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She laughed merrily.
“You work at a bank? I can’t see it,” she said mirthfully, a tinge of pink staining her cheeks. “Mr. Shaft, in a suit?”
I grinned myself.
“First, I don’t go by Shaft at the bank obviously. My real name is Mike Miller,” was my wry reply. “They just call me Shaft around here as a nickname.”
“But there has to be a reason for the name right?” she asked coyly. “So tell me. Why do they call you Shaft? What did you do to deserve such a moniker?”
I didn’t answer for a moment because the truth was fucking rancid. I’m called Shaft due to the huge size of my cock, and the incredible pummeling I give the girls during Battle Bang. When we fight in the ring, the females always succumb, locked on my dick as they shriek with pleasure.
But that was too much, too soon. So instead, I feinted.
“It’s just some dumb thing,” I lied. “You know, guys being guys.”
She smiled again.
“But there has to be a reason,” Lily pressed. “Like I used to be called Marshmallow because of my shape,” she said, a little shy all of a sudden. “In fact, there are still some folks who call me Marshy.”
That made my temperature rise.
“They shouldn’t,” I said roughly. “You’re perfect just the way you are. Besides, marshmallows are one of my favorite foods. Fluffer Nutter sandwiches, ever heard of them? I ate dozens back in the day.”
That made Lily throw her head back and laugh.
“Oh Mike,” she giggled. “Marshmallow sandwiches? How unhealthy.”
I nodded.
“Well when you’re a growing boy you can throw down tons of food without worrying about calories,” I rumbled. “But seriously. As I said before, Michael is my given name and I work at a bank. The desk job is for real, complete with suit, tie, and wingtips.”
“And a handkerchief in your breast pocket?” Lily said mischievously. “Like those guys in the Men’s Wearhouse commercials?”
“Exactly like those guys on TV,” I said, grinning despite myself. “But even better because they’re just actors wearing costumes. I’m the real thing.”
And the truth is, I am the real thing. I’m not the teller at a bank. I’m not the manager. I’m not the person who hangs your coats. Instead, I’m the fucking owner of a bank. Yeah, think Citi or Bank of America, whatever floats your boat. I own a business just like that, millions pouring in every second of every day.
But that was too much information for the sweet female. Lily was young, and deserved to go slow. Or at least as slow as I could manage given how fucking aroused I was.
Because she was so beautiful here in those tight shorts and stretchy sports bra. I wanted to plant my face between her curves and motorboat in that shadowy valley to my heart’s content, enjoying all sorts of creamy treats.
And to Lily’s horror, suddenly the sports bra snapped. Yeah, my girl’s got huge boobies, and all the stretching and flexing put the material to the test. So one second she was lifting weights, and the next, there was a rrrripp! sound as the pink fabric tore.
Immediately, the girl leapt into motion, her hands trying to cover herself.
“Oh!” she gasped, eyes wide as smooth flesh bounced and swayed, her tiny palms doing nothing. They barely covered the areola, her mounds were so luscious. “Oh!” she gasped again.
A couple guys stepped forward, bulges already visible in their shorts but I warned them off with a harsh look. This is my girl, motherfuckers, and ain’t none of you gonna step in. So in one movement, I swept Lily into my arms and stalked off towards the women’s locker room. A couple dudes started to follow me, but again, the laser beams from my eyes froze them in place. Ain’t no one gonna touch my woman.
Because Lily belonged to me. I could smell it in her scent, and the way her curves bobbled against me as I strode down the hall had me on edge. Fuck. I was ready to do her now.
Kicking the door closed behind us, I locked it.
“Shaft,” she gasped as I gently placed her on the floor. “Oh my god this is so embarrassing,” she cried out, still trying to cover her breasts with those small hands. Lucky for me, Lily was wholly unsuccessful. The creamy curves slipped and jiggled, giving me an eyeful of luscious flesh.
I stepped back for a moment, an amused grin on my face.
“What’s wrong sweetheart? I’ve seen boobies before.”
Her face, which was already bright red, went even more scarlet if possible.
“No, I mean, yes,” she gasped again, eyes wild and curls bouncing. “It’s that I need to get this under control and my stuff’s in my locker.”
I grinned.
“Tell me your combination and I’ll get your stuff for you,” I drawled. “No problemo.”
She nodded hastily.
