Beebacs

Dear Reader: After you read this story, I hope you'll leave a rating and perhaps also post a comment about what you liked or disliked. Please check out my other stories

here

. I have posted a few dozen, including ones that are standalone and also ones in series format (each of whose installments can be read standalone too, if you're afraid of commitment, LOL). I strive to keep my stories fresh in various dimensions and to avoid repeating myself too much, so I hope you find something to enjoy - if one isn't to your liking, maybe another one will be! Note: All characters in this and my other stories are of legal age.

Beebacks

("Where am I to go now that I've gone too far?" -- Golden Earring, "Twilight Zone")

Ranni swiveled her chair toward the client. Her blue knit dress - different in hue but identical in cut to three others in her closet at home - had, as always, ridden halfway up the heavy curve of her thighs. The low neckline, paired with a double-D push-up bra, framed the upper half of her considerable cleavage. She made no effort now to adjust the dress - it covered what it covered. From the waist up she looked one sneeze away from a wardrobe malfunction, and she had no need to part her legs for effect since she intended for the view to promise more than it revealed.

The client's eyes flicked -- high, low, high again - incapable of focusing on the real matter at hand: the mortgage application. Several terms in this initial document were deeply unfavorable - to this or any client - clever little landmines that favored the bank. However a few favored neither party. Those clauses favored Ranni as the broker, resulting in unallocated funds that would quietly line her own pockets from the escrow account at closing, assuming nothing arose to change those terms between now and then. She would, in turn, find ways to reward the real estate agent who had sent this client her way with a glowing, extremely personal recommendation.

She slipped a size-11 foot out of its sandal. No, it was not a dainty foot, for at nearly six feet in height and more than a bit over 200 pounds, she was not a dainty woman. She never wore toenail polish -- "lipstick on a pig" she called the custom. But the act accomplished what she intended, namely a downward glance, which gave both parties something: one an additional distraction to deal with, and the other a possible kink to test and exploit.

As the client reached the final half dozen pages, Ranni asked casually whether there was any need to rush back to work -- or if perhaps a long lunch hour had been allowed for. The client met the younger woman's gaze for an instant and returned her smile, bashfully, then turned attention again to the paperwork.

Certainly, Ranni had a plan. If all the distractions led to an advance, she'd encourage it. If not, she might gently suggest something herself once every signature was in place. Or sometimes not so gently; one time, "I'm wet" was all it took to break the ice with a reserved client after she'd placed the completed application in its folder. Ranni was good at reading her clients.

Three pages remained, then -- *click* - the outer door of the two-room office. She froze, frowning. She was certain that she'd locked it after ushering the client in. "Hello?" she called. No reply. However, a moment later the inner office door opened. It was Thompson.

"Hi! Busy?" he asked cheerfully.

"Actually yes," she replied, sitting up straighter and swiveling a few degrees toward her large desk. She was careful not to meet Thompson's eyes. That would have been worse. She used her most authoritative voice while still maintaining basic cordiality. "I'm with a client. That's why I ask you to make appointments. I have an opening at 2 pm, if you like."

The silver-haired gentleman snickered. "An opening? Yeah. I'm counting on it. More than one, in fact. So - where's your little girlfriend?"

She grimaced, regretting her choice of words, but answered only his follow-up. "What do you mean? If you're talking about my assistant, I had to let her go. You know why. She wasn't working out." She wondered what double entendre he might try to make from those words too, but it couldn't be helped. She wasn't about to admit, in front of a new client, that she had cash flow trouble, due entirely to Thompson himself. Nor did she want to give this man an opening to discuss either financial or sexual matters openly in front of another client.

"Is that right? That's a shame. I'll miss her terribly. She always enjoyed it when I sang Edelweiss during our little get-togethers. Eh, we've all got our kinks." He shrugged. "If she's not here, then you'll have to entertain me instead."

"I thought you were down in Argenta for your dress rehearsals."

"Still am. Came up to Duo anyway. Just to see you."

"Please. I'm with a client. Please come back after two."

Thompson stared at her. "No," he said after pondering a few seconds. "I'm here now. Stand up."

She didn't like the sound of that. Not one bit. "This is important, Mr. Thompson. I'm trying to get this application finished in time. The special rate is about to expire, and the funding pool is limited. I'm sure you're aware that interest rates are heading up again."

He circled the client's chair, casually, then planted himself in front of the 23-year-old woman. "I said: stand up, little miss Missy."

Ranni knew from experience that, when he used this particular term of belittling endearment, it wasn't to show affection -- he meant business. Grudgingly, she rose from her chair, kicking off her remaining sandal in the process. The lines of her knit dress drew one's eye to her bustline and crotch area when she sat, but when she was standing the garment also drew the eye to her soft, prominent tummy. "Please," she said, grasping for any scrap of leverage, "it's twelve now. Come back after two. A little something extra. You won't be disappointed." It was as much as she felt she should promise, with another person in the room.

The trim and fit six-footer stepped behind her and put his arms around her waist. "I'm not disappointed now," he murmured, insisting again on drawing the discussion back to the present instead of some future hour. Crouching down slightly and pulling her very close around the hips, he attempted to lift her in place.

"Put me down," she squealed.

"Who owns you, sweetheart?" he demanded.

"You do," she responded immediately in a stage whisper. "But don't embarrass my client."

She was projecting her own feelings of course, but she had a point. He was unable to properly lift and hold a woman nearly as tall as himself and who outweighed him, and she was already sliding from his grasp. What firm contact he did have was with the slinky material of the dress itself, and as she eased down the twelve inches to the floor again, the hem of the dress did not accompany her.

The client shifted uncomfortably in the chair, looking at the desk rather than the unfolding scene. "I should go now."

Ranni's feet were down on the floor, but her dress bottom was up, below her navel but not much, and the man behind her showed no inclination toward letting go. Having opted not to put on underwear that morning, she didn't need to look down to know the freshly shaved view her client was getting. But she had to try something, something to salvage the moment. "Don't go. You have to finish your application. If Mr. Thompson will just let me do that with you, then you can be on your way." This represented a shift in her plan for afterward, but she saw no alternative.

Thompson laughed and pulled the soft garment the rest of the way up and over her head. She dared not resist, and he took it entirely off, leaving her wearing nothing but the low-cut bra. "Did she go down on you yet?" he asked the client. "She sucked my cock the first time I was in here. Not even ten minutes and she was down on her knees. Hell, you can probably get anything you ask for. She gave me a list of three things that were off limits -- no deep-throat, no anal, no kissing. I've gotten all three of those from her by now." He gave her a fond kiss on the neck then practically giggled - if a baritone can be considered to giggle - when he added, "everybody in town knows what you're getting when you walk in here for a deal."

Already standing, the client gathered up the small pile of papers. "We can finish this later. I'll be back."

A Beeback. Ugh.

Ranni knew Beebacks. Summers in the Duo Lakes craft fair circuit with her mom had taught her all about them. They'd browse the booth, show polite interest, and say, 'We'll be back.'

And now this small but lucrative mortgage was vanishing before her eyes, much like the craft revenue her mom had once needed so badly. No indeed, this client - this Beeback - wasn't going to be back at all. Why couldn't Thompson be the Beeback instead?

In desperation, she tried once more. "You don't understand. It's just -- it's a game. He's my Dom," she lied futilely to the client. But the door to the inner office closed with finality.

Once alone with her, Thompson dropped any pretense of humor. It was no game to either of them. He wrenched loose the bra's pair of metal clasps, and gave her heavy, unsupported tits a good slap on the sides from behind her when the undergarment hit the floor. She winced but put up no resistance - she knew from experience that his big cock could make it hurt a little, or make it hurt a lot, and there was no point in provoking the latter if it could be helped. "Put your palms on the desk," he commanded, and when she put herself in this exposed position he gave the nude woman's hefty right buttock a hard smack with his own palm. "Where's my damn money?" he barked.

"I told you," she whimpered, "it's going to take time. Investments can't be unwound in a day."

"A day? Been two weeks. Whatever. Long drive up from the Valley. Gonna make it worth my time. I'll say this much, your big nipples always do make my cock hard. Lucky you. So you're going to keep making it up to me like this, until I get my money. All I'm doing to you... is... exactly what you did to my finances."

"I know," she replied, "but I need more time. And when you drive away business, it makes it that much harder."

"Harder? Yeah, I'll show you harder," he said, and began loosening his belt. He took a small container of lube out of his pocket before the trousers dropped to the floor. "Fucked me right in the ass, you did."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dear JJ,

You told me from the start that this day might come if I kept pushing beyond. I didn't expect it to be so soon, or so sudden. By the time you read this email, my wire transfer to you should be in progress. I've booked the first flight to Houston tomorrow morning, and hopefully after that I'm on my way. The day after, with luck, I'll be waking up in the San José youth hostel we talked about, and you'll be in possession of my money.

You have never let me down and I am counting on you more than ever. As soon as I get there, with whatever is left of the ten thousand I have in cash by that point, I'll set up an account with Banco Nacional and send you the wire transfer details you'll need.

(I know I should have set things up before now. It never occurred to me that things could collapse like this, and you will be right to say anything you want to say. I'll consider it yet another lesson from the master.)

I know, too, that I should be offering you a hefty percentage in return for your help. Instead, I am asking the opposite. Can you front me an additional $150,000 from your own funds? It would help so much, as I start this new chapter in my life. Venture Capital doesn't work too well when it's undercapitalized in the first place, and I didn't have time to reach the threshold you spelled out for me when I started. I'm only asking for enough to get things going. I'll earn it back, and more.

I know you didn't teach me the game just to see me quit. You said it yourself once - I've got the instincts, but not the timing. I've learned. Once this all blows over, I'll be back.

And as for collateral? You know that you can come down to Costa Rica anytime and collect in person if you feel you have to. You'd get your money's worth if it ever came to that, I promise. And I understand what I am saying - I know how much a hundred fifty could buy you -- ouch!

I'm sorry it came to this. I'm not sorry for trying, though. I was good at it, JJ. You know I was. Hope Newton's treating you better than Duo Lakes treated me. Mark my words. I'll be back.

Affectionately,

Ranni

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Six month later...

Ranni was back. She had been taught how to cut corners, but not how to cover her tracks. The options presented by the lawyer her mother hired were few. In the US again after extradition, she awaited trial unless she accepted the prosecutor's uncharitable plea deal. Bail had been denied due to flight risk. The main charges involved bank fraud. But there were also additional matters, such as evasion and simple non-payment of taxes during the short time she had employed an assistant. Consecutive sentences would be lengthy. Financial restitution would begin from the sum that the authorities had been able to recover.

JJ's instincts for self-preservation had kept him out of trouble yet again. He had not responded to her rash email. He instructed his bank to reverse the wire-transfer, on the grounds of it being a "mistake." He would have liked to aid his one-time lover and protégé, but he knew that doing the slightest thing to help, even simply retaining the funds for safekeeping, had potential to enmesh him in problems he couldn't know the depth of.

Assorted individuals who had crossed paths with her -- the assistant she employed for only two months, a pair of slimy real estate agents, a particular bank officer with specific and exotic tastes, the several clients who had been bilked while receiving sexual favors -- had done nothing culpable, at least at a felony level, and they did not face additional legal inquiry after their respective depositions. Negative amortization for example isn't a crime by itself. Falsifying what the buyer saw was - and that was entirely on Ranni, likewise the pocketing of the substantial buyer's fees intended to lower the interest rate.

As for Thompson? Since he was the one who alerted the authorities soon after Ranni disappeared, the district attorney opted not to press sexual assault charges against him after Ranni filed a counter complaint alleging multiple aggravated violations. The young woman's assistant admitted to seeing only consensual acts -- indeed acts instigated by Ranni -- and denied having been assaulted herself. There had been no other direct witnesses. Ranni's allegation of another, isolated incident involving multiple men was deemed not credible, as it was not corroborated by the assistant. The DA concluded that a case against him could not be won, when the sole witness had motivations of her own that the defense would hammer away at and which a jury would surely find troubling. She had run, after all, trying to take the money with her.

Ranni believed she'd found a haven abroad, but after the local bank raised alarm bells in her own mind with their uncomfortable questions, and with no response at all from JJ despite multiple attempts, she had continued to live on the run. Half a year as an ex-pat with dwindling funds had become increasingly difficult, unpleasant, and ugly. The eventual arrest was almost a relief. Bleak existence now in a temporary jail cell back home was actually easier, maybe preferable. Yes, she was back. To stay.