Personal Banking - 2. Chapter 2

Mr. Phillips sat on the edge of his desk as I knelt in front of him, offering him his pen. He took it and laid it down on the desk, then put a hand on my head. "That's a good start. That's the kind of motivation I like to see. How about if you show me some more?" I looked into his eyes, and then my head glided forward. His hand guided my head toward that flap over his zipper. "Just breathe on it. I want to feel your warm breath through my pants."

I buried my face in the growing bulge. I breathed. The bulge bulged.

"That feels great." He undid his belt buckle, unzipped, and pulled his pants down a little. Blue boxer shorts. "Now just through the boxers."

I breathed through them, then started sucking his stiffening shaft through the thin fabric, getting it good and wet. His breathing got heavier. He grabbed my head and pulled me off him. Down came the boxers. Out sprang a beautiful, thick, meaty, uncut cock, over heavy balls.

He had both hands on my head now, guiding my mouth to that gorgeous shaft. "Ready, Richard?"

I nodded.

He fed his cock into me slowly but steadily, farther, farther, until I gagged. "You can do this, Richard. I'm sure you can."

I relaxed and took it down my throat. "Hands up here, Richard. Under my shirt."

I ran my hands up the trail of hair on his stomach, up to his furry, solid pecs, that broad chest. "That's it." He started fucking my throat.

I felt for his nipples. "Yeah, Richard. Harder. Make me come."

He was growling and fucking my throat full bore now. I gagged but he ignored that. I twisted his nipples hard.

"You can do this, Richard. I'm sure you can. Ready? Ready to take that fuckin' load down your throat? Ready, boy? Make me come! Make me come! Make me come!"

And then my phone rang.

Gawdfukkendammit can't a man have a few minutes to jack off in peace--

I let go of my cock and stumbled out of bed. I reached for my phone and it jumped and went skittering across the floor. They really should warn you that those things double as baby aliens newly hatched from someone's stomach. I finally cornered it and answered.

"Hello?"

"Richard. Nathan Phillips, Fidelity First Mutual. Is this a good time to call? You sound a little out of breath."

"Oh, my phone was on the other side of the room and I had to go chase it down. No, this is a good time. I was just thinking about you. I mean, about the loan. Wow, you said two days, and here it is, two days. And here you are, calling." Not one of the finer moments in the history of inane babble.

"Yes. Some good news for you: the loan committee has approved your loan, but with some conditions. When can you come in to discuss the terms? This will be in my office. The committee has decided that I should oversee this loan personally."

"Well, it's hard for me to get there before five. I can try to make arrangements, but it might take a day or two."

"If you can be here at five, we can meet then. I usually work until about six."

"Really?"

"I get paid pretty well for what I do, Richard. One reason is a sixty-hour work week."

"Wow. Um, I could be there at five just about any day. Oh, except Thursday. And Saturday. My shift is late afternoon to closing those days, unless someone is out or--"

"How about today?"

"Today? Today would be good. I can be there at five today."

"Good. The doors close at five and most people leave, so try to get here a few minutes before. But you can always call me and I can let you in. I'll see you then."

"Great. Thanks." He hung up.

Oh. What a shame. All alone in the building with Mr. Phillips after closing time.

'Oversee the loan personally'? What would that entail?

I was glad to be distracted by the lunch rush. When we weren't busy, the time dragged. Stewart came in at 4:30, so I had only a few minutes to talk to him before rushing off.

"Heard from your hot banker?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, he called this morning and my loan is approved. He wants to go over the terms with me. I've got a date with him at five. Gotta go."

"A date? Don't you mean an appointment?"

"Of course an appointment. I didn't say date. I said appointment."

"Mm-hm."

"This is bad, Stewart. I think about him all day. I keep replaying the meeting with him, trying to figure out if he was -- interested. And then I think he couldn't possibly be after all the dumb things I said. But then I think about how he--"

"Wow. From complete stranger to obsession in two days. This is such a surprise. So uncharacteristic of you. He must be very special. Yes, he must be an adult male human who is breathing and has a pulse, because that's the only way I can imagine this happening."

"I do not obsess that easily."

Stewart counted on his fingers. "The UPS guy, the beer delivery guy, the man in front of you in line at the coffee shop, the mailman..."

"Am I just an eighth-grade girl?"

"Pretty much. Go get him, Tiger." He pushed me toward the bathroom. "Brush your teeth."

************

Ms. Porter was putting on her coat as I arrived. "Oh, Mr. Andrews. Mr. Phillips is expecting you." She opened the inner door. "Mr. Andrews is here. And I'll be going now."

"Thank you, Anna."

I walked in. Mr. Phillips had his jacket off. He was wearing glasses this time. Definitely not a turn-off.

"Would you like the door closed, Mr. Phillips?"

"Yes, please, Anna."

Click.

He looked at the papers on his desk. "Richard. Please, have a seat. Thank you for coming in on such short notice."

"I don't remember you wearing glasses last time."

He looked up and smiled. "Sometimes contacts get too annoying. Any other questions before we look at the contract?"

Not really, I already checked your left hand for a ring. "Mr. Phillips, your card says you're a vice president. Do you normally handle such small loans?"

"Jose was scheduled to do your interview, but he called in sick, so I took it. And I like to stay in practice. It keeps me grounded. My main duties can put me a little out of touch."

"Oh. And you said something about personally overseeing the loan?"

"Your qualifications were borderline, Richard. The committee felt this loan needed a more hands-on approach than is usual. And I volunteered, having already met you and all."

Hands-on sounded good to me. "So, that would mean what?"

"The usual would be that we give the borrower a schedule of payments and we never talk again unless something goes wrong, like missing a payment. And then usually it turns out that the borrower has gotten into a financial crunch and hasn't told us, and it's already a mess and we should have intervened earlier. In your case, you would meet with me for every payment, and I can check on how things are going. It's going to be tight, Richard."

Oh, I promise you.

"You'll have to make significant changes in how you handle money. But let's look at the contract first. Remember, you're under no obligation to accept."

He slid the contract across the desk toward me. I stood to look at it. He leaned forward and pointed out paragraphs with his pen.

"We will be paying off the loan companies directly. It's actually easier for us than for you. We'll give you confirmation that they've been paid. I will want a receipt from this private loan shark of yours, stating that he's been paid in full. This is the amount of the loan. I've put in extra because I think it's more realistic so you don't get in a crunch right away. This is the interest rate. This is--"

He stopped and leaned back. "I'm sorry. I'm supposed to be able to read upside down, for just such occasions, but I never got the hang of it." He came around to my side of the desk. His shoulder grazed mine. I could feel the heat of it.

"This is the total interest over the life of the loan. There is no prepayment penalty if you pay it off early, and that would reduce the total interest. This paragraph states when your first payment is due."

"What's this paragraph about?" I reached across to point, leaning into his shoulder. He didn't move away.

"Those are the penalties if you miss a payment or if you give us a bad check."

"Ouch."

"Yes, the penalties are stiff."

What else is?

"Do you want a few minutes to read the contract through?"

I looked briefly at the two pages. "It seems fine. Where's the part about meeting with you every week?"

"That's not in writing. That's part of what we shake hands on. But it's for your benefit, Richard. And for mine, to make sure you pay this loan."

"'Part' of what we shake on?"

"Yes. Ready to go through that?" He turned and sat on the desk, his arms folded. Dammit, now I can't see your ass.

His shirt sleeves were riding up his hairy wrists. I like the way you ask me if I'm ready. "Yeah. Yes, sir."

"You will not take out any other loans for the duration of this loan. No payday loans, no private lenders, no borrowing five bucks from a friend. We will work out a budget for you, and as the first step in that, you will bring me a complete list of all the money you spend from now until we meet for your first payment.

"You have revolving credit accounts at several department stores. We will pay them off directly. It's part of your loan principal. You will cancel the cards. They have very high interest rates. You will make no further purchases using them. You will consult me before making any credit card charges of any kind. Debit card is fine.

"You will take no recreational drugs, and alcohol will be limited to one beer or glass of wine a day, for the duration of the loan. I don't want you squandering your money on them. Even if they're free, I don't want them impairing your judgment.

"And if you find yourself in financial difficulty, you will tell me. We will figure out what to do about it together. All right?"

"All that? Are you serious?"

"Dead serious."

"You can't force me to do all that."

"No, I can't. And you can't force me to give you this loan."

"What if I just sign the contract, don't shake on the rest, and I pay online every week and never miss a payment?"

"Then I will have no cause for complaint, and I will congratulate you. But in line with the committee's instructions, I will call you to check up on you. Often."

"What if I shake on all your conditions and don't keep them?"

"Then I will be disappointed."

Damn, I felt like I was being put on probation. I had to admit I could stand to clean up the way I handled money. It just seemed to run through my fingers like water. Maybe I could learn something. And what was I complaining about? Meeting alone with Mr. Phillips once a week after hours?

"All right."

"You can do this, Richard. I'm sure you can."

That sounded familiar.

"Feel ready to sign?"

"Yes, sir." I signed and initialed and initialed and signed and initialed and initialed. So did he. He set my copy in front of me.

"And are you ready to shake on our verbal agreement?"

"Yes, sir. I'll be glad of the help."

As we shook hands, he brought his left hand up against my shoulder.

"Any other questions?"

"When was that first payment?"

"A week from Friday. Anything else?"

Oh, so much else. "I thought I smelled mint. Or orange, or something." Yeah, something. Sweat. Pheromones. Something.

"Oh." He smiled and let go of my hand. "I don't like deodorants. I just use peppermint oil and orange oil under my arms. They're not a hundred percent effective. This time of day, I probably reek to high heaven."

How about it you let me bury my face in your armpit so we know for sure? Or better yet--

He was guiding me out, a hand on my shoulder. "I'll see you a week from Friday. Five o'clock sharp. Keep track of every purchase. Make a list. Bring it."

"Yes, sir. OK. I will."

"Here's your copy of the contract. Take care."

"Thank you, sir."

He waited a moment. "Know your way out?"

"Oh, yes. Elevator's that way."

"Right. See you next week."

"Bye."

I headed down the hall. I heard his door click shut.

Dammit, he forgot to have sex with me again.