Flipping More Than Real Estate

This is my entry in the 2021 Nude Day Contest. Thank you for taking the time to read it.

I would like to thank Eva_Adams and Redhaired Wonder Woman for their invaluable editing and assistance.

Chapter 1:

I'm a baseball player. Alright, I was a baseball player.

I'm a shortstop. A pretty good one actually. The starting shortstop for a Division 1 school. I was known for my glove. I was a fucking Hoover in the field with nothing getting through, and a solid contact hitter. A .300 average every year and a tailor made number two hitter. Not quite enough speed to be leadoff and not enough power to hit three or four.

But, I was good enough to get drafted by the Dodgers and I made it up to Double AA ball playing for the Dodger minor league affiliate, the Tulsa Drillers in Tulsa, Oklahoma where I sat for a few years not going anywhere else within the organization.

And why would I? They had Corey Seager, an All-Star, a potential MVP at shortstop on the big club and he was barely 22.

Oh well.

But the nice thing was, all things considered, Tulsa was not a bad town. Not huge and urban, but not a tiny burg. A friendly city of around 400,000 with inexpensive housing and a lot of Baseball Annies.

I'm pretty sure you have all seen the movie "Bull Durham." Kevin Costner playing in Double AA minor league ball where many really hot female baseball fans want to fuck him and the other ballplayers.

Listen, here is the real deal: In a small town the biggest celebrities are the local TV news anchors, maybe a DJ or two, and anyone who plays any kind of pro sports that has fans. And 1,000s of beautiful, horny, single girls -- actually some not even single -- want to get you into a room, drop their panties and fuck you until your eyeballs bleed.

Local Baseball Annies were a sexual candy store.

For example, one day I was in the locker room with my uniform pants and jock around my ankles fucking a hot blonde with large tits and a sweet tasting, shaved pussy. She was screaming me on during the middle of a game when my manager caught me.

"What the fuck are you doing?! Oh, that is what you're doing. Never mind. I won't need you until the 8

th

inning anyway."

You get my point.

My days were filled with beautiful, hot chicks flashing me their tits from the stands or meeting me at my car after the game to take my hard cock into their mouths and give me the blowjob of a lifetime -- these girls knew how to suck a cock -- until I came in their mouth and they swallowed every drop.

Then there were the ones who would follow you home, cook you dinner and offer themselves as dessert. I made it a rule that if you were fucking me in my own house, you had to give me your ass.

Everyone one of them would drop to their knees, suck my hard cock to prime the pump, and then strip off all of their clothes, get on their hands and knees, spread their cheeks and beg me to fuck their tight ass.

Trust me, I always did. Enjoying how their ass squeezed around my cock as I pumped it in and out of their forbidden hole until I shot my gigantic load deep into their bowels sending them to Hell or at the least to their confession booth.

Most because you are a celebrity and they are horny, and some because they are hoping to snag a budding superstar, and ride them all the way to a fat Major League contract, get married and live in a big mansion one day.

The reason didn't matter to me, I was getting my cock sucked and getting laid a lot.

I mean, a lot!!!

My teammates and I started to have a daily wager on how many innings one of us could get a hot babe to sit in the stands topless or completely nude rooting us on. Ten bucks an inning.

Imagine around 5,000 people in the stands with five or six great looking, totally nude chicks hopping up and down with their tits bouncing yelling and screaming my name. I'd stand on the field watching and knowing that I'd be fucking a few of them later.

Now, on the other hand, affordable housing was essential since minor league teams don't pay shit, and they only pay during the season when you play. So that means minor league baseball players all have other jobs.

I was lucky. Our franchise was owned by the owner of our local Mercedes dealership, Burt Poel. A fourth generation Sooner, who had a chain of dealerships from Mercedes to Jeep, and Ford which sold the best selling pickup in the country, the Ford F-150.

As I said, I was lucky, Mr. Poel liked me -- I attracted fans to the game -- and gave me a job at his Ford dealerships selling F-150s. I sold a lot of them.

It wasn't difficult. I was the starting shortstop of the Drillers, a star in my own right, and the damn pickup truck sold itself. A decent living. I was never going to be a millionaire, but for a minor league shortstop in a small town I was doing OK.

As the 2

nd

season of being stuck in Double AA progressed I came to the conclusion that this was it. I was never going to make the majors, and spending my life in Tulsa, Oklahoma selling Fords to shitkickers and fucking fake blondes who then went to confession because they were fucking out of wedlock was not my destiny.

I decided to find a way out.

A friend turned me on to a Robert Allen "Nothing Down" real estate book and I gobbled it up like the gospel.

I decided to start buying houses, fixing them up, and flipping them following the Robert Allen plan.

I started saving everything I could from my Ford pickup sales commissions, and the great thing about Tulsa was the real estate prices were not major city expensive. They were affordable because a lot of good folks worked on a low hourly wage, they rented and didn't buy.

Following Robert Allen's book, I went searching for the worst house on the block in a good neighborhood. I finally found one, bought it for nearly nothing down -- also following Mr. Allen's guidance, and since I have always been handy and love carpentry, started to fix up the house.

It didn't take more than a few cases of beer and some great BBQ to get some of my buddies on the team to help, and before I knew it the piece of shit I had purchased for almost nothing down was ready for resale at a significant profit.

And it sold.

I took the profit, spent none of it, bought another house and repeated the process. And then I started to do that over and over and over.

I of course, kept playing ball and selling Ford pickups.

On a minor league baseball team there are three kinds of players. There are super hotshots, many who are high draft picks with fat contracts being groomed for the big leagues. Some teammates are former stars on the way down trying to squeeze out the last days of baseball they can before they hang up their cleats.

And then there are the rest of us like me. And our primary purpose is to play catch with the budding stars. That's it. Play catch in practice and in a game with the budding stars.

That was okay. I had moved on mentally from my baseball career and was all in on my real estate career. After a while, I had put enough in the bank that I had enough money to keep some of the houses and start renting them out for monthly income while I kept buying others to fix up and flip.

To my surprise, before I knew it I had a million in the bank, ten rental properties kicking off monthly income and the realization that my baseball career was over.

Chapter 2:

I had grown up in Los Angeles.

LA is a much bigger real estate market than Tulsa. Let's get real, in the USA the two most expensive real estate markets are New York City and Los Angeles. Even more than San Francisco and Chicago. Luxury homes in Los Angeles nowadays sell for $100 million dollars or more.

If I was going to find the worst house in a good neighborhood that I could afford it would be in the Valley, and cost somewhere around $700 thousand to $800 thousand, if luck was with me, in a neighborhood of $1.5 to $3 million dollar homes.

In Los Angeles, believe it or not, that is the cost of a regular, upper middle class home.

I had a grubstake in the bank and my rental units to give me a decent monthly income to live on. I decided to roll the dice and go for it.

After the season I retired, thanked Mr. Poel for his kindness -- he said a job was always waiting for me if I wanted it. Nice compliment. -- and moved back to LA to start looking.

I found my first opportunity out in the San Fernando Valley within the Latino community. Hardworking folks who in the American way were making a life for themselves and moving up in economic class.

I found a couple of houses, fixed them up nicely, and flipped them at a fair price to nice families giving them their first homes.

I kept going with that formula until I had enough capital to move into the wealthier neighborhoods. Studio City, Sherman Oaks, Toluca Lake, Los Feliz, West Hollywood, Holmbly Hills, Beverly Hills, Bel-Air, and the Westside.

For the first time in my life, I bought a place sight unseen in the Toluca Lake adjacent area.

What a fucking dump! What a fucking mistake.

What I was told was a rental housing complex of a single family house and a fourplex was yes, those structures, but a rat filled, mold and rot nightmare. I didn't know if I could afford to fix it or even if it was worth doing it so I called my real estate agent, Joe Dunlop, over at Dunlop Properties, who handled the deal for me.

"Joe, this is huge fucking dog. I need to get out of this. Can you do it?"

He couldn't, I understood so we talked about what to do moving forward to dump the property and flip it as is. I asked him to put his best on it and get rid of it for me, right now!

The motherfucker said no! Well, that ended that relationship. I called one of his primary competitors, Neil Stevens, the owner of Millennium Realty, who had been highly recommended. He recognized me, wanted my business and said, "We would like an opportunity to prove to you that we are the agents for you."

We talked over how I went about things and how I liked to work. I learned as a player when a new manager took over the team it was good to know their ways and their expectations for you. So, I laid it all out for him.

"We understand what you do, and what you want," Neil said. "And you'll find us very flexible, and willing to work around the lines when required. You called here for a reason. I ask you to give us a chance."

We sketched out how to start together until we had a game plan.

"I have an agent in mind for you. She's younger, but a go-getter with a 'can do'' spirit. I think she will fit your team."

"Alright, let's give it a go. Send your person over, but have them wear a hardhat. This is a total disaster."

I waited there for the agent to show up. And after a knock on the door, wearing a pink hardhat, this blonde haired vision showed up, late 20s maybe 30-something, with an inviting face, a tight hot body, wearing a totally inappropriate, tight pencil skirt, Louboutin heels with 4" heels, and a silk blouse, clinging to the black lace bra underneath, leaving nothing to the imagination.

Well, fuck. Believe me, I have had a bunch of chicks just like this around LA all of my life and also since I'd been back. But I really, really didn't expect this in a professional situation.

I found myself getting very hot and bothered like being at the ballpark, wanting to fuck her on sight, and slamming myself for feeling that way.

This was bad. She was hot. Fucking hot. Fuck.

I caught her checking me out. A quick glance from head to toe, but I saw it.

"Oh," I thought. "He sent me a Baseball Annie, but wearing more expensive clothes and a hardhat!"

She held out her hand and said, "Liz Sabatino. Nice to meet you." We shook.

She looked around and said, "What a fucking mess," and gasped. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Very unprofessional. Please forgive me."

I laughed, "That's OK. That's exactly what it is, a fucking mess. Now that you introduced yourself, Liz, why not tell me about yourself?"

And I looked at her.

She gathered herself. "Alright, I've been with the company around four years now. It took me a couple to discover residential properties weren't for me and I really dug commercial. I like the players and I like the deals."

She stopped to see if I was approving her spiel. I nodded to continue.

"Unlike selling houses it's creative. Neil, I mean Mr. Stevens, says if I keep it up I can eventually become the top commissioned agent in the office, and I want that more than anything."

"He told me all about you and I Googled you, of course," she smiled. "I know who you are and what you do. I even know you played ball and your stats!"

She broke into a broad smile, "Hey! I'm a Dodger fan!"

"So am I, but I don't play for the Dodgers."

"But you did. I think that's great."

She waited for a response. I didn't know how so I gave none.

She kept going, "Look, I work with good crews and believe I can get this fixed up for you and sell it at a price that will make you happy It's my hope that will be the start to my eventually becoming the exclusive agent for all of your future properties one day," she blushed a bit, lowered her head, and looked up with her eyes like the late Princess Di used to.

"Please pardon my ego, but I'm good at what I do. I leave customers happy and my clients satisfied."

And she gave me a knowing smile.

"And of all of his people, Neil thinks you are the one for me, He said you're, let me use his words, 'a go-getter with a can do spirit.' Is that right? If it is, what can you do for me?"

"Well sir, I've always thought that it was best to start a new project by working my way up from the ground floor."

And she dropped to her knees and started to unbuckle my belt. "How about this?"

I put my hands down to stop her. "Whoa there!! I think you may have gotten the wrong idea here."

She stood back up, a coy look spreading over her face. "Oh no. I think I'm onto the right idea. Give me a chance to demonstrate my plan to you. I said I was creative."

In a blink of an eye the hardhat, Louboutins, skirt and blouse were on the floor and I was looking at her magnificent, large breasts in a black lace, underwire, plunge bra, and a matching black lace thong with an embroidered red rose on the front and a black bow in the back.

"Pretty good idea! Don't you think?" and she rapidly unhooked and removed her bra, her voluptuous D-cups eagerly pouring out. Her nipples proudly saying hello. Silver dollar sized areolas with slightly larger nipples begging to be sucked sat firmly on both breasts. The dark pink coronas tightened up along with her erect nips. The thong went next.

Suddenly, I was back in Tulsa. I looked upon her glorious nude body. "You've got me there. This is a creative way to greet a new client."

On the inside of the top of her left breast was another red rose, and there was a platinum and ruby red rose piercing dangling from her dimpled belly button.

"Do I meet your approval, sir?"

"I'm no sir, I'm a shortstop, and yes, you hit a home run. Where's the red lipstick."

"Clashes."

"If you say so. OK Ms. Real Estate Agent, please give me an open house tour of the assets."

And she pirouetted like a prima ballerina. No surprise, a tasty tramp stamp of tribal-style vines enveloping a single, large, red rose decorated the small of her back.

She slipped the Louboutin's back on -- the better to show of her gams -- and started to glide around the space like a model at a fashion show, stopping on occasion to take various poses showing off an asset or two.

The first was a classic Betty Grable WWI pose. Her back to me, hands on hip, looking over her shoulder putting her world-class ass on display. The hours in the gym showed. Rising up to the trampstamp on the small of her back, her pert ass was perfection. High, taut, delightfully dimpled on either side, yet still womanly. Not one of those uber-athletic asses you see on Olympic swimmers, but tight with just enough shape to rock a pair of yoga pants. An ass you could drool over.

"You like?" I nodded yes and motioned her along.

Liz walked a few steps seeming to revel in her nudity, turned a corner and struck another pose. This one was in profile with her hands on her hips again and the back knee jutting out.

And speaking of jutting out, her luxuriously soft and full breasts were surprisingly high on her chest considering their size. I think she was clenching her butt because it was also high and tight and her calves were the same.

I spent a moment enjoying how the curves of her breasts moved into her smooth stomach and disappeared into her crotch. The jewels in her belly button ring glistened in the light.

She started walking again, bumping like a stripper in a burlesque revue to the beat of a silent drummer. This time she stopped square onto me, hands on her hips, breasts swaying, and legs spread. She looked me straight in the eyes, teased her hands down to her pussy and played with herself for a bit, rolling her hips around until finally, she rocked her pelvis forward to spread her lips open wide enough to see her glistening pink vagina for a moment.

She then brought one hand up to her mouth and licked the fingers clean.

I walked to her, finished unbuckling my belt, unhooked and unzipped my slacks dropping my boxers in the process and pulled out my cock.

"Look! You carry your own bat," and she fondled my shaft down to my sack. "And your own balls."

Liz kicked off her shoes, dropped back to her knees, grabbed my cock with both hands, leaned forward and gave the head a quick lick and kiss, her pendulous breasts brushing against my thighs,

Bouncing my cock and balls she said, "Heavy," and leaned in to slowly lick around the now bright red head, brought her hand up the shaft and started sliding her fingers around the ridge and the frenulum.

She stuck her tongue out further and slowly licked around it and then gently put just the head into her mouth, and held it there rolling her tongue around my head and starting to suck it like a vacuum so hard that I was screaming in my mind for her to finally take my entire cock into her mouth.

I was fighting the need to shove myself in when she did it. Slid my cock all the way into her mouth until it hit the back. She wrapped her hand powerfully around the base of my cock and started to fuck my cock with her mouth as her hand milked me.

She stopped and looked back at me as her hand kept moving up and down my shaft stoking the fire.

"I think we could close our first deal here together. We have all three conditions on the table: The offer would be you can cum in my mouth. Your acceptance would be shooting your massive load in my mouth and throat, and the consideration would be my receiving all of your seed and swallowing it. Is that your thinking too?"

"Sounds like we made a deal."

Good. "I want you to come in my mouth," and I started to push towards her. "But not right now!"

"You're fucking kidding me!"

In answer, she wrapped her lips around my shaft right below the crown with her hand joining in pressed against her lips and started to pump up and down the entire length of my dick again with the rotary tongue and Liz's skillful hand forming the blowjob equivalent of a tight, moist pussy.

Sometimes fast, sometimes slow she skillfully milked my cock up and down. I tried my best to ignore her rhythmic pressure on my cock but I was now throbbing so deeply it felt as if my body was starting to pulsate. My cock's head had to be choking her at this point it was so engorged, and I could feel her tongue swirling around it licking off the precum.

And she lowered her mouth to the bottom of my shaft taking my hard cock and enflamed head all the way down her throat stopping at the base with her lips nibbling at my balls. Her tongue snaked out and started to lick around the sack tickling it left and right dwelling paying particular attention to the seam in between until she pulled back up to the ridge and started circling the head again.