Shorting the Heart

Mild ethnic terms. Apologies for mistakes: no editor. Comments/criticisms welcome. silkcita

*****

Friday

Manny was tapping his pen against the edge of his desk as an intrusive Arizona sun showered his office with an oppressive light and irritated his eyes. He glanced at his watch—4:12 p.m.

He was from Tennessee, the first of his family to earn a college degree. While everyone played football and partied, he was home reading and studying. They gave him shit for that: An athletic black teenager reading finance books on the weekends? Sissy boy, they called him. Girls ignored him. One would think they'd been more impressed by flowers and academic ambition than gold chains and bling. But they wanted to ride in shiny cars and go on shopping sprees.

The experience taught him a valuable lesson: Women were opportunistic cunts who'd fuck over the good guy for a flashy idiot. But that was okay. Those "ballers" were now in jail or working for minimal wage while the women picked through the leftovers like late shoppers after a Thanksgiving weekend sale.

Manny was the "Man" now, his own boss, playing middleman for banks and hedge fund managers. He owned his home and lived in a good neighborhood. Women who used to laugh at his "hooptie" would suck his dick to ride in his car today—not that he would give them the time of day: he had standards. But he missed the phat asses of the South. Prim and proper women out West, who did brunch and sipped mimosas, were aight; but there was something intrinsically appealing about a juicy big ass.

He was just about to call it a day when the front door jingled. He stood from his desk and walked into the lobby. Standing inside the front door was a young woman interviewing to be his assistant. He didn't need an assistant—his neighbor (Dave) was recruiting for a former maid. Manny was reluctant but Dave badgered him. Just give her a chance, Manny, he begged. She's a single mother strapping to make ends meet. Manny agreed but was noncommittal. Why would he pay someone four hundred bucks a week (her former weekly wage) to answer phones and file files he did for free?

"Mr. Tisdale? I'm Rosa Martinez. I'm here for the interview?"

The answer was in the form of a beautiful Venezuelan immigrant with long straight black hair and a soft, coffee-colored complexion. Standing at 5'5" with a slim waist and pronounced hips, she had what his friends back home called a 'coke-bottle shape.' Nice titties, too. Always having a gift for numbers, Manny estimated her measurements as 34C-24-38. She was dressed in a simple green t-shirt and dark blue jeans that looked glued to her curvy hips and thighs. Her English was barely acceptable and she was nearly fifteen minutes late.

But he decided to give her a chance.

"Hi," he said, flashing a striking smile. He crossed the length of the lobby and shook her hand. "Glad you made it. Have a seat." He motioned to the couch by the door.

She gave Manny a smile/nod as she walked by him. His eyes followed her and spied a full, thick, Latina ass. She smelled good, too, like a spicy flower. His mind changed gears. What had begun as a reluctant favor was now an opportunity to bag a big booty Latina.

"So, Ms. Martinez," he said, mirroring her by sitting at the corner of the couch. Dave says you're looking for an employment?"

"Yes," she said with an eager smile; accent thick and sexy. "He said you had an opening."

Manny nodded and crossed his ankle over his knee. He knew Dave left earlier in the week to visit relatives on the East Coast and would be gone for over year. As he understood it, she was twenty-eight with a six-year-old son and mother to support. Dave had been paying daughter and mother six hundred a week for cleaning services—cash. The status of their citizenship was never discussed but Manny assumed Dave knew it wasn't legit. He had to find a way to would turn this to his advantage.

"I guess I could use an extra hand around here," Manny said, noncommittally as he looked around the dated lobby. It was previously a dentist office and Manny did little by way of decorating. A stack of Highlights magazines sat in a circle on the table in front of them.

"Dave said you're twenty-eight, and have some office skills?"

"Yes," she answered, nodding.

Manny nodded and rubbed his chin, noticing how round and plump her breasts looked in her green t-shirt. She sat with her legs together, crossed at the ankles. Her butt was so thick she seemed a little taller. He said, "So, you can type?"

The twenty-four-year-old immigrant gave a tight smile and shrugged.

"Did Dave tell you what I do, Rosa?" he said, narrowing his eyes on her. "I buy and sell mortgages, swap bonds, play liaison between banks and private capitalists. Why would I hire an assistant who can't type?"

To have her skirt hiked up over his desk would've been an adequate answer. In truth, he didn't do much typing himself. Hell, he didn't do much of anything other than make calls and click a mouse.

But the query had the desired effect. She was worried. The thing she'd thought was so sure didn't seem so sure anymore. She shifted nervously in her seat, rubbing her hands, glanced down at her lap then looked to him. "Mr. Tisdale, I could learn it if you give me time. Mr. Bramlet already paid us for this week before he left on Tuesday. But next week... I really need this job."

Manny gave a sympathetic nod, reeling her in slowly. "He was paying you and your mother six hundred? With me only offering four, how you plan to make up the difference? Has she found another job?"

She shook her head and said, "Well, I was hoping..."—she paused, gave a nervous smile—"once I've been here—"

"You were hoping I'd pay you six hundred dollars a week?" Manny smiled good naturedly, easing her anxiety. He shrugged. "I guess that would work out good for your mother, too. She watches your son while you're at work." Rosa worried her lip and nodded sheepishly. Manny couldn't fault her for trying but paying six hundred for someone who couldn't type or field a phone call efficiently was unsound . . . unless they had something to sweeten the deal.

She was watching him with a hopeful expression, willing him to say she had the job. Manny recognized the look on her face and, wanting to fully lay the bait, said, "Could she clean on the weekends? I wouldn't pay her what Dave paid, but maybe a hundred for a few hours on Saturday and Sunday."

Rosa grinned and scooted closer across the couch, speaking excitedly. Yes, her mom would love that. Going on to say that she would do wonderful job, that Mr. Bramlet never had one complaint.

"So, four hundred for you—six, after a month—and a hundred for your mother?"

"Si—I mean, yes!" she said, smiling scooting over again until she was on the adjacent cushion.

"And what's the status of your citizenship?"

Her face dropped immediately as her dark eyes stared pitifully into his. Manny nodded and looked down at his watch. "Look, you seem like a nice girl, Rosa, and I wished that I could help you." He turned to her. "But I run a business. Hiring you would be a huge risk with not much reward."

He stood and held out his hand to her. Reluctantly, she reached up, still processing the turn of events. Guiding her to her feet, Manny grasped her hand with both of his. "I'm sorry we couldn't make this work. But if your mom's willing, I could really use her on the weekends. Just have her call me—oh, here's my card... There you go. And until you find something, you can come, too. With you both I could pay, what, two hundred sounds about fair."

Staring up at him with sad dark eyes, Rosa shook her head. "But that's not enough. Four hundred wasn't enough but I figured we would get by somehow. But only two?" She shook her head as her eyes watered and spilled down her face. "Please, Mr. Tisdale. I really need this job."

Manny urged himself to be patient. The bait was nearly set, but not yet.

He sighed as if it pained him to see her tears, to see her in the situation she was in. "I'm so sorry, Rosa," he said, looking into her eyes. "But you're just too big of a risk."

She burst into tears—cold and afraid ones—and buried her face into her hands. Manny moved closer and wrapped his arms around her. His heart raced. It was nearly time.

"You don't understand," she cried into his dress shirt. "Manuela ran off and now it's just me. My mom, my son, and it's all on me."

Manny rubbed her back soothingly, feeling himself hardened as her soft warmth clung to him. He craned his head over her the dark crown of her head and inhaled her spicy sweet perfume.

She whimpered and shook in his arms, clinging to his shirt.

Now.

"I want to help you, Rosa," he said, tilting her face up his. "But I'm going to need something to justify the risk."

She stared at him, and Manny thought he saw a flash of understanding in her big dark eyes. Maybe she knew it would eventually come to this. Maybe she already had this in her back pocket, only he beat it to her.

"Something like what?" she asked.

He raised his hand and grasped her soft cheek. He rubbed his thumb across, down to the corner of her mouth, grazing the edge of her full lips. "You're very pretty."

Though he absolutely adored the voluptuousness of her body and the obsidian sheen of her Venezuelan mane of hair, he loved her face. Besides the nude lip gloss and minimal blush and mascara around her eyes, she was natural, her face possessing the sweetness of a beautiful little Spanish girl with all the erotic sensuality of a woman. Her lips were lush and pouty and full. He looked to them then back to her eyes, his hand dropping to the small of her back while he held her face.

"If you could be a good little assistant for me, willing to keep me happy. I'll pay you four then bump it up to six after a month. Your mom, I'll pay a hundred for the weekend."

He felt his erection snaking up between them while they hugged. She was frozen in place, staring up into his face as her tears dried. Manny admired her features while, he assumed, she thought it over. His right hand was at the small of her back but dangerously close to the shelf of her ass. He dropped it now, his fingers gliding over her jeans, whispering against the material until he was cupping her ass. He squeezed and her plumpness gave under his hand like memory foam.

She hadn't budged an inch, still staring. Finally her lips trembled with a soft voice. ". . . Shouldn't it be more than four?"

Manny looked from her lips and back to her eyes, squeezing her big ass, pressing her against his dick. "Okay. Five hundred the first month, then seven after that. With your mom doing the weekend that'll get you back to six." He nodded. "Next month you could bring in thirty-two hundred. But," he warned, staring in her eyes. "That depends on how good an assistant you are . . . You understand?" he asked, then rubbed the pad of his thumb across the bottom corner of her soft limp.

She swallowed and nodded.

"'Yes sir'?"

Staring, she nodded again. "Yes sir."

Then, to test her willingness to submit to him, and because he wanted to, Manny leaned his head down and placed his lips on hers. He felt her stiffen then slowly relax as they touched. Tentatively, her lips puckered up against his. His dick twitched against her and he kissed her fully, shoving his tongue pass her parting lips.

A slow dance as they joined and pressed together, she following his lead compliantly. He sucked her bottom lip as he pulled away, opening his eyes with a groan. It'd been so long since he dated someone with a big booty. Strangely, she reminded him of girls from the South. Indeed, in many ways, she was like a light-skinned black chick with real hair.

He held her out and looked her over while she stood passively in front of him. He placed a hand on her breast and squeezed, just enough to feel its delicious give. She took a sharp breath and bit her lip but didn't move.

"Turn around for me, baby," he said. Silently, she shuffled around until her back was turned.

Manny admired the phat Latina ass then pulled her into him, rubbing his dick against it and giving it a slap. She jumped with a startled hmpf! but quickly settled. Then he wrapped his hand around her front and held her breasts, palmed her ass. He held and squeezed each ass cheek and breast, as if he was marking his territory, places he would claim at a later date.

"If you keep me happy," he said, turning her around and giving her his handkerchief, "this will be the last time you have worry about money. Okay? My cell's on that card. You need something, you call me." She nodded as she wiped the corner of her eyes. "Now, let's talk about wardrobe," he said glancing down at her shirt and jeans. "I'll expect you to dresses and skirts. Okay?"

She nodded. "Yes sir."

Manny rubbed her back and nodded. "Good. So I'll see you at nine Monday morning—and your mom next weekend?"

"Yes sir," she said, and Manny began to guide her to the couch for her purse. She stopped and he turned with a raised brow. "Mr. Tisdale . . . about my schedule."

Manny took his hand from her back and turned to face her. He folded his arms. "Nine to four, Monday thru Friday. What about it?"

She looked down at the tissue in her hand. "That was one of the things I was hoping to talk to you about." She looked up to him with her head held down. He raised his brow, waiting. She said, "My son. He gets out of school at three and we only have one car. And I was hoping..." she trailed off, looking up to him, hopefully.

Manny looked down at his designer leather shoes and shook his head. "Wow, so you want to leave at, what, two thirty?"

"Two fifty would be early enough," she added quickly. "I could take him home then come right back."

He shook his head. "Doesn't make sense for you drive back here for only thirty minutes." She seemed relived at this. "How 'bout we make your schedule from eight thirty to two thirty?" he said, looking to her. She gave a cautious smile. "Okay then. I hope you appreciate everything I'm doing for you, Rosa. Matter-fact," he said, placing a hand on her hip, "I think it's your turn to do something for me."

Looking down into her quiet face, Manny stepped back and sat on the couch.

She didn't move, just stared down at him with a blank expression. Manny looked up at her incredulously. Did she really think he wouldn't make her earn it?

She fidgeted with the tissue and looked down at it. "How do I know that this isn't a trick? I come in Monday morning and the door's locked."

Manny reached into his pocket and retrieved the spare key from his keychain. He held it out to her. Reluctantly, she came forward and took it, making no further movement. Manny sighed and sat up. "Look, I know this is weird situation for you, but what else is there? I don't need an assistant or someone to clean my house. I'm losing money on this. All I'm asking is for you to do for me what you do for your boyfriend for free. Do you have a boyfriend?" Looking down at her hands, she shook her head. "See? We're all clear. You getting what you want; I'm getting what I want; and no one's getting hurt."

She looked up to him—some steel in her eyes. "What all will I have to do?"

Manny sat back and regarded her. "I'm not a sicko if that's what you're worrying about. But it'd be a good idea to pretend that your body belongs to me. If you get to the point where it's too much, you can quit. What can I do about it? But," he warned, narrowing his eyes at her, "let me tell you something, Rosa. You leave and you try to come back..." He shook his head. "You'll be worse off than what you are now. Now what's it gonna be?"

She let out a long, silent breath, and in a small voice said, ". . . You'll use a condom . . . and no one will know?"

He nodded and stretched his arms across the back of the couch as she looked down at her hands again. She stood there as if she was dazed, needling with the tissue until she began inching forward without meeting his eyes. Slowly, she dropped to her knees with a despairing face, bracing against him as she herself eased down between his legs.

Meanwhile, Manny had begun to unbuckle his belt and pants and was pulling his boxers back. She jerked back when it sprung out from under the waistband, her face impassive while the swollen and veined shaft of his substantial dick split the length of her face. A dollop of prenut clung near his slit, half in half out, hovering ponderously at the equilibrium of rolling down his undershaft directly in her line of sight. Rosa gripped firmly at his legs and her eyes began to tear up.

"If you want, I can stand up and do it myself," he said, staring at her increasingly despondent face. "You can just sit back a close your eyes . . . Is that what you want?"

With downcast eyes, she nodded.

"Okay, sweetie," he said, and sat up. "But let's get this shirt off. We don't want any accidents on it."

She didn't help but didn't stop him from lifting up her shirt, raising her arms over her head like an exhausted captive. Clearing the shirt of her thick black hair, Manny laid it neatly over her purse. He was somewhat surprised to see her with the same glazed over look as if something from another dimension was hypnotizing her.

But below her face were her breasts, held snug in a beige bra. Manny helped himself to these, groping and squeezing them while she continued to sit daze-like. He then kissed her lips, sucking their fleshy softness, licking them. This time she did not return the affection, content to kneel with unseeing eyes while he pecked her lips.

Finally Manny stood, eliciting movement from Rosa, as she inched back from his rigid erection. He reached down and grasped the side of her head, her black hair silk-like beneath his fingers while she faced his groin unseeing. He came close to shoving into his mouth right then. But had an idea.

Grasping her shoulders, he angled her back to the couch, placing the back of her head against the cushioned arm.

Now he was ready.

Her eyes closed shut when he aimed his manhood at her mouth, single tears spilling at the corner of her eyes. Holding his dick in his fist, Manny leaned closer, sighing as the tip of his dick grazed her soft plump lips. Gently, he rubbed it across, from left to right, right to left. Then he pressed against the fleshy seal, pushing with his pelvis ever so slightly, while holding her head steady. Reluctantly, her lips parted, his head breaking the seal into the warm pink cavity of her mouth.

He inched in slowly, licking his lips as his undershaft slid across her slick tongue. Her mouth accepted him, but grudgingly, creating a pinched pocket of wet heat. He stopped half way in then pulled out to the tip, then pushed in again. Pulled out. Pushed in.

He now had an easy pace, fucking her mouth with the slow gentleness of a rocking chair. She never opened her eyes and gave random hmpfs that were muffled against his sliding cock. Manny felt himself harden inside her, holding the front of his shirt with one hand, her head in the other. Looking down, he watched her lips fold and pout around the girth of his dick.

"Use your tongue, sweetie... That's it. Make me feel good." He breath quicken as her obvious reluctance aroused him more and more. "That's it, sweetie," he hissed, watching his brown dick disappear into her beautiful, olive face. "Take care of me and I'll take care you."

She sat there against the couch, her head thudding against its stiff arm like a comatose patient being forced fed. But her tongue was alive, bright eyed and bushy tailed, wiggling lively as he stroked her mouth. The contrast between the sensuality of her mouth and the mannequin-like expression of her face provoked him. He surged forward and nudged the back of her throat, making her jerk and gag, eliciting the first signs of emotion from her.