Ruthie Throws an Orgy

When Ruthie unlocked the door and the three of us entered, we were met by a loud buzzing. She stepped over to a keypad on the wall and punched in a numerical code to shut off the alarm, because that was what the buzzing was. Looking at the keypad, Ruthie pondered, "Mr. Big Fat Asshole knows the code to this alarm so I'd better reprogram it so that if he comes over here and breaks in, he won't be able to shut it off and the cops will bust him."

A few minutes later she told Pam and me, "The new code is the last four digits of George's telephone number. That would be really neat, if the cops came here and hauled Old-Holier-Than-Thou off to jail for breaking and entering, wouldn't it?"

We started searching in the bedroom that had been her parents'. After hauling everything out of the closet and dumping it on the bed, Ruthie made a quick decision. "I will either throw this stuff away or donate it to the church for a rummage sale or to give to the poor. That's what my parents would have wanted. I will follow some of their wishes, or what I think would have been their wishes, but not very many. George, can you get down that box from the end of the shelf?"

I reached up, brought down a large cardboard carton from the shelf, and set it on the cheap wooden dresser next to the closet. The carton was heavily wrapped in packaging tape so Ruthie went to the kitchen and got a knife to open it. As she cut through the tape, Pam and I gathered around to watch, wondering what treasure, or what trash, awaited us. We were all disappointed because, after Ruthie opened the box, it seemed to be full of old newspapers.

"Why would they wrap up old newspapers like that?" Pam wondered.

"They wouldn't," I replied, and removed the layer of newspaper in the box. Under it were bundles of greenbacks, mostly seeming to be twenties and hundreds.

"Oooee," Pam exclaimed. "I have never seen money like that."

"How much do you think it is?" Ruthie asked. "Thousands. Maybe millions."

I reached in, pulled out a bundle of greenbacks and riffled through it. "Closer to millions than to thousands, I would say. This bundle is all hundreds, and there must be at least a hundred of them here. That means just this one bundle of bills is ten thousand dollars and it's just a small part of the total volume. I would say at least a million, maybe ten times that."

Ruthie was amazed. "You really think this might be ten million dollars?" Her voice rose in awe as she said the number.

"Your guess is as good as mine," I answered. "However much it is, it's a lot. And, it's all yours, Ruthie."

"Are you sure of that? Can my asshole husband claim any of it?"

"He has no legal claim," I told her. As an author, I do odd bits of research on any number of subjects, including legal matters. "Even though this is a community property state, that only applies to earned income. Your inheritance from your parents is all yours, and nobody else has any claim on it."

"Good. That asshole never bought me anything worth keeping and I don't want to keep anything he did buy and I don't want him to have anything of mine. If you don't mind, though, I will ask the lawyer about it when we see him this afternoon."

"Good idea but do you want to stop or keep looking? There might be another box like this somewhere."

"Let's look a little more, then go to the bank. I want to come back her tomorrow anyhow and we can go everywhere with a fine-tooth comb."

A quick search of the other rooms, which were Spartan in their furnishings, yielded nothing and we were almost ready to start for the bank when Pam made a suggestion. "Is there an attic or a crawl space under the house? Those would be good places to stash money too."

"There's an attic and a crawl space and the entrances to both are in the same closet where we found the box of money."

Back to the bedroom we went, to where the box of money was still sitting on the dresser, and Ruthie pointed out the trapdoor in the ceiling and the one in the floor of the closet.

"Do you have a stepladder?" I asked.

"I think there's one in the garage but I don't have a key to it. We don't have a flashlight either and we'll need one to look in either place."

"Hold on," I told Ruthie. If you sit on my shoulders, you can open the trap door and have a quick look around. It's probably too dark up there but you might see something if it's near the opening."

I bent down; Ruthie climbed on my shoulders and Pam helped me to my feet. I thought about her marvelous pussy behind the fabric of her jeans and panties, and Ruthie's thought were along the same lines. "George, did you ever wish you had a mouth in the back of your neck?"

"Not until now and, since I don't, we will have to wait until this evening and I'll be able to use the one in my face."

Pam giggled. "You guys are disgusting," she said, but we all knew she was looking forward, as much as Ruthie and I, to making love again that night.

Ruthie pushed open the trap door and looked around in front of her face. "Nothing up here but dust. Turn around, George, and let me see behind me."

I did, still thinking about her pussy pressed against the back of my neck and wondering what it would feel like to carry her around naked on my shoulders. "Hey!" she called out. "Here's something. Back up a bit, George."

I did, and Ruthie suddenly seemed heavier, and then there was a dusty white plastic garbage bag passing down in front of my face. Pam took it, set it on the floor and then supported Ruthie's weight so I could bend down and let her dismount. When she did, I straightened up and put my hands affectionately on her, thinking about how good Ruthie's ass looked in her designer jeans. Pam dragged the plastic bag into the bedroom and we let Ruthie open the drawstring top.

"My God," she exclaimed. "There's even more here," as she pulled the drawstrings all the way open and opened the top. All three of us looked into the plastic bag. Ruthie was right. In volume, at least, there was more money in the bag than there was in the carton.

"I think we'd better head to the bank now," Ruthie said and she got no argument from either Pam or me.

Ruthie did not want to go to the bank where she and her asshole husband were known so she decided on a large institution that had a branch in a nearby shopping mall. When the three of us, dusty and sweaty, walked in and stopped at the desk marked "New Accounts", the young twit behind the desk looked down his nose at us, and our cardboard box and plastic garbage bag, and asked, "Yes? Can I help you please?"

It was Ruthie's show so she answered. "I'd like to open an account here."

"Yes, Madam. Will that be checking or savings?"

"Checking definitely and savings too, I think. Maybe some other kinds later but checking and savings for now."

"Yes, Madam," the bored man answered, getting out a pad of forms. "Your name, please?"

Ruthie answered that and some other questions and he wrote down the information. I was rather glad to see that she listed the address and telephone number of her late parents as hers although I was really enjoying her company in my house. "That telephone number will be my permanent one but for now, I can be reached at this other one," Ruthie added, telling him my number.

After recording the information, the bank employee asked, "What will be your beginning deposit?" He started to hand Ruthie a brochure detailing the benefits of various types of accounts when she replied.

"I don't know. Whatever is in this box and bag." Pam was carrying the carton and I was carrying the bag and she tipped the cardboard box up over the desk and dumped out a pile of bundles of money, ants and mouse droppings. There have been times when I have wished I somehow had a built-in video camera in my forehead to record the reactions of people, and this was one of those times. The young man, looking at probably more actual money than he had ever seen before, even though he was a bank employee, gawked, and leaped to his feet.

"Excuse me, please. I will get the manager to help you." He scurried away and returned a few minutes later with an older, puzzled looking man in tow.

"My name is Richard Bloom and I am..." Mr. Bloom stopped short when he saw the pile of currency on the desk. "I'm the branch manager," he continued. "Are we on 'Candid Camera' or something?"

"No, Mr. Bloom," Ruthie answered. "I just want to deposit this money in your bank."

"Come into my office and we'll take care of it there. You too, Mr. Jenkins," he said to the young man. As other bank employees and customers stared, Pam and Ruthie and I crammed the money back into the box and all of us followed Mr. Bloom into his office. I was wondering what would be the reaction when I dumped out the money from the plastic garbage bag, which was probably even more than what was in the box.

"Start sorting this by denomination," he told the young man. "I will get some people to help you." Mr. Bloom turned to Ruthie and said, "If you like, you and your friends can check the stacks of currency to see that they are sorted properly. We'll do the actual counting by machines we have for that purpose." He suddenly realized that he was addressing the woman who was probably his bank's richest depositor and her friends. Mr. Bloom offered us coffee or whatever we wanted. We all accepted his offer because it had been a busy day.

Four more employees came into the office and, after getting over their initial shock, started sorting the money, mostly hundreds and twenties with some fifties, as Ruthie, Pam and I watched and checked on their accuracy. They were adept at handling currency and made no mistakes. Another employee brought in a device which would be used to count the individual bills and as the stacks of currency grew, the money was counted and recorded. Mr. Bloom watched in happy amazement, seeing his newest depositor become richer and richer.

The work went quickly and the original pile was dwindling until I added the contents of the garbage bag. When they saw that the counting was going to take much longer than they had expected, the bank employees began to tire until Mr. Bloom sent the most junior staff member out for pizza and coffee and sodas for everybody, including Pam, Ruthie and me. Revitalized by the free lunch and the branch manager's promise of overtime pay without working any later than usual, the employees finished the task by three o'clock. Ruthie's checking account had a balance of a nice, round one million dollars and her savings account contained just over ten million. Mr. Bloom suggested a meeting the following week to decide ways of investing what he called "the monies" that would be more advantageous to all parties. An appointment was scheduled for the following Tuesday. Pam would probably be at work but I expected to accompany Ruthie.

Largely because criminal enterprises have to operate mainly in cash, processing such a large volume of currency involves certain formalities but Ruthie had no trouble explaining to her questioners the source of the money. "Most of it was from the sale of my grandfather's property," she explained. After he died, my parents sold everything and they withdrew everything from the banks where he had it deposited. They didn't trust banks so they kept it hidden in the house. I've always known it was there, since I was a little girl, but I never knew it was this much. Wow! More than eleven million dollars."

.Her interrogators were fascinated by Ruthie's tale of her parents stashing this fortune in their home, like a real-life Scrooge McDuck stashing money in his vault. Most of the bills had never been circulated and had consecutive serial numbers so those were quickly checked against lists of stolen money and other currency involved in criminal activity, with negative results. Since records of the transactions Ruthie had described would be easily available, nobody had any more questions to ask, and Pam and I left with the very rich Ruthie, who seemed just as sweet, and no different than the old Ruthie. We even had a few minutes to spare before her appointment with the divorce lawyer.

The printing on the frosted glass door said James Howell, Attorney at Law. Pam had brought us there and she opened the door to let us into a functional and unpretentious office. A pretty brunette stood up to greet us when we entered.

"Hi, Pam. Nice to see you again." The two women hugged, and kissed each other's cheeks. They were obviously good friends.

Pam introduced us to Fumiko, who shook hands with me and with Ruthie. "Jim is waiting for you," she told us. "He's expecting you so go on in."

Jim stood up, walked around his desk, and hugged Pam very tightly and kissed her soundly on her lips. It was obvious they were VERY good friends. Jim is tall, has green eyes and is fair-skinned, with blonde hair. I was apprehensive about this because I know Pam is very attracted to men who look like him and they obviously had some kind of an affair going. I hoped he was a good lawyer, not just someone that she enjoyed in bed. I was glad to learn later that he is both.

After paying a retainer, writing the first check from the packet she had gotten from the bank, Ruthie described her situation and explained why she wanted to divorce her husband. While she talked, Jim took notes, especially when she described the physical abuse throughout the marriage. She finished by saying, "All I want to do is to dump this asshole and get my life started."

"You can call him an asshole now and it sounds like a good description but don't call him that in court. I take it you want to ditch him with the least fuss and bother. Is that right?"

"Yes, but I also don't want him to get his greedy paws on any of my money." Ruthie went on to describe what had happened at her house and the bank that morning. "He can't get any of it, can he?

"No." The lawyer then told Ruthie the same thing as I had told her earlier.

She blushed and turned to me. "Sorry, George. I believed you but I just wanted to make absolutely certain."

"No problem. Nothing wrong with asking a professional."

Jim then added something I hadn't considered. "Not only does he have no claim on anything you have inherited from your parents, you have a claim on half of what you and he have acquired during your marriage. Does he have any valuable property that has been acquired since you were married?"

"He bought a house a few months after the wedding and he bought a new car three years ago. The car is paid for and he has been paying off the mortgage on the house as fast as he can. The asshole has never bought me anything decent because he spends all his money on house payments, once he had the car paid for."

"How did he get the money to pay for the car and to make payments on the house?"

"He earns good money as a big shot at an insurance company."

"Then it isn't his money. It's your money, that is, his and yours. You own half the car and half the equity in the house. You can make him sell them and split the proceeds with you. That's after you drag his name through the mud in divorce court. Do you have any proof of the physical abuse? Any medical reports or witnesses?"

"George and Pam have seen the bruises. It always happened at home and he never let me go to the doctor afterward, even though it was really painful sometimes. He always referred to the beatings as 'God's punishment'. Mostly, he would punch me in the body and the marks were covered by my clothes. He always made me wear long dresses so nothing ever showed and none of my body showed either. He said he wanted me to be 'decent' but he also wanted to cover up what he did to me. One time, though, I had a medical appointment the next day and the doctor asked me about the bruises from his knuckles. I lied to her but I don't think she believed me, and she made notes about them in my records. I would love to take my asshole husband to the cleaners but I don't really need the money and I mostly just want to get rid of him."

Jim made what I considered to be a very sensible suggestion. "I think the best bet would be to demand an uncontested divorce. Your asshole husband won't be happy about it but if he doesn't agree, we'll gouge him for everything we can and give him a black eye with his sanctimonious buddies. If he does agree, he can keep everything he has because you will agree to forego your claim on the community property. How does that sound to you?"

Ruthie smiled at the lawyer's apt reference to her husband. "As much fun as it would be to have a messy divorce and smear him and rip him off for everything I can, I think I'd rather just make a quick, clean split. I don't need anything of his and I want to have as little to do with him as I can. Dumping him will hurt him plenty anyhow."

"Okay, I'll write up the proposal and what we do next depends on his response. It's too late to do it this afternoon and my assistant had to leave early today anyhow, so I will do it on Monday. I have a sneaky hope that he turns down our offer because I would also love to nail his ass."

With his business with Ruthie concluded, at least until the following Monday, Jim turned to Pam. "Do you know the, er, informal discussions we sometimes like to have after our more formal ones?"

Pam laughed. "You mean the ones where you eat my pussy and sometimes Fumiko's, and then fuck me or her or both of us? Yeah, I really love those informal discussions. George loves discussions like that and Ruthie says she wants to start attending some like that too. Even if Fumiko isn't here, foursomes are nice." Pam turned to Ruthie. "That is what you told George this morning, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but we don't have a bed," Ruthie answered.

"We have the sofa over there and the floor and some pillows and there's a rolled up mattress in the storeroom," Pam replied. "Jim is a real stud, George, and really hung. I know you noticed that he's a guy I'd be attracted to, and you're right. Our business is done so let's have some fun."

Ruthie walked around behind Jim's desk and sat on his lap with her arm around his shoulder. "The word on the street is that you're a real stud. Do you have anything to say about that? Would you care to make a statement?"

Jim stood up, lifting Ruthie in his arms. "I'm sure I can produce evidence to prove my contentions. Suppose we go over to that sofa and discuss this matter further?"

"I hope we can discuss it informally. From what I've heard of your informal discussions, they're the best kind."

Pam and I stood up, embraced and plastered out lips together, letting our tongues get reacquainted. "Jim," she said, after we broke off the kiss, "I'm going to go to the storeroom and get the mattress and some pillows." Jim didn't answer; his mouth was too busy kissing Ruthie while his hands were unbuttoning her blouse. Her hands were busy on his clothing also.

I went with Pam; we returned with the mattress, pillows and some towels, rolled the mattress out onto the floor and lay down, kissing and holding each other tightly. Pamela has large, warm lips, seemingly designed for kissing but there are other parts of her face that are also extremely inviting to me, and I did not ignore them. Down her soft throat my lips wandered, while my hands removed her blouse. Pam knew where my lips were heading and she reached up on her back to unhook her bra, letting her lovely breasts swing free.

Jim and Ruthie had gotten a head start on us so they were both already naked above the waist and he was licking her breasts. We quickly caught up, though, and once again my tongue enjoyed the feel of Pamela's erect nipples and her nipples enjoyed the feel of my tongue. I can't murmur happily with my tongue sticking out of my mouth but Pam was making up for that.

"I love the way you lick my tits, George," she told me. "And I know I'm gonna love it when you eat my cunt." There was no hurry about getting to that point, and we were enjoying ourselves along the way.