The Blond Con

"Goldie, it's with great pleasure and pride that I can finally say, 'You're ready.'"

"Oh my gawd! Really?" I exclaimed.

"You bet. You know, when you first approached me, I was skeptical. But you sure showed me. You're the best student I've ever had."

"That is so sweet!" I exclaimed, slapping my mentor playfully on the arm. "A good student needs a good teacher, y'know! I couldn't have done it without you."

He chuckled. "I suppose you're right. Now, before we turn in for the night, tell me one more time: what are the three laws of con?"

"Sure thing, boss!" I chirped.

"Rule number one: never break character.

"Rule number two: make the mark think he has control

"Rule number three: never, ever break character."

"Good girl," he stated. "You're gonna do great. You ready for tomorrow?"

"I'm nervous, but excited!" I responded. "I just know I'm going to get that mark. And besides, with you to help, how can we lose?"

"I like the confidence," he answered, " but don't get too cocky. Anything could happen. You have to be ready to adapt, to go the extra mile. Neither of us wants to get pinched."

"You got it, boss. Confident, not cocky." I giggled. "I can't wait."

"Good girl," he replied. "Go home. Get some sleep. I'll meet you at the park in the morning, just like we planned."

"Yes sir! I'll be there!"

***

It all started a little more than a month ago. I was working my normal Tuesday night shift at Mulligan's tap room. As usual, business was slow and tips were slower. I had even busted out my lucky black blouse, complete with deep-plunging neckline to display my delicious D-cup teardrop tits. The combination of 22-year-old melons on my chest, my junk almost bursting out of my trunk in my low-rider jeans, my dazzling white smile, and my long blond curls never failed to bring in the big bucks. At least, not until tonight.

I recognized almost everyone scattered around the bar: the usual weekday drinkers. They might be good for a few bucks of tips here and there, but they drank too frequently to afford any big tips. With a sigh, I resigned myself to another week of Ramen and Easy Mac, then turned around to clean all of the four dirty glasses I'd collected in the last hour.

"Excuse me, miss," a baritone voice drifted over my shoulder. "Are you still serving dinner, and would it be alright if I ate at the bar?"

I turned around and found myself face to face with the man who would change my life. He was handsome, not perfectly airbrushed like a model, but with the strong jaw and five o'clock shadow that made my heart, and something a little lower, throb. His bright blue eyes looked back at me from under that short, wavy brown hair, cut high and tight. He was tall, but not too tall, probably six foot one or two, high enough to cuddle up under his shoulder but not tall enough to tower over me. He wore a clean, crisp, and clearly hand-tailored grey suit and white silk shirt (*throb*) complete with silver cufflinks and black skinny tie. He had his overcoat draped over his right arm. I usually find overcoats tacky, but this was exactly the type of man who could pull it off.

He was also exactly the type of man who could salvage tonight's paycheck.

"Yes, of course," I managed once I untied my tongue. "Let me get you a menu."

"Thank you. While you're at it, could you break up a fifty into tens for me?" he asked.

"Uh, sure, no problem," I took the bill from his outstretched hand, brushing those strong, warm fingers in the process, and went to the register.

At the register, my back to the new guy, I snuck the counterfeit pen into my hand (I'm super sneaky like that) and swiped it over the bill. This guy was clearly a respectable gentleman, but rules are rules. As I suspected, the bill came up clean.

"One, two, three, four, and five makes fifty," I proclaimed as I counted the bills back into his hand. "Always happy to make your money more spendable!"

"I have no doubt," he quipped. The man opened his jacket to tuck the bills into the inside pocket, then paused with a confused look on his face.

"Oh crap," he exclaimed, pulling a thick wad of green bills from the pocket in question. I clearly saw at least one hundred dollar bill on the outside.

"I forgot I put that there. I don't actually need any more small bills. Could I trade you back?"

"Uh, yeah, you got it." I replied, tearing my eyes away from the fat stack in his hand. I handed back the fifty, took back my tens, and counted them out. Rules are rules, even for this handsome devil. Besides, I'm not a sucker. Wouldn't you know, I caught his mistake.

"Um, sir, one of these is another fifty," I explained, holding out the four tens and the fifty in question for him to see.

"Crap, you're right. Here, take another ten with that ninety and just give me a hundred, if you don't mind."

"You got it," I said. I counted out five tens and fifty once more, just to be sure, then took them back to the register. One more swipe of the counterfeit pen to make sure everything was on the level (which, of course, it was), and I was back with my customer's hundred dollar bill.

"Thanks, miss, I appreciate it. Especially your honesty." He wrapped the bill around the cash roll and pulled off another ten. He tucked the roll of cash back into his pocket, then dropped the extra ten directly into the tip jar.

"Oh my gawd, sir, that's very generous!" I sputtered.

"Nonsense." The gentleman replied. "Good ethics is its own reward, but there's no reason I can't chip in, too."

"Well then, first drink's on the house!" I proclaimed. Too many of those and it would start to come out of my meager paycheck, but I wasn't going to be using my weekly allowance on any of tonight's schmucks.

I got him his drink (Whiskey neat, as befit this classy gentleman) and eventually his food (a burger, which just goes to show he's down to earth). I found plenty of excuses to check in while he ate, twirl my hair, and giggle at his jokes (They were funny!). I also just happened to bend over a few times, both over the bar and to get some glasses from the back, so he got several good looks at the girls and my caboose.

What? I'm poor, and tits get tips. I didn't make the rules; I just play by them.

Still, by the end of the meal, he hadn't asked for my number or even my name. I managed to sneak it in at one point ("My name's Gracie! If there's anything you need just holler!") but he didn't reciprocate. Finally after he paid for his meal and slipped another ten dollar bill into my tip jar, I just asked.

"Oh my gawd, thank you so much! Mr. ... "

"Call me Conner." He replied.

"Conner!" I exclaimed. Finally. "Well, you might be the most personable customer I've had all month. Come back any time, we'll make you feel real welcome."

I put some sexual emphasis on the last sentence, hoping he'd pick up on it and pay me another visit.

I already said it once: I didn't make the rules.

"Well, with a warm welcome like that, who could say no? He replied. "I'll be back before you know it, Gracie."

Oh my gawd, he remembered my name.

Throb

***

He came back, several times over the next week. He always paid cash and needed change for his big bills, but he always tipped well, so I didn't mind the extra effort.The register had come up short a few times, so I had to be super careful counting out change. Conner never shorted me though; in fact, several times he accidentally gave me too much! Maybe he was trying to tip me, but I always gave him his money back. Some usually ended up in my tip jar anyways. When I asked why he always had so much cash, he told me about the sales and marketing business he ran. A lot of clients paid cash, and he didn't want to put it in a bank where the government would find out and demand its cut.

Smart man.

By the end of the week, I decided to make my move. Business hadn't improved, even on the weekend, and I was hungry for something different.

For real, I was tired of Ramen and Easy Mac.

So one night I asked Conner, "Can you teach me to do what you do? Run my own business and make money and stuff?"

For once, that charming smile faded. Conner paused for a moment, clearly thinking deeply.

"Can I trust you, Gracie? Can I tell you a secret?"

"Yes! Of course! I promise I won't tell anybody!"

"Well, to be honest, I'm a con man."

He said it so matter-of-fact-like that for a second I didn't really get it.

"Oh my gawd! You mean you trick people out of their money?" I exclaimed.

"Shh," he said, though he smiled as he raised a finger to his lips. "You promised you wouldn't tell."

Oh yeah.

"I guess you're right. You're lucky you've never tried to con me, though. I'm not a sucker." I said.

"No, you're not." He answered. "Besides, you don't shit where you eat. Same goes for cons. It's one of the rules."

"There are rules?" I asked. "Doesn't that defeat the point."

"Gracie, there are always rules. I don't make them; I just play by them. When you con, you just play by more of your own rules is all."

I thought about it. I'm a good thinker.

"Yeah, I guess that makes sense."

I thought some more, and I decided I'd had it with shitty tips.

"So can you teach me?"

Conner chuckled with that smooth baritone voice of his. Throb.

"Let me think about it. I'll let you know tomorrow."

***

He came back the next day, just like he said he would.

"Alright, I'll give you a shot." he started.

"But!" He interrupted before I could cheer, "You have to follow the rules, and you have to follow my directions. Break either one, and I'm gone. You're out, and I never see you again."

I thought about it, but not for long.

"I'm in."

***

Over the next few weeks, Conner came in every night to teach me more about the art of con. At this point, I was using up my whole comp tab and even some of my paycheck to cover his meals, but it would be totally worth it soon enough.

All good cons, apparently, have already been invented. Sure, you might come up with a different backstory or a different twist, but you were just adjusting the smarts of someone who came before you. Know the cons, respect the cons, stay humble. That way you never get conned. That's a rule.

After a week, Conner gave me my first con name. All good cons used con names. That way you couldn't get caught based on your name. It's a good idea to use the same few names so you're familiar with them and answer when you should. He picked Goldie for me, on account of my long blonde curls. I thought it was a little sexist at first, but he reminded me we don't make the rules. That, and a lot of cons rely on a pretty woman distracting the mark. If I wanted to be a good con, I had to accept it.

So I did.

I asked Conner what his con name was. Apparently, he goes by "Donald Joseph." Don, for short. Get it?

Eventually, it was time to plan our first con. Conner says nothing teaches like experience. I was nervous, but Conner said as long as I follow the rules and follow his lead we'll be fine.

For our first con, we picked an easy one and a classic: "The Gold Brick." You sell the mark something shiny for far more than it's really worth. Conner, of course, had a brilliant idea for a version of it that would work in our modern pharmaceutical age: obedience pills. Supposedly highly effective and highly addictive, the pills make anyone who takes them highly docile and suggestible. It would be a dream come true for any gullible and hormone-driven male mark.

Which is where I come in.

See, the con doesn't work unless you prove the brick is made of gold. So, to "prove" the pills work, I take one and follow Conner's commands. Maybe jump around a little bit, say some silly things, probably show some skin. That's the other thing; male marks don't think too well when the blood isn't in their brain.

It's a good plan, and if, no, when, it works, it'll be steak and sushi from here on out. No more microwave meals for this blonde bombshell.

It'd be a dream come true.

***

I woke up the morning of the con both incredibly nervous and incredibly excited. I showered, and I shaved the goodies just in case. Conner says I won't have to show anything more than a little lingerie, if that, but one of the rules is: always be prepared.

As I did, I repeated the three laws to myself, the three most important rules for any con.

Rule One: Never break character.

Rule Two: Make the mark feel like they're in control.

Rule Three: Never, EVER break character

It took Conner a while to teach me how important the third rule is. You see, if you break character, you don't just lose the mark and the payday. You go to jail. So you never break character. No matter what, you commit to the con.

I dried off and dressed up. I wore my lucky black blouse, of course, and my best pair of jeans to make my ass look fantastic. Underneath, I wore my sexiest red lace bra and thong panties. I was a little nervous about flashing my bare ass, especially to a dreamy guy like Conner, but I figured my bubble butt would help keep the mark from thinking too much about anything else.

Finally my tits, my ass, and I were ready. I drove to the park two towns over where Conner had arranged to meet the mark. You never run a con in your hometown. It's a rule. Apparently, Conner had posed online as a rogue chemist and biologist working for some big and ethically questionable organisation developing cutting edge drugs. Of course, he'd swiped some of their latest and greatest invention to sell on the side.

I met Conner at the park entrance, just like we planned. He looked as dashing and clean cut as always, though today he'd added a nerdy pair of glasses and a lab coat to the ensemble. Always use props to sell your cover. It's a rule.

He looked me over and broke out in a wide grin.

"Damn, girl," he exclaimed. "No wonder you reeled me in back at the bar. The mark won't know what hit 'em."

I blushed. My heart, and something a little lower, throbbed.

Conner lead me to a secluded bench along one of the back trails on the park. It was pretty early on a weekday, so the park wasn't crowded. Even so, this area particular spot was quite private. To either side of the bench, the trail curve sharply around some trees and bushes, so we should easily hear anyone coming before getting caught in any awkward situations.

We sat and waited for half an hour. Always be early. It's a rule.

Five minutes after the meeting was scheduled to start, I heard footsteps coming along the path. I tensed, but Conner put a hand on my thigh and took a deep breath, reminding me to calm my nerves. I took a deep breath, too, and it helped.

The visitor came around the corner and stopped when he saw us. He didn't look surprised.

"Don?" He asked, though he didn't come any closer.

Conner nodded.

"Shit, I was sure this was bogus." The man continued. "You got the goods?"

In response, Conner retrieved an old, unmarked subscription bottle full of unmarked pills from the pocket of his lab coat. He shook them for emphasis. Of course, I knew they weren't real. Conner said he just used store-brand Tylenol capsules. He's so smart.

The mark studied Conner and his bottle of pills for a second, then shrugged and walked towards us. Conner offered him the bottle, and the mark took it. He held them up to the light and peered into the model.

"Obedience pills, huh?" he murmured. "Shit, I knew you geeks would figure this one out someday. But how do I know they're for real?"

"That's what she's here for," Conner answered, pointing to me. "Goldie here's my good little guinea pig. We've discovered that the drug induces a sense of euphoria, which it turns out is highly addictive. I keep her well dosed, and she happily takes her medicine like the good little girl she is. She's pretty drugged up already, but give her a fresh pill and she'll do anything you, I, or anyone else tells her."

Conner's so smooth and professional. I could tell the mark was buying it, hook, line, and sucker. My part was easy. I'm just a good little drugged up guinea pig. I sit, smile, and stay quiet.

"Anything? Shit," the mark replied. "I'd pay just to see that.

"Here," he said, fishing a pill out of the bottle. "Drug the bitch up and let's see how this shit works."

Conner took the pill back and handed it to me, along with a bottle of water he pulled from his other coat pocket. I smiled like a good little guinea pig, and gulped it down. Easy."

"It should only take a minute," Conner explained. "The pill works by flooding the neurotransmitters in the subject's amygdala, causing an overt enzymatic response that..."

Conner sold the charade by spouting off a long stream of scientific gobbledigook. It sounded pretty good. If I hadn't been in on the scam, and if I was a sucker, I probably would have believed it to. That's Conner for you. Total pro.

As he talked, I finally felt myself begin to relax. And why shouldn't I? Everything was going just according to plan. I even started daydreaming, thinking about all the nice things I'd be able to buy myself for the first time tonight.

"Alright, that should be long enough," Conner said as he concluded his explanation. "Goldie, would you mind doing some jumping jacks for us?"

Right, the con. It took me a second to collect my thoughts (man, I really was a super cool cucumber). I think the delay sold it better anyways.

I stood up, took a deliberate step forward, and started doing jumping jacks. Of course, my D-cup tits started bouncing as I did. All part of the plan.

"Good girl," Conner commended. "Now, bark like a dog."

"Arf, Arf," I responded. Man I felt silly. If this were any other scenario, I'd have been super embarrassed.

"Good girl. Now, turn around and do squats," Conner instructed.

I turned and started squatting. Of course, the mark got a good distracting view of my fantastic ass in the process. All part of the plan.

"You see?" Conner asked. "Perfectly obedient, perfectly willing. Whatever troubles you're having with the people around you, these pills are the answer."

"Hmm," the mark replied. I couldn't see him, but he didn't sound convinced. Not a problem; we'd planned for this. You see, you don't make a con seem too good to be true at first. Much better to let the mark have doubts, then answer them. Much more convincing that way.

"What? Need to see more?" Conner inquired. "No problem. Goldie, would you please remove your shirt for us?"

I stopped squatting, turned around, and with only a slight pause, I took off my shirt in the broad daylight of a public park. My D-cup teardrops, now clad just in my red lace bra with the nipples just barely covered, bounced slightly with the motion.

"Shit!" The mark exclaimed. "Nice tits. Can I touch?"

Uh-oh. That wasn't part of the plan.

"Uh, sure, I don't see why not." Conner answered with only a slight pause. He made eye contact with me and flashed me three fingers.

Right, the three laws of con. Never break character. Make the mark feel in control. Never, ever break character.

The mark stepped forward and, without even asking me or looking me in the eyes, seized two large handfuls of my tits. I, for my part, let him. After all, I thought, it's not like he can do any real harm. It's a small price to pay for a life of luxury. More importantly, I was determined not to let Conner down. Never break character.

The mark played with my tits for several minutes, and he wasn't gentle. Still, I again found myself zoning out. It was surprisingly easy, considering I was standing shirtless in a public park in broad daylight, some strangers hands mauling my chest. I guess Conner was right. I'm a natural!

"Hello? The lights are on. Anyone home?" The mark was saying.

"Hmm?" I replied, snapping out of my daydream.

"Damn, euphoria indeed." He remarked. "I said, lose the jeans."