Industrial Design
“Got you a new one,” announced the balding, silver-haired man as he entered the office without knocking.
“Awesome,” remarked the occupant who was sitting on a stool at a sleek, glass top drafting table. “Contract signed?”
“I just emailed it out. Should be back by close of business.”
“Any idea what they’re looking for?”
“Something fabulous is all I know.”
“Thanks, Phil! Keep me posted.”
“Will do.”
Over in the Los Angeles County neighborhood of Ladera Heights, attorney Wiley Stevens kissed his third wife goodbye. “See you in two days,” the AARP member said.
“Be safe, sweetie,” the woman with vibrant auburn tresses smiled.
“Oh yeah! I just signed the contract for the houseboat. They’ll probably reach out to you tomorrow.”
“Great!” She hugged her husband of eight months.
A horn beeped.
“That’s the driver. Gotta run, babe,” he shared grabbing a pear from a modern-looking asymmetric bowl atop the white countertop.
“Buh-bye!”
Callie Brennan Martinez Stevens, watched her second husband walk away. She adored his stout, five-foot-nine body. As usual, he was dressed in a tailored, dark suit with a colorful tie and pocket square. He shut the door of the 2,900-square foot, four-bedroom, three-bath house with hardwood floors, pool, and 3-car garage. The home wasn’t as majestic as the one she had shared with her professional baseball player ex, but it was lovely all the same.
Wiley had insisted they live in Ladera Heights; he enjoyed being around other affluent Blacks.
Callie went back to looking through Pinterest on her iPad. The two-time runner-up to Miss North Carolina tossed a seedless white g**** in her mouth. She was excited to death about the houseboat. The daughter of a Marine, she had grown up on the water.
Wiley’s daughter, Jana, was also in the backseat of the burgundy 2018 Lincoln Continental. “How’s Callie,” she rolled her eyes.
“Good,” the father replied.
“What do you think our chances of signing up these cases are?”
“Pretty good I’d say,” the ever confident plaintiffs’ lawyer beamed.
“I hope so.”
Jana Stevens did not inherit her dad’s unbridled optimism. She was more of a realist. And highly practical. Never in a million years would she have imagined working with her dad when she was growing up. It wasn’t that he was a bad father, but he was always busy. He gave her things instead of spending the quality with her she craved. Her mom, the first wife, and Wiley divorced when she was only six years old.
Wiley, who grew up in Crenshaw, sent Jana to the best schools and financed international trips. He wanted her to have the best. And, his successful law practice allowed him to do so - even though he attended a fourth-rate law school. He was a smooth-talker. Dapper. Engaging. Confident.
Jana made the decision during her final year at the University of Southern California Law School to join her dad’s firm.
Wiley was thrilled.
Jana was spending loads of time with her pops now - albeit for work.
“We’ll get ‘em, baby! We’re the best,” beamed Wiley.
Back in Georgia, the chief of design stood up from the drafting table. The medium-build, light brown-skinned dude headed into the kitchen to retrieve his lunch - a pre-made Cobb salad. He sat down and munched away while playing on his phone.
The owner’s daughter, Heather, came in. “Mind if I join you,” asked the marketing manager.
“Go for it!”
“Whatcha havin’,” the Southern belle quizzed.
“Just a salad. You?”
“I brought leftover spaghetti,” she giggled.
“I feel like you always bring spaghetti,” Lorenzo chuckled.
“Me too,” she twisted her lips. “It’s all Cade will eat. That and chicken tenders.”
“k**s.”
“Don’t you just wanna adopt some?” Heather winked.
“I’m not sure I could handle that.” he stroked his imaginary beard.
“We gotta find you a husband. And then y’all can get five or six k**dos from foster care.”
“You’re too much, girl!”
“I know, hunty,” she mimicked a stereotypical ghetto accent.
Lorenzo took another bite. He was ready for this spoiled white girl to shut the hell up. He had seen her type thousands of times - raised in comfortable privilege of which she was blissfully unaware. Chicks like her fancied themselves regular people because their parents did not have houses in the Hamptons and their dads had not gone to Harvard, Yale, or Princeton. They believed they were like everyone else because in their experience they were. They would have a close friend of color - usually some house-nigger-wannabe that rushed her sorority or played on the tennis team with her or the lone Black suitemate. Heather’s was all three. They were blind to their exalted status because they drove pre-owned Honda Accords or hand-me-down Volvos instead of brand new BMWs. This allowed these educated white milennial females to trick themselves into believing they were free of prejudice and living in a post-racial society. It also gave her license to showcase her “inner Black woman” with him.
He abhorred the fact that he had never called Heather Harmon on her bullshit. But, was it worth it? The native Atlantan reasoned that it was not. A graduate of Georgia Tech’s industrial design program, he was trained in science, technology and art. He loved his job helping clients create custom houseboat spaces and layouts. Plus, the travel to deliver the finished vessel had taken him to Dubai, Lake Havasu, and even Alaska. The son of a civil engineer and high school principal was not about to fuck this up.
“I need to get back to work,” he announced.
“See ya later!”
Lorenzo checked his email and found the new contrat the sales manager had promised him. He looked at the contact details and placed a call.
“Hello,” Callie answered.
“Hi there! This is Lorenze from Flotilla Custom. May I speak to Mrs. Stevens?”
“This is.”
“Excellent! I’m the chief of design and I want to set up an initial consultation to understand your needs.”
“Awesome. With you being in Georgia how do we do this?”
“Well, we have a few options. We can do a video conference. Many of our customers travel to us. And there’s the possibility of me coming to you.”
“Which is quickest.”
“Video.”
“Let’s do that then.”
“I have an opening on Thursday at 10:00 your time.”
“Perfect!”
“Let me confirm your email and I’ll forward that meeting link.”
A couple of months later and several meetings later, Lorenzo had delivered a plan that Wiley and Callie loved. Production was set to start in two weeks. The couple informed him, they would fly out for an afternoon to see construction.
The owner’s brother was the transportation coordinator. He maintained and drove the fleet - a Cadillac Escalade SUV and a Mercedes-Benz S-Class sedan, both black. His job was to pick up customers from the Atlanta airport, which was about a 60-mile drive.
Lorenzo went outside to check-in with the guy who favored his boss. Like many people before him, Lorenzo had incorrectly surmised that Jimmy and Ted Harmon were twins. They were not, although they were only 11 months apart in age. “You all set, Ted?”
“Yep! I’m pulling out in about 15 minutes,” the former motorcycle gang member shared.
“Fabulous!”
Ted returned with the Stevenses about three-and-a-half hours later.
Lorenzo and the rest of the leadership team gave them the red carpet treatment. They always did. Their customer list included Middle Eastern sheikhs, African princes, Russian oligarchs, Chinese capitalists and American tycoons.
“We can go into my office real quick,” Lorenzo suggested. Callie and Wiley followed him. He went over the design and then took them to the production floor.
The couple was pleased.
Before heading back to the airport, Wiley asked to use the restroom. Lorenze showed him the way.
After a long piss, Wiley exited. He remarked, “You have very intriguing eyes.”
“Uhhhh,” the designer was caught off guard. “Thanks!”
“You’re welcome! I bet Negroes love looking in them.”
“You think?”
“One hundred percent. Hazel eyes are intoxicating!”
“If you say so!”
Wiley adjusted himself and made his way back to the limo. On the ride, he imagined how it might feel to his generously thick 7-½ dick to fuck Lorenzo’s dense ass. His member grew as he thought about seeing the effeminate tart of a dude sashaying in front of him.
It had been a while since the superlawyer had nailed some boipussy. Two years to be exact. He had mainly bedded trannies of the Southeast Asian ladyboy variety, but there had also been a couple of Black and Hispanic gurls too. Wiley enjoyed the tightness of the rectum. The submissiveness of the receiver. The taboo of it all.
Lorenzo couldn’t erase the bold customer’s comments from his mind. He certainly thought the older man looked good with his deep bronze complexion and coal-black eyes. Wiley wasn’t as tall as what Lorenzo typically went for, but the man had swagger of the highest quotient. He had never slept with a customer before, but there was a first time for everything.
Once construction was complete, the cross-country transport was finalized. The swanky schooner would be pulled by a Peterbilt truck. The journey was a total of almost 2,300 miles. Lorenzo had volunteered to fly out and meet the Stevenses for the final walk-through.
The designer arrived at LAX and used an app on his phone to request a rideshare. He made it to the marina and walked out to the slip where the houseboat was docked. Wiley and Callie were scheduled to meet him in a half hour. He walked to the yacht club and ordered a fizzy drink made with gin and lavender essence.
His phone buzzed. It was Callie letting him know they had arrived.
The clients were pleased with the result. Wiley excused himself quickly. He was in the middle of trial prep and couldn’t be away for too long. His near seven-figure salary only came with hard work.
Lorenzo and Callie completed their conversation and decided to grab some tapas before parting ways.
Lorenzo checked into the hotel and took a shower. He had a voicemail when he came out of the bathroom. It was from Wiley.
“Hey! I have a couple of questions about the houseboat. Let me know where you’re staying and I can swing by the bar on my way home.”
Lorenzo called the buyer back. They made plans to connect in an hour.
Wiley walked into the lobby and spotted the sissy. He grinned and approached the visitor while toting his briefcase. “Forget the bar,” he opined. “Let’s go to your room. I got some brown,” the legal whiz patted the valise for emphasis.
“Why not,” remarked Lorenzo.
“Good, boi!”
Lorenzo giggled.
“You’ll be doing more than that when gobble this dick,” declared Wiley.
Lorenzo’s eyes widened. “You’re awfully forward.”
“Always have been, boi! It’s gotten me everything I have today.”
“Cool!”
“Damn right, faggit!”
Lorenzo unlocked the door.
Before it could close, Wiley had grabbed him and was kissing on his neck. He made a confession. “I’ve been wanting to fuck you since we first met.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah! My dick get bone hard when I think about you. Show me that ass!”
Lorenzo wiggled out of his stylish distressed jeans and bikini brief underwear, His juicy booty was hairless and glistening from the baby oil he had applied earlier.
“Got dayum, boi,” crowed Wiley. “That’s what I’m talking about!” He pulled out his cock, It was throbbing. Lorenzo dropped to his knees and began sucking.
======
Started this story in 2019. Should I finish it??? Let me know in the comments...
“Awesome,” remarked the occupant who was sitting on a stool at a sleek, glass top drafting table. “Contract signed?”
“I just emailed it out. Should be back by close of business.”
“Any idea what they’re looking for?”
“Something fabulous is all I know.”
“Thanks, Phil! Keep me posted.”
“Will do.”
Over in the Los Angeles County neighborhood of Ladera Heights, attorney Wiley Stevens kissed his third wife goodbye. “See you in two days,” the AARP member said.
“Be safe, sweetie,” the woman with vibrant auburn tresses smiled.
“Oh yeah! I just signed the contract for the houseboat. They’ll probably reach out to you tomorrow.”
“Great!” She hugged her husband of eight months.
A horn beeped.
“That’s the driver. Gotta run, babe,” he shared grabbing a pear from a modern-looking asymmetric bowl atop the white countertop.
“Buh-bye!”
Callie Brennan Martinez Stevens, watched her second husband walk away. She adored his stout, five-foot-nine body. As usual, he was dressed in a tailored, dark suit with a colorful tie and pocket square. He shut the door of the 2,900-square foot, four-bedroom, three-bath house with hardwood floors, pool, and 3-car garage. The home wasn’t as majestic as the one she had shared with her professional baseball player ex, but it was lovely all the same.
Wiley had insisted they live in Ladera Heights; he enjoyed being around other affluent Blacks.
Callie went back to looking through Pinterest on her iPad. The two-time runner-up to Miss North Carolina tossed a seedless white g**** in her mouth. She was excited to death about the houseboat. The daughter of a Marine, she had grown up on the water.
Wiley’s daughter, Jana, was also in the backseat of the burgundy 2018 Lincoln Continental. “How’s Callie,” she rolled her eyes.
“Good,” the father replied.
“What do you think our chances of signing up these cases are?”
“Pretty good I’d say,” the ever confident plaintiffs’ lawyer beamed.
“I hope so.”
Jana Stevens did not inherit her dad’s unbridled optimism. She was more of a realist. And highly practical. Never in a million years would she have imagined working with her dad when she was growing up. It wasn’t that he was a bad father, but he was always busy. He gave her things instead of spending the quality with her she craved. Her mom, the first wife, and Wiley divorced when she was only six years old.
Wiley, who grew up in Crenshaw, sent Jana to the best schools and financed international trips. He wanted her to have the best. And, his successful law practice allowed him to do so - even though he attended a fourth-rate law school. He was a smooth-talker. Dapper. Engaging. Confident.
Jana made the decision during her final year at the University of Southern California Law School to join her dad’s firm.
Wiley was thrilled.
Jana was spending loads of time with her pops now - albeit for work.
“We’ll get ‘em, baby! We’re the best,” beamed Wiley.
Back in Georgia, the chief of design stood up from the drafting table. The medium-build, light brown-skinned dude headed into the kitchen to retrieve his lunch - a pre-made Cobb salad. He sat down and munched away while playing on his phone.
The owner’s daughter, Heather, came in. “Mind if I join you,” asked the marketing manager.
“Go for it!”
“Whatcha havin’,” the Southern belle quizzed.
“Just a salad. You?”
“I brought leftover spaghetti,” she giggled.
“I feel like you always bring spaghetti,” Lorenzo chuckled.
“Me too,” she twisted her lips. “It’s all Cade will eat. That and chicken tenders.”
“k**s.”
“Don’t you just wanna adopt some?” Heather winked.
“I’m not sure I could handle that.” he stroked his imaginary beard.
“We gotta find you a husband. And then y’all can get five or six k**dos from foster care.”
“You’re too much, girl!”
“I know, hunty,” she mimicked a stereotypical ghetto accent.
Lorenzo took another bite. He was ready for this spoiled white girl to shut the hell up. He had seen her type thousands of times - raised in comfortable privilege of which she was blissfully unaware. Chicks like her fancied themselves regular people because their parents did not have houses in the Hamptons and their dads had not gone to Harvard, Yale, or Princeton. They believed they were like everyone else because in their experience they were. They would have a close friend of color - usually some house-nigger-wannabe that rushed her sorority or played on the tennis team with her or the lone Black suitemate. Heather’s was all three. They were blind to their exalted status because they drove pre-owned Honda Accords or hand-me-down Volvos instead of brand new BMWs. This allowed these educated white milennial females to trick themselves into believing they were free of prejudice and living in a post-racial society. It also gave her license to showcase her “inner Black woman” with him.
He abhorred the fact that he had never called Heather Harmon on her bullshit. But, was it worth it? The native Atlantan reasoned that it was not. A graduate of Georgia Tech’s industrial design program, he was trained in science, technology and art. He loved his job helping clients create custom houseboat spaces and layouts. Plus, the travel to deliver the finished vessel had taken him to Dubai, Lake Havasu, and even Alaska. The son of a civil engineer and high school principal was not about to fuck this up.
“I need to get back to work,” he announced.
“See ya later!”
Lorenzo checked his email and found the new contrat the sales manager had promised him. He looked at the contact details and placed a call.
“Hello,” Callie answered.
“Hi there! This is Lorenze from Flotilla Custom. May I speak to Mrs. Stevens?”
“This is.”
“Excellent! I’m the chief of design and I want to set up an initial consultation to understand your needs.”
“Awesome. With you being in Georgia how do we do this?”
“Well, we have a few options. We can do a video conference. Many of our customers travel to us. And there’s the possibility of me coming to you.”
“Which is quickest.”
“Video.”
“Let’s do that then.”
“I have an opening on Thursday at 10:00 your time.”
“Perfect!”
“Let me confirm your email and I’ll forward that meeting link.”
A couple of months later and several meetings later, Lorenzo had delivered a plan that Wiley and Callie loved. Production was set to start in two weeks. The couple informed him, they would fly out for an afternoon to see construction.
The owner’s brother was the transportation coordinator. He maintained and drove the fleet - a Cadillac Escalade SUV and a Mercedes-Benz S-Class sedan, both black. His job was to pick up customers from the Atlanta airport, which was about a 60-mile drive.
Lorenzo went outside to check-in with the guy who favored his boss. Like many people before him, Lorenzo had incorrectly surmised that Jimmy and Ted Harmon were twins. They were not, although they were only 11 months apart in age. “You all set, Ted?”
“Yep! I’m pulling out in about 15 minutes,” the former motorcycle gang member shared.
“Fabulous!”
Ted returned with the Stevenses about three-and-a-half hours later.
Lorenzo and the rest of the leadership team gave them the red carpet treatment. They always did. Their customer list included Middle Eastern sheikhs, African princes, Russian oligarchs, Chinese capitalists and American tycoons.
“We can go into my office real quick,” Lorenzo suggested. Callie and Wiley followed him. He went over the design and then took them to the production floor.
The couple was pleased.
Before heading back to the airport, Wiley asked to use the restroom. Lorenze showed him the way.
After a long piss, Wiley exited. He remarked, “You have very intriguing eyes.”
“Uhhhh,” the designer was caught off guard. “Thanks!”
“You’re welcome! I bet Negroes love looking in them.”
“You think?”
“One hundred percent. Hazel eyes are intoxicating!”
“If you say so!”
Wiley adjusted himself and made his way back to the limo. On the ride, he imagined how it might feel to his generously thick 7-½ dick to fuck Lorenzo’s dense ass. His member grew as he thought about seeing the effeminate tart of a dude sashaying in front of him.
It had been a while since the superlawyer had nailed some boipussy. Two years to be exact. He had mainly bedded trannies of the Southeast Asian ladyboy variety, but there had also been a couple of Black and Hispanic gurls too. Wiley enjoyed the tightness of the rectum. The submissiveness of the receiver. The taboo of it all.
Lorenzo couldn’t erase the bold customer’s comments from his mind. He certainly thought the older man looked good with his deep bronze complexion and coal-black eyes. Wiley wasn’t as tall as what Lorenzo typically went for, but the man had swagger of the highest quotient. He had never slept with a customer before, but there was a first time for everything.
Once construction was complete, the cross-country transport was finalized. The swanky schooner would be pulled by a Peterbilt truck. The journey was a total of almost 2,300 miles. Lorenzo had volunteered to fly out and meet the Stevenses for the final walk-through.
The designer arrived at LAX and used an app on his phone to request a rideshare. He made it to the marina and walked out to the slip where the houseboat was docked. Wiley and Callie were scheduled to meet him in a half hour. He walked to the yacht club and ordered a fizzy drink made with gin and lavender essence.
His phone buzzed. It was Callie letting him know they had arrived.
The clients were pleased with the result. Wiley excused himself quickly. He was in the middle of trial prep and couldn’t be away for too long. His near seven-figure salary only came with hard work.
Lorenzo and Callie completed their conversation and decided to grab some tapas before parting ways.
Lorenzo checked into the hotel and took a shower. He had a voicemail when he came out of the bathroom. It was from Wiley.
“Hey! I have a couple of questions about the houseboat. Let me know where you’re staying and I can swing by the bar on my way home.”
Lorenzo called the buyer back. They made plans to connect in an hour.
Wiley walked into the lobby and spotted the sissy. He grinned and approached the visitor while toting his briefcase. “Forget the bar,” he opined. “Let’s go to your room. I got some brown,” the legal whiz patted the valise for emphasis.
“Why not,” remarked Lorenzo.
“Good, boi!”
Lorenzo giggled.
“You’ll be doing more than that when gobble this dick,” declared Wiley.
Lorenzo’s eyes widened. “You’re awfully forward.”
“Always have been, boi! It’s gotten me everything I have today.”
“Cool!”
“Damn right, faggit!”
Lorenzo unlocked the door.
Before it could close, Wiley had grabbed him and was kissing on his neck. He made a confession. “I’ve been wanting to fuck you since we first met.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah! My dick get bone hard when I think about you. Show me that ass!”
Lorenzo wiggled out of his stylish distressed jeans and bikini brief underwear, His juicy booty was hairless and glistening from the baby oil he had applied earlier.
“Got dayum, boi,” crowed Wiley. “That’s what I’m talking about!” He pulled out his cock, It was throbbing. Lorenzo dropped to his knees and began sucking.
======
Started this story in 2019. Should I finish it??? Let me know in the comments...
1 year ago
