Blowing His Boss! - Lady Devreux - ebook

Bree is a good mom, and she will do anything for her son to succeed. When her son, an eighteen year old drop out, gets out of jail, she knows she has to get him a good paying job- even if that means she must break her marriage vows- with a blowjob-obsessed boss! Little does she realize, her less than grateful son threatens to reveal her actions- unless she gives him the job he really wants! Excerpt “Must be nice to be a woman,” Ted remarked, “All you got to do is flirt, or suck the right dick, and you get a job.” I did suck a dick- to get you a job! Reaching across the truck, my right hand slapped him square in the face- this was a reaction that came from having to deal with drunks who thought touching me was okay! “Did that hit to close to home, mom?” Ted said snidely. The worst thing about arguing with relatives is they know you- and who knows a mother better than her son? I didn’t answer him- there was no way he really knew what I had done in that room, even if he sensed it. “I think it did,” Ted added, “Yep, it did. How many times have you done that?” “You shouldn’t even ask me that,” I said, “What would Big Ma say if I told her how you are talkin to me right now?” I couldn’t lie to his face- he would know I was lying- so the only way to get away from this was to bring my great grandmother into the conversation. The only person in the world Ted really respected was her. “She ain’t here,” Ted said, “The only people here are me and you.” The road was completely empty- on the left side was the tree covered hill, on the right side was a drop off. This road was an old mining road, rutted and muddy, and the only traffic up it were the few people that still lived up this mountain. Occasionally, some visitor got the road confused with the similar named Daw Road, and got themselves stuck up here. We had another twenty minutes together, before I could return him home and get him out of the truck. “Look, tomorrow I got you the interview,” I said, “You are going to have to be there at six, so you better be up by four. I’ll come and pick you up.” “I ain’t going,” Ted said, “I don’t give a damn, I ain’t going, I don’t care whose dick you sucked.” He doesn’t just suspect it- he somehow knows it! “I don’t know what your saying,” I said, “I didn’t-” “Quit lyin, mom,” Ted said, his voice pure venom, “You can’t bullshit me no more. You used to suck dick in high school, you love sucking dick, everyone knows that. And Finnegan is known to fuck the women who walk in to his office. So two and two, I know you sucked him.” How does he even know who Finnegan is? “You are so full of shit,” I said, “I don’t know anyone named Finnegan.” “Well, I do,” Ted said, “He buys his shine from us, mom, and he’s always bragging about fucking women. There is only one Finnegan round here, a redheaded man who runs the mine. I might not be a graduate, but I ain’t no dummy.” “You think I don’t know that Jeremy ain’t givin it to you right, mom?” Ted said, “Hell, he’s an old, bald, fat fuck.” “I’m your mother, and-” I tried to say- this conversation had to end! “That don’t change who you are,” Ted said, “And it don’t change him. Plus, if you wanted to hide it, then why did you get in the truck with cum on your chest?”

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Chapter One

Chapter One: Unfair Reputation

It isn’t easy being known as a town slut.

I didn’t choose to be born in the small West Virginia mining town where I live, just as nobody else chooses the place or the circumstances of their birth- I was born to a teenage mother, the third in such a line. My father, much older than my mother, was sent to prison for his actions- where he is still a resident- and once my mother gave birth to me, she moved north. I got letters for the first few years of my life, but she remarried when I was seven years old, and she tried to forget that I- or West Virginia- existed. Now she was the wife of a man that was on the city council in their Wisconsin town, the perfect example of chastity and religiosity, with five more children (my brothers and sisters), that I ain’t never met.

I was raised by my grandmother- like my mother, she had given birth young- but the difference was that my grandmother did not have her children out of wedlock. She had been married an acceptable amount of time before she had my mother (six months, even if pregnancy takes nine), and she was married to my grandfather until he died of black lung disease last year. I called my grandmother “Big Ma”, but for all purposes, she was really the mother that I never had. This is why I can’t just follow my mother’s path and leave town and become someone else- someone has to take care of her, now that she is alone for the first time in her life at sixty.

I can’t say that my grandparents didn’t do the best with what they had to raise me.

We always had food on the table, even if half of the time the meat that we ate came out of the woods, and we always were clean- even if that meant we washed up in an old metal tub outside of the small shack that we lived in. People who have never been to Appalachia don’t remember that there are parts of this country that are as poor as places in Africa or South America- we never had the house wired for electric. My grandfather was convinced that if we did, then the old frame structure might catch fire and burn to the ground- and it is better to have a house with kerosene lanterns, then no house.

So how did I get my own reputation as being a town slut?

I started messing around in high school, and before I was ready, I gave birth to my son, Ted. I ain’t going to say who his dad is- I didn’t want him to end up like my own father, rotting away in some cell simply because he made the mistake of sleeping with me. I was just as much to blame as he was, after all- it ain’t no mystery where babies come from now, is it?

You give birth like that, people think that you are ready to lay down and spread your legs for every man around.

This of course ain’t true- being a teenage momma doesn’t make you any less of a woman- but people believe a lot of things that ain’t true. Convincing backwoods people of something that they didn’t want to be convinced of, is about as easy as turning a coon hound off a three day trail. My grandmother took care of my boy, and told me to keep going to school, but after the taunts and constant bad treatment by the other students- the boys went so far as to show me their cocks on the schoolbus- I too had quit.

I had stayed at home most of the next couple years. My grandfather got a small check because he was so sick, and instead of spending the money on oxy’s or something else that would relieve the pain he felt from coughing out his lungs in big, bloody, black chunks, he did his best to put something aside for my grandmother and me and my boy. He knew that his time was short, so he didn’t want her to have to leave our mountain, even if the place we lived was something like a prison. We ain’t got much but that home, but what we got is ours, and we been on it for a long time.

When he did go, and the check went with him, we still needed to find a way to pay everything from taxes to buying sugar and salt and what else we ain’t able to grow or catch on our own. The old Delta 88 needed transmission work, and without a man around to do it, that too had to be paid for with cash money. My grandmother told me she would go to work, but I wasn’t about to let her put herself out there like that. She has been a mountain woman her whole life, never even going past her freshman year, and she ain’t one to be too keen on being around strangers much.

So I went back to town, and I did my best to find what work I could.

There are two things in this town- there is the mines, which require a strong back and a penis to work at (yes, I know, a woman can technically work there- but the few who tried didn’t last long), and there are the dozen restaurants and motels that line the interstate exit like mushrooms after a rain. I’m not from India or Mexico, so the only place I found that was willing to give me a job was at the local location of one of the yellow and black breakfast places that are all over the south.

I hadn’t set foot in town in near five years, but that didn’t mean that people had forgotten about me.

I wasn’t the only girl who had given birth in high school, but the difference was that I refused to say who the daddy was- and he wasn’t my boyfriend, or husband. Getting knocked up by a man wasn’t as big a deal if you covered it up with a courthouse marriage, before the baby was born at least. Since I hadn’t done so, I was still labeled as slut.

At the restaurant, the men who came in and ate grits and bacon and coffee did try to flirt with me. I can’t help it if I look better than a lot of women around here, and flirting does put some extra tips in my pocket. Maybe they said things behind my back- men are just as bad a gossip as women are- but at least they didn’t expose themselves to me. An occasional slap on the ass from an old man is a lot less insulting than someone grabbing you by the hair and trying to make you suck their cock in between the bus seats. My manager, a man who was thirty five and had never been married, didn’t tolerate this kind of treatment- the truckers all said he was a little light in the loafers, but he did make sure that we were at least not abused.

Women are a whole different story, and the women I worked with fell into two groups mainly.

There were the older ladies, those that were my grandmothers age and above, that still had to sling hash to keep the lights on. They are sweet to your face, even if they don’t like you- that is a trait of Southern women- and not all of them were bad people. Many of them had been in my own situation, or at least had a daughter or grandmother like me.

The women around my age, they were a whole different story. Except for Carly, who had done me one better by having a half Black girl herself- which outweighed the fact that she was still with the daddy- they all hated me. At best, they would smile, but most of the time, they would talk about me as soon as I turned a corner. Half of them too had kids, but they thought they were better than me, because they all were with (or had been with) the daddies.

The truth is, women can be very jealous.

Poverty, combined with Southern food and tobacco and soda, makes a person age hard. Most people blow up once they have a kid, and even those who don’t, are usually losing teeth by the time they are twenty five. By thirty, it is hard to tell if most women around here are thirty, forty, or fifty.

Women hate it when another woman looks better than them, especially women who are waitresses.

I ain’t going to say I am a beauty queen- that would make me a lie- but I have at least taken care of myself.

I don’t drink, I don’t drug, and I don’t smoke or chew. I eat mostly vegetables that we scrape out of our acres, and being on my feet all day does keep the weight off. Plus, I may have had the one boy, but I didn’t keep poppin them out like a bunny rabbit. At five foot five, I am a healthy one thirty five or so- not bone thin like one of these girls that bumps off of crystal, but not blown up like a balloon either.

Looks is more than just weight, and the one thing that really makes a woman age faster is her face. If you always drink Mt. Dew, or you smoke, your teeth start to rot and then you start to look old. Most women around here do both of those things- hell, some of them even chew plug tobacco!- so over time, this don’t help their appearance. That’s why I am thirty three now, and some people think I am twenty five- I wouldn’t say that I really look twenty five, but by comparison, I do look younger than almost everyone in my age group around here.

It was hard working at the restaurant- not only did I have to deal with the petty infighting of the bitches I worked with, and the occasional bad customer- but you never know how much money you are going to get from day to day. There were times when I walked out with a hundred, and there were times when I walked out with a full ten dollars for five hours of work. It’s real hard to save money, or get anywhere in life, when you don’t know day to day what you are going to make. Big Ma never asked me for anything, but I was the one who bought the sugar and salt and put gas in the car.

I didn’t date anyone, or even run around, for the longest time.

I was more worried about making ends, then I was about getting dick. And from what there is around here men wise, most men that were available were not working or had their own drug and criminal problems.