The Bank free porn video

Hi Folks, As I warned you last week. This is a very long story. Most of you told me you'd rather see the whole thing in one piece so here it is. Of course you can always stop reading it anytime you want. Thanks as usual to the great mikothebaby for editing this story (she had to read the whole thing more than once). I apologize for any of the content here that bothers some of you. Please remember it's only a story.SS06

It always seems like life has plans of its own for us and what we want or what we hope for aren't always what we end up with. How does that expression go ... Man plans, God laughs? I guess my life is kind of like that. I thought I had everything planned out, but now I'm heading down life's road in a completely different direction.

My name is Lucas Blue. I live in one of those up and coming small towns that you hear about so often now in the newspapers and on the net. My town, Lewiston, Michigan has been growing by leaps and bounds. It's small enough that almost everyone here knows someone who knows everybody else, but big enough that no one knows everybody by name.

The great thing about these medium sized up and coming cities is that they combine the small town friendliness, charm and lack of things like crime with the amenities and connectedness of the big cities.

I already know what you're thinking. "That sounds good but I don't know shit about farming." Well neither do I. This isn't the twentieth century anymore. Remember how back in the old west Sam Colt made all men or most men equal? Well the internet has done the same thing in our time.

I went to college at the University of Michigan (go Blue) and decided a long time ago that living in a larger city like Detroit or Chicago just wasn't for me. I wanted to settle down in a place where I could meet the girl of my dreams and we could raise our children in the kind of environment that turns them into good solid citizens.

Once again, that was the plan. Now I find myself devoid and bereft of any of the values I eschewed. I am a cold blooded murderer and I'm sitting here waiting for a police officer who's already on the way over here to arrest me. The only thing I can say in my defense is that some motherfuckers just have it coming.

Remember the girl of my dreams? Right now I can't stand the bitch. Our divorce is already winding its way through the court system. There are a few complications that will leave me tied to her for the next couple of months or so, but no longer. Since I'll probably be spending most of that time in jail, it really doesn't matter.

How did I go so wrong in my life you're probably wondering, right? Well, let me tell you about it. It all started a few months ago at our town's Fourth of July celebration.

My wife, Angela, and I hardly ever get to hang out in town much. We met in college. I was there working on a degree in manufacturing and she was in finance. We were the typical fringe students. Both of us were just attractive enough to do well with the opposite sex but not attractive enough to go into modeling or anything. Both of us were also very into our careers but not good enough to set the world on fire.

What I thought that we were both good at though, was each other. We had literally everything in common. We liked the same foods, the same TV shows and we had similar goals in life. Neither of us wanted to be rich or to waste our lives aimlessly pursuing wealth or fame. We both just wanted to be comfortable. We also both believed that family and relationships took precedence over careers.

We graduated and settled down here in Lewiston and started building a life. We bought a small farm and quickly leased out the fields to a local farming co-op. We only bought the farm for the buildings. I got a small business loan and renovated the barn. I also bought a couple of HAAS CNC machines.

I wasn't a manufacturing genius, but then I didn't have to be. I do small orders of very simple parts and market them through an ebay store. I specialize in knock off parts. So, if a company is copying someone else's idea and needs a quick source for a certain type of bushing or plate, they send me the print or an M&G code program and I run their parts. I ship them out through UPS and it's on to the next order.

My business is booming. I also market other parts through ebay as well. Almost any simple item that can be made on a lathe or a mill is up for grabs. I have several different internet stores that sell items as diverse as hot rodding parts for cars to Chinese throwing stars. I make them all in my converted barn. The coolest thing about my business is that I can set my own hours and I rarely have anyone breathing down my neck. I also make a more than decent living.

Angela works at the local bank as an assistant manager. I pity her. She has to be up every day at a certain time and she does everything there that is too difficult for the tellers or that the manager doesn't feel like doing. She has to take all of the flack and gets none of the credit.

I guess some of the time she likes her job and others she just hates it. Lately, we'd been in one of those times when she loved it. She was going in early and staying late. She told me that the manager had been on vacation and they were training some new people. I didn't understand what was so great about it until she explained to me that it gave her a chance to train them the way she wanted to. And it gave the bank's parent company a chance to look at the kind of manager she'd make. So, if Sam ever retired or there was a new branch set up in our town or a nearby town, she'd be on their list.

I reminded her that in a few years SHE'D be retiring for the next phase of HER career. She laughed and told me that she was looking forward to getting her PhD in SAHM. SAHM stands for stay at home mom.

So anyway, we were at the Fourth of July celebration hanging out in town and having fun. I'd decided to enter the Declaration Drag. It was one of those small town events that had two purposes. The first one was to have fun and blow off some steam. The second one was to cut down on the mischief in town. The next town over had one of those 5K footraces. We had the double D.

The Declaration Drag was basically a "run what you brung," drag race. Everyone in town who wanted to show off what their car could do lined up and raced two blocks through the heart of the city.

Last year Tyler Stevens won it in his Dodge challenger. Charlie Green had bought one of those LS Camaros last fall and thought he had a good chance of winning this year. I hated to break his heart but it wasn't going to happen.

The police department, all four of them, were usually at the race. It was smart business. They handled the registration of all of the cars. That way, for the rest of the year, if anyone was seen speeding or driving recklessly, all a witness had to do was to either describe or take a picture of the car and the police immediately knew whose car it was and where to send the ticket.

Usually only 32 cars could enter the race. If there were more they turned it into a two day event. If there were less than 32, then drivers who placed higher the year before could be allowed to bypass certain rounds. This was my first year so I had to do all of the rounds.

I was sitting there near the starting line in my almost new Mustang Boss 302. I looked over in the crowd to find Angela and noticed that she was talking to some guy I'd never seen before. She was also smiling at him and they were very close together. For some reason seeing it made the hair on my neck standup. Since it wasn't my turn to race, I was going to go over to them and find out who he was but I never got the chance.

Someone tapped on my window. I turned away from watching Angie and my frown faded. There was a woman looking into my car. I rolled down the window and took a better look at her. She was tiny but well proportioned. I shook my head several times to clear my eyes and looked at her again. She couldn't have been more than five feet even and that would be early in the morning on a good day. She had those crystal clear pale gray eyes that seem other worldly. She had inky black hair that was cut short. It was one of those haircuts that always seem to be falling in her face. One side was cut longer than the other. The shorter side she tucked or pinned behind one ear, but the longer side was forever falling in her face so she was constantly brushing it out of her eyes.

She was wearing a light blue denim shirt that was having a hard time containing a truly impressive pair of boobs. She was holding onto a clip board and looking in through the window at me.

"What's your name?" she asked me very slowly.

"It won't do you any good," I said, wondering why the hell I'd never seen her around town. I mean the town just isn't big enough for her to have gone unnoticed.

"Why won't it?" she asked sassily.

"Because, I'm married," I said sadly. "And I'd never cheat on my wife no matter how gorgeous you are."

She got the funniest smile on her face then and pointed straight down at her belt. At first I thought she was trying to get me to notice her ass until I saw the big gold Sheriff's badge on the belt.

"Let's try this again," she said. "What if I tell you my name first? It's officer. As in I work for the police dept. That's why they call me Officer Tanya Bradley. I'm the fuzz. Some of you guys call us bacon or pigs. Do you understand the situation now, or do we need more clarification?" I heard her mutter under her breath, "The cute ones are always so stupid."

I smiled at her again. "Nope, no further clarification is necessary. You had me at officer. It was my mistake and one I'll never make again. What can I do for you officer?"

"You can tell me your name and tell me about your car," she said smiling. I didn't return the smile.

"My name is Lucas Aaron Blue, Ma'am," I said. "My car is a 2012 Ford Mustang 302 Boss."

"How much horsepower?" she asked.

"Before, or after the modifications, Ma'am?" I asked.

"What's it running now?" she asked.

"Roughly six hundred and fifty horsepower Ma'am," I said. "But I don't have any speeding tickets here in town, Ma'am."

"Why are you telling me that?" she asked. As she looked at me, she smiled again and all of that hair fell in front of her face.

"You know," she said. "You can pull that stick out of your ass. We got off on the wrong foot but there's no need to be so formal. Can we start over again? Maybe this is my fault. I'm not here to try to arrest you or anything like that. The police department handles the race registration. I'm going up and down the line of cars getting information on the cars, okay?"

I nodded and said, "Yes Ma'am."

"I guess I'm not gorgeous any more, since I'm a cop, right?" she asked.

"Just the facts Ma'am," I said. She smiled at me again. She bit her lip and looked at me. So much passed between us in that look and I think we both realized it. Then the moment was lost as we both came to our senses and realized that this could never go anywhere.

As she turned to walk away, she paused and looked over her shoulder at me. Flipping her hair out of those astounding eyes one more time she threw a haughty, "Good luck!" at me and headed for the next car in line.

Watching her walk away from me, I had an epiphany. Man has been on this planet for either millions of years slowly evolving, if you favor the scientific approach or for a little over two thousand years if you believe in biblical accounts. It has taken all of that time to get women right.

It used to be that women came in three flavors, fat, skinny and in between. Back in the eighties, we discovered variations on each theme. There were pears, pegs and apples evolved to fill out the varieties. We also gave rise to the BBW, the SSBBW, the MILF and the GILF. But lately everywhere I turn, I'm simply astounded by the differing shapes of women.

Officer Tanya Bradley was incredible. At barely five feet tall she simply defied description. She had a medium frame, meaning she wasn't fat, but she also wasn't skinny. Under normal expectations she'd have decent to smallish breasts and nice legs. But she didn't have any of those things. Her breasts strained the shirt she was wearing and her ass fit those jeans like she had a half of a basketball filled with Jell-o at the top of each leg. Her waist was wasp-like and roared outwards as it descended. She had the most hourglass-like torso I've ever seen.

The legs that supported the whole thing were just as incredible. Her jeans were rolled up to the top of her calf and she had the shapeliest calves I've ever seen. I could only imagine what her thighs looked like.

Even her face was unusual. She didn't have classically beautiful features. Her eyes were probably too pale a shade of gray to be considered beautiful. From the right angle they were so exotic she'd look like a vampire or something. But they fit her. Her nose was too wide and her lips were a bit too plump. And please don't get me started on that fucking hair. She had to adjust it every fifteen seconds at least.

I can sit here and tell you everything that's wrong with her. Shit, I could make a list. I'd have to admit things like in a few years when she gets older and her metabolism slows, her stomach is going to catch up to those boobs and that big butt and she's going to be a blob. I could also say that since her facial features are too strong if she ever changed that hair style she wouldn't be nearly as pretty. But the fact remains that all of it is Bullshit. Tanya Bradley is hands down the sexiest woman I've ever seen, which is probably why I sat there in my car and forgot that I'd seen my wife smiling at another man while I watched Officer Bradley go from car to car until my race started.

I knew that I'd probably have to race 5 times. At least I would if I didn't lose. My first round opponent was some guy who wore a fucking mullet. He drove what looked like a late seventies Monte Carlo. It was a beautiful car but it didn't belong in a race. Neither did he. He was so busy staring at the cheerleader who waved the flag to start the race that I was gone before he even put his foot on the gas.

My next round was against a nerd type in one of those little Japanese imports. He'd obviously seen all of the fast and the furious movies twice. I could tell by his paint job. I think he had a two stage nitrous system in the car. Unfortunately, by the time he got to his second stage and started really moving, the race was over. He must have been going two hundred miles an hour when he crossed the line, but it didn't matter because I got there first.

Angela was waving at me by that time. She came over to try to talk to me but I just shook my head at her. The more I thought about her smiling at that guy, the more pissed I got. I could have spent time smiling and talking to that cute cop but the first thing I'd told her was that I was married. Not that she was interested in me anyway, but I'd told her.

That was all Angie had to do too. She just needed to tell me. If she was tired of being married to me, we could take care of that pretty easily. Anyway, there was no use letting her get into my head until the races were over so I just stayed in the car. But I fully intended to have a talk with her when I was done.

Jerry

My life just never got any better. Where was I? Was I in Vegas? Fuck no! Was I in LA? Again no. Was I even back in the rotten Apple? Nope, I was stuck in some one horse backwater that barely had the balls to call itself a city.

We'd been here for about four weeks now and I was eager to get the fuck out of here. There was nothing to do, unless you were into that whole wholesome family entertainment thing. Today was the first thing I'd seen here that had actually caught my interest and I had to work.

A couple of associates and I were on a tour of small towns. We'd stay in each town for a month or so, making sure we weren't seen with each other. We'd each handle our specialties and then we'd get together, rob the bank and get the hell out of dodge.

Arnie, an old friend of mine, had brought me into the group for two reasons. One was my looks and ability to schmooze people, especially women. The second was my ability to drive. In a small crew like ours, each member had to be very good at what they did. There was no room for incompetence because there was no overlapping of skills. It wasn't a case where two or three guys would be doing the same thing. That made it difficult sometimes but on the other hand we only had to split the profits three ways.

My job was to go in and scout the bank. I'd find out as much as possible about the bank, its employees and their procedures. I also had to scout out the best possible routes out of town and have several cars ready for any possible exit strategy. While doing this, I also had to lay low to make sure that no one would remember ever having seen me.

Arnie would gather information about the local police force. Like how many of them there were, their backgrounds and the way they responded to things, etc.

Darren was our electronics Wiz. He'd disable alarm systems and actually block radio frequencies which would prevent the local bacon from being able to co-ordinate their efforts.

I'd been working on the assistant manager at the bank for about three weeks. Her name was Angela Blue, doesn't that sound like she ought to be doing porn? Anyway, if you want to know what Angela blew lately, I can proudly say, me.

Angela is your typical small town housewife. It took me a little while, but not as long as you'd think to get into her panties. The first day she was giving all of the typical bullshit about how much she loved her husband. But before you knew it she was flat on her back slinging her pussy at me like there was no tomorrow. All I had to do was listen to her and tell her what she wanted to hear.

It's simply too easy to do, especially to the types that really do love their husbands. There are simply no perfect relationships. Angela started out with 'I love him so much', but by the end of the conversation she was telling me all the things she wished he'd realize. Like the fact that the guy really loved her, but he was too stuck on this plan they'd made before they even got married. They wanted to wait until they reached a certain age to get pregnant. And Angela hated her fucking job with a passion.

She wanted to quit then. The manager was playing around on his wife with a couple of the tellers who didn't know about each other. To calm things down, he was taking some time off until he could get rid of one of them. It didn't matter whether he was there or not, she did all of the fucking work and she was tired of it. There was no way he'd ever retire, so she had risen as far in that bank as she ever would. The town was so small there was only one bank. She was also the only person in the entire bank who'd gone to college, let alone had a degree in finance. It was embarrassing.

Her four year college education got her a dollar an hour more than the tellers who were mostly high school graduates, or drop outs. The two who were fucking the manager actually got unspecified bonuses in their checks every week, which meant that they earned more than she did. She felt like a fucking baby sitter more than anything else.

Her husband just didn't realize how much she hated working at the fucking bank. He made a lot more money than she did and he never had to leave the house. He'd paid back his small business loan in less time than the loan term and was banking more money than they'd ever need. He'd also paid off the farm so that it was free and clear and was actually making even more money leasing out their field since all he really needed was the barn that he'd turned into some kind of high tech machine shop. He also had room in that big ass barn for a small but well outfitted gym and a garage for the Mustang he'd bought recently. He still kept his former car, another Mustang, but the Boss was his pride and joy.

What she really wanted to do was to go to her husband and say, "Look Honey, I'm tired of the bank. I want to quit." But she didn't know how he'd take it.

I found all of that out the first afternoon I spent with her. I'd walked into the bank and started giving her the story about being an advance man for a movie company that was interested in shooting a film in her town. I told her I'd probably at some point want to make several large deposits and establish a line of credit. I needed someone in town to help me scout locations and get the lay of the land. In typical small town friendliness, which really meant that she was so fucking bored she'd probably try peeing on her own shoes just for something different, she volunteered.

I started telling her how pretty she was. She's okay looking but not really pretty. Her husband probably used to tell her all the time that she was pretty, but had stopped because he was sure she knew he thought so by now. Then again, six or seven year ago she probably was pretty, but had simply withered on the vine. So my flattery went a long way. I backed up the flattery by accidentally bumping into her whenever I could, to get her used to me touching her.

Then I started just looking at her longingly. After a while she got the idea and started blushing. I backed that up by innocently mentioning that I thought her husband was a fool. If I was married to her she'd already be pregnant and we'd be homeless because I'd never go to work. There was no way we'd ever get out of bed. A few touches here and there that were initially apologized for led to me copping a feel here and there. Those feels became normal and led to that first kiss. From then on, there was no turning back and now the bitch acts like my dick is hers.

I know realistically that the only thing I have going for me is the newness of the experience and in time she'll realize that I don't give a flying fuck about her, but by then all of the bank's money will be gone and me with it. If she's smart she'll keep her mouth closed, stay married and spend a few months making it up to her husband and no one will lose anything. She'll even have a nice fantasy to remember in her old age.

I wonder if she'll ever know how much I hate having sex with her. I mean pussy is pussy, but sex is an art form. It's like any other sport, some of us do it for the love of the game, and others do it for money.

When you love the person you're fucking and they love you, it can be a wonderful experience. There are simply no right or wrong moves you can make because you're doing it to please your partner and they have the same goal in mind. Your body's reactions are triggered and influenced by the emotions you feel for that person and the happiness you want to share with them.

Her husband probably loves the shit out of this bitch because she's awful in bed. She's one of those small town almost cute bitches, who think that fucking her is the highest honor that can be bestowed on any man. In other words, she pretty much just lays there and takes it. Occasionally, she whimpers out a tiny little "ooh," or two. I almost fall asleep fucking her now. The only difference between her and one of those new high tech blow-up dolls is that she has a pulse.

After it's over, she looks at you with that expression on her face like she's just done something so great for you that you owe her your devotion for the rest of your fucking life. I don't think so Angela.

It's not even fucking her that's the worst part. It's just looking at her naked. Angela has nice legs, they're a little on the thin side like those fashion models, but that's it. Those legs lead up to her small-town booty. There isn't an extra ounce of fat on her ass anywhere. It's the kind of ass that women think they want and men hate. Her ass is merely something to sit on, nothing more. There is so little curvature in her ass that the line from her lower back to her upper thighs is nearly unbroken.

Her stomach is flat but there is a slight pouch starting to form. But it isn't sexy. Even the fat girls with their bulging tummies have certain sexiness to it. I think it comes from the bulge creating a counter point to their rounded hips on the other side. It gives their bodies that "S" shape that seems to symbolize fertility and makes males just want to implant their seed. Hers seems to say that your seed will just be wasted because anything in her womb will wither on the vine. I later found out that I was wrong about that.

Her breasts seem okay when you see her in clothes. They fill out the tops of her dresses but that has to be due to her bras. When you see her naked she does have breasts but they're banana titties. For those of you who don't know what that means, her breasts are longer rather than fuller and they hang down to nipples that are pointed. Her breasts also are very thin so if you look at her from the front it seems like they don't extend past the sides of her body at all. You can actually see space between her breasts and her arms. It's not sexy at all, unless you happen to love her and of course, I don't.

So anyway, here I am trying to blend into the crowd and enjoy myself at something called the Declaration Drag. I just don't get these fucking yokels sometimes. Did they think the founding fathers had drag races down the middle of the fucking street?

At any rate, it looked kind of cool. If things were normal and I wasn't working, I'd have probably wanted to steal a car and get in on it. I looked over all of the cars to see if I could predict who'd win each race and also who I thought might win the whole thing. It was a tough decision because there were so many great cars. Who'd a thunk they had this many cool ass cars in this town? I saw a Chevelle SS that I'd have killed someone for. A Nissan 350 Z that was just beautiful, was lined up to race a Brand spanking new 2012 Dodge Charger SRT that still had the dealer's sticker in the window. There were great cars all over everywhere.

Just as I was really getting into it, I heard a voice beside me. "My husband is probably going to win this," she said. I looked down and there was old banana tits herself, smiling at me like the cat that just ate the canary.

I went into acting mode pretending that seeing her had just made my fucking day. I steadied my stomach by reminding myself that in only a few days I'd be out of here and I'd never have to look at this bitch again.

I knew that seeing me, here in the middle of all of these people who knew her but didn't know about our relationship, was turning the bitch on. It was the thrill of possible exposure that was whetting her juices.

I looked over to where she was pointing and saw a decent looking guy sitting in an outrageous Mustang. It had a custom lime green paint job. I'd never seen one of those new Boss 302s in that color. As he revved the engine, I could tell that the car was nowhere near stock. The car was almost shaking from the engine vibrations. Then I noticed the hot little Betty he was talking to. She was my type of girl. That made two things in this town that I actually wanted. The first was some time with that hot little woman and the second was banana tits' husband's Mustang.

His performance in the race only served to underscore two things for me. The first was that I wanted that fucking car. And the second was that banana tits is married to a sucker.

He made short work of his opponents in the first three rounds. His third round victory over a guy in one of those new Chargers was especially sweet, but I almost missed it. Banana tits, while looking at the race made a grab for my dick as the race started. As I said, she thinks it's hers.

His semi-final was very close though he was the winner. He raced another Mustang and only eked out the victory over the last few yards.

The final was set. Hubby's beast of a Mustang was matched against a bright orange Camaro LS1. I already knew what would happen. From talking to Ban ... I mean Angela, I knew that her hubby's Stang was putting out somewhere north of 600 horsepower. From doing my homework, I also knew that the Camaro put out closer to 450 and the Mustang weighed over 200 pounds less. Unless Hubby had the reflexes of a snail, it shouldn't even be close. At least it would be a good show for the kids, I thought.

And I wasn't fucking wrong either. It WAS a good show for the kids. The two brightly colored latest generation, (which meant making them look like they did thirty years ago) muscle cars revved their engines and flexed their technical muscles. A little blond cheerleader waved a flag and jumped up into the air as both cars let out a roar that sounded like an enraged beast. The Mustang rocketed away from the line, the Camaro started and then sputtered as its owner, overcome by nerves missed a shift and stalled the car. Halfway down the street the Mustang skidded to a stop. The driver got out and waved at the crowd. I thought he was flaunting his victory. He got back into his car and backed up all the way down the street stopping near the Camaro.

I was laughing my ass off because I thought he was giving the guy the finger or something. Then I heard the announcer say that the drivers had decided to have a "do over."