The New Economy

It was corporate espionage, right down there at the very bottom of the food chain, where grotesque, blind organisms flail around in the muck, competing for whatever scraps filter down through the dark. Salem, the sole owner and proprietor of El Rey Del Taco was asking me to get a job over at Our Lady of Tacos so that I could spy on them and sabotage their product and find out why Belinda Moldover had a line out her door at lunch time and he didn’t.

I could have told him: Belinda hired cute high school girls, and had them wear skimpy, sassy little outfits, and their tacos were five cents cheaper than ours. But I didn’t. What would have been the fun in that?

“Just think, Sugarbuns, you’ll be making twice what you make now.”

Yes, and that was still less than half what I used to make over at the Rep for hanging and focusing light plots; before I got fired for, among other things, fucking the lighting director and for not fucking the production manager.

This job was the crusty bottom of the high fructose corn syrup barrel, a last-ditch Hail Mary pass. I was already way behind on the rent, and the cable company was threatening to cut off my internet. The measly salary Salem paid me didn’t even start to cover rent, but at least it allowed me to maintain my coffee habit, and I got to eat free tacos.

Salem wanted me to spy on the competition, but that wasn’t all he wanted. Underneath his expansive gut, his crotch bulged lewdly. He leered at me and licked his lips in an effort, I suspect, to appear seductive.

I had sucked Salem’s dick exactly once; I had more or less explicitly promised to do so at the job interview; if nothing else I am a girl who keeps her promises; and I had no desire to do so again. It wasn’t awful; it’s not like he had terrible personal hygiene or anything. It just wasn’t pleasant. He’s not very well hung, which isn’t really a problem for me, especially when it comes to blowjobs, but he’s also a combination of fat and reptilian that I find particularly repulsive. He’s the kind of guy who feels cheated if he doesn’t get to come on your face, the type who feels free to grab you with both hands by the back of the head if he doesn’t feel like you’re giving it your all. So I just played dumb and ignored the hints he kept dropping.

I wondered if he beat his wife, in addition to cheating on her and neglecting her. Probably not. Too much work.

So I got a job over at Our Lady of Tacos. And I didn’t even have to suck any dicks to get it.

Belinda Moldover ran Our Lady, and Salem hated her worse than he hated anything other than the Feds. I don’t think Belinda even knew Salem was alive, which of course only made him loathe her all the more.

Belinda had been an investment banker before the big crash, and she still dressed like it, in snappy pantsuits and pinstripes. Everything about her screamed ‘dyke’, and she overcompensated with too much pink and frilly stuff, and cheesy posters of half- to three quarters- naked muscle boys on her office walls. There was absolutely no sexual innuendo during the interview; it was very professional and above-board. She hired me. I knew right away that I wanted to fuck her. One way or another, I was going to lick her pussy.

As far as the spying went, there really wasn’t much to it: the tacos were almost exactly the same as the ones over at El Rey. Same brand of shells even, same supplier. Like I said before, the only difference was more teeny-boppers, and the price. Belinda made less money per unit, and she more than made up for it in volume; a concept that was utterly foreign to Salem. So I made shit up. I told him they used kangaroo meat in the ground beef, marijuana sweepings in the salsa. He ate that shit up.

As for sabotage, I did what I could. I spit in the lettuce. I squirted ketchup into the salsa. If I were a guy, I would have jerked off into the guacamole. Once I got brave and wiped pussy-sweat onto a tray of fish sticks. I broke taco shells and skimped on lettuce. Nobody noticed my efforts, but I was certainly enjoying myself. I have to hand it to Salem, he picked the right girl for the job. I’ve always been a bit of a junior-league terrorist, a mean little bitch. I guess it’s just the way I’m wired.

Once, when I was little, I walked in on my Mom and her boyfriend doing it. My dad was at work, and I was supposed to be over at my friend Molly’s, but I ditched that and walked home. I insinuated myself silently into our suburban ranch house, and tip-toed down the hall to my parents’ room. The door was ajar. I stood there in the doorway to their bedroom for a long time, just watching.

I’m not sure exactly how old I was at the time, but I was certainly old enough to enjoy the spectacle. He had a high forehead, and a pronounced farmer’s tan. His butt was skinny and pale, and his penis hung down between his legs, thick and heavy, dwarfed by his big, hairy, dangling balls. He was kneeling on the bed, with his face planted squarely in between my mother’s wide-spread thighs. She was sprawled out, a big lazy kitty-cat, practically purring with bliss as he busily licked and slurped.

What I saw made my cunny all moist and tingly. I stood there silently for a long time, just watching. I think I could have been bouncing up and down on a pogo stick and playing the cymbals; they would never have noticed me there in the doorway. They were completely wrapped up in what they were doing with each other.

She kicked her legs and lifted her ass off the bed and yipped like a coyote. I guessed that meant she was having an orgasm. He stayed with her all the way through it, her hands buried in his thinning hair, pressing him hard into her muff. I squeezed my thighs together. Inside my panties, my young pussy felt hot and wet and squishy.

Mom climbed on top of him, facing his toes. She could have plainly seen me, except that she was totally focused on the cock in her face, like a greedy kid confronted with a big candy cane. As she played with it, his thing magically grew and stiffened, until it was tall and rigid, standing straight up like a rocket ship poised for launch.

At this point, they switched positions again. My mom lay flat on her back on the bed, her legs held straight up in the air, her toes pointing at the ceiling. He climbed on top of her, his hard cock jutting out and bobbing around. It was bigger, hairier, and uglier than I had expected. Cocks, I decided, were not especially aesthetically pleasing. Still, it was damn sexy.

I actually heard her pussy squelch as he entered her. They both started moaning softly. I stuck one hand down my pants. My fingers came back wet and sticky.

I waited and watched while they got more and more into it, humping faster and faster, louder and louder. My mom was screaming incoherently. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought he was butchering her alive, chopping her up for stew meat. I held my breath, counted to five, and made my entrance.

“Mom! I’m home… oh!”

I couldn’t have timed it better. They both jumped like they had stumbled into a yellow-jacket nest. Mom squealed like a bunny rabbit, and they disengaged in a flurry of limbs.

His dick twitched, and fat, viscous globs of white stuff oozed out the end, falling like raindrops on the shag carpeting of my parents’ bedroom. He looked abashed and uncomfortable; she looked embarrassed and irritated. I was thrilled.

“Molly wasn’t around, so I just came home…” I let my voice trail off. “I’m gonna make a peanut butter sandwich. I’ll be playing with my Barbies in the back yard!” I finished brightly, leaving them to pick up whatever pieces they wanted to.

Later, Mom sat me down and explained that she had been playing a special grown-up game with my “Uncle Jim”, and that I shouldn’t mention what I had seen to my father.

A few days after that, after dinner, when Mom and Dad were watching TV, I knocked her porcelain elephant off the shelf where it sat. It shattered into a million little pieces. She had gotten it from her own mother, who had supposedly gotten it as a present from her fiancé, who was killed in the war.

“Why did you do that?” she asked sharply as she swept up the scattered shards. I knew that elephant had been precious to her. I just smiled and shrugged.

A couple years later, after she and Dad had gotten divorced, I blew one of her suitors. He had come over to pick her up for a date, and he was a little early, and she was still getting ready, so she told me to entertain him while he waited.

She went into her bedroom to put on makeup and fuck with her hair. I climbed up onto his lap. He wasn’t bad looking; sort of tall and gangly. I smiled sweetly up at him. I felt a certain something shift and twitch inside his pants, so I shifted my butt accordingly. That something responded. I slid my tush up and down his lap, and it responded even more. There was quite an impressive lump going on in his trousers.

I clambered down off his lap, and unzipped his pants. He certainly didn’t make any moves to stop me. The head of his dick was swollen, red and juicy. I popped it into my mouth like a big candy plum. He tasted nice, kind of salty and freshly washed. I wrapped my small hands around his shaft and slid them up and down, up and down.

He started rocking his hips back and forth, trying to get more of his dick inside my mouth. I persevered, keeping the head of his dick — but no more – captured between my lips, and pumping my hands up and down until my shoulders ached.

Suddenly he grunted. Strong hands grabbed me by the back of the head and pressed down, hard. His cock filled my mouth, plunging against the back of my throat, obstructing my breathing, making me choke and gag. I started to panic, but he held me tight. He was breathing hard, thrusting at me, fucking my mouth. He whispered “Bitch” in a raspy voice, and flooded my mouth with hot, thick, salty, bitter semen.

The hands grasping my head relaxed, and I fell onto the floor, grinning up at him, my mouth full of his come. I savored it, delighted in it, drank it with relish, knowing that it rightfully belonged to my mother. Just as he finished zipping up his wet, soft noodle, my Mom walked back into the room, ready for her date. I swallowed, and smiled sweetly.

It wasn’t long after that that she stopped speaking to me.

Back at Our Lady of Tacos, I was running out of lies to tell Salem, and my petty attempts at sabotage were going completely unnoticed. I was bored. I decided it was time for more drastic action. I would seduce Belinda Moldover.

In terms of seduction, I’ve always favored the direct approach. Friday night, after my shift was over, I ditched my apron, pinched my nipples to make them show clearly through my tight t-shirt, and slipped discretely into her office while my co-workers were busily cleaning up and putting away.

She was sitting behind her desk, a mahogany antique the size of an aircraft carrier. A ream of paperwork was spread out in front of her. She looked up at me through prim, rimless bifocals, looking for all the world like a sexy, dykey librarian. The poster of the oiled-up muscle boy behind her, wearing nothing but a black g-string and bow tie kind of spoiled the effect.

I spilled my guts to her, laid it all on the line. I told her I wasn’t sure I should say anything, but that it had been eating a hole in my gut. I told her I thought she was an amazing, beautiful woman. I told her that I was finding myself strongly attracted to her, and I thought we had chemistry, and I hoped that the feeling was mutual. I told her I’d never done anything with another girl before, but that I was curious to try.

I told her a bunch of untruths, filthy, filthy lies. Almost all of it was pure fabrication. I did think she was really hot though. I guess I have a thing for older women.

She took off her glasses and gave me a look that was pretty much smoldering. I melted like butter on a hot day, feeling myself get all wet and gushy inside my pants. I really wanted to fuck her, right then and there, right across that massive, cluttered desk. I wanted to spread her legs and lick her up, down, and left and right until she screamed.

“You’re a very attractive young lady,” she told me, “And I have to say I’m complimented… as well as tempted.”

I knew what she was going to say, and my gut tightened up and my mouth went sour.

“It really wouldn’t be ethical, as you’re an employee and I’m your employer… and anyway I have to confide in you that I’m sort of involved with someone else.”

She said it like it was some kind of big secret, but everyone knew. She and Dolores Breakwell were lovers. Dolores ran a garage a couple doors down and on the other side of the street from Our Lady. She was a classic dyke, short and stocky, with closely trimmed fingernails, muscular forearms, and a mullet.

If there’s anything I truly hate in this world, it’s being thwarted.

I decided that if I couldn’t fuck Belinda, I would definitely fuck her girlfriend. And Dolores proved to have far fewer ethical qualms about cheating on her lover and boinking me. I barely had to work at it to get into her pants.

She liked to lash me to the bed and make me eat her pussy for what seemed like hours on end. That woman was insatiable! She also liked to fuck me in the ass with a strap-on dildo, my wrists bound together in front of me, tied securely to the frame of her bed, sodomizing me like it was a competitive sport. I liked it even more than I let on. I barely had to fake anything,

We pushed our luck, and I encouraged bad behavior. We fucked in customers cars. I hid in the garage bays while she and Belinda fucked, and when she was gone, I came out and licked Dolores’ wet pussy some more. We had sex in their bed, while Belinda was out shopping. And inevitably, we got caught.

They double-teamed me. My hands cuffed behind my back, I desperately licked at Dolores’ pussy and clit while Belinda worked over my rear end with a belt, making it whistle through the air . Then they switched places, and I buried my face in Belinda’s silky-smooth crotch while Dolores flogged me. She used the buckle end. It hurt a lot. I screamed until my throat was raw and my voice cracked. The more I screamed, the wetter Belinda seemed to get. She made me stick my tongue up her ass, and told Dolores to fist-fuck my rancid little cunt. I was on the rag at the time, and she pulled out my tampon and did her absolute damndest to cram all five fingers up my poor pussy. She didn’t quite do it, I think she had four fingers inside me, and another in my asshole when Belinda finally came, kicking and wailing and telling me I was a filthy slut and a cheap little whore. I must have completely ruined her expensive high-thread count sheets, a thought that gave me some bitter solace after she threw me out of her house to limp home with a sore, shell-shocked pussy and a wounded, bruised and bloody ass. I still have scars from some of the gouges that belt buckle made in my poor heinie.

Belinda and Dolores broke up after that, and Belinda took up with one of the assistant managers, a pixie-faced seventeen year old named Cassie. I was fired, of course. Fired from Our Lady, and than fired again from El Rey for having blown my mission and not having blown Salem. I was summarily, and probably illegally, thrown out of my apartment for non-payment of rent.

I took up residence in a house that had been foreclosed upon, on a street littered with empty houses. The copper wiring had all been stripped out, but at least the water still worked, though my showers were bitterly cold.

I spent a lot of time over at the Starbucks, where I could charge my laptop, and drink overpriced, mediocre coffee until my hands wouldn’t stop trembling and my gut felt like it had been knifed. I thought about going pro, peddling my ass on Craigslist, which made for a couple pretty nice masturbation sessions, but when it came right down to actually doing it, seemed too banal and depressing for words.

Back at the house, I pirated internet from the nice young couple who lived across the street. There house was one of the few on the block that had actual, legitimate residents, and they took good care of it. It was cute. She was pretty, in a friendly, slightly chunky, carefree sort of way; he was the spitting image of a ripped Buddy Holly, with square, black-rimmed glasses, and an intricate retro heart tattoo on his upper arm.

I figured out a way to file other people’s taxes online, and have their refunds sent to an anonymous debit card that I bought at the Seven-Eleven. That was more profitable and far less risky than turning tricks. So, for a while anyway, I could live high on the hog.

Sometimes I’d watch my neighbors across the street, from behind the cracked and moldy window panes of my dilapidated American Dream house. They seemed happy.

Sometimes she’d mow the lawn, wearing nothing but hiking boots, bike shorts, and a jog bra. She had long, wavy, not-quite-blonde hair, and big boobs. I thought about what it would be like to fuck her, what it would be like to have those strong, thick thighs wrapped around my head. I thought about what they must look like when they had sex, his beefy, cut body on top of her curvaceous one, sliding his thick, hard cock into her juicy pussy, squeezing each other’s hands and whispering endearments as they fucked. I bet they looked pretty hot, doing it. I thought about what it would feel like to slide my wet finger up his tight little butt, just before he came deep inside her pussy. Pretty nice, I bet.

I continued hogging their bandwidth, committing tax fraud and watching porn, eating junk food and occasionally wishing I was a better person.



  1. advizor54 said

    Maybe, since I’ve been looking for work, I could join this “New Economy” of yours…I’d have to update my resume.

    • elsiewrites said

      As you may have noticed, the new economy isn’t a very nice one.

  2. Stairways said

    Like the concept, but reckon you shda started with “I’ve always been a bit of a junior-league terrorist, a mean little bitch. I guess it’s just the way I’m wired.” and then led into tacos.
    Awww, and surely you have more after the couple fantasy????

    • elsiewrites said

      You are very likely right.

  3. Trickle down economics at its zenith

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