Jackpot Pt. 02

Okay, don't judge me for this one. You've been here along this whole crazy thing: winning $300,000,000 in the lottery (after tax of course), getting a blowjob from my real estate agent in exchange for buying a $1.5 million town home, and the one that you might really judge me for which was paying my coworker $10,200 to clean my home. Well, I paid her $200 for the cleaning and another $10,000 to get naked and let me creampie her Latin pussy. If dropping an absurd amount of cash on a blowjob and some pussy made you say something along the lines of "Hey, guy," then you're not gonna like what I was doing now.

Maybe I should just start from the beginning. It was a Sunday afternoon. Like I'd said before, the house was great, but it needed some styling. More than the house though, my wardrobe needed some styling. As a poor server, my wardrobe consisted of, well... whatever. I had some clothes for the occasional metal concert or a cheap sports game, work clothes, and clothes for smoking weed and playing video games. If I was gonna be wealthy, which I just by fact was, then I needed to dress like it. I didn't wanna look like a douche, but I still needed new clothes.

Enter Amy, my mom's best friend. Amy was probably early fifties, and a former fashion designer. I was waiting for her in my BMW outside her suburban home. I had told my mom, who had presumably told Amy, that I'd gotten a new job. That was why I needed the new clothes. I hadn't, however, mentioned the car. I was sure there would be a lot of questions. But I was fairly sure I could weather them all, and come out of the day with a new wardrobe thanks to the taste and input of Amy. Amy who I had known my whole life, and had always been kind to me.

I saw the front door open, and Amy made her way down the flagstone path to my car. One of the key beats you should know in this story is that Amy has giant, truly huge, near comically sized breasts. She wasn't that big of a woman, her tits were just nearly as big around as she was. I'd never asked if they were real, I don't think mom would've appreciated me questioning her friends in such a way! As Amy's face lit up at the sight of my car, and she accelerated her pace down the stone path, I was pretty sure they were real. A steel bra couldn't keep those things from bouncing as she speed walked.

She was wearing a black frilly blouse with some sort of white cloth thingy draped over her shoulders. See, this is why I needed a fashion designer to help me dress. She had skin tight dark blue jeans that hugged her curvy legs.

"Oh my God," she said as she opened the door to my car, "You mom said you got a new job but not this thing!"

I chuckled as she climbed in and buckled her seat belt.

"Yeah, it's, ah, a benefit of the job."

"Sales? What the hell are you selling?"

We laughed. I'd always liked Amy. She was funny, and a bit irreverent. And definitely smart.

"So, the mall?" I asked.

"Sure thing. Should be a good place to start."

"Thanks again for doing this."

"Oh, of course sweetie! You know I love it."

"I do. I also know you said I couldn't pay you..."

"Oh, no, no, no you can't."

"And I'm not going to. But... if we were out shopping, and there were a collection of things or an item that was less than $300, it would be purchased on my credit card and go missing from the car after I drop you back home."

She just laughed, and I could tell we had a deal. The drive to the mall normally would've been pretty short, but Amy insisted we go to the nicer mall in the heart of the city. The kind you had to pay to park at; and the kind where I would learn that some shopping malls actually have carts you can use. I'd never seen such a thing in my local poor person mall, I guess.

I felt very much like a passenger through the whole shopping experience; I followed Amy into stores I'd never heard of, smelled colognes that cost what I used to spend on food in a month, and paraded in and out of dressing rooms. It wasn't long until we had a fat stack of bags in the shopping cart, and the sun hit it's high point in the sky. It shone down through a massive pyramid glass roof into the food court atrium below. I pushed the cart into a spot near a secluded table while Amy carried our food trays over. We'd gone to some sandwich place in the food court, and while I sat to watch the clothes she took our cups to fill up with sodas.

I couldn't help but watch Amy as she walked to get our drinks. All day I'd been very aware of her, and of the looks we were getting. Men her age and women my age couldn't help but look at us. No doubt with her telling me what clothes to wear we looked somewhat the couple. I couldn't say that I didn't like it either. Amy really was a MILF, even if she'd never had kids. She walked back over to the table I re-focused onto my sandwich, not wanting to share.

"So, tell me about this job," Amy said.

"It's a sales job."

"I know that, silly. Tell me about the job. What do you sell, how long have you been doing it? That sort of thing."

"Oh, yeah. Uh... I just started. I got a sign on bonus... and they let you get commission in training, so when I already got my first sale I got commission on that."

"What do you sell?"

"Bulk medical equipment."

I was kind of surprising myself at how quickly the lies were flowing. I'd have to remember what I said too, as no doubt all of this information would quickly be reported back to mother. Don't worry, though, the lies aren't what I'm worried you're going to judge me about.

We finished up lunch without much further questioning. Amy tried to question me on the types of medical equipment we sold and I was able to successfully brush away her questions as not really being an interesting topic of conversation.

"So, see any stores you wanted to shop in?" I asked, "I'm not the expert, obviously, but I'd say my wardrobe is pretty fleshed out."

"Other than suits. I'll send you some good tailors and you can go get some suits. But, to answer your question, yes. I think there was a store I was interested in."

There was a little glint in her eyes I didn't recognize, and she hurried off back towards the stores. I followed behind, pushing the near fully loaded cart. As I'd done for most of our travels between stores when I had to push the cart over the vast seas of stone tile, I watch Amy's swaying ass. It was nice. Big. Round. What was still truly astounding about her body was the way the size of her ass was nothing compared to the size of her breasts. I'd say at least a third of each breast could be see on either side of her body as I walked behind her. I made sure to pay attention, though, so I wasn't caught staring when she turned around to point something out to me.

Eventually, Amy turned away from the halls and towards the store she wanted to shop at. I looked up at the name, and it wasn't something I recognized. French, maybe. I looked down at the store and instantly recognized what type of store it was.

Looks like Amy was going to take my offer of a free $300 to spend at the mall and use it to buy... panties. Or lingerie, or a nightie, or bras maybe. Whatever she was going to by here, this was an upscale women's undergarments store. Fuck yeah.

Like most of the stores here, there was a little spot inside the door to leave your cart. I pushed ours into place.

"Okay, well, you know the deal. Just get whatever and let me know when you're ready." I said, trying to make my voice sound more casual than I felt.

Amy wandered inside while I looked around. I noticed that there was an active wear section she was headed towards. So it wasn't all just underwear. The store was empty, except for us and the clerk. The store clerk was, to be expected, a young attractive woman. Maybe Filipino, tall, with the figure of a model: lithe and curvy with full breasts that sat high on her chest. She smiled at me as she saw me look over at her. Not wanting to be awkward, I followed Amy into the active wear section.

"This sweater is so soft!" she said, "Feel it."

I took the sweater into my hand and sure enough, Amy was right. Amy pulled the hook off the rack and handed it to me to hold. So I guess I was doing that here, too. Only fair, I guess. She really was doing me a favor. I checked the price tag and gulped. In the car I'd said $300 but just now I'd said 'whatever' trying to act cool. Whelp, I just had to trust her, I guess. Pretty quickly Amy moved on from the active wear and into, well, the rest of the store. She picked out a few sets that made me hot under the collar. Or would have if I was wearing one of the new collared shirts she'd picked out for me. Eventually I had about five items in my arms, including the sweater. Amy reached out to take the hangers from me.

"Okay, I'm going to go try these on and make sure they fit me right," she said.

Amy quickly hurried over into the changing rooms. I looked around the shop, then over at the shop clerk, who was doing something on the computer. Again, not wanting to seem awkward I went over to introduce my self.

"This place isn't that busy," I said.

The young woman stopped her typing and looked up at me.

"Oh, uh, yeah," her voice was soft and sweet, "we mostly get busy during holidays. Christmas, Valentine's Day, stuff like that."

"Yeah, makes sense."

"But it must be a special day for you two, right?"

"What do you mean?"

"When guys come in and let their wives or girlfriend go on a shopping spree it's usually an anniversary or birthday or something. Or you screwed up real bad," she smiled.

"Oh, no," I said, trying to smile the assumption away, "we're not together. Well, not like that. She's a friend. A stylist. She's helping me pick out a new wardrobe and this is the only payment she'll accept from me."

"Oh, sorry, I just assumed."

"No, it's an easy assumption here."

We both chuckled a little and then an awkward silence settled over us.

"So--" I said

"So--" she said.

We chuckled again and the woman tucked her hair behind her ear.

"I'm Jonah," I said.

"Nikki."

"Nice to meet you, Nikki."

"You too. New wardrobe, huh? You didn't wanna buy anything for yourself here?" She smiled and I laughed.

"No, I don't think anything would fit me. And I don't have anyone to buy it for. Well, her excluded." I nod to my right towards the dressing rooms.

"That's surprising. Young handsome guy, clearly well off..." she said, her voice trailing off.

"Jesse!" Amy called from the dressing rooms.

I hurried off with an apology to the clerk, Nikki. When I rounded the corner into the dressing rooms there were three open doors, a little chair, and an area at the end with mirrors on three sides. The room layout wasn't the first thing I noticed. What I noticed first was Amy standing in black lingerie. the fabric was semi-see-through, covering just enough to high her pussy and nipples, but not leaving much else the the imagination. The panties went high up on her waist, showing off her hips. The bra had a thin little fabric dangling around her body and pushed her enormous breasts up on her chest. I wasn't sure how such thing fabric could hold up that much weight. I must have looked stupid, standing there like I was dumb.

"What do you think?" she asked, interrupting my stupor.

"Uh..." I said.

"Huh?"

"You look fucking hot!" I said.

She turned and smiled at me, blushing a little.

"Thank you. So I should get it?"

"Get all of them," I said, looking at the other choices hanging right inside the door to her changing room.

"You're funny," she said.

"I'm serious. You look great. And you've been such a help, really. I don't mind. Get them all if you want."

"Let me at least try them all on, just to make sure they fit first. You sit down, I wanna see what you think."

I spent the next fifteen or twenty minutes watching Amy take her turn parading in and out of a changing room. Only every time she came out she seemed to be wearing something even hotter than before. She came out in two sets similar to the first, one green one pink. The last thing she came out in was a pair of back and red bra and panties, with black nylons and a garter belt. The black matched her hair and the red her swollen lips. I had one leg solidly crossed over the other at that point in the little runway show. Amy did a little twirl for herself in the mirror, looking at the way the panties cut into her ass. Eventually she decided to do what I suggested and buy them all. She went back to get dressed and I went back out front.

Amy brought the clothes over and Nikki scanned them for us. While I paid, Amy took the new bag of clothes over to our cart. I had a little receipt to sign. I don't know what had over taken me, recently. The money and the experiences I'd had recently had jacked up my confidence to unheard of levels; well, at least for me. As I signed the receipt I quickly wrote down my number at the top.

"Nice meeting you. Thank you," I said to Nikki with a small smile. She took the receipt and saw my number.

"You too," she said quietly.

I walked back over to Amy, not wanting to linger around any longer, and took my rightful place at the helm of the shopping cart. Walking behind Amy again my mind had much more to worth imagination-wise. I mean, I'd actually seen her ass now. As I followed her I couldn't help but think about the way the hem of those black panties had cut into her cheeks, or the way the fabric seemed to stretch perfectly over her curves. Or her body: those massive tits and the way that even with her juicy thighs she had the smallest gap between them that I wanted to slide right into and never leave. What the hell was I doing? Thinking about my mom's best friend like this.

But, I was thinking about her. I guess you can't help what your brain does, right? Especially when said brain had just been subjected to a fashion show that would have most guys busting in their pants.

We made our way back through the mall, me pushing the cart and Amy guiding the way. I tried not to look to keep my mind off of her, but I couldn't help them drifting down every so often. Can you blame me? For this, you cannot.

We loaded up the bags into the trunk of my beamer. I opened the passenger door for Amy when we were done and then went over to the drivers side.

"So," Amy said, "tell me about the new place. Your mom mentioned it was in a nice neighborhood?"

I buckled myself in and started up the engine.

"Yeah, it's a town house in Monroe Park. Nice neighborhood, for sure. Lot's of good restaurants and bars and stuff, and the park it super nice."

I pulled out of the parking garage and started driving Amy back home.

"Is it just you?" she asked.

"Just me," I said, "It's pretty empty though. I've only got the basics so far: bed, couch, TV. Not much else. But, it's a house and it's mine."

Amy smiled.

"Well, that just won't do. Not for someone with a new job and a car like this. I have a bit more time today. If you want we can stop by your place. I could take a look around and give you some advice. I've helped a few friends with that sort of thing over the years."

I felt my pulse quicken at the thought of Amy in my house. But, no, she was probably just being friendly.

"That would be awesome," I said, swallowing. "I could definitely use the help. I've been looking at blank walls and empty rooms for weeks now."

"Great! Besides, I'd love to see it."

As I changed directions to Monroe Park I wondered if this was just a ploy to see the house. Mom had been asking but I'd told her it wasn't ready yet. No doubt, Amy would report back.

Soon. we pulled up to the townhouse and I gave her a quick tour. The living room, the kitchen, the empty spare bedrooms and the master bedroom with a mattress on the floor. Amy just walked through clicking her tongue.

"Seriously, no bed frame?" she said teasingly. "You need a real couch, too, that thing is so small. And curtains. Anyone can see right in!"

"Yeah, I know." I said.

I led her back down to the main floor where the living room and kitchen was.

"I'll tell you what, I don't have much more time today, but we can make another day of this. We'll hit some furniture stores. Make this place feel more like some where an... adult lives."

"Yeah, that'd be great," I said as we walked to the front door. "Thanks for today, too. I had fun."

"Me too," Amy said.

After I opened the for her, Amy leaned in and put her her right hand on her shoulder. She gave me a kiss on the cheek. Her lips with warm and soft, and stayed just long enough to send a shiver through my spine.

"See you soon," she said."

It was late, and I'd run out of weed to smoke and porn to jerk off to, which left me with two options; go down a spiraling staircase of YouTube videos, or do something stupid. Can you guess what I did?

I grabbed my phone, found Lucero's contact and typed out a text message to her: "Hey Lucero, can you come clean my house again next week?"

I waited as John Wick played on my big TV in the background. The first one was eyes-on for me, but the sequels I could leave on in the background while I did other stuff for some reason. I waited for her to respond.

A little bubble popped up in our chat, then her response: No puedo. Mi esposo no quiere que vuelva."

I made out some of the words but decided to put it into Google Translate anyways: "I can't. My husband doesn't want me to come back."

I replied: "I will pay you more. Only cleaning."

More Spanish: "Jonah, por favor, es complicado. No entiendes."

"Jonah, please, it's complicated. You don't understand."

She was right, of course. I didn't understand. The only thing I understood was that I'd spent the first 24 years of my life scraping for every single dollar, and now I had more than I could spend. Much to Abdul's chagrin, that hadn't yet stopped me from trying. I'd learned to expand my horizons of what I knew money could buy.

I texted Lucero: "Okay. I don't have to me home. You can just come by. I'll leave the money in an envelope. Please, whatever works."

I wanted to sound chill. I probably just sounded desperate.

After a minute she replied: "Es peligroso. No me escribas. No puedo ir."

"It's dangerous. Don't text me. I can't go."

Dangerous? I started to write something, then deleted it.

I replied: "Do you need help? I can help."

I didn't get a response for a least five minutes. I got up and paced a little, then went to the kitchen for a class of milk. Oat milk. The boutique grocery store near my new place apparently didn't sell any milk from an animal. I sipped it, gagged, spit it in the sink, and checked my phone. Still nothing.

I tried again: "I'll give you $200 just to respond to me."

She replied, in English this time: "No. I can't. No more money."

I felt a little bad, strangely: "Okay, right. Sorry."

I grabbed some Gushers from the pantry. Those I'd had to have delivered. No Gushers at the bougie grocery store. After downing the little packet I patted my stomach. Not being poor was really not good for my figure. Turns out poverty had kept me lean. Maybe I should hire a trainer, or something. I went back over to lay on the couch, and had another bad impulse.

I sent Lucero $100 over text with a note that said "For picture."

After about fifteen minutes she responded: "No."

I sent another $100 just for the fuck of it, and decided to put my phone down and watch the movie.

After about ten minutes I got a notification. It was a photo. It was Lucero, sitting on a bus bench in the cold in a brown coat, her hair up in a bunch. She looked like she was freezing her ass off but she had two fingers up in a peace sign and was doing a bit of a kissy face. It was an old picture. I looked at it, then stared at the ceiling for a while.

I picked up my phone: "Can you send another picture? A good one? I'll send you another $100."

This time when I hit send the little text bubble popped up almost immediately. I was surprised she was responding that fast.

Her response: "¿Qué quieres decir con bueno?"

"What do you mean by good?"

I bit down slightly on the inside of my cheek, maybe trying to stop myself. I typed, then deleted it.

I responded: "You know what I mean. Something sexy."

She responded instantly: "No."

I responded: "Okay." with another $200 attached to the message.

Lucero: "No."

I sent another $100. The bubble indicating she was writing stayed up for a whole minute.

Lucero: "¿Estás enfermo?"

"Are you sick?"

I laughed.

Me: "No. Just bored, and you're hot."

Lucero: "Lo siento, pero no. No mas photos. Gracias por el dinero."

"Sorry, but no. No more photos. Thank you for the money."

Me: "Okay, then send the money back."

She didn't respond for thirty minutes, and I figured it was over. God, I was stupid. After a while my phone buzzed.

Lucero: "Por favor para."

"Please stop."

Two hours later I was in bed, the lights off except for the light of my phone. Some skinny blonde was getting pounded by a huge cock on it as my hand flew up and down over my hard cock. It just wasn't working. I kept thinking about that time with Lucero. When I was poor all I wanted was money. Why didn't she?

I picked up my phone: "Lucero, I'm jerking off right now. Porn isn't good enough for me. I want to see you. I'll send you $200 more, that's $500 for one picture."

As I waited for her response I could feel my heartbeat in my dick.

Lucero: "Eres un cerdo."

"You are a pig."

I read it and laughed, which felt a bit wrong, but I couldn't help it. Here I was jerking off and being called a pig by a woman who'd let me pay her to fuck her.

Me: "Yup. So, $500?"

Lucero: "No."

Me: "Just one picture. That's more than most people make in a week. Just one picture."

Her response bubble popped up for a while, and I kept stroking myself, trying to keep myself hard.

Lucero: "¿Por qué haces esto?"

"Why do you do this?"

I stared at her question and realized I didn't have a good answer. I had an honest answer, which was that I was lonely and my brain had broken somewhere between Buffalo Wild Wings and winning $300,000,000. That wouldn't make any sense to her, though.

Me: "Because you're beautiful, and I'm a pig."

Lucero: "Eso no es un razón. Eso es triste."

"Thatis not a reason. That is sad."

Me: "Yeah. Please."

I watched the little bubble. One of my hands balanced my phone on my chest while the other slowly stroked my cock.

Lucero: "Una foto. Solo una. Y después no más. ¿Entendido?"

"One photo. Only one. And then no more. Understood?"

I sent the other $200 before she could change her mind. My phone buzzed a couple of minutes later. It was a photo.

Lucero was standing in a bathroom in front of a mirror that was cracked and chipped at the edges. The walls were yellow, and old. The door beside her tiny even compared to her short frame. She was wearing a white tank top with a neckline that dipped low enough to show off some cleavage. She was pulling it down a little so show off the very top of her black bra. It wasn't a full body picture, because the mirror image of the counter top cut off her legs, but it could still see where the tank top ended and the way her grey shorts clung to her hips. Her long, silver fox hair was back in long straight pony tail. She wasn't looking at the camera through the mirror but rather into her phone screen, and had a rather severe look on her face.

It was a good photo. A really good photo. My cock was twitching in my hand. But it wasn't enough. It wasn't what I asked for. I zoomed in to her cleavage, then backed out and moved to her hip bumps. Then to her face, to look at the expression I couldn't really read. It was like she was made of stone.

Me: "this isn't what I paid for"

I typed quickly, before I had a chance to think about it.

Me: "$500 for a picture of you in your clothes?"

Lucero: "Te envié lo que pediste."

"I sent you what you asked for."

Me: "I asked for something sexy."

Lucero: "Es sexy. Es todo lo que puedo hacer."

"It's sexy. It's all that I can do."

I read her message twice, then looked at the photo again.

Me: "You know what I meant. You know what I paid for."

Lucero: "Jonah, no. No soy eso."

"No, Jonah. I am not that."

Me: "You were that in my bathroom last time I paid you."

A little bubble came up to indicate she was typing. Then it went away. No response. Nothing. I laid like that with my cock in my hand long enough to go back to watching porn. A few minutes later a notification popped up on the screen over the hot blonde's face. A message from Lucero.

It was another photo. The same bathroom, the same pose, only this time she was naked. The fluorescent light cast a sickly glow over everything that only made her tan skin look even better. Her dark little nipples on her pert breasts seemed to point straight at the camera, and the dark triangle between her legs was posed just above the edge of the counter top. Her was undone now, instead of up, and hung long over her shoulders down to nearly her hips. I could see the swell of her ass and the curve of her thighs. Her face still had that stony expression. The only thing about the picture that wasn't sexy; well, her face and the old bathroom.

My cock was rock hard again, and I zoomed in, taking in all the details of her body. The curve of her hips and the little swell of her stomach. The dark patch of hair between her legs and that sweet spot I so desperately wanted to be inside of again. Her painted finger nails curved around her cellphone, and the thought of them curled around me.

It took me maybe forty-five seconds to cum to her photo. I didn't really mean to cum that fast, but I had been jerking off for a while. The porn hadn't done anything for me but this real, sexy, and slightly sad photo of a woman I had paid did. My load hit my stomach in hot wet stripes, one little splash landed on the blanket, and the rest dribbled over my hand and cock.

Without really thinking I swiped out of my messages and opened the camera. The light flashed, and I took a picture of my still hard cock covered in my cum, my hand holding it up for good measure. I didn't even look at the picture, I just sent it to Lucero before any sort of clarity could wash over me.

Lucero: "Eso es repugnante. ¿Por qué harías eso?"

"That is disgusting. Why would you do that."

Me: "You liked it when it was inside of you."

Lucero: "Eres un credo. Buenas noches."

"You are a pig. Good night."

I looked at her photo one last time, and thought about what I paid her to do when she came to clean. Maybe that expression on her face wasn't so hard to read. Maybe I'd just thinking about it wrong. Maybe she needed money. Maybe I was willing to pay. Maybe we'd silently agreed to pretend this wasn't what it seemed.

Abdul wanted to meet at the kind of place that didn't have prices on the menus. He assured me it was on their dime. He said the company always tried to treat it's clients rights, even the high net worth ones who could pay for whatever they wanted. I was skeptical for some reason, but showed up any ways. In one of the new outfits Amy had picked out for me, I'll have you know. The place was a steakhouse with dim likes and that sparkling black rock on all the counters and tables. Granite, or marble. I don't fucking know I'm not a geologist. All the men looked like they'd gotten out of high level negotiations and came here to undo their ties, and all the women looked like second wives. I showed up early, because I always did. Being late makes me sweat so much I'd need to walk in with a change of clothes. Maybe that was a wage slave mentality I needed to change.

Abdul wasn't there yet so I sat at the bar and ordered a whisky sour. I sat and sipped it and tried not to look as out of place as I felt. I should be here in a uniform, not as a patron.

When Abdul showed up, he came in with two woman and a man.

"Jonah," he said, clapping me lightly on the back. "Glad you're here. Let me introduce you to the team.

The first was Steven, who looked like he'd been grown in a lab to become the first superhuman whose superpower was optimizing spreadsheets.

"I'm your risk analysis specialist," he said, "That sounds boring, but it's more fun than you'd think."

He winked at me. At least I think it was a wink, could have been a nervous tick.

The next was Danya. She work a black headscarf with a subtle floral pattern that I could barely make out in the light, and a conservative long red dress. She smiled at me but the smile didn't reach her eyes.

"Danya," she said, "I'll be working with you on all your venture investments."

She didn't offer to shake my hand but gave a little head bow. I felt a bit racist for wondering if she was related to Abdul some how. Even the way she stood next to him smelled of familiarity. I wondered if there was a way for me to broach the subject delicately. I also wondered how much I cared.

The third was June. Well, she gave me another name but said I could call her June. She appeared to be my age.

"I'll be handling you foreign investments," she said, "I have many contacts in Shenzen who are more than willing to assist us. If you truly wish to launch your business there, you should come with me to visit. But, we can talk about that later."

She gave the invite with a subdued look towards Abdul. I could tell June was eager. Despite her age she seemed like the type to regularly be turning down job offers, and like she'd had three careers already. Hard worker. And eager.

After a few minutes of chatting the hostess came over to us and told us our table was ready. I picked up my drink and followed the group. We were seated at round table with a white cloth.

"So," Abdul said as we sat, "Jonah, we're all here because you're in the unique position of having recently come into quite a bit of money with, if you'll forgive me, no history of an established portfolio. This is the team I think is right for your needs."

I looked around, and realized everyone was looking at me.

"Steven handles our models," Abdul started again, "Danya's our nose for deals. June is plugged into the international markets more than anyone I know. I'm the day-to-day stuff. I'm your account manager."

"So you're the boss?" I say with a smile.

"Eh, not quite," Abdul said, matching my smile. "Think of me as the quarterback. The integrator. I'll keeping everything running smoothly."

Just then the waiter came by to get us a round of drinks and bread. I ordered another whisky sour. I was going to need it to talk money.

"You're sitting very heavy in liquid cash right now," Steven said. "That's an enviable position, but also a waste in the long-term."

I shrugged.

"I hadn't thought long term yet."

"That's the point of a team," Danya said, "Most lotto winners go broke in five years. With us, in five years you could be worth... well, a lot more than you are now."

"Money buys freedom," Abdul said, "Freedom from taxes, litigation, even the public eye. Money can buy whatever you want."

The server interrupted us again with drinks. I ordered the tomahawk steak, because Abdul was right. Steven order fish, Danya chicken, and June and Abdul joined me with steaks of their own.

"Mr. Williams, what is it exactly that you want?" Danya asked.

"Well, I want you all to call me Jonah, first of all. I'm not a Mister, in my mind. But, mostly, I just want to not fuck this up. Sure, I wanna spend money on expensive things, but I know that if I want all the things I want over the course of my life, I'll have to turn my money into more money."

Danya smiled with perfect white teeth, and took notes in a little notebook that I hadn't noticed before.

"That's more than a start. Have you considered hiring a personal assistant."

I almost choked on my drink.

"Why would I need an assistant?"

"I don't want to steal Abdul's thunder," Danya continued, "but we have... a large amount of documentation for your review. It'll be easier if you have some help with it. And then once things get rolling you'll be needing to manage your investments. Most of what we're talking about you can't just sit on. Some, but not all. An assistant can also help you organize your life, your schedule. Think of them as a force multiplier."

"Maybe," I said. "Maybe."

Danya looked at Abdul.

"We can send you some resumes. I'm happy to help you interview candidates."

She was seemingly satisfied.

Steven explained to me the difference between stocks and bonds. June told us a story about a manufacturer who makes cheap hair extensions. Danya and Abdul name dropped people I'd never even heard of.

When the check arrived Abdul paid with a subtle flourish, not even bothering to look at the total. I guess he'd been serious. We made our way outside where the air had that familiar coolness of Spring. Abdul clapped me on the shoulder again.

"Think everything over. Take your time, but still, I suggest we get things going quickly. The world doesn't wait for anything, not even wealth. The next big thing could be right there, you don't want to miss an opportunity."

The team each gave me their business cards, Abdul excepted.

"Let me know if you decide to hire an assistant," Danya said.

I nodded, not really trusting myself to say something smart at this point. We said our good byes and headed out. When I got home, my bare bones house felt like a mess. I wondered how long I'd let it stay that way.

Somehow, I don't know how, maybe begging or promises or I don't remember what, I'd gotten Lucero to agree to come over and clean again. Her cleaning fee had gone up, but that was fine. When she showed up at my front door, there was someone with her. She looked like Lucero, but was a few years younger. Mid twenties, maybe, close to my age. She wore a pink hoodie and carried a bucket of cleaning supplies and a broom.

"Esta es mi hermana," Lucero said.

Her sister. Neither of them bothered to give me a name for the sister, which I supposed was fine. The sister didn't speak English either, which meant Lucero had brought her here for another reason. Help? No, Lucero could get everything done on her own. Maybe she just wanted to get it done faster. Maybe she thought I wouldn't make her an offer if someone else was here. Maybe her husband thought it was a good idea.

The two got to work, Lucero giving the orders. I noticed the sister liked to text while she worked. Lucero was wearing a black sports bra and black leggings with black tennis shoes. I couldn't help but admire her figure, but didn't let my eyes linger. I didn't want her to see me looking. Today Lucero had either glared at me or refused to meet my eyes. They started to clean, and I felt awkward, so I took myself upstairs to my bedroom with the Nintendo Switch and fell down on the floor mattress to play. After a while Lucero came upstairs with her supplies. She stood looking at me in the door way with that same look from her picture.

"I clean," she said.

"Okay."

Without another word she moved into the master bathroom to start cleaning. I put the Switch in sleep mode and got up to follow her in.

"Your sister," I said, standing in the door way, "Does she usually help you?"

I don't think she understood.

"Ella no está en venta. Yo tampoco."

I didn't understand either. I peaked my head back around the doorway. I could hear her sister vacuuming on another floor. I walked into the room. I didn't really care. Whatever promise I had made was out the window. Whatever begging I had done was false. Lucero knew what I wanted. It's why she came.

Lucero was wiping down the marble counter top and its double sinks. I walked up behind her. She met my eyes in the mirror, her face resembling the marble. My hand gently came up and rested on her ass.

"Dinero," she said, in a resigned whisper.

I took out my phone and quickly sent her $1,500. Then I turned the screen to show her, and she nodded. She turned around to face me, her ass pressing into the edge of the countertop. I put my phone away and reached down to my fly. I unzipped myself, and pulled out my half-hard cock.

"Suck," I said.

Lucero seemed to understand that word. Maybe from the settings on one of her vacuums. She squatted down and her mouth was on me without any hesitation. There was no warm-up, no kissing, just a mechanical sucking and licking. She had me hard almost instantly, her lips sealed tight around me. I put one of my hands on her hair and moaned. Her tongue flicked around me, and one of her hands came up to stroke me while she sucked. She wanted this done fast, I could tell. There was no savoring it, for her. But I was going to savor it. I focused all of my effort on not cumming right then and there. See, I had wondered if she would actually make a deal with me this time. Part of me had assumed she'd slap me. But boy was I glad she'd agreed.

Lucero put her hands on my hips, steadying herself. They didn't pull her head closer to me, or run her fingernails up my legs. They were just there to keep her from loosing her balance as she squatted in front of me. Her eyes were open, not looking at me, just straight ahead of her into my pelvis.

I leaned over her, putting one of my hands on the counter as the other pulled her head closer into me. On one hand I was afraid that if I moved too much she would stop, but on the other hand I wanted to start thrusting into her face. But Lucero did it for me as she started to work into a rhythm that was clinical. It wasn't crazy fast or super slow, just consistent. I looked down to watch her and could see the muscles flexing in neck. There was no performance in it, just pure pleasing. She didn't attempt to make this feel like anything other than it was: a paid suck-off.

Looking down at her I felt something deep in my stomach. It was the same feeling when I'd seen that naked picture of her in her bathroom. It was a feeling of clarity where I could see exactly what I was doing, and who I was doing it to. It was the feeling of seeing a woman on the floor with a cock in her mouth because $1500 is $1500, and some prices are too high to say no.

It didn't last though, as my orgasm started to approach. I let my fingers thread through her hair. It was coarse and thick and smelled like cleaning supplies and something herbal. I took my other hand off the counter, and let it fall on her shoulder. I had a change my stance, but it allowed me to trace the hem of her sports bra. She didn't react at all to my exploring hand, she just kept sucking me with that same clinical rhythm. I moved my hand lower, into the top of her sports bra and over her breast. I didn't grope or squeeze, I just let it rest there, feeling her gently. She kept going.

"Fuck," I muttered, "You're such a slut."

The words came out before I could think about it. It felt like an ugly thing to say, and I don't know why I said it. Maybe because I was still trying to trick myself into thinking this was something other than it was. That she had agreed to this because I was irresistible. That the money was only a bonus.

She didn't react to my words, maybe she didn't understand them. It was almost like I hadn't said anything at all. Something came over me and I decided to push my luck.

"Such a greedy fucking slut," I said, "That's all you are, right? Just a slut who sucks cock for money."

I started to knead her breast with my hand. Nothing. No reaction other than to keep sucking me. I could feel the sweat starting to accumulate at my brow as I resisted her. I squeezed harder, playing with her nipple. It was a hard little bud in my finger tips. I rolled it between my fingers, pinching it slightly.

I was close to cumming, but I didn't want to. I pulled my hand out of her bra, and my cock out of my mouth. I used my hand to lift my cock up and pulled her head towards my balls. Once again, she didn't hesitate. Her tongue was warm and soft on my scrotum as she licked from the bottom of the base of my cock all around sack. I let go of my hard cock, letting it flop flat across her face as she continued to lick steadily along my balls.

"Fuck," I said, my voice unsteady, "Yeah, like that. You like that, don't you? Lick my fucking balls."

Once again she did not answer. Her tongue just kept moving in circles along my sensitive balls. I looked down again at the top of her head, and her silver hair. The tight bun she had pulled her hair up into before she arrived hadn't move an inch. It was perfect, just like her.

The sensations were all becoming to much, and I wanted to finish. I took her head and both hands, and pulled my hips back until my cockhead was lined up with her mouth. Her lips pursed around me, and then I slid back into her. I wasn't that gently. With my hands on the sides of her head, guiding her forward, I slipped into her throat. Her throat opened up around me and I could feel the wet heat of her gag reflex squeezing me. I pushed deeper until my pelvis was flat against her face, my cock buried to the hilt in her mouth. I held there, he throat just working steadily around me.

My orgasm hit me like white hot flash. A white hot flash was what spilled out of my and down Lucero's throat. My vision went blurry. Lucero didn't flinch. She just kept her hands on my hips, her nose pressed into my flesh, and her throat milking the cum out of me. I kept cumming, kept pulsing.

"Fuck, fuck fuuuccckkk-" my words devolved into a wordless moan.

My orgasm kept going, longer than I had experienced before. Finally, it was over. I was empty; I was spent. I put a hand against the counter, and pulled my softening cock out of Lucero's mouth. It made a scandalous noise, a mix between a pop and wet flesh sliding against wet flesh, as I pulled out of her. Strangely, she planted a soft kiss on the tip of my cock. I was too spent to think about what that meant. Then, she stood, standing a couple of feet away from me. A line of spit hung on her chin and she wiped it away with a finger.

There was no change in her expression. No disgust, no satisfaction, no pleasure, no relief. Just nothing. It was the same face I'd seen her make when cleaning my floors; the same face she'd made in the pictures she'd sent me.

Neither of us said anything. The transaction was over. Lucero left to go back downstairs. I went back to my bedroom and fell onto the mattress. In a daze I heard an exchange of Spanish words, and my front door close. Soon I had drifted off.

I pulled up to Amy's house at nine am on the dot. There was that timeliness habit again. The sky was grey today, like how it gets when it wants to trick you into thinking its actually going to rain. Amy came out to meet me in a pastel sweater and some dark blue jeans. Her black hair was a bit wild, maybe because of the weather, I wasn't sure. I greeted her and let her into the car and we got to driving. We went back in the direction of the mall. It was surrounding by mix-used shopping districts, with lots of interior decorating stores, according to Amy. Based what I'd seen the last time we were there, these stores weren't in the Goodwill price range of furniture that I'd previously spent. Well, at least I could afford it.

I followed Amy into the first store where we were greeted by a well dressed and older gentleman who told us the name of the store; something French and stupid.

"What brings you in today?" he asked.

"We're looking for bedroom furniture," Amy said, "My friend here just moved into a new place and has basically nothing."

"Ah, well we are well equipped to rectify the situation."

"Do you offer same day delivery?"

"For many of our pieces," he said, "yes. But not all. It is dependent on availability. Please let me know which pieces you are interested in and I'd be happy to inform you about their availability, shipping-wise."

Ugh I just hated this guys voice. It dripped with condescension. Amy thanked him, and led me off in the direction of the bed sets. I followed her, trying my best not to look like her son straggling behind her. It was hard, though. She shopped in a way I didn't know how. She spent time with each bed set, her hands touching everything. The wood, the comforter, the pillows. I even saw her wiggle a nightstand to see how much it wobbled. The answers was not much. She was in her element.

"I like this one. It feels like your style," she said of a modern dark wood bed frame with clean sharp lines. "Lay down on it. Obviously you have your mattress already, but see if you like how it looks when you're on it."

I laid down on top of the comforter. I could feel the mattress was memory foam. Amy sat on the other edge, ran her hand over the navy green comforter, then laid down.

"I like this comforter too," she said. "Be honest, are you a top-sheet guy or do you just use the comforter?"

"Comforter only," I laughed.

Amy smiled.

"How does it look from here?"

Even though she was asking me about the bed set, my eyes linger on her body for a moment. I caught myself and looked down at the end of the bed, where the dark wood stuck up above the mattress at the foot board.

"I like it," I said.

"Me too," Amy said, "Okay, so this one is in the running."

We checked out maybe six more beds. One frame was so tall Amy literally had to climb up onto it. Another had a carved wooden headboard that looked like it belonged to Dracula.

We, or her, or I, I don't know, decided on the first one. We spent another hour in that store with a little pad of paper, writing down item numbers for the pieces we wanted. That process repeated at two other stores, with each promising a delivery time for most of my items later that evening.

"I'll come with you to yours and help you supervise the set up," Amy said as we left the store.

"Sure, but let's grab a bite first, yeah?"

There was a Thai place tucked in amongst the designer stores, office high rises, and luxury towers of the district we were in. We got a table pretty easily.

"Don't you have clients, or something?" I said

Amy smiled at me.

"I do. But you're my favorite though."

"Is that why you don't charge me?"

Amy laughed.

Our conversation quickly turned to nothing important. She asked me more questions about my job, surely follow ups from mother; what I did all day, if I liked being able to work from home. I, unfortunately, had to lie about most of the details. Amy told me about her last interior design job, and how it had almost ruined a friendship over the client, and friend, being such a bitch about it.

Lunch finished up, I paid obviously, and I drove us back to my place in Monroe Park. The sky had cleared up and it was pure sunlight and blue skies.

Amy did quick lap through the place, planning things out. The deliveries would start arriving soon from the various stores.

"This place is clean, damn," Amy said.

"I had it professionally done," I said with a shrug.

I hoped she wouldn't pick up on any weird energy I had about my cleaner. She did not.

"Worth every penny. The place looks great. But it'll look even better soon."

The next few hours were a blur. The movers came and Amy bossed them around with an authority no one, myself included, wanted to challenge. She told them where to put everything, and I mostly stood there feeling useless and signing the occasional form.

When the movers were bringing in the big sectional l-shaped couch up, Amy sidled up next to me in the kitchen and whispered to me while we watched them.

"Ever had sex on a big plush couch like that?"

I choked on my own words and coughed until I got my voice back.

"Uh, no..." I said, just as quietly.

Amy grinned, her eyes twinkling.

"It's a good couch," she said with a smile and a shrug.

Later that evening the house looked completely different. My old ratty TV stand had been replaced with an actual TV console. The living room had a big rug and throw pillows and a coffee table. The kitchen had a table and matching chairs and a little centerpiece of succulents that caught enough light, according to Amy. Upstairs the new bed frame had been assembled, my nice new mattress fitting perfectly.

Amy and I were in the bedroom putting a new set of sheets on, as well as matching pillow cases to pillows and putting together the duvet. When we were done, Amy sat on the end of the bed and kicked her shoes off, leaning back on her arms. She looked... comfortable, I guess. Like she belonged there.

"Everything looks amazing," I said, "You did a great job. Thank you."

"Just wait until the art gets in. These walls are still bare," she said.

I joined her on the edge of the bed and we sat there like that for a few minutes, enjoying the silence and not having things to do.

"I've been meaning to ask," I said, "have you been liking the gifts I got you?"

Amy tilted her head to look at me.

"I love them," she said, "The black set fits me perfectly.

"Are you... ah... wearing it right now?"

Amy held my gaze, her smile growing slowly and mischievously.

"Maybe."

A little jolt of electricity ran through me. I tried to stay cool, but I could feel my ears turning red.

"C-can I see it?"

Amy paused; long enough that I thought she was about to say no. But, then she shrugged and stood up."

"Sure," she said.

Her voice was languid and low.

Amy stood in front of me, her hands on her hips. She looked down at me, even though I was about as tall as her while sitting on the bed.

"You're gonna owe me another shopping trip after this," she said mockingly.

I just nodded, my eyes locked onto her. Amy peeled her sweater off, revealing the black mesh bra underneath with its delicate little straps that crisscrossed over the curve of her breasts. It framed her cleavage perfectly, and the fabric was so sheer it may as well not have been there at all. Her nipples were visible, dark against the mesh.

Amy then unbuttoned her tight pants and turned around, presumably to give me a good view, and pushed them down her thighs, bending at the waist as she did so. The black panties matched her bra, and were cut high at the hips with more straps running along the edge. Her ass was exactly as I remembered it from the mall.

Amy looked over her shoulder at me from behind her black hair.

"Well? Do you like?"

"Yeah. Jesus. Fuck. Yeah."

Amy laughed, the sound bouncing off my empty walls. Then she turned to face me, and put her hands on my shoulders. I scooted back on the bed a bit, picking up on her intention. Amy climbed into my lap, and I could feel the warmth of her through the thin mesh of her panties and the softness of her thighs as they pressed against mine. She settled on top of me, heavy and soft, her massive breasts pushing into me by necessity.

"Don't tell your mother," she whispered

I shook my head.

Amy leaned forward and kissed me. The kiss was slow and hungry, but not desperate. More like two people just enjoying each other. Her hands slid under my shirt, her fingers tracing my stomach. Mine went to her back, splaying against the ridge of her bra straps. How much I wanted to unhook them, but I wasn't sure if that was allowed yet.

Amy pulled back and looked at me. She laughed.

"You're blushing," she said.

"A little, I guess," I said.

Amy just smiled, and used her hands on my shoulders to give herself a bit of leverage and push down onto my lap. I feel her heat and her wetness, even through my pants. My cock surged in response.

We didn't fuck. Not then. We still had some more work to do around the house. But we stayed like that for along time, Amy straddling my lap, my hands on her hips, and both of us trying not to pull the other one down onto the bed.

Then we worked, setting up the last few things that we needed to: curtains, some towels, the guest bed, my office furniture. It took another hour and a half, maybe. Amy worked the whole time in the lingerie. I worked the whole time with an erection.

"We should celebrate," Amy said when we were done. "order some food. Watch a movie. Break in the new couch."

I swallowed, remembering her comment about the couch from earlier. But I agreed with her. We went downstairs and sat together on the couch. I ordered Chinese food on my phone, and some wine with it. When it arrived it looked like enough for six people. Amy opened the wine and poured us each a glass into my new wine glasses. After we finished eating, she curled up next to me under a throw blanket, her hand resting on my thigh.

The movie was some old action comedy I could barely pay attention to. I spent most of the time watching the way Amy's lips sipped her wine, and the way her breasts bounced when she laughed, and the tickle of her hair against my shoulder.

When the movie ended, she stretched and yawned, then dropped her hands to her lap.

"I should probably go," she said.

I didn't want her to, not even a little. My cock was still hard from the teasing I'd been getting all evening, and the lingerie reveal; to to mention the little comments about fucking on my new couch. The idea of her walking out the door while I was like this felt like a special kind of cruelty.

"You're killing me," I said, my head falling back, "you know that, right? You're giving me blue balls on purpose. This is some mean trick."

Amy looked at me like I was one of those sad dog commercials.

"Awww," she cooed, "poor baby. All that tension and nowhere to put it. How tragic."

"Don't patronize me, I'm suffering."

"Oh, you're suffering, huh?" Amy laughed, "The poor little rich boy with his new job and new couch and a beautiful woman sitting half naked next to him on it. Such suffering."

"Laugh it up, okay. I'll be up all night thinking about you."

Amy finished her wine, watching me over the rim of the glass. Something changed in her expression. The teasing look went away into something... quiet. She set the glass down on the coffee table and turned to face me, pulling one leg up under her.

"Jonah," she said. "Your mom is my best friend."

The words felt like a stone dropped in water. I could feel the weight move through my chest before my brain caught up.

"Oh... okay. Yeah, yeah. Right," I muttered.

"I've known her longer than you've been alive. I remember her baby shower, for God's sake. What type of friend would I be if I went around fucking my friends' sons?"

"Yeah," I said, "no, that's--that's fair. That makes sense."

"You're a terrible liar."

"I'm not lying. It does make sense. I'm also hard as a rock and sad about it, but those aren't mutually exclusive."

Amy reached over and grabbed my hand.

"I feel bad," she said, "I shouldn't have... the lingerie. Your lap. The kissing. That was me being... selfish. I liked the attention and I kept pushing because it felt good and I wasn't thinking about what it was doing to you. I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize."

"Well, I'm going to because I'm a grown woman who should know better than to tease a twenty-four-year-old and then leave him with blue balls."

I opened my mouth to say something funny, something deflecting. But nothing came it. My throat felt tight, the way it does when you're not trying to say the thing you actually want to say. Amy watched me for a beat, then looked down at her hands. She picked up the wine glass and twisted the stem between her fingers, the traces of wine catching the lamplight.

"Hey, I really do feel bad about this. I do. And I know saying sorry doesn't fix the uh... situation," Amy said with a glance down at the tent I was pitching under the throw blanket.

I shrugged.

"It's fine. Really. I'll survive."

Amy bit her lip so hard the marks stayed for a second after she let go.

"I could... I mean, I can't fuck you. I told you, that wouldn't be right to do to your mother. But I feel like I owe you something, after all that teasing. Maybe... maybe I could let you put it between my tits. I mean, you've practically seen them already, right?"

My brain short-circuited. Just blank-screen, dial-tone, error 404, the whole thing. I blinked.

"Between your--"

"Between my breasts," she said, "You know. A titjob. That's what they call it, right?"

Amy giggled. She said it so matter-of-factly, like she was offering me a second glass of wine.

I opened my mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to," I said.

"I want to. I feel like a jerk, Jonah. You've been sitting there all night with a hard-on and I'm the one who gave it to you. Now I'm dropping some moral stand on you and expecting you to just deal with it. That's not fair. So, consider it a consolation prize. A very specific, very generous, consolation prize."

""You're serious," I said.

Amy grabbed the throw blanket and pulled it off our laps. My cock pushed up into my pants. Amy moved to kneel between my legs.

"Very serious," she said.

Her voice had dropped half an octave, the teasing tone still there but underlined by something warmer. It made my stomach flip.

She reached for my belt, her fingers steady. The same hand has been flipping through fabric swatches and adjusting throw pillows all afternoon. Now they were working my belt buckle with quiet efficiency. The leather slid through the metal loop with a soft hiss, and then she was popping the button on my pants, the metal cold against my stomach, and pulling the zipper down in one smooth motion.

She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of my boxers and pulled them down, and my cock slapped against my stomach, hard and aching so dark at the tip it looked almost bruised. The cold air hit me and my hips jerked involuntarily. Amy made a small sound, not a laugh or a gasp, but something in between. She wrapped her hand around my shaft.

"Jesus," she whispered. "You really are suffering, aren't you?"

I couldn't answer. My jaw felt locked. Her hand was warm and dry. She squeezed me once, just once, a slow deliberate pressure that made my vision go white, then let go.

Amy leaned back and looked at me. Her eyes traveled from my face down to my cock and back up, and what she saw made her bite her lower lip again.

Then she reached behind her back.

Her fingers found the clasp of the black mesh bra, and she unbuttoned it with one hand. Instantly, everything happened. It was like her bra was a dam holding back a tidal wave. She barely had to do anything other than stick her arms out in front of her. The bra fell away from her body as her breasts seemed to only get bigger. The tension must have been holding them up must have been insane, because now they fell free in all their glory. They just... dropped. heavy and real and enormous and swinging forward with a weight that seemed to surprise even Amy. She made a breathy sound as the settled against her ribcage. The mesh bra slid down her arms and she shrugged it off, and there they were, right in front of my, close enough to touch.

I'd seen them through the bra, through every fabric she'd worn all day, but seeing them free was something else entirely. They were bigger than I'd let myself imagine. The kind of breasts that had their own center of gravity, that moved when she breathed, that cast shadows on her stomach. The nipples were dark and wide, the areolae large and textured. And they pointed slightly downward the way real breast do when they're this size, the weight pulling everything south.

Amy looked down at her tits, then back up at me. There was something in her expression, pride, maybe, or satisfaction. it was the quiet confidence of a woman who knew exactly what she was working with.

"Go ahead," she said, her voice casual, "Touch them. They aren't going to bite."

My hands were shaking. I noticed it before I even lifted them, a fine tremor running through my fingers, the kind you keep when you're holding something too valuable and you're afraid you'll drop it. I reach out, slow, like I was approaching a wild animal, and my palms made contact with the warm, heavy swell of her left breast.

Her skin was impossibly soft. Softer than the throw blanket, softer than the memory foam mattress, softer than anything I'd ever put my hands on. It gave under my fingers, the flesh yielding, and I could feel the weight of her. It was real, substantial. The kind of weight that had nothing to do with implants and everything to do with biology. I cupped it, testing the heft, and my fingers sank in past the first knuckle before finding the firmness underneath.

"Both hands," Amy said. She was watching my face, her lips parted, her breath coming a little faster. "Wrap them around you. That's the whole point, sweetheart."

I looked down at myself, my cock standing rigid against the backdrop of her titties. The head was shiny and purple, a bead of precum already rolling down the shaft. The back and her breasts, the impossible expanse of them, and something in my brain clicked into place. The logistics of. How I was supposed to--

"Here," Amy said.

She took my hands and guided them to her body. She pressed her breasts together from the sides, creating a valley between them that my cock slid into like it was made for it. Our skin was warm and smooth and so much softer than anything I'd ever felt against my dick. My hips bucked up into her.

"Oh... oh fuck!"

"See?" she said with a teasing grin, "Not that complicated."

My cock disappeared between her tits. I mean disappeared. I considered myself fairly well endowed. At least, I knew it wasn't small. My cock was no match in size for Amy's tits. There was so much of her that I couldn't see anything except the top of her tits pressed together. I slid them down me, and the wet tip of my cock just barely poked out of the top of her tits. The feeling was unlike anything I'd experienced before. Warm, all encompassing. Amy let a glob of spit fall into the top of my cock head.

I started to move. I went slow, at first, just gently lifting her tits and pulling my hips back. The friction was still a little dry. Not painful, but not smooth either. My cock dragged against her soft skin, and I could feel the heat building at the base of my spin. Just the act itself was incredibly arousing.

Amy must have felt the friction too, because she looked down at where we were touching.

"Hang on," she said, "It just needs..."

She leaned her head forward and spat again. It was a thick glob of saliva, and aimed with tactical precision. It landed right on the head of my cock and started dripping down into the fleshly vice of her tits. Amy reached up and worked it in with her fingers, spreading the spit down my shaft and mixing it with the precum that was leaking out of my. Slickness between her breasts made everything different. Suddenly my cock was gliding through the valley of her breasts, skin sliding against skin with a wet sound.

"Better?" She asked.

"B-better," I choked out.

I still could barely believe this was happening. I'd known this woman my whole life and now I was fucking her tits. How did this happen?

"Good," Amy said.

She pressed her tits tighter around me, her titflesh spilling out around her hands.

"Now. Fuck them. Use them. They belong to you right now."

I wasn't gonna make her tell me twice.

I pulled back, my cock sliding free until just the head was trapped between her cleavage, and then thrust forward. Hard. My thrust made a wet sound, a thick, sloppy, meaty sound, that echoed off the walls of my new living room. I groaned like someone punched me in the gut.

"That's it," Amy said. "Look at that, look how good your cock fits between them."

I pulled back and thrust again. And again. I found a rhythm, with my hips snapped forward as I pulled against her tits. My cock disappeared between them, reappearing slick and shiny with each thrust. The sound we made was incredible. It was such a loud wet slapping noise I was worried my neighbors could hear it through the walls. Each thrust pushed her breasts apart with my cock, and the squeezed them back together as I pulled back. Her flesh bounced and rippled with the force of it.

"God you're so fucking hard," Amy said, "You like it, fucking my tits, don't you? Feel that?"

I just groaned. I felt it. Every fucking inch. I could feel the slick pressure wrapped around my shaft, and way my cock poked up under her chin every time I bottomed out. My hands were starting to cramp from holding her together but I didn't care.

"Just like that. Fuck my tits. That's what they're made for."

I was already so close. She'd been teasing me all fucking night. Really since the mall. Since that damned lingerie show. My body had been storing this up the way a battery stores energy, and now it was all being released at once. I could feel the orgasm gathering at the tip of my shaft like a lightning bold.

"Amy..." I groaned.

"Uh-huh."

She pushed her tits together tighter so that my cock felt like it being squeezed in a warm soft vice.

"Don't you dare stop," Amy said.

Her voice was husky as she squeezed her breasts around my shaft. The rhythmic slap of skin against skin continued. I could feel every ridge and vein of my cock dragging through the slick warm channel of her breasts. They were fucking perfect.

"Now," she urged, "Do it now. Fucking cum for me."

The command broke me. The rhythm of my hips stuttered, and then I drove forward one last time as my release ripped through me. The first pulse of cum painted the inside of her cleavage, hot and thick, smearing between her skin and my shaft. As I pulled back slightly, the second shot launched free, catching Amy squarely on under her chin. She didn't flinch at all, she just watched, her lips parted, as the rest of my cum spilled over the tops of her breasts like hot white lava.

Amy pulled back, and stood up, her magnificent breasts swaying with the motion. She walked into the adjoining kitchen, the full curve of her hips moving with an easy rhythm that my gaze locked onto. At the counter she tore a long section of paper towels from the roll. I watched, mesmerized, as she slowly wiped the streaks of my cum off her chest and from under her chin. She took her time; methodical and unashamed.

"You came a lot," she said.

Once she was finished she came back to where I was sitting on the couch, my cock now limp. She bent at the waist to retrieve her bra from the floor, her breasts hanging heavy and inviting. She straightened, clasped the bra behind her back with practiced ease, then pulled her shirt over her head.

"I should go," she said softly.

She gathered her things, pulled on her shoes, and stood in the entryway. I walked her to the door, hands in my pockets.

Amy turned to me, her hair falling across her face slightly.

"You turned out good, Jonah. Don't let anyone fuck that up."

She winked at me, blew me a kiss, and left.

I locked the door behind her and stood there for a long time, listening to the silence of my newly furnished house. I looked around at the couch, the table, the pillows, the new bed frame upstairs that hadn't been slept on yet. I imagined Amy in that bed, imagined her lying next to me.

I stood by the bed looking at the black sky. Finally, I laid down. I was thinking about Amy. About Lucero. And Joanna.

I slept like the dead.