Free Take It Farther by Laran Mithras Page B

She
quivered and convulsed one more time.
    I climbed up and slid into her. Her pussy was pure velvet.
I'm not a big, hung man that way. Neither am I small. My six inches is right
for my frame and reaches the end of her canal. She says it's a perfect fit. I
can say that it does indeed seem to be like a snug glove.
    Her eyes squeezed shut under me with a look of
concentration. Her gasps were light, ending with a tiny moan at each thrust.
She moved with me, her hips rotating to meet mine.
    She's great in bed and I'm a lucky man.

CHAPTER 2
     
    Jolene held up the dress to her. "Think it's
okay?"
    I was lying in bed, reading a magazine. Saturday night and
I'm reading a business rag that thinks it understands why the banks are
closing. Most of the big editors knew. The media heads were all in on our rape
of American wealth.
    Americans thought they were rich. But ninety-eight percent
of all the money in America was held by the top one percent of people. The
media strung along the Joes with stories of middle class taxes and the like.
The Joe just bobbled his head like it was on a spring and repeated what he
heard on the TV.
    The elite in America had forced the collateralization of
labor. Pure and simple. In other words, Americans slaved their labor away
endlessly to enrich the wealthy.
    I gave her dress a critical look. It was a nice blue number
with elbow-length sleeves. It looked perfect. I told her so.
    "Are you sure? I can go red."
    "No, don't do red. Too gaudy."
    "Even for Christmas?"
    "Trust me. You picked the perfect color."
    Her smile was appreciative.
     
    ~ ~ ~
     
    The Christmas party was at the division offices. My ID card
got us into the underground parking past the guard and also onto the elevator.
    Jolene said, "Wow. This almost feels like the CIA or
something."
    "Security is tight. What we do must remain hidden from
public knowledge."
    "Are you positive what's going on is legal? I wouldn't
want to—"
    "Jolene. We write the laws. Congress doesn't sneeze
without our permission."
    "But those panels and hearings?"
    I shook my head. "We make two billion on a move and the
SEC or Congress arranges a fine of two hundred million so the media can make us
seem like we answer to government. It's all a show."
    "But two hundred million…"
    "Out of two billion. Do the math. It's quite a
profit."
    She gave me a look but shook her head. She didn't entirely
approve of what I did, but she couldn't find a viable argument as to why I
should quit. As long as I didn't try to rip-off my own company, I was just as
much above the law as they were.
    A chime on the elevator signaled the banquet floor.
    Though everyone called it the Christmas party, there was
nothing of Christmas about the decorations. That kind of display was forbidden.
Everything was decorated in blue and silver, as was the custom.
    Any gifts given out were wrapped in neutral or Hannukah
paper.
    I led Jolene in past a nodding guard.
    A young woman greeted us with a clipboard. She said,
"Welcome. And you are?" She looked down at the list.
    "Richard and Jolene Franklin."
    She smiled. "Right this way."
    Jolene said, "She doesn't know you yet?"
    I leaned close. "Hired help for the event. She doesn't
work for us."
    My wife nodded in understanding.
    The woman plucked a card from a table and indicated our
seats with a smile. "These are your seats. The snack buffet is open and so
is the bar. Enjoy your evening."
    I pulled off my wife's coat and hung it over the chair. I
did the same with mine. We weren't early and there were other people mingling.
    "Drinks?" said Jolene.
    "My thoughts, exactly." I escorted her to the bar.
A few couples were there.
    I introduced my wife to them with the practiced civility of
dealing with bank managers.
    Jolene said to the bartender, "Pina Colada?" She
loved those.
    I said, "Rum straight. On the rocks, please."
    Our drinks were made with moves that said this man had
served bar for years.
    Drinks in hand, we turned back.
    "Richard." Jacqueline was