Manager turned to me. I stepped back towards the desk. I saw animalistic lust on his face.

"Ok. . ." I started to speak, he put his hand on my shoulder.

I was enjoying the hostile atmosphere in the room. I got on my knees, sliding my feet under the desk. He unbuckled his belt and unzipped his slacks. I reached for the dick and looked at Cynthia. I wrapped my hand around the erect shaft and brought my lips to the head. Cynthia smiled and gave me a thumbs up.

I began dutifully sucking his cock. I should have been upset with her and this situation, but it was turning me on. "I definitely don't look like a high value woman now." I thought, as he grabbed my head.

He forced my head against the desk, stepping forward, pinning my head against the desk with his hips too close for me to move. My gag reflex caused my whole body to jerk as he entered my throat. He gripped my head painfully tight, holding it against the desk, and began to hump my face.

He thrust his hips violently like my throat was a pussy. Tears welled up in my eyes and ran streaming down my face. Drool spilled from my mouth forming low hanging bridges of spit to his shaft and his balls.

I thrashed around trying to free myself, but I couldn't rotate my feet enough to free one of them from being pinned under the desk. I slapped at his legs in a hypoxia driven manic episode, crazed further by the cock roughly pounding my throat. "Hold her hands!" He ordered.

Cynthia walked quickly around the desk and grabbed one of my wrists on the first attempt from the other side and held my arm against the desk. I clawed at her hand to free it, but of no use, soon she held both of my arms tight against the desk. The manager and her were facing each other above me. His dick erupted in orgasm. "You are so. . . depraved." He told Cynthia as I struggled to swallow the cum shooting into my throat.

He sighed as he pulled his dick out of my throat. Cynthia continued to pin me to the desk as I coughed. "Gosh! That was so hot." I said as I caught my breath. She released my wrists. I wiped the excess spit and tears from my face with my hand.

I pushed my hand into my panties. "I have always loved getting my throat ravaged." I confessed. Cynthia remained behind the desk, poised in a timid defensive posture. The Manager had fixed his pants and sat down in the chair. They initially had mistaken my comments as sarcasm, after realizing that I was being genuine, they looked at me concerned.

The Manager reclined in his chair "Careful who you say that kind of thing around. Somebody might have you put in a padded room if you aren't careful." He said "Lauren you really should be medicated. . ." Cynthia added.

I fixed my clothes and looked at them both, disappointed that we were finished. "Let's go pay for our meal and leave." I said trying to avoid further judgement and grabbed my purse and opened the door. The Manager and Cynthia followed me out. I didn't look at anyone as we walked. I led Cynthia to the cashier. "Hi." She said handing him my Debit card from her purse. I looked around the restaurant, "ugh, I can't wait to be rich." I thought.

"Ma'am your card." The cashier said. Cynthia nudged me, "Grab your card and let's go." I took the card and read my name on it. I was trying to understand why he had my card as we left the restaurant. "Gosh. That was insane! I cannot believe that you did that for us. I mean obviously I am too beautiful to give a blowjob." My phone rang before I could respond.

"Overdraft? What? But I have been with my friend all day. I didn't even buy anything!" I hung up the phone and climbed into Cynthia's car. "Apparently, I owe. . ." Cynthia cut me off, "Oh yeah, I totally forgot to tell you, that you have to pay me and our coach monthly to stay in the program."

I looked out the car window as she backed out of the parking space. "Alright." I said still looking out the window. "You know, you can't be giving strangers blow jobs like that anymore. It is just undignified." Cynthia said. "What? You are the one who offered me up like a chocolate or something. It's not like I enjoyed it." I said. I had enjoyed it though and, in my bliss, I had already admitted to enjoying it. "You sure sounded like you enjoyed it." Cynthia said sounding disgusted with me. I blushed having been caught in an obvious lie. I slid the envelope with "URGENT" stamped on it out from under my foot. Cynthia began to explain to me the coaching program and all of it's benefits.

A few weeks after Cynthia and I went to lunch, poor old Allen died. I paid for the program for months. Both my payment to the Coach and my payment to Cynthia went to her bank account. I thought that was considerate of them to make it easier for me. I never did meet any coach though.

Tim was wrong about the coaching program, it did get Cynthia rich. Her borrowing a majority of Tim's student loans, getting him dropped for nonpayment, also helped her on her way to living her dream. Cynthia and I remained friends as she traveled around the world, bought a new home and a car. She eventually even became my coach. I had to get a second job to stay in her program. Tim and I started working part time at a local restaurant together. He hated Cynthia said that she was a "Karen" and I shouldn't consider her my friend.