Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Nudism, Prostitution,
Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Duke's Diner was, indeed, a diner. In Austin. But there was a lot more to Marion 'Duke' Morrison's real estate enclave than casual dining. Why were most waitresses attractive, sexy? And how did Duke's truck stop, apartment building, motel fit in? And those Ukrainian gangsters? His Fed nemesis, Jeff Kragen of ICE? Where did Duke's mother, Linda, his main girlfriend, Gabriela, and Gabriela's daughter, Dub, fit in to the business and pleasure side of his operation?
Marion ‘Duke’ Morrison was asleep in his West Austin house when his car blew up.
The explosion woke Duke and his longtime lover, Gabriela Lopez Malone up. They stood, nude, looking at the car fire from Duke’s front windows. They could already hear emergency sirens in the distance. He said, “Call Red.”
Red Malone, Gabriela’s husband. Head of Security for Duke’s business consortium located mostly on the other side of Austin.
Gabriela’s 8-year old daughter wandered sleepily into the front room. She didn’t comment on her mother’s nudity, nor Duke’s. Nothing new there. Misty Malone, ‘Double M’ or ‘Dub’ had grown up living in Duke’s house as much as her parent’s.
Because her mother always slept in the nude, so did Dub. Nothing new there.
Duke Morrison bought the property on the outskirts of Austin that came to include Duke’s Diner a month after 9/11. The owner, whose nickname explained his persistent financial challenges, was Richard ‘Riverboat’ Collins.
Mr. Riverboat wasn’t in leg-breaker territory with his bookie / loanshark, Ahmad Issa. Not yet anyway. But he owed. And with the terrorists’ attacks back East ... well, unsettling times for Riverboat.
Ahmad was a quiet, swarthy, careful man. Slender, quick. He didn’t make threats because he didn’t need to. Customers went out of the way to pay on time. Old customers, steady ones like Riverboat, enjoyed the courtesy of an occasional float. At the appropriate terms of course.
Riverboat, for an inveterate gambler, was a smart loser. He won 40 to 45% of the time, year after year. What didn’t quite register with him was that the vast majority of his losses came when one of his teams barely failed to make the spread.
One other unimportant Riverboat tidbit. There was something odd, something off, about his walk. People felt it, even when they didn’t exactly pinpoint the reason. Riverboat’s right arm moved parallel with his right leg. Left arm with left leg.
Ahmad Issa was smart, everyone said so. The vig he charged was exorbitant compared to a legitimate bank. But, in the netherworld of gambling and loansharking, Ahmad’s interest rates were designed to keep the customers afloat, not bankrupt them.
If Ahmad were money-smart, Marion ‘Duke’ Morrison was a genius. And not just financially. Duke was a visionary. He looked at each situation from an oblique angle.
Other potential diner buyers thought in conventional, straight-ahead ways. Revise the menu. Redo the kitchen. Redecorate. Get a liquor license.
Duke did make these obvious improvements, but in his vision, Duke’s Diner was to become a piece of a much larger picture.
Duke already owned Duke’s Truck Stop with its huge gas station, massive garage, parking lots, and its own restaurant and store. Riverboat’s diner was only a couple of hundred yards away. Interestingly, truckers, families, students, couples, locals and visitors, patronized both dining establishments. And both were open 24 / 7.
Before he bought the diner, Duke studied the personnel. He wanted to keep the nine rotating fry cooks. They were competent and kept the kitchen up to code. But he hired a cuisine consultant, Ivy Compton, to refresh the lunch and dinner menus.
Ivy was an international celebrity chef, what the fuck was she doing fucking around with a mere diner? In the middle of Cunt Lick Texas?
As for current diner personnel, Duke would grandfather in any waitress who had been there three years or more. New waitstaff hires would meet different employment standards. And there would be unique ... physical requirements as well. Personality too.
The busboys and dishwashers were constantly turning over, although Duke had an idea to upgrade those jobs as well. A surprisingly large percentage of long-haul truckers enjoyed some boy-butt as a change of pace. Particularly the born-again brotherhood.
Duke had bought the Sagebrush Apartment complex -- 140 units -- three years earlier. The garden apartments were divided among studio, one-bedroom and two-bedroom units. Sagebrush was a sleepily successful operation with a decent location, not too much crime, easy freeway access.
He had purchased the Sagebrush Motel as well -- 36 rooms in a horseshoe-shaped configuration. The motel included a popular bar with basic bar food -- burgers, nachos, pizza. Ivy Compton would touch up that menu too.
Duke’s human resources gal -- Misty Malone, ‘Double M’ or ‘Dub’ as she became known -- began a quiet, but measured staff replacement program. She focused first on the housekeeping brigade for both the motel and apartments.
Dub didn’t fire any women who had been there for the requisite three years. No, her attention was on new hires. She spoke fluent Spanish, her mother, the gorgeous Gabriela Lopez, had gained citizenship only after marrying Sean ‘Red’ Malone, himself a handsome lad of 19.
Their issue, Misty ‘Dub’ Malone, was something. Almost as tall as her father, Dub was 5’ 10”. Over 6’ in heels. Unlike her mother, Dub had small, perky boobs with pink, up-tilted nipples.
Gabriela had hooters.
Dub’s thick hair was the darkest shade of red imaginable. The red was discernible only in a certain light. Her mother’s coal-black hair had waged a war against her father’s bright red carrot top. Neither color prevailed. Or maybe both did.
Dub was slender, with wide swimmer’s shoulders, a nipped-in waist, long, long legs that led up to a taut butt and a bald little-girl’s pussy.
Dub was in love with Duke. Who knew it and had ambiguous feelings about the situation. At 16, Dub would probably grow out of her infatuation. Or wouldn’t. Her mother hadn’t.
Dub met with her boss, her love, every morning at 10 in his office. Which was located in the truck stop complex that included the service station, garage for repairs and tuneups, store, restaurant, showers for the truckers.
Duke kept his office immaculate. Partly because a truck stop, by definition, wasn’t. Although his truck stop was as clean as the crew could keep it. Duke’s office had a hidden safe, too large to haul away. Large amounts of cash passed through the business complex every day.
Because there were no windows, Duke brought in a lighting consultant to modulate the levels of brightness. No overhead lights of course. The soft lights were as flattering as any in a top restaurant.
Duke had dropped out of school when he was 12 to work the West Texas oil fields. He was already over 6’ tall, weighed slightly more that 200 pounds. His kindly mother, Linda Morrison, had stopped trying to control Duke a couple of years before he left home. By then he was already doing whatever he wanted with little parental direction.
Not that he and his mother didn’t get along, they did. It was just that Duke was too large, too strong, too willful, to be parented. Linda had told her friends, “He does what he wants, that boy.”
They understood. And Linda, a former Miss Austin, had her own busy social whirl.
Dub, back when she was 8, realized she adored Linda almost as much as she did her own mother. Linda, like Gabriela, never talked down to the little girl. While Gabriela let Dub select her own clothes, it was Linda who gave Dub sartorial direction.
One day in the diner, Linda told her, “People say women dress to impress other women. Maybe so, honey, but I sure as fuck don’t. And neither should you. Dress like you wanna get fucked.” Linda smiled and hefted her gorgeous boobs, “Now you don’t have these yet, so what do you spotlight?”
“Exactly. You want men to see you and think ‘pussy.’ Think about fucking you. And that won’t be difficult to do, even at your age. Men think with their cock about 90% of the time anyway.”
“What should I wear? Shorts?”
“Short-shorts. As tiny as you can squeeze into. You can get away with short-shorts eight or nine months a year here. Bare midriff too.”
“Even without tits?”
“Especially without tits. Show a lot of skin, top and bottom. But your attitude should be sexy casual, not slutty.”
Dub was wearing a jean jacket over a man’s white dress shirt whose tails hung over skin tight blue shorts cut off above the knee.
Linda said “Lose the shirt.”
Unconcerned with the diner customers, Dub stripped to the waist. “Now put on your jacket. That’s right, but unbutton two more buttons. Flash some nipple. When you get home, cut the shorts off right below your pussy.”
“Now evenings and cooler weather. Slip dresses with spaghetti straps, short skirts, the tightest jeans you can find. You already have a great little butt, show it off.”
“You already have plenty of thongs, let men catch a glimpse once in a while.”
Linda said, “And let ‘em see that sexy little pussy too. Just a special guy, just a special occasion. You and your mama have the sexiest little pussies. I heard Duke mention that to Gabriela the other morning.”
“Duke? He was talking about me?”
“Not only about you, babe, but about your pussy.”
While lacking in much formal education, Duke was brilliant. Self-taught in some disciplines such as art and furnishings. His office reflected a surprisingly -- for Texas -- tasteful ambiance.
The office suite had a small bedroom with an adjoining bathroom. There was a steel backdoor leading to an alleyway with NYC-worthy locks and braces. The other door, also steel, led to a hallway which connected, after 30-some yards, with the restaurant and shops.
There were a series of four smaller offices, including one for Dub, one for the two accountants, another for the head of Security, and second largest to Duke’s. for the General Manager.
At first glance, Dub, at 16, was young, okay, ridiculously young, to head up human resources for an enterprise that employed over 300 full-time employees.
At second glance, she was still ridiculously young for the task. But Duke liked her. Liked her fierce intelligence, her innate politeness to everyone. He liked Dub’s can-do attitude. As well as her understanding and complete willingness to turn Duke’s operation into a sexual marketplace.
Most of all, Duke loved fucking Dub, had for years.
This morning the first agenda item was housekeeping. Dub said, “We hired four new maids last week.”
“Twelve, six at the motel, six at the apartments. We’re still interviewing.”
“The four new hires...”
Dub smiled, “Young. Undocumented. Single mothers. Scared. I’ll gentle them down.”
Next agenda item: Security.
Red Malone told Duke, “The usual shit. Teenagers keyed a couple of cars. Minor shoplifting, we have them on video. We also chased off some more Highway Humpers. Six of them.”
Dub said, “Daddy, are there more whores trying to work here now?”
“Not really, honey. They’re all networked with each other. Word’s out, Duke’s isn’t worth the hassle.”
Next agenda item: Money.
Gabriela Lopez Malone, laid a single spreadsheet in front of Duke. As general manager, she didn’t allow the two robotic accountants in the meeting. They droned on and on, bored Duke. Bored everyone. They were cliche numbers gals, but accurate and, so far as the intermittent audits could turn up, honest.
Duke smiled at Gabriela, he’d been fucking her since before Dub was born. Still was. Which didn’t please Red. But Gabriela had told her husband-to-be that Duke was in the equation. Deal with it.
Which was rather gutsy, seeing as she was then undocumented. But, left unsaid, Gabriela knew that Duke would somehow slide the paperwork through if he had to.
Duke said, “Tell me.”
Gabriela knew Duke liked short meetings. “Overall we’re up 4% compared to June of last year. The growth trend is consistent.”
End of formal meeting.
Red slid his notes into a folder and left.
Gabriela and her daughter looked at Duke. He grinned, “Shit, I can’t remember.”
Dub smiled kindly, “It’s Mama’s turn, Duke.” She left as Gabriela started undressing. Duke had been, shower-fresh, nude for the meeting. He usually was. Red no longer thought about it. Or tried not to.
Duke was a man’s man. He stood 6’ 4” tall, 245 pounds. Was thick like an NFL linebacker. Dark hair, cut short, almost as short as his Marine Corps days.
Strong ... just glance at those thick wrists. Wide shoulders, thick chest. Muscular arms and legs. Speaking of thick, Duke’s 7” cock defined the term. What it lacked in length, it made up for in stoutness.
When Duke decided to fuck Dub, all those years ago, her mother alerted her. Warned her. Gabriela said, “Honey, it’s gonna hurt. Duke is hung like a pony. His cock is fatter than this.” She held up a can of Negra Modelo.
Gabriela knew that Dub knew about Duke’s cock. She’d seen him nude hundreds of times in his office, in his home. But Gabriela was feeling some vague, maternal tug and felt she should remind the little girl.
Gabriela wasn’t trying to talk her daughter out of giving up her cherry. Duke wanted Dub and Duke took what he wanted. Besides, Gabriela herself was in love with the man. Duke had fucked Gabriela’s mother and all three of her sisters. Had fucked every female Lopez he saw.
Gabriela undressed in Duke’s office. Didn’t take long. A summer dress, lacy panties, flip-flops. Except for her large boobs, she looked like Dub’s sister. Having Duke fuck her was a pleasant part of the daily routine -- a 10 o’clock meeting, then he alternated fucking mom and daughter, daughter and mom.
Red tried to put it out of his mind.
Duke lay back on his bed, Gabriela smiled. She would do most of the work this morning. “Pussy or butt, honey?”
Gabriela straddled him and lowered herself. No matter how many times he fucked her -- and their affair had been going on over 20 years -- she still marveled at the too-full feeling. The first time Duke took Gabriela, her own mother had given her the standard warning, in Spanish, “He’s huge, baby.”
Today, while she was mentally prepared for him, Gabriela couldn’t help the shiver that coursed through her body. Duke was indeed a man’s man.
Later, in the shower, Duke heard a knock at the hallway door. A voice on the tinny intercom said, “Maria.”
Naked, dripping, Duke buzzed in the senior accountant. Maria was 62, portly, had broken English, a small wen on her left cheek. “So sorry, Gabriela. Last night’s store receipts.”
Gabriela, nude, dripping, rested her towel on her shoulders and took the document. “Shit.”
Maria said, “It’s short 12%. Register 4.”
“Yes, I can see.”
Duke looked over her shoulder, then looked at Maria.
Maria said, “It’s that new cashier.” One of the annoyances of dealing in a cash business. Although the trend was moving toward debit cards, an evolution that couldn’t come too quickly for Gabriela.
Gabriela said, “Have Red’s team check the video. They’ll nail the little cunt.”
“Yes ma’am.” Maria gestured toward Duke, “Should I... ?” Suck him off.
“That’s okay, hon. He just came.”
Even though he’d been fucking her for only a few years years, Duke felt as close to Dub as he did to her mother. Duke and Dub were on the same wavelength. While Gabriela ran his operation, was the General Manager, Dub was the focal point of the new direction Duke was taking.
When he first bought the truck stop, he had known about the roving band of whores who worked the huge parking lot. So long as they didn’t bother the civilian customers, he tended to look the other way. Those Lot Lizards were only a temporary concern.
Dub, who was 8 at the time, asked him why he allowed all that pussy to roam his property. She said, “I can understand a blowjob for the road, Duke, but those cunts just climb in the cab...”
Duke, in one of an endless series of life lessons, told her, “I’m a full service operation, baby. Or plan to be. I want our customers to be happy. And sex is sure a part of happiness.”
Duke said, “Eventually, I’ll run the whores off. Put my own girls in place. If the truckers are paying for pussy, they may as well pay me.”
When Duke first put Dub in charge of personnel, he told her mother, “Gabriela, keep an eye on the new hires. I’m pretty sure Dub understands the type of girls I want.”
Gabriela laughed, “Don’t worry, Patrón. Single. Mothers. Sexy. Undocumented. Pussy. Dub gets it.”
Dub was 12 at the time. A comer.
She was also inherently good with people. She was intuitive, knew how to get them talking about themselves. Knew how to put them at ease. How to them relax in the normally tense interview situations. All in Spanish of course.
Dub was a natural. She’d make mistakes of course. Fuck up, everyone did. But she was bright, quick. She’d do fine. Grow into the job.