Dantes Slave
- 2 years ago
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Dante’s Debt free porn video
It was the first rule in the Business Handbook for Detectives: don’t schtup the help. So why was I in this position with my secretary, Irene. For heaven’s sake, this was Irene, whom I had barely noticed the first few months she worked for me, who had stuck with me when another dame, Dana, had seduced me, made me do things I ordinarily would not have done, and then tossed me away like used gum. Dana had a body that would stop a clock. In comparison, Irene had seemed–I won’t say dumpy, but a bit too much woman for her average height. In the last few months, something had transformed her. She had changed before my eyes, with me hardly noticing, and now she was trim, athletic, muscular even.
The position I refer to is Irene seated on my desk, her strapped high-heeled-sandals resting one each on the arms of my chair, her panties hanging on her left ankle, and the skirt of her billowy summer dress–a light blue and white check–pushed above her waist.
Her butt was on my black desk pad. She leaned back on her hands, fingers spread and flat on the soft brown wood of the desk, and her feet were pulled up in front of her on the desk’s edge. Though I was busy below, her eyes were closed and her face turned toward the ceiling. A pleading moan was coming from her throat.
Somebody in her family tree had given her a thick head of brown hair, and the lower half of her body, now right in front of my face, had not been left out. She had shaved, straight across the top of her triangle, everything on her legs and to within an inch of her lips. The hair merged into a dark river than ran the center of this ‘landing strip’. Using my thumb as an oar, I rolled the lip on my right back to reveal the pink inside. That was where I put my mouth. I started at the bottom of her slit and ran the stiff end of my tongue up the inside of that lip. It seemed a crime not to maintain balance by doing the other side, but instead, I sucked the other lip into my mouth as much as I could, pulling it between my lips and massaging it with my tongue.
My suit coat was somewhere behind me: on the chair, in the floor, out the second-floor window (as if I gave a shit). I had pulled at my tie making the loop larger, slipped the noose over my head, and unbuttoned my collar.
Irene was squirming now. I clamped my mouth down on her clit, sucking against it and curling my tongue up inside her at the same time. She was humping against my face in earnest, a steady stream of occasionally intelligible sounds coming from her lips.
‘Hello?’ A cheerful voice came from the front office. Irene shoved me away, stripped the panties from her ankle, leaped to her feet and smoothed her dress. She gave me the most admonishing of looks–as if I’d raped a nun–and stalked to the door. As she opened the door, she turned back to me again: steely eyes beneath a pinched brow, nostrils flaring, and a blush that would surely tell whomever was on the other side of the door exactly what we had been doing. And of course, it was all my fault.
While Irene and the lady in the front office were yapping away, I pulled the tie back over my head and retrieved my coat from the floor. The panties were going in my bottom drawer when Irene opened the door, wisely leading the way into the room.
‘Mr. Wadword, Mrs. Washington–‘ her voice trailed off–‘is here to see you.’ But Irene didn’t yield her position in the door. She was making an angry nodding motion. I didn’t know what the hell she meant. She continued dipping her head, finally, I looked down and saw the large wet spot in the middle of the desk pad. I wiped it with the sleeve of my coat. At that, Irene stepped aside and Mrs. Duckworth entered the room.
‘Come in, Maam,’ I said to the large lady coming through the door. She was only about 5’6′ but very heavy. Her hair, perhaps dark at one time, was now gray and given nothing more than a single pass with a comb in the morning. She walked with a sway, as if trying to lift her right leg. She appeared to be only in her fifties, so this affliction was, perhaps, not entirely attributable to age,.
‘Please, have a seat,’ I motioned at the red leather guest chair. ‘What can I do for you?’
After adjusting her glasses and clearing her throat, she began, ‘Well, you remember my Robert. He cleaned your car from time to time. He always thought highly of you.’
‘Yes,’ I replied, recalling her husband. Indeed, he had detailed my car at a price no one would match now and, it seemed to my eye, did a better job.
‘Well, you know he died last November. He had that truck–a good truck! You know how he was about keeping stuff clean. After Robert passed, Dante’s eye fell on it, ’cause he knew I couldn’t drive–I always take the bus. He kept on and kept on, so I let him have it. He’s banged it up, drove it hard, practically ruined it in just three months. And you know how much he paid me for that truck?’
I knew the answer but I waited for her to tell me. She stared at me for a moment, the anger seething within her. This was about revenge for Robert, about erasing an affront to his memory.
‘Not a red cent! That’s what he gave me. He promised me $6500, but not a red cent.’
I started to tell her I was not a collection agency or a lawyer. But everyone in the community knew that, and she was woven into the fabric of the community. So was I.
‘I want you to get me my money.’
After she was gone, Irene came back in, but the mood had changed. She sat in the red leather chair facing my desk.
‘Are you going after Dante?’ Irene knew everything that was said in my office–that was no secret. In answer to her question, I shrugged.
‘Don’t do this, Bobby. Dante didn’t get his rep by being a choir boy. Not only is he huge, he doesn’t think like you. Even if you had a chance against someone as big as he is, ‘fair’ is not part of his vocabulary.’
‘And what about Mrs. Duckworth? Who will square things for her dead husband? Is there someone in the community that will make it right?’
‘Well it doesn’t have to be you. I’m asking you–for me–not to do this thing.’
***
I’m not a crusader, just a private dick trying to make a living in the Magic City. Mrs. Duckworth would no doubt give me a cut of the $6500–that’s what I told myself.
I was watching Robert’s dirty black truck, parked at Davis’s Lounge, way south on First Avenue. It hadn’t moved since I had driven up thirty minutes before. Having given him extra time to get liquored-up, I tossed the July issue of ‘Eastern Review of Martial Arts’ onto the passenger seat and stepped from my car. The tie was in the drawer with Irene’s panties. A tie in this place was like inviting yourself to a hanging. I straightened my suit coat, tilted my hat down a bit, walked across the street and into the bar.
You’d hardly know it was four in the afternoon. The place was jumping. About twelve guys were gathered around the pool table, the only well-lit area in the joint, all talking at once. Dante was stalking the table, a cue-stick in his hand. Guys were shouting. A stack of bills lay on one corner of the table. A glance at the blond waitress standing by her station at the end of the bar let her know I wasn’t there to drink. In another life, she had been pretty, but now she was a perfect fit for Davis’s.
I walked over to the pool table and placed a quarter behind the two already there. Dante glanced up but immediately went back to his game of eight-ball. He made the eleven ball in the corner, the crack of the balls sounded as if one of them had surely split, and the eleven shot into the pocket like a bullet.
‘Ain’t you Wadworth, the dick?’ Dante said without looking up. He was six-three, about three hundred, give or take. The pool cue was a matchstick in his massive hands.
‘That’s me,’ I replied. ‘Did I win something?’ The table chatter stopped. There were a couple of snickers and then silence.
‘What the hell are you doing in her
e?’ Dante said. ‘You didn’t come here to shoot no fucking pool.’
‘I’d like to see you a minute.’ I turned and walked to the pisser. Just before I went through the door, I glimpsed Dante as he held the pool stick up, broke it in half, laid the pieces on the table and came storming toward the men’s room.
A lot of people pee in a beer joint. This one had a long trough that served as a urinal and four green stalls with commodes. I moved furthest from the door and stood in front of the corner stall. Dante stopped just inside the door.
‘Lock it,’ I said. The big man chuckled and threw the slide bolt home.
‘You got a truck from Mrs. Bloodworth,’ I began. ‘Only you forgot to pay her for it.’
‘Is that what this is about? She sent you to get the money?’ He laughed again. ‘By yourself?’
He quickly closed the distance between us. About three feet from me, he drew back his right hand. His fist was as big as a concrete block. Holding his left hand out for aim, he swung with all his might. I moved to my left and felt the punch go by my head. As his hand crashed into the door of the shitter, splintering the wood. I reached up with my right hand and grabbed his sleeve in a death grip just beneath his armpit. At the same time, I slipped my right leg behind his and when he started to pull back from my grip on his shirt, he started falling. As he was tripping, I formed a claw with my left hand and using my fingertips in his eyes, raked his head back.
The result of all of this was that Dante was on his way down. I judiciously guided him so that the back of his head cracked on the edge of the piss trough. In an effort to get up, he rolled to his stomach on the concrete floor. I pulled his right arm up until it was perpendicular to his back, and, standing with his thumb and little finger in my hands, twisted clockwise. The immediate pain caused him to push his shoulder against the floor.
‘Uhhh. Shit,’ he moaned.
‘I can kick you in the ribs, or the face, or both. From where we are it’s easy for me to break your nose. How will that look to your friends, when you walk out of here and they see that a shrimp guy like me has broken your nose? I can do that, or you can pay Mrs. Duckworth, and I’ll leave the bar without saying a word and you’ll never see me again. No one will be the wiser.’
‘Uhhhnnn,’ he replied when I applied a little more pressure on his hand.
‘You may think I just got lucky, that I can’t do this every day of the week, but I can. You know why, Dante? Jujitsu, that’s why, jujitsu!
‘I knew you was some kind of damn Jew.’
I twisted harder.
‘Argghh! I’ll give the bitch her money,’ he grunted. ‘Just let go.’
***
‘Hold me,’ Irene said. ‘Squeeze me harder.’
We were at her place, instead of the office. My apartment, done in aluminum cans and stained pizza boxes, was not an option. She was in a bra and new panties. I squeezed her tight and kissed her mouth, nibbling on her lips, moving my tongue against hers. Shrugging out of my coat, my fingers hurried at the buttons of my shirt. Irene unfastened my belt, released the hook of my pants and slid my zipper down.
Her hand immediately entered my boxers and her fingers found my thickening cock. She stroked with one hand and pulled at my neck with the other, kissing me, rolling her tongue in my mouth. I kicked out of my pants and fell on the bed with my arms around her. She quickly undid her bra and slid her panties off. Her nipples were incredible: a rich wine color, hard, and deliciously long. Unable to wait, I stripped my boxers over the end of my now hard cock and threw them on the floor. Heat and wetness emanated from her pussy, as I touched it with my hand, my fingers. I tried to spread her legs so I could lick it.
‘No,’ she said, ‘it’s my turn.’
She pushed me flat on my back, and positioned herself on my right, her head at my lap and her wet mound within reach of my hand. Her clit was a hard, with my finger, I stole some moisture from her pussy and rubbed it on the little devil. She tilted her head heavenward, took a breath, held my cock at the base, dove down and slid her mouth on it.
Pulling off, she stroked me and ran her tongue around the head. She slipped it back between her lips and bobbed up and down, fucking me with her mouth. Hooking my balls with her little finger, she stroked them and the base of my cock as she sucked. I made a fist in her hair and held her head as I fucked back.
She pushed further down. I felt my dick go in her throat. She gagged but still moved her head back down. My cum was banging on the walls, looking for a way out.
‘Let me fuck you,’ I breathed.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Keep going. It’s okay.’
I was pumping and she was stroking faster. Her lips were locked around the shaft and sliding down to my hair. Watching her face while she worked, seeing how beautiful she was, I couldn’t hold it. It welled up from deep inside, somewhere near the root of my cock, and I shot her mouth full. She coughed and a white pearly drop oozed from the corner of her mouth. I couldn’t help but hold her head there until I felt the second wave leave me. I let go and we both took a breath.
‘Holy shit, that was good,’ I said.
‘Hummmmm, yes,’ she replied and, licking her lips, raised up to kiss me.
We lay on the bed with her snuggled against my left shoulder. Her breath moved through my chest hairs.
‘Why did you do it?’ she whispered.
‘Do what?’
‘Go after Dante–after I asked you not to.’
‘Robert Washington was a decent guy.’
‘There are a lot of decent guys, but you don’t go on every one of them, and you went on this one, even after I begged you not to. If I had been Dana, you wouldn’t have gone–would you?’
I wasn’t sure what my silence meant.
Mara
- 09.12.2021
- 37
- 0
