Yield: Drawer 01byteddyrabbit©
The sounds of the birds chirping and the clicking of the hookers boots clattered outside my shabby motel room. I sat on the creaky spring bed, in the musty atmosphere of the room. The sun shone in through the blinds highlighting the air full of dust. I was waiting for someone, someone special in fact. The senator's wife, who for whatever bizarre reason wanted to meet here of all places. A place where the motel manager would ask you outright if you wanted a trick.
When I got the call from her, I was excited. I thought maybe she wanted to tell dirty tales of her dick of a husband, but that excitement had petered out. I now came to my senses and realized that, that was probably not the case. Realistically, she probably wants a cover story on this place, expose the seediness of the city. By now my shoulders were slumped and I waited impatiently for my source to get here.
In case you're wondering, which I'm sure you weren't, I'm a journalist, and I work for the Moon's Crest. The second biggest newspaper of the city. We would be first, if we had sexy calendar girls, but we decided to focus on things like the news.
It was a hot day. A hot glorious day, and I couldn't help but be bitter of being here in this shithole, surrounded by the desperate women of sex, loitering around trying to catch their next prey. My bright soccer shirt was already wet under my pits, and my boxers were riding up, with all the support of my tight Levi jeans. Deciding to walk around, I made my way to the bathroom to rinse my face with water. I put the water as cold as it could go and pushing away my apprehension splashed it on my face. Gasping hard breaths, I reached for the flimsy old towel and dried my face. As I rubbed the towel against my face I thought I heard a knock. I stopped and peaked into the bedroom, watching the brown shedding door waiting for another knock. None came, so I put the towel back and look in the mirror. Staring at my self, I couldn't make up my mind if I had handsome features or just ordinary ones. My hair was sleek black and my eyes a sky blue. I'd got complements about my eyes through out my life. The tip of my nose, I thought, was too round, almost french like and my lips were thick giving me some femininity which I hated.
A knock echoed into the room.
I stopped staring at myself and rushed to the door. Wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans I opened it. And there she was, senator Tork's wife in a thin flower dress, which the glowing golden sun glared through, silhouetting her curvy figure. Her breast, bulbed behind her dress, I could tell very easily she wasn't wearing a bra. My cock harden automatically against my tighter jeans.
"Do you want to invite me or my cleavage in?" she asked me.
I woke up from my observation with embarrassment and apologized, and let her in the musty old room.
"That's okay, I'm used to it, and it's not like I really mind." Putting her purse on the coffee table, she pressed on. "So, should we get down to business or should we talk about the weather first?"
Her hair was a flaming red, that hung down beyond her shoulder, tips of it clawed against her sizable breasts. Her skin had a slight tan, but I noticed her face was whiter then her arms or her cleavage. I wasn't surprised by her directness, most politician's wives thought themselves strong, determined women, but really they were just golddiggers.
"What did you want to talk about, Mrs. Tork?" I asked her as I crossed my arms and walked to the middle of the room.
I saw her eyes go to the open door. Walking towards it, she said, "Sex, pretty much," and the door snapped shut.
I nodded and said, "You mean the hookers out there?"
She giggled and said, "No." Her head bent down and she peered at me from under her eye brows. "I mean myself, and my experiences."
I perked my ears like a dog who just heard a whistle and said, "Oh?"
She took a few steps closer to me, "I heard you want to write a novel, a non-fiction, but you're waiting for the right subject."
My heart pattered nervously, "You heard right. You want to talk about your sex life with senator Tork?"
Shaking her head, causing the tip of her hair to caress her massive cleavage. "I mean my whole life, including the senator Tork, himself."
Swallowing hard I stuttered, "Y-your life? You mean you want me to w-write your biography?"
"Yes," she said as she stepped closer to me, "I read your articles and like them very much." She was now right in front of me, I could smell her minted breath and the faint smell of perfume, but most of all I could feel the warmth of her body.
"Thank you," I simply said and swallowed another gallon of salvia.
Her small delicate hands reached down and stroked my protruding erection. I let out a release of breath and fell on her soft wet lips. I felt her tongue exploring my mouth as her hands unzipped my jeans. The flesh my penis touched the flesh of her tranquil hand. She gripped it and felt the pulse of my shaft.
Pulling her face away from mine, she said, "Fuck me, you asshole."
Doing as I was told I moved my hand to her thighs I moved them up her thin skirt and found she wasn't wearing anything underneath. I could feel her dripping, shaved lips.
She jumped up and wrapped her legs around my hips. I held her emollient bare ass. Quickly making my way to the wall for support, I banged her against the blinds of the window. I knew somewhere in the back of my mind that I had her against the window, but I ignored that fact and focussed on trying to get my exceedingly hard erection in her supple wet pussy. Finally she pushed me inside her and I could feel her clasping herself around my shaft. I let out a loud moan.
"Fuck me hard, you fucking shithead. Fuck me like a real man should. I'm a fucking slut, a fucking whore. Fuck me hard!" she yelled into my ear and gripped into the skin of my back with her long fingernails.
Feeling a little irritated I decide to do just that, "You fucking slut!" I yelled and literally threw her down to the floor. Quickly and frustratingly I pulled up her skirt before she was able to get up and I pushed my cock in her and pounded myself into her from behind. I pushed her back down to the floor and then gripped her big fat ass. I could hear the smacking of my body against her dripping pussy.
She starting moaning loudly, as if my hard pounding was causing air to escape her mouth. Writhing and pouting out her ass, her face was lying on the rug looking up at me as I fucked her as hard I could.
"Spank me you shit!" she demanded.
Sweat was now pouring down my forehead and I could taste the salty drops on my lips, "What the fuck did you call me?" My cock was starting to feel sore.
Letting out a cry of pain and/or pleasure she yelled back, "You heard me, you fucking shitty ass reporter."
The room filled with the loud spanking on her big, stuck up ass. "This is what you get for being a whore, you've been a fucking slut."I could feel the extreme warmth off her wet pussy and red plush cheeks.
"Cum in my ass!" She yelled at me through her gasping and moaning.
At first I was annoyed at her telling me what to do, but I realized that was a good idea. I pulled myself out of her and spread open her red cheeks. I saw the small dark hole and stuck the tip of my cock to it. I could feel how tight it was and wondered if I could even get it in. But then she pushed back into it with a sharp yell of determination. So I started to fuck it, building my momentum as I did.
"Oh, god that feels good, with your cock in my ass." she said on the edge of a moan. She was pinching a nipple of her large juicy breast. Gritting her teeth and her eyes shut closed, she yelled, "Cum!"
Cum I did, I exploded. The hairs on my arms stood on end and I thought for a brief moment I was going to faint. I let out a deep breath as if I was holding my breath the whole time. Taking my swollen cock out of her tight ass, I saw a stream of my own cum escape. I let my body fall on her back and rested on her as she gasp for breath and her thighs shuddering against mine.
"Oh God," she whispered to the rug, "Oh God."
Appropriate to my life
I was a virgin, I was nineteen.
You maybe be wondering, how could a young lady such as myself, be a virgin at nineteen? Was I a devoted Christian? Was I an in-the-closet lesbian? If you asked me then, I wouldn't have an answer for you. I was standing in front of the mirror wondering the same thing. Of course the answer, I thought, was staring right at me. The fat, the fat that was my prison to a lonely world.
My life had gotten even more lonely when my parents died in fatal car accident. So I still stood there in front of the mirror totally naked and disgusted with my sorry excuse for a stomach and my gigantic breasts, which I loathed like a sheep herder loathed prowling wolves, trying to find something to wear to their funeral.
My cloths of preference were a grey hoody, which hid my bulbous breasts and grey sweats which repelled glances from men with great effect. My head hung slightly, because I knew I couldn't wear anything like that. My closet was jam packed full of nice girly clothing that my mother bought for the long gone, younger her. Sighing, I knew I had to root through the closet from the lake of fire and find something 'respectable'. I looked through all the hanging articles of clothing and imagined what kind of woman would look good in it. I felt the old familiar warmness coming from inside me as that woman became clear in my mind. She was beautiful, with my cloths fitting perfectly on her tight body. Wanting to touch myself, I resisted like I always did and kept looking. After going through the same skirts over and over again, I settled with a black one, that reached to the knee, with only a slight slit. Letting my eyes wander back to the mirror I found I had second thoughts about the skirt.
"Well, damn it try it on and see!" A voice in my head screamed.
"Fine," I said out loud.
I went to my panty drawer and pick a random pair of underwear. I had a drawer full of panties, but sadly no drawer for my swollen boobs, since I had to go to a specialty store. A store I've only been to once, with my mother. A real life nightmare I'll never forget. The only bras I had were identical, one black, and one white pair, both in a matronly style which my mother bought me. They hung on the door of my closet, as much as a virgin as I was.
Slipping the panties on, I checked my self out from either sides trying hard to look past my flabs. Being silly, I stuck my ass out at the mirror and tried to turn my self on. My panties stretched against my cheeks and I gave the mirror a naughty look and spanked my own round ass.
Being appropriate to my life, just at that moment my bedroom door opened and I jumped up with my heart clutched in fear. My wide eyes focussed on the open bedroom door and I saw my maid, Gloria, standing there with a timid look.
"Excuse me, I was wondering if you were ready?" she said.
I wiped the dripping sweat from my brow and told her, "No, not yet. I still have to find something to wear."
"Okay," she said and grabbed the door handle. Before she closed the door she asked, "Excuse me, but have you lost weight, you look skinner?"
"It's called being naked, Gloria." I said as I picked up the dreaded black skirt.
Gloria gave a little chuckle and said, "Yes, Of course. I'll wait for you."
When I heard the door close, I pulled the skirt on and zipped it up. Looking in the mirror I was surprised I didn't look half bad, maybe Gloria was right, maybe I had lose some weight. Sucking in my stomach I admired the way the skirt fit on me. The warm feeling pulsed in me again and I let my hands feel my pelvis. Closing my eyes, I forced myself not to dig in. I wanted so much to rub my throbbing clit.
I opened my eyes and saw in the reflection my sagging, eye soar, boobs and huffed in abhorrence. I hated the way I looked. Every thing about me, I hated. The way I looked and the way I lived. I was smothered in my parent's money and negligence. They're weren't so much my parents as they were wardens of my house. Oh, don't get me started on my house. It was their throne of glory. Glory of how much money they had. It was a dream house, the kind people walk through and dreamed about. Three stories, clean carpets, newly painted walls, a confusing lay out that would get Christopher Colombus lost, stairs every where, chairs no one was allowed to sit in, abstract paintings that looked like a mental patients did them, tables with a layout of frame pictures and candles, oriental rugs, sculpture of retarded tribe men, hard wood floors made to make your business shoes click just in that right way and all that pretentious bullshit.
Living in it, I felt like a bull in a fine china store. No matter how careful I was, there was always something I did wrong. I could never be clean enough, never invisible enough, never gentle enough.
As you would guess, my parents were rather ashamed of my chubbiness. Both of them were rather athletic and both of them had their own sympathy look they gave me when they were reminded I was chubby. They only let me eat the healthiest of foods, nothing that the media told them was unhealthy. No soda, chips, chocolate, any kind of desserts, most breads, steaks, hamburgers, bacon, anything fried, milk, high sugar drinks, coffee, and on and on.
"Miss Cooper, are you ready yet?" Gloria yelled from down stairs.
I was looking down at the gold cross that hung between my breasts. Fiddling with it, I wondered how my life was going to play out from this point on.
I woke up, "In a minute!" I yelled back. Ripping off the golden cross I went back to searching for a blouse to go with my nice new skirt. My eyes came upon the only black shirt I had. A tank top which I knew right from looking at it, was too small for me.
"Just fucking put it on!" the voice told me.
I sighed and did as I was told. Stretching it on, I looked at my reflection and saw my breasts bursting out of the shirt like the blob reaching for it's next victim. Worst though, was the rolls of fat that weren't hidden at all.
You may be wondering at this point, if I ate so healthy all my life, how come I'm still chubby? Did I pick up a habit of sneaking in junk food? No, I was a good little girl, I always did what I was told. I'm afraid I actually have a thyroid problem and that's not just an excuse. Because of my thyroid, food stuck to me like leeches, sucking away my confidence.
"Goddamn it, Gloria!" the voice in my head yelled.
The atmosphere was thick with despair and everyone walked in a slow pace, whispered to each other and nodded their heads slowly. I saw a lot of eyes focussed on me as I walked to a seat. I regretted wearing the tight tank top, but thankfully, I at least was in the right mind to wear a jacket with it.
To be a conformist I walked to my seat slowly and my head down to avoid the staring eyes. I felt like every one was waiting for me to break down crying. If they kept staring at me like that I'd probably would have.
I sat in a bench right at the front. The wood creaked as I settled in it. Keeping my eyes on abstract things I tried to forget I was sitting at my own parents funeral.
For what seemed like the longest time, no one sat near me or even approached me, which I was happy with, but I was starting to feel way too conscience of the fact no one was sitting next to me. I wondered what everyone thought of me, what they said about me behind my back.
I looked up at the dead Jesus and again tried to think of other things. I heard the wooden bench creak again and I looked next to me. One of my father friend's, Jack, sat there. He was an older gentleman, skinny, with dark tan skin and wing tip hair.
We made eye contact and he smiled at me.
I felt my cheeks burn as I smiled back at him.
"How you doing?" he asked me, with his hand griping my shoulder.
I nodded my head, "fine."
"You look fine," he said and I saw his eyes dart to my breasts.
I had to stifle a hard giggle and choked out, "thanks."
"Sure," He said and turned to face the priest who was shuffling through his bible.
I looked down and saw my breasts heaving through my shirt and my hard nipples poking out. I closed my jacket to conceal my attraction and kept my eyes on my pointy sadistic high heels.
As the priest began his speech all the words seem muddled in my mind as thoughts of Jack kept coming at me, making my pussy wet and warm. Not helping myself, I let my hand fall right next to his, brazing his flesh. Without hesitation Jack clasped my hand with his. I griped his hand hard, wanting to move it to my warm spot and let him stroke me. My legs started to itch as my sexual juices dripped down it.
When the service was over Jack let go of my hand and mingled with the social circle. I sat there and waited for everyone to go to their cars to see my parents buried. I wondered what that would look like. Would it hit me then? Would I finally realize they were gone for good? I dreaded the sight.
The wood creaked again I saw Jack's warm smile. "You want to take my limousine?"
I couldn't help but smile broadly, "Sure, I would love that."
"Okay, let's go. I have champagne, you probably need a drink, eh?" he asked as he stood up and reached in his pockets.
My eyes glanced at his crotch I bit my lower lip and looked back down at my shoes. "Yeah, that sounds good."
"Then let's getty up cowgirl."
"Okay," was all I could say.
Looking back, I have to say I'm embarrassed of what happened next. If I had the power to rewrite my life, this next part would be drastically different, but seeing as how I can't. Here's what happened.
His limousine was very luxurious and sleek, with bottles of wine and champagne, a shiny small t.v. and lights that looked bright and futuristic. I was impressed. I grew up rich, but not as rich as he.
As he was uncorking a bottle, he spoke to his driver, "Hey, Sammy, how about giving me and the mourning daughter some alone time?"
The driver gave a blank stare in the rearview and said, "My name is, Todd." With that, the window slid up, tinting his view to us.
"Here," Jack said and handed me a glass of bubbling liquid that looked a lot to me, like ginger ale. I sipped it and was sort of disappointed it didn't taste like ginger ale.
"So, are you okay? I mean, you have enough money to support yourself?"
I nodded my head and took another sip.
"That's good. You know if you ever need any money or anything, you can just call me." he told me with a greedy smile.
I touched his knee and said, "Thank you. That means a lot."
"Sure, sure." he said and rubbed my hand into his knee.
He looked at me with an open smile and shook his head. With a chuckle, he told me, "Man, I can't believe how much you've grown."
I blushed and fiddled with the bang of my hair, "Thank you."
"I mean, were having a private conversation right? I can be frank with you?" he asked leaning in.
I shrugged my shoulders and said, "Sure. Can I be, Gerry?"
Furrowing his brows, he thought for a second, then got my stupid joke, "Oh, your funny." He said, forcing a chuckle.
"Yeah," I sarcastically said to myself.
"Seriously, can I?"
"Sure." I said and drank some more champagne.
"I can't help but notice how nice those tits of yours grew," he told me.
At first I couldn't believe he said those words out loud, but as I came over the shock I avoided his eyes and said, "Thanks."
"I mean," he continued, "You must of been hit on alot in school?"
I shook my head, "I was home schooled." My glass was now empty.
"Really?" he asked, not really asking. He reached for the bottle and refilled my glass.
If you hadn't guessed, this was the first time I ingested alcohol. Wouldn't be my last, by any means either.