PennySaver
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Mar 16, 2020
- Posts
- 1,248
"Can Ya Change A Hun'erd?"
closed
NOTE ABOUT IMAGE BELOW:
It is photoshopped; I am very aware of that,
and I dont care.
This is fantasy, remember?
closed
NOTE ABOUT IMAGE BELOW:
It is photoshopped; I am very aware of that,
and I dont care.
This is fantasy, remember?
Annabelle Thompson jerked in surprise at the unexpected chime from her cell phone. She released a rush of air from her lungs at being so jumpy, then giggled about her silliness. The very curvy, very naked, 24 year old Anna looked herself over in the mirror of the massive and elegant en suite bathroom of the equally massive and elegant penthouse condominium and thought to herself, He doesn't deserve me.
The he about whom she was thinking was one Dr. Selwa Al-Huwaider Mohammed. He had been her professor in Middle Eastern Studies her sophomore year at Harvard, and now he was the sugar daddy; he kept this amazing, 44th floor, Manhattan condominium for their frequent and exhaustive suck-n-fuck'fests, paid all of Anna's living expenses including her massive school loans, and -- as he likely would today when he returned from Paris -- bought her the most extravagant gifts or took her on incredible vacations to far off and exotic places.
Anna very much appreciated everything The Doctor did for her, of course. Three years ago, he'd come to her rescue when she'd learned that she'd lost a grant that would have gotten her through her BA and Law degree. Desperate for money and well aware that she couldn't support herself in Boston on two bucks above minimum wage and shared tips, Anna had been talked into working a party by her friend Margaret, then 23 years old and one of the most sought after Call Girls in New York City.
"You mingle, you let people see you, you have a glass of champagne, one glass of champagne, so as not to be drunk," Maggie had explained. "You get into a conversation with a man who talks funny because, after all, this is the Saudi Cultural Attaché. If he likes you and you think you can tolerate having him inside you … and he asks if you are a friend of Camille … you say yes, he takes you to a nearby hotel … you fuck and you suck until he's had enough, and you leave … $1,200 less in debt than you were before you took your panties off."
Anna had never in her life had sex with a man because she was trying to get anything more out of him than an orgasm or two for herself. Well, sure, she fucked Brendan Thomas in the back of his mother's Suburban so that he would spend a fortune of her Prom night. But really, she probably would have given him her virginity dance night anyway, just to get it done and over before leaving for college.
She was so nervous that night that she had to sneak away to the bathroom at one point to puke in the toilet. Once she got to mingling, though, Anna began to think that just maybe she could do this. Then she found herself face to face with her professor, who she'd expected would be home in Boston with his wife, watching The BBC or NPR or some documentary on ancient civilizations.
After she'd recovered and regained some of the color in her face, Anna was shocked even more deeply when Selwa asked her softly, "Are you a friend of Camille?"
Anna had been overwhelmed, and she turned without answering to hurry out of the party. When Monday morning came and she rose from her seat after Selwa's seminar on the 6 Day War, Anna found herself desperate to explain to the man that she wasn't a whore, that the Saudi party had been her first foray into the industry, and that she was as desperate to have him not look down on her as she was desperate to find a way to pay her way through the rest of her schooling.
A week later, Anna was Selwa's mistress, a month after that she was living here in this heaven in the Manhattan skyline, and a year after that she was debt free and feeling good about her life, even if it was driven by how good she looked in and out of a dress and by how well she sucked the cock of a man for whom she had no true loving feelings.
Looking to her phone now, Anna realized that the alert that had startled her was the condo's alarm system telling her that the front door had opened. Selwa was due home tonight from his European trip, so she called, "I'll be right out! I'm in the bathroom making myself delicious for you."
The Doctor didn't respond, which wasn't entirely unusual. After finishing his long work days at the college or at the foundation he'd established to support Islamic students coming to America to study, his mind was often either still occupied or simply burned out. Anna didn't mind, of course; those nights he typically only needed a stress relieving blow job, meaning less exertion on her part and no need to once again shower and prissy herself back up.
She called out, "There's wine in the fridge, and the service is bringing by a couple of tins of the caviar you ordered last time you were here."
Again, Anna got no answer. She called out asking whether or not he was okay, and getting no response this time, she tossed a long silk robe around her shoulders and headed out to find her lover. Anna stopped short and screamed when she found Selwa laying face up on the living room floor with his chest covered in blood. He was still alive, though, and she ran to kneel at his side, asking him what had happened as she was punching 9-1-1 into her cell.
"No..." the man murmured as he reached a trembling hand up to grasp Anna's phone. She insisted she call for an ambulance, but Selwa -- struggling for the words -- told her, "Bedroom … closet … suitcase..."
"What are you talking about?" she asked in a panicked tone. "I need to get you help."
"Suitcase..." he continued, reaching a hand up to caress its bloody fingers upon her cheek. His last words before falling unconscious and, a moment later, dying, were, "Take … run … disappear … love … I love … love you … Laila..."
That last word caused Anna's eyes to open wider and her brows to rise; Laila was Selwa's wife, and the Number 1 rule of this condominium was that neither of them was ever to speak her name here or even discuss the life Selwa had with her. Anna stared down at the dead teacher for a long moment … then remembered what he'd said to her: take the suitcase and run … disappear. She forced herself to rise and hurry into their bedroom, where she found an unfamiliar suitcase in the back of his walk-in closet behind his golf clubs and tennis bag. Anna pulled the case out, set it on the bed, stared at if for a long moment, then finally unzipped it and tossed open the lid.
"F-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-ck!" she murmured at the sight of more money than she'd ever imagined earning in a life time, let alone seeing sitting before her all at once. For the longest time, Anna simply stood there staring at the rubber banded bundles of hundred dollar bills. Finally, she picked up the biggest bundle laying in the middle, examined it, and began counting off the bills from one side toward the other: one, two, three, four, five...
When she got to fifty, Anna looked at the thickness of that portion of the bills and then estimated how many more portions of fifty C-notes were left in the bundle. Her eyes opened even wider when she did the calculations; they and her mouth widened even farther when she started counting the bundles -- they weren't all as large, but she adjusted for it -- and did the math to come up with an estimate of what was in the suit case: $3 million … plus or minus a bit.
Anna had to sit down. Then, she stood, went to the wet bar for a shot of whiskey, then another, then returned to the bedroom to once again sit and contemplate her situation. She knew she should call the cops; that was a gimme. But … c'm'on! $3 million! She leaned forward and rested her face in her hands for a while, but ultimately her eyes always went back to the suitcase and its contents.
He said take the suitcase and run, Anna thought to herself. Run and disappear. I don't know who killed him, but I'd bet $3 million dollars that I'm next if I stick around here. Finally -- after yet two more shots of whiskey -- Anna hurriedly packed a single change of clothes, some of her more valuable jewelry, and eight of Selwa's Rolex watches atop the cash and, barely, managed to get the case closed. She was so concerned that it might pop open unexpected in public that she found a couple of her belts and hooked their ends into each other to make one big belt to wrap around the bag.
And after a call for a Lyft … she was gone!
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