Reason , Reward

Big Tits

*Author’s Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

*Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself, utilizing Microsoft Spell-Check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.


This story is dedicated to the memory of mordbrand, a contributor to Literotica.


Paris Williams pedaled along the side of the gravel road, along the packed earth. She kept to the side of the gravel road; trying to pedal the antiquated 10-speed bicycle through the loose gravel was just asking for disaster. There was the chance of becoming bogged down in the loose gravel, or chancing the occasional nail or shard of broken glass.

Grandpa had been cleaning out the old barn when he discovered Jack Williams’s old bicycle. The bicycle was just a skeleton of its former glory; Jack had said the bike had cost him a pretty penny in 1983. But when Grandpa found it, the bicycle was just a jumble of rusted and rotted bits and pieces.

Paris had sanded the orange paint and the rust from the frame. The tires had rotted off the bent rims, even the rubber brake pads had rotted away. The vinyl seat was rotted and mildewed, exposing the rusted metal chassis underneath.

“God, Sweetheart,” Jack had said. “As much as it would cost to fix this, why don’t we just get yourself a new bike?”

Paris had not heeded her father’s words, just bent to the task of fixing the old frame. It was just as much a labor of love as it was a desire to have a bicycle. This bicycle had once belonged to her father and Paris adored her father.

Now, as the nineteen year old girl pumped her pale legs, the red head smiled as she used her thumb to rapidly drop the gear from sixth down to third as she swung left through the sharp elbow in the gravel path. The bicycle’s glossy lipstick pink color shone in the late morning sun. The leather saddle pressed firmly against her crotch and the rocks and ruts and occasional tree root and clump of sod caused the stiff leather saddle to jerk and bump and rub maddeningly against her denim covered crotch.

Over the wooden bridge, Paris brought the gears up to seven, then eight and nine as she picked up speed. She gave a happy little grunt as the boards caused the leather saddle to vibrate against her wet sex. Then it was back down to five to traverse the soft earth again.

On the asphalt of Highway 331, Paris pumped her pale legs as hard as she could, shifting through the gears until she was at ten. Glancing from left to right and to the left again, Paris did not stop at the junction of 331 and 12-A. She rarely had to stop; there was rarely any on-coming traffic. Three minutes after crossing the intersection, Paris reached Rio Del Sol Mexican restaurant and pulled up behind the restaurant.

Paris locked her bicycle behind the restaurant then knocked on the back door. She smiled at Tammy Garrett, the manager and Tammy returned the girl’s smile.

In the employee’s break room, Paris quickly wiped her sweaty arm pits with a damp wad of paper towels, then smeared some gel deodorant under each arm. She then pulled her peasant blouse out of her duffel bag and wiggled into it. Blouse securely on, Paris wiggled out of tee shirt and bra and dropped both into her duffel bag. She worked the short skirt up over her legs and then dropped her denim shorts to the concrete floor. She smirked at the sight of the dark patch where her crotch had been in contact with her bicycle seat. Leather sandals completed her uniform and Paris was ready for their lunch rush.

“Ola, Senora Tammy,” Paris teased as she put her apron on.

“Ola, red headed gringo,” Tammy agreed. “Becky called in sick again.”

“Tammy, she’s not sick, it’s Monday,” Paris shook her head in disgust. “And, how many times do I have to remind you? It’s ‘gringa,’ not ‘gringo, goof. I’m a girl.'”

As if to emphasize her female status, Paris worked the elastic collar of her blouse down to show off her 30C cleavage. With twenty minutes until opening time, there were no cars in the parking lot, no one standing on the other side of the glass door waiting to get into the restaurant.

“That house in Geaytchel’s really coming along, isn’t it?” Fernando commented to Tammy and Paris as he stirred the seasonings into the diced chicken breasts.

“Is it? I’ve not been out there since hmm, right after Tommy’s birthday,” Paris asked, glancing over the window partition that separated kitchen and dining area.

“Mm hmm; it has one of those, those, oh come on, what’s it called? When it goes all the way around the house?” Tammy asked, perking up as a car pulled into the parking lot.

“Walls?” Paris teased. “My trailer’s got walls all the way around, all four sides.”

“A porch?” Fernando guessed and reduced the heat on the chicken breasts.

“Yes, yes, but it’s not called a porch,” Tammy said. “Not when it goes all the way around.”

“Oh, a veranda!” Paris said. “How do you know it has a veranda?”

They’re istanbul travesti putting in the railings. They’re sooo pretty; cast iron and wood. Makes you wonder what the inside’s going to look like when they’re finished with it,” Tammy said then nodded with her head toward the rear door of the restaurant where a knocking could be heard.

Paris opened the door to let Kenny enter the restaurant. Since Becky had called in sick, it fell to Tammy to act as second waitress, as well as cashier and as shift manager. She’d already called Mr. Frankie, the restaurant’s franchise owner to inform him about his niece once again leaving his restaurant and employees high and dry.

“I know blood’s thicker than water,” Tammy muttered to herself as three more cars pulled into the parking lot. “But come on, Frankie, money’s thicker than blood, right?”

“Would have been here sooner, but got stuck behind another truck,” Kenny explained. “Right there on twelve where they’re working on those two big buildings.”

“They are really going up quick, aren’t they?” Paris agreed. Anyone know when they’re going to start hiring? “Tommy and Jeremy put in their applications at both of those places.”

“Start on the chips, Fernando,” Tammy ordered as Paris flipped the ‘Open’ sign on and slid the bolt back to unlock the door.

From the moment she unlatched the door until just before three o’clock, Paris barely had time to look up. They were extremely busy with twenty four tables to tend to, split between two waitresses.

After three pm, Tammy suggested Paris eat a bite and relax for thirty minutes. Fernando smiled as he pointed to the chicken tortilla wraps he’d set aside for Paris.

“Thanks, Fernando; you’re the best,” Paris said tiredly as she grabbed the plate and sat at Table number one, the table closest to the hallway that led to bathrooms, break room and rear exit.

“Your turn,” Paris said as she put her dirty plate into Kenny’s bin.

Moments after Tammy grabbed her own plate, an attractive couple entered the restaurant. The woman was a red head, with pale skin, a small smattering of freckles on her cheeks and across her slender nose. Her face was square with a slight cleft chin that seemed to emphasize her wide smile and brilliant green eyes.

The woman’s hair reached just below her shoulders, parted on the right in a slightly messy, slightly tousled manner. Paris estimated, even with the four inch heels the woman wore, she was probably about five feet four inches, the same height as Paris. The dress the woman wore was of a pale blue linen. The dress and shoes and matching purse certainly looked elegant, far too elegant for Rio Del Sol Mexican restaurant.

“We’re in the heart of yokel country, and you’re dressed like this is a fashion shoot?” Paris heard the beautiful red head’s blandly handsome escort claim.

Paris felt her anger rise. Mordbrand Kansas was not ‘yokel country,’ as the woman’s companion claimed. It was Kansas. And in this corner of Kansas, Jayel County was filled with farmers, truckers, hardworking people trying to eke out an honest living off of the sweat of their brow.

From the looks of this young man, in his designer jeans and suede loafers with matching suede belt and button down shirt

, he’d never sweated a day in his life. Those meticulously pampered hands had never developed a callous from a shovel or hammer. There certainly had never been any dirt underneath those fingernails; Paris could see that the nails wore a sheen of clear fingernail polish.

“Hush,” the beautiful red head ordered her companion. “I dress to be comfortable and I am comfortable.”

“Hi, sit anywhere,” Paris said, already reaching for the wicker basket of chips.

“And do not call this yokel country; I love the people, I love the fresh clean air, I love the sunshine,” the red head further ordered. “I feel I will be very happy here.”

“Hi, welcome to Rio Del Sol,” Paris said, placing the wicker basket of warm tortilla chips and small ceramic bowl of salsa onto the table.

“Thank you, Paris. It is Paris, am I right?” the woman smiled.

“I uh, yes ma’am,” Paris said, surprised.

“Kimberly’s wedding,” the woman tittered, green eyes dancing at Paris’s confusion. “I am Moisette Seraque. I am Kimberly’s friend from the university?”

“Oh! Oh yeah! Hi! How are you doing?” Paris laughed, now recognizing the gorgeous woman from Kimberly Finnegan, now Kimberly Tucker’s wedding.

At her bridal shower, Kimberly had happily introduced the beautiful, elegant woman as her first roommate and dear friend, declaring to all that she would have left Missouri River State University had it not been for Moisette Seraque, moisette’s friendship. Kimberly also announced that Moisette was from Quebec, Canada, where French was the official language.

“Yes, yes, I am the ex-patriate,” Moisette had laughed easily. “The emigre from Canada.”

Moisette’s French accent had delighted those attending Kimberly’s bachelorette party. Moisette istanbul travestileri endured it all with grace, until Becky Richardson, the absent waitress, had attempted to use her high school French with the guest. Moisette had stared at the smug girl for a long moment before returning her attention to Kimberly.

“Erm, Kimberly? Your friend? She is erm, slow? Mentally challenged?” Moisette had asked Kimberly.

“No, she just thinks she knows everything,” Kimberly had laughed gleefully.

“Erm, Becky, in the future? Please do not use the masculine when addressing me?” Moisette had gently chided the now highly embarrassed Becky.

Moisette then indicated her 32D chest which was displayed to perfection in a pale ivory silk sheath. She smiled and even leaned forward to show her ample cleavage.

“For after all, I am a woman,” Moisette stated. “You should use the feminine form.”

All the attendees had been stunned when they discovered that the tab for the delicious meal had been paid for by Moisette Seraque. Billingsly’s Finest Steakhouse was not an inexpensive place to dine, and there were eleven young women in attendance. Each woman had expected to pay at least one hundred dollars for their meal, plus drinks. Moisette graciously accepted each woman’s thanks, and even hugged Becky, in an attempt to soothe Becky’s still bruised ego.

“You know, Kimberly is expecting now; they think they’re having twins,” Paris shared with Moisette as Moisette dipped a tortilla chip into the chunky salsa.

“Yes, yes, that is just so interesting; could we perhaps oh, I don’t know, maybe get some menus or something?” Moisette’s male companion sneered.

“Of course, sir,” Paris said, fighting against her irritation.

“Bradley, you are being rude,” Moisette said quietly.

“Here we are,” Paris said, bringing menus and two glasses of ice water to the table.

Paris walked to another table and asked if the trio needed anything else. She nodded and brought them their check. Another table needed refills of their sodas and Paris quickly brought them their drinks.

“Ma’am?” Paris asked, returning to where Moisette and Bradley waited.

“This, erm, the three enchilada plate,” Moisette decided. “Oh, and I will have the ‘crowded sangria’ please.”

“Yes ma’am; may I see some ID, please?” Paris asked.

“Erm? Oh, oh, it is because it is alcohol!” Moisette asked, then nodded in understanding.

“Paris didn’t really look at the rectangle of plastic; she knew Moisette had graduated from college the previous year; she had graduated at the same time that Kimberly Finnegan had graduated. But it was the practice of the restaurant; whenever someone ordered alcohol, they must present an ID.

“Sir?” Paris asked, addressing Bradley.

“Hmm, oh, I am so sure this is going to be authentic Mexican fare,” Bradley sneered. “But whatever; how about the burrito el carnita?”

“To drink, sir?” Paris said

“Hmm, yes, yes, let’s try that crowded sangria,” Bradley said.

“ID, sir?” Paris asked politely.

“Paris fought down her irritation as Bradley huffed before finally producing a Colorado driver’s license. She smirked when Fernando showed her he had drizzled a line of his signature habanero pepper puree along the top of the shredded pork. This would be a burrito el carnita that Bradley Simpson would not soon forget.

Kenny assisted in preparing the crowded sangria. He poured chunks of pineapple, oranges and limes into a large goblet, then poured the deep red wine over the medley of fruit pieces.

“Here we are,” Paris said cheerfully as she placed the goblets in front of Moisette and Bradley.

A moment later, she placed their platters in front of them. She smiled as Moisette complimented the crowded sangria. Moisette claimed that the salsa was quite refreshing as well.

“I’ll tell Fernando you liked it,” Paris smiled.

She fought down her laughter as she watched Bradley Simpson’s face become red, moist with sweat. Checking on the other tables, Paris then returned to the kitchen and told Fernando that Moisette had complimented his salsa. The man gave Paris his customary lop-sided grin.

“How is everything?” Paris asked a few moments later, noticing that most of Bradley’s sangria was gone, as well as all of his water.

“The enchiladas are wonderful,” Moisette declared, her delightful French Canadian accent making each syllable dance. “And this drink is perfect; I will have to make my own.”

“Sir? More water?” Paris offered.

“Yes, yes, he is being the big baby,” Moisette tittered, her amusement very evident. “He says his burrito is very spicy.”

“Here, you try it,” Bradley demanded, shoving his plate toward Moisette.

Paris grabbed his goblet before it toppled onto Moisette’s lap. Deftly, she also grabbed his water glass.

“Yeah, and get me another one of them sangrias,” Bradley demanded of Paris.

“Right away, sir,” Paris agreed.

“Erm, yes, yes, oh, this is spicy,” travesti istanbul Moisette agreed, shewing her mouthful of Burrito El Carnita. “I, I like your burrito.”

Kenny had prepared a sangria and nodded when Paris thanked him. He turned and shoved another rack of dishes into the dishwasher and playfully slapped Fernando on his buttocks when Fernando turned his attention to the pot of rice. Paris laughed as Fernando yelped.

“His burrito, I like it. I like the enchilada, but there is something delicious about his burrito,” Moisette happily declared when Paris put Bradley’s sangria and glass of water onto the table.

Even with Moisette’s assistance, Bradley left one third of his burrito. He managed to drink both goblets of sangria and most of his water and Moisette’s water. Moisette amused Paris when she casually used her fork to spear the chunks of fruit in the bottom of the goblet.

Paris put the check on the table, close to Bradley. Tammy was finished with her meal and her break and took the cashier’s duties when Moisette brought the check to the counter.

“That girl gave you a ten dollar tip,” Tammy informed Paris as Paris prepared to leave the restaurant.

Buoyed by her day’s earnings, Paris pedaled home to the trailer her and her boyfriend and two other couples shared. Upon arriving home, Paris was immediately pressed into helping her boyfriend Tommy prepare the evening meal.

After dinner, Shannon and Craig cleaned up. Truthfully, Shannon cleaned up and Craig pretended to help. While they cleaned up, Paris ordered her boyfriend to shower; he smelled of sweat and diesel oil. He reminded her that she smelled of sweat and guacamole; perhaps she too needed to shower.

“No,” she giggled. “You’re just trying to get me in there with you.”

“Can you blame me?” Tommy smiled.

“Tell you what, Baby; you go get cleaned up, then I’ll get cleaned up. And after? We’ll see about getting all dirty again, okay?” Paris bargained.

Standing in the master bedroom, Paris took a moment to admire her reflection. Her straight dark orange hair reached just below her bra straps. Her round face was pale, dotted by numerous freckles that extended down over her throat and chest and pale arms. Her eyes were a warm brown in color, large and expressive. Her nose, Paris always thought her nose was too big, but Shannon said Paris was being ridiculous. Her lips were full, pouting lips.

Paris frowned as she looked at her lips. Tommy, and Craig and Jeremy, the other man living in their trailer called them ‘DSL’ or ‘dick sucking lips.’ Shannon had slapped Craig and shrilled that Paris had ‘kissable’ lips. Anna, Jeremy’s fiancé said nothing.

The tops of Paris’s breasts were dotted with freckles as well. True, there were fewer freckles on her chest and belly, hips and buttocks than on other parts of her body, but the cursed splotches were there. Her areolae were large, red circles surrounding her fat nipples. Just looking at her nipples caused them to perk up and stiffen.

Paris had a slender waist; riding her bicycle had certainly helped keep her love of chocolate from attacking her waistline. Her 31 hips tapered outward from her 26 inch waist and led into her muscled thighs and calves. Her plump pubic mound was obscured by a scrub of straight orange pubic hair.

Hours of cycling had toned her legs, firmed up her backside. Paris turned and admired her firm, round buttocks, admired the sweet little dimples, one in each cheek.

Once, Shannon had caught Paris looking at her well-formed buttocks in her mirror. Shannon had knocked, and before Paris could call out ‘just a minute,’ Shannon had opened the door. The attractive blonde had stared at the highly embarrassed Paris for a long moment then said she’d look too, if she had a body as perfect as Paris’s body.

Thinking about the beautiful blonde did cause a stirring in Paris’s belly. Once, lying in bed after making love, Tommy had casually asked Paris if she ever fantasized about making love with another woman. Paris had admitted that she did fantasize about it, from time to time. She did not specifically name any names, though.

And even though Paris was sure that Tommy and Shannon often hooked up whenever they could, Paris did fantasize about being with the beautiful, warm, affectionate girl.

After her own shower, after shaving legs and underarms, Paris crawled into bed and crawled on top of Tommy. She kissed him hungrily; he was a handsome man with broad shoulders and well-formed chest from his numerous menial jobs. At present, he was working at one of the four depots, working as an assistant to the seven diesel mechanics employed by be depot. His shaggy blond hair needed a haircut and his square face had a brooding quality to it. Paris did not like his long beard; lately it was the fashion or fad for men to sport full beards that extended three, four, five inches in length.

Ignoring his bristly, bushy beard, Paris sucked hisses from Tommy’s pouting lips. Her hand travelled over his muscled chest and tight abdomen, seeking out his five inches of hard meat.

Paris gave Tommy’s cock a few strokes with her hand, then wiggled down to take him into her mouth. She shuddered slightly as her nipples rasped along the threadbare comforter; her nipples were always so sensitive.

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