Keno
Category: Twisted Circle - Book One

~ Keno Hunter ~

 “Faster . . . faster . . . right there . . . ohhhh, I’m comin’! I’m comin’!” Her eyes rolled back into her head as her oversized frame violently shook beneath him. As his partner reached multiple orgasms, which the French called “les petites morts,” she really looked as though she had died each time she shuddered to a climax.

Long, rough, and penetrating were his thrusts. Her screams vibrated off the mauve-colored walls, creating a symphony of voice, banging headboards, and squeaky bed frame.

When he heard his partner’s last ecstatic scream, Keno breathed a huge sigh of relief. The job is over! he thought. Finally, she’d achieved her last orgasm! Keno elongated his over 6 foot frame onto the substantial oversized mattress and stretched catlike.  Vigorously stroking the deep caverns of her vagina in and out, intermittingly, slowly alternating from side to side had left Keno physically spent. She took a lot of exertion, for her 57-year-old body, which showed obvious signs of aging, had long lost its elasticity from its younger days.  Due to the strenuous sexual activity, a nagging cramp crept in on Keno’s left butt cheek.

A few more hours of witty banter and he would be able to get the hell out of here. His job will have been done for the day! Having sex with Sharon was a task he dreaded, but the benefits for sure outweighed the agony of the chore.

After falling back heavily onto the California king-sized bed, he flexed his buttock, hoping to quickly relieve the intense spasm while indiscreetly wiping off the sweat on his face on the 1,800 thread count cream-colored Egyptian cotton sheets.

“You enjoyed that?” Keno asked, not really giving a damn about the answer.

The bloated woman beside him rolled over to face him, smiled her yellow smile, and then said, “Cupcake, I needed that! I have been thinking about that all day long!” Her close-set eyes quickly started to survey the 800-square foot master bedroom.

“. . . get my purse for me, will ya?”

Easing his bare feet onto the heated jade bedroom floor, Keno quickly located the oversized Louis Vuitton satchel she routinely carried tucked in the corner of the room near the chaise lounge. Picking it up, he presented it to her with quickness. He knew from the request that she was having a nicotine fit and the quicker she was able to pull in a drag of the stick, the happier she’d be.

The view of Wilshire Blvd. from her floor-to-ceiling bedroom windows called Keno to fantasize about rolling back to his Culver City condo in the new Mercedes CL 500 Sharon had purchased for him only 2 months prior.

The sunset painted the sky with a sequence of colors that resembled a luminous abstract painting. The yellow grew brighter and denser, and then began to fade into a deep orange that spread freely across the sky, the orange spewing higher and higher, left to right, right to left. It appeared the sun was screaming, “Check me out!”

“Thanks, Cupcake!” the middle-aged woman responded as Keno handed her off the Louis Vuitton satchel. She pulled out a pack of half-emptied Benson & Hedges, as well as a 24k gold cigarette lighter with the initials SNF engraved on the front.

She was Sharon Nicole Faraday of the Chicago “Faradays.” Her family’s dynasty was one of three generations of International Builders. She was a multimillionaire many times over! Sharon was a woman who loved her cigarettes, her liquor, and the pleasures of younger men—preferably 25 years to 30 years her junior.

“I’m going to have to watch out for you, babe! You may put me in the hospital yet with moves like that!” the slightly gray-haired, 57-year-old Caucasian heiress teased. She attempted to laugh, but her smoker’s hack disabled her from doing so.

“Get me a glass of water, Cupcake, will ya?”

Inwardly, Keno cringed.  He detested the nickname. He padded to the kitchen and secured a cold bottle of Fiji water from the refrigerator and handed it off to her as she readjusted her half-naked body against one of the many oversized pillows resting at the head of the bed.

“Come over here and snuggle with me. Lay with me for a while! Don’t get up so quick!”

Before he could take the first dreaded step in her direction, one of her many business cell phones started to sing. He was familiar with the tune, Claude Debussy’s “Clair de Lune.”

“Sharon Faraday here,” she announced with confidence after sharply depressing the talk button.

“Is everyone involved already logged onto the Web conferencing station? I will not wait one moment for any latecomers like last week.”

He knew it was her overseas office on the line because of the lateness of the hour and by the condescending tone in which Sharon spoke. Immediately ignoring him, after grabbing the singing phone, Sharon suited up with her deliberate business voice, draped the top sheet around her wide bottom, and headed toward her tastefully decorated office. He could hear her delegating and barking orders.

“I need all projections for the Bangkok Project e-mailed to me immediately before we even begin.”

By the tone in her voice, Keno knew that she would be on that phone call for quite some time. So much for being able to get the hell out of here soon! Another damn Web conference meeting! And by the looks of it, he would have to wait a few more hours until she was off the phone before he could secure his weekly allowance and get the hell out of there. Damn! he screamed in his head.

After turning on the ceiling fan, Keno stretched out his muscular 6 foot 4 inch frame diagonally across the bed, closed his eyes, and reviewed his plight.

Keno Hunter was a 33-year-old high school dropout with a lengthy prison record. His inability to get and hold a job was largely due to his unwillingness to work for pittance when he could generate considerably more money performing a crime or securing the affections of a wealthy, older female. As he lay comfortably in the plush feather poster bed of his paramour, he contemplated his bone of contention. Keno was in love with someone else; not his usual “rich-what-can-she-do-for-me type,” but a much-younger “I-am-broke-and-struggling” type. This woman who loved him with all that she had, a woman that provided him with the unconditional love and acceptance that he had always craved since childhood, was the only woman his heart truly connected with, the only woman he really wanted to be with. However, in spite of his love for her, he was not willing to give up Sharon and all of the benefits that she provided him with. Nobody was worth that sacrifice—not love, not anything!

This someone special was Deidre Griffin, Dee Dee for short. She was a 22-year-old college student with more heart than money. She was broke and of no help to him, other than emotional support. Keno scoffed. That and a dollar could not even buy him a cup of coffee. And although he loved Dee Dee very much, his love for money and financial security was significantly more substantial.

As he lay there in Sharon’s bed, pondering what he would do for the next few hours before she came back to bed, he drifted off to sleep as the soothing breeze from the ceiling fan above danced lightly across his naked frame.

*

Keno pretended to be asleep as Sharon hovered over him, watching his chest rise and fall as he lay sprawled across her bed; the Italian imported comforter wedged tightly between his legs. Kneeling beside the bed she whispered, “You are one beautiful man! You have no idea how much pleasure you give me!” she said as she massaged her stimulated groin with one hand and with the other rubbed his round, firm derrière.

“Cupcake, as long as you continue to satisfy me, you will be well taken care of. But God will not be able to help you if you fuck over me though!” She kissed and fondled his ass as she stood above him pleasuring herself.

Although Keno played asleep, he knew that the enormity of his now limp man-tool dangling over his left leg excited her immensely, causing her vagina to immediately become wet at the sight. He knew Sharon and what she liked. She stood looking down at his body as she masturbated. Ten minutes later, she panted and let out an audible groan from her orgasm. He increased his breathing so she would continue to believe that he was asleep. Eventually, he heard her leave the room and when she returned, Sharon placed two large overstuffed shopping bags on the chaise lounge next to the glass wall, overlooking Wilshire Blvd. His left eye peeked from beside the feathered pillow. He knew that those packages contained the very things that Keno had been hinting about for some time. Sharon also inserted a wad of what looked like $100 bills within the billfold of his wallet she retrieved from his sweatpants. A little pocket money for me, he thought. It was just enough to do a few things, but not enough so that he might feel too independent. Alongside his driver’s license was her platinum Master Card and Visa Master money debit card she had given him months earlier.

Sharon was leaving no stone unturned. Regardless of their nearly 25-year-age difference, Keno knew that she thought that no other woman could do for him what she could do for him. That was her edge!

He rolled over allowing his manhood to come in full view of her hungry eyes.

“Damn, you are one fine-ass hunk of a man!”

He opened his eyes, no longer pretending to be asleep. “Hey, beautiful, you off the phone?”

She didn’t reply; instead, she dropped her robe to the ground and navigated her heavy frame over to the bed, positioning her vagina on top of his face.

Time for me to get back to work, he thought. He closed his eyes and thought about the Mercedes she just bought him and the gifts awaiting him over on the chaise lounge. Thinking about that was all the foreplay he needed. His penis rose up like a cobra, and he was ready to handle his business.