Easy Money

CONSUMMATION

"What no hello kiss?" Mercedes grinned, dropping her suitcase on the living room rug.

"Where have you been?" Francis whined from his seat at the bar. "It's been almost two months."

"Missed me, didn't you? Forgive me, there were a few odds and ends from my past that I had to kiss off."

"A boyfriend?"

"Kind of." She walked over to her grandfather. "We were very close once. But he just wasn't doing anything for me anymore." She kissed him a warm welcome on the lips.

"You look wonderful."

"Thanks. There's nothing like saying goodbye to a worthless prick to make one feel the total woman."

"And you're back for good."

"If your offer still stands."

He smiled. "I waited twenty-years. What's two months?"

"Well, while I freshen up why don't you get all cozy in the master bedroom."

"Don't rush," he leered as she headed to her room. "I gave Smithers the night off."

Mercedes didn't knock. Francis was already in bed, the sheets pulled up to his waist. She was glad he'd hidden himself. Just the sight of his naked torso gagged her.

'Let's, see?' She mused. 'Hairless, mottled scaly hide, ropy sinews, and a born killer's glare and gape? I'm about to whore myself to a Gila monster.'

"Can I sleep with you Daddy?"

"My," Francis said, placing what he'd been reading aside on the nightstand.

Posed with her tiny hands on her plump hips Mercedes looked every bit the quintessential tramp. A vision in red in matching G-string, see-through negligee and pumps, all of adorned with Marabou feathers.

She crawled into bed on all fours and French kissed him, her breasts dangling in the breeze.

"Is Daddy's little girl scared?"

"No. Horny." She pulled back the blanket, nauseated by what she saw. "Healthy little maggot, isn't he?"

"Angel you could make the dead hard."

"Yikes!" she squealed, feeling the old man fingering her down below.

"You're very wet."

I should be, she thought, My Love Canal must have sucked up the whole tube of lubricant.

"Lie on your back Mercedes."

Mercedes looked at the ceiling, figuring out what she'd buy first. Meanwhile Francis went through his routine, stroking her flesh, suckling her tits and playing with her clit. All the while saying things about her that had no place coming out of an old man, especially someone's grandfather.

"I want you in me. Now." So, I can get the fuck out of here, she finished in her head. He placed himself above her and pressed himself into her. She felt nothing other than a dull something, slick like a grub moving in.

"Careful. You're so big." Did I really just say that?

"Of course, my little Turtle Dove." He began pushing and pulling himself in and out of her, wheezing in time.

She murmured "Oohs" and "Aahs" when it seemed appropriate, hoping she wasn't blowing her lines.

After ten minutes Mercedes started to worry. She didn't like color of Francis face – nor the drip of his clammy sweat.

"You, okay?"

"No," he huffed and puffed. "Maybe we should try this again some other time?"

She knew her chances of getting herself to go through this personal hell again were zip. It had to be now.

"Let me," she said, flipping him over on his back like a beetle. Her tits drooped in his face as she hung over him. "You relax. Let me all the work."

She sat on her haunches and began to bob herself up and down on him. She heard an odd creaking that she hoped was coming from the bed.

"Yes. More," Francis moaned, squinting his eyes shut.

"Come on Stud. We're almost home." She rocked forward and back, poking the end of his minor erection as far back into her as she could get it. That felt good to Mercedes — nothing to write home about — but at least something pleasing.

"So close."

Mercedes focused her thoughts on her the rhythms in her own body. There was the sway of her breasts, the feel as they jounced against her, the surge and rebound of her thighs and ass as she rocked — all of it new and comforting.

She grabbed at her breasts, tweaking the nipples, trying to get herself excited.

"Almost."

She worked him harder. The fact was she was getting close herself — the scar damming the sexual pressure within her bulging, close to bursting.

"Ooh." Using the strength of her thighs she surged onto him and then away. "Yes. Yes. Yes!"

Then she felt a queer twitch way up deep inside her— like a muscle cramp— but not unpleasing. Other than that, there was nothing. When she about it though she did feel a little better, some of her erotic tension gone.

"Did you come to Baby?"

Francis still had his eyes squeezed shut. Only he wasn't breathing.

"Shit!" she gasped. "Got to call 911."

"What?!" Mercedes couldn't get up. "Please no God." She tried again but her insides wouldn't let go of him. "Tell me this isn't happening." She tried again, harder this time. But Tab-A was still very much inserted into Slot-B.

She rocked and twisted, managing only to abuse her girlish parts.

"Help!" She looked around for something, anything. All she saw was the unsigned will sitting on the nightstand where Francis had put it.

"It's not funny," Mercedes sobbed, the tears coming. "Please God it's not funny."

Twenty minutes later, physically and emotionally exhausted, she fell upon Francis' cold and stiffing body. And there, weeping deep heart wrenching sobs, she fell into merciful blackout.

Something about Mercedes stupor must have mellowed her insides because when she woke, she easily slid off of the dead man.

Okay. Only Francis knew I was coming. Smithers had the night off. It's like it never happened. It's better that way. I'll go back to Donald – that's what I'll I do. He'll know what to do next.

She went back into her room and dressed, packing anything that might ever say Mercedes had ever existed.

Before leaving she took one last look at the loathsome man. His face was contorted in the hell of wanting something he'd never get.

The last thing she thinking as locked the gate was, They're going to have a hell of a time closing lid on his coffin.