The Geek Shall Inherit the Earth

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All characters involved in sexual activity are over 18 years of age.


Some guys are strong, with big rippling muscles. Some are athletes, like the guys who captained the football team at high school, then go on to set the record on the rowing machine at the work gym. I am neither, and I’ve always known it. I am, however, clever. It took me a long time to learn and accept that I was never going to be tall, and I was never going to run fast or kick a ball well, but actually being clever didn’t mean being an unpopular geek. For example, I was about 11 when the biggest, coolest boy in the class was sat next to me by the teacher in the hope he’d get more work done if he was sat next to a nerd, and he and I struck what became around school a very famous deal: I agreed to do his homework (he was so far into remedial, I could do it in seconds), and he would beat the living shit out of anyone who picked on me. I would still call on his services years later.

As years passed, I grew into a sturdy, deceptively healthy-looking lad. The beautiful girls gave their first blowjobs to the football team guys and the guys who were always in trouble, and I desperately tried to find ways to ensure these girls found their way into the back of my car (when I got the cash to buy one).

I tried romance and poetry. I taught myself guitar easily enough, and wrote a song for a girl, but she was more embarrassed than impressed, and a few other attempts with flowers and so on never worked that well. I was kissed by a few girls, of varying degrees of prettiness, and I got to second base with a crazy girl who joined the school and left the month after.

The solution hit me almost by accident.

Obviously, like most smart kids, I used a computer to do most of my homework (obviously, when I wasn’t watching porn and stroking my ego into oblivion). When I wanted the computer to do something it didn’t do with the software I had, I just wrote a piece of software that would. I didn’t think this was anything special, and when I talked on-line it seemed other people were doing it too, so when I published an application on a donations-based site for web apps that made your computer send text messages reminding me of stuff I had to do, I didn’t think anything of it. When I re-wrote it to handle the strings as data instead of text, to save cost and reduce system burden, and to enable it to recode in other languages using Google APIs, I still thought nothing of it, but I was pleased when it got a few hundred ‘kudos’ points on the website, and a couple of dollars in donations.

I was walking from school back home, kicking a pebble shaped like a dog turd, when my dodgy old mobile rang. An American voice from the applications and systems development team at some media company asked me to confirm if I was the author of this application, and if I was happy to sign to say I hadn’t used anyone else’s code or work in producing it, and to take the code off the website. Then they asked if they could use it in one of their systems. I nearly said ‘yes’ immediately, but had just enough nous to say ‘how much are we talking about, here?’

“Well, I’m not in a position to discuss financials, but it’ll reflect the business value of the application,” I was told.

A letter arrived in the post, and I signed it and sent it back. I got a letter two days later by registered post and in it was a contract, which I read and signed. All the numbers in it were percentages that didn’t mean much to me, and there were some terms, like I had to say I would keep the sale secret for at least 4 weeks, but during this time, I simply never thought about it. I got on with my life.

“Tony, there’s a letter for you,” Mom yelled from the front door. “I’ll leave it on the side”. I heard her close the door of our suburban 2-bed town house, and slumped downstairs to open the envelope. I pulled out a ‘with compliments’ slip, and a cheque. I stood and read the cheque. I’d never seen one like it. The number was broken with each digit in its own little box, and there were ones, tens, hundreds, thousands, and tens of thousands. And fucking hundreds of thousands. I read it again. About one thousand times. I counted the columns. Then I counted them again.

I had been paid $172,429 US fucking dollars for an application that took me an afternoon and evening to write, and less than a day to debug. That was about £120,000 here in Britain.

That’s more than Dad made in a year. No wait, that’s more than Dad made in 3 years. That’s more than his entire estate was worth when he died. That’s about what this house is worth. I’m fucking rich! I’m gonna need a bloody bank account, I thought.

I was about to rush straight out the door to head into town when it occurred to me that I was wearing just my underwear.

An hour later, showered and breakfasted, with my ID and a stack of letters with my address on tucked into my old Business Studies folder, I headed over to the bank. There were three cashiers serving: two grumpy but pleasant looking guys, and a stunning, bahis firmaları sophisticated blonde, with dark brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, manicured finger nails and a plunging neckline that showed a tantalising glimpse of cleavage each time she leant forward to stamp something. And of course, there was a ‘retail’ smile turned dazzlingly at each customer in turn. I guessed she must’ve been no more than 22, but when you’re only 18, that few years makes the world of difference. Somehow I knew immediately that I’d be picturing myself cumming over her pretty, round tits as soon as I was back home in my bedroom.

When the bloke at the end pressed his annoying ‘cashier number 5’ button to call me over I had to stifle a lot of swearwords. Then I decided, probably for the first time in ages, that no, I wasn’t going to be told what to do. I let the old woman beside me go ahead, and waited in line. Then the next guy buzzed, and I did the same again. This time a married-looking guy in his forties chuckled, knowing exactly why I was waiting. The girl at the checkout briefly made eye contact with me as I let him past, and I thought I noticed a smile creep over her pretty, inviting lips.

She buzzed, and I walked calmly up to her till. Something about having money had changed me already. Maybe I was walking taller, maybe I was just more confident. Either way, I was looking straight into the eye of the most beautiful, slightly older woman, and I felt on top of the world. ‘Hello, I’m Tony. I need to open a bank account and pay my first paycheque into it.’ I was impressed she maintained her professionalism, even though I could see her personal interest slipping already.

“Hi, Tony. I’m Rebecca. Have you brought ID with you today?”

I produced my passport and drivers licence.

“Our current accounts require a £1000 deposit each month for the higher interest rates. How much will you be paying in?” she asked.

“A lot more than that,” I chuckled, and handed her the envelope. She pulled the cheque out, still attached to the compliments slip, and another folded piece of paper I hadn’t seen before. She unfolded the letter, read a couple of lines and gasped. Then she resumed the professional face, and folded the paper again.

“Tony, you need to be talking to one of our investment, or savings specialists. I’m also pretty sure the mortgage people will want to speak to you. Do you have another appointment, or have you got some time this morning to look at how we can help you make the most of your fortune, I mean your money?” Her smile was exciting and enlivening. A spark was twinkling in her eye, and there was a slight flush of embarrassment to her face.

“Can’t you help me?” I asked, confused at why this was suddenly getting out of hand.

“Let’s go to a meeting room,” She answered me. “Wait here a second, and I’ll come round”.

I waited a few minutes while she closed up her till, and while she showed the cheque to the desk manager. I watched as she explained her plans, and when she came around to see me she said, “This way, please, Mr Alton”, which made me laugh. She led me into the corner of the office, where there was a lift I’d never noticed, despite several depressing trips to this bank before. She walked up three small steps to the elevator, and as she did I noticed that her physical perfection wasn’t just above the counter, she wore black heels, with inviting, long bare legs to a knee-length, tight skirt that went up, with a short split on one side, then sculpted around the most inviting, delightful ass I’d seen in a long time. As she waited for the lift doors to open I saw how her tiny waist gave her a fantastic, curved shape, and her fitted blouse cupped right under her amazing tits. As she stepped ahead of me into the lift and beckoned me in with a nod, I could feel my cock twitch in my pants.

She led me past two empty, glass-walled meeting rooms, to an office and we walked inside. As she pushed the door shut behind us, I realised that this room, unlike the meeting rooms outside, was completely private.

The curved desk was against the wall, and she sat down at it as I sat in the chair facing her, so she could talk to me and type at the same time. She brought up an account application form with a few mouse clicks. I noticed it was in plain html, and wasn’t very good. They hadn’t bothered with JavaScript for the question boxes, and I could make them a better one in an afternoon, I thought to myself. She put the envelope down on the desk in front of her.

“To start with, you’ll need a current account, to manage your basic expenses through. We’ll look at savings and things in a minute. Do you know when the next instalment is due to arrive?”

“Next instalment? No, this is it.”

She looked confused as she opened the letter that had come in the envelope, and unfolded it in front of me. “Dear Mr Alton, yada yada yada, please find enclosed your first payment….. 8% of total sum….”

“OH MY GOD!” I yelled. “8 per cent? That means I’m due.. wait.. about one kaçak iddaa and a half million! What the fuck?”

She tapped on a calculator briskly. “two million, one hundred and fifty thousand US, give or take a few grand. You hadn’t seen this?” She handed me the letter. I read it briskly. Then I read it again, smiling more and more…

“No. I mean, I only got the cheque this morning. I can’t believe this. I thought this cheque was the lot.”

“Well, it seems the total sum will be paid over 12 instalments, and over this coming year. Congratulations. That must’ve been some application you wrote. Have you been programming long?”

“This is my first published app,” I said, “but I’ve written some more, and, thinking about it now, I hope to be selling those, too.”

“…Oh, and this isn’t a cheque” she added. “It seems this company also banks with us, albeit in the States. This is one of our bankers’ drafts, and it means you can take the cash today, if needs be.”

“You mean, I can pay this in here, and go buy a house this afternoon, if I want?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“You’re in for an amazing day,” she chuckled. “You know, of course, that this kind of income is going to incur a tax bill, so you’re going to want to get an accountant. After the sports car, obviously.”

I thought for a second about the broken, rusty Honda civic parked behind the garage that I’d promised myself I was going to get on the road.

We ran quickly through the paperwork. She chuckled when she realised I was only 18. The conversation was easy and light. Somewhere in the chatter, as she was looking for a folder in the cabinet, her hair bobble was removed, and her long hair spilled down around her shoulders. The account was opened in minutes, but chatter kept us laughing and talking for well over an hour. She learned about my school, my programming ambitions, my lack of a girlfriend; I hadn’t really realised she wasn’t sharing much about herself, but her eyes shone with each little nugget of information, and I was utterly blown away by her, until she finally handed me a temporary account card, and as I took hold of it, she was slow to let go.

“Your proper debit card will arrive by post in a few days. I suggest you take out cash to start with, enough to get you through to the weekend, and come in and see me any time you need some more. Bring your ID and that card to make withdrawals until the proper card arrives. I’ll have a copy of this letter put on record, so regulators and so on can see where this is coming from. Again, since these guys bank with us, chances are there won’t be any problems. You may just have to keep popping in to see me once in a while…”, and with that, she stroked her fingers across the back of my hand, in an unmistakeably intimate gesture.

It hit me that this beautiful, sexy, accomplished woman was actually flirting with me. I was starting to wonder just how private this room is, or whether there were cameras recording our conversation.

I bit my lip. “So, if I was to suggest a celebratory drink, later… is there somewhere you’d recommend?” I tried to remain calm but my pulse was racing.

“I suspect you’ll not be short of people to take drinking.” She almost whispered in reply.

“I prefer smarter women than those that would choose to hang out with a guy just because he’s rich. And few of those I’ve met have been as smart, or as stunning as you”. I heard the words as if being spoken by a third party. I’d never have been this brazen yesterday, or ever! “Sorry, I’m being silly. You’re probably married, or dating someone.”

“Ha!” she laughed, and the professional tone had gone, with just a contented, almost joyful smile remaining. “I had a thing with the mortgages manager here until the Christmas party, when I caught him up to his nuts in one of the other cashiers. It’s been a while, but I’m out there again now.”

“So how about being out there, with me?” She pulled up short for a moment. Bollocks, I thought. I’ve misread the signs. “I… well, I think I need someone to party with.”

“Tony,” she whispered, “I think, I’d like that very much. But right now, I don’t want you out there. I want you in here.” She leant forward, her amazing bust holding my attention completely, put a hand on my knee and kissed me full on the lips. Her mouth was soft and gentle, and immediately I kissed her back, hard. Our tongues fought briefly then her lips and mouth filled my entire consciousness. The instant I wished the moment would go on forever, I felt her hand begin to trace up my leg towards my instantly swollen cock.

Not knowing what to do first, I put out my hand to caress her breast through her blouse. She was warm, soft and voluptuous. I stroked her cheek with my other hand, and ran my fingers through her soft, fresh-smelling hair. Her perfume was drowned out by a smell I didn’t know, but was about to discover. She started to stroke my cock through my jeans. “Oh my God,” she gasped. She traced the full length of it with her finger. She pulled her hand back with a start, kaçak bahis and pulled herself up short. “Sorry, am I going to fast? It’s just your cock… it’s, well it’s pretty big, isn’t it?”

I kissed her again, and pulled her to me, crushing her tits against me, and my raging boner against her.

She reached down for a moment, and tried to open my fly. She gave up, pulled away, and dropped to her knees to work the zip on my jeans down. I helped her to speed the process along. I knew I had a healthy sized dick, but nobody had ever touched it before but me. When she opened my boxers, it sprang out, almost catching her chin. Climbing up, she pushed the mouse and stationary from the desk to one side with the back of her arm, and sat me down on the desk, pulling my jeans down past my knees. I watched as she deftly unbuttoned her amazing blouse. Her black, solid bra was just visible through her top, and I stood up to help her get her blouse off her shoulders, and she put it down. I pulled my t-shirt off over my head, still completely expecting to wake from this dream at any moment, and she smiled her amazing, professional smile again. She kissed me again, and I felt her tits through her bra for the first time. I was about to try and take off her bra when she dropped to her knees again, and this time took my cockhead into her mouth. My head rushed with thoughts like an entire crowd were all using my mind at once.

“Oh my God” she said as she lifted her head briefly. “This thing’s enormous. I’ll bet there’ve been some lucky girls on this before, huh?” Without waiting for an answer, Rebecca dropped her head back into my lap, and began sucking in earnest. This time she tried to get more of it into her mouth, sliding down almost half way.

“God, Tony, I want this bastard inside me. Oh, man.”

“You need a good fucking, huh?” I asked, almost hearing the words for the first time as I said them. “Go easy, there, then. Slow down, I’m too close already.”

“Been a little while, has it? In that case, why don’t you help me out?” I must’ve looked a little confused, because she chuckled sweetly for a moment as she unzipped her skirt. She sat back on the desk, and led me round in front of her. “Kneel down. I’m guessing you’ve not eaten a pussy before?” she smouldered, and began to stroke at her pretty, black panties. Then she pulled them to one side, and her beautiful, shiny, moist pussy lips came into view.

“Let’s get rid of those” I said, and reached round her waist, stroking her ass briefly with my fingertips, then pulling her knickers down and off her. Then I kissed her again, and reached behind her to her bra strap. I admit with some shame that I had read up on methods for undoing a bra with one hand, but my fumbling made her chuckle again, and she popped her own bra off in seconds.

Her firm, impressive breasts were now right in my face, and I licked at one of them for a moment, before taking her nipple in my mouth. After just a few seconds she pushed my head downwards to get me ‘back on task’.

“Lick from top to bottom” she ordered. I started licking gently, with the tip of my tongue. She grabbed the back of my head and forced me deep into her pussy. I began to understand how much she wanted this, and I started to lick harder, faster, and to use the flat of my tongue to work the whole width of her sensuous, gorgeous, aromatic oasis.

I’d seen enough porn to know what would happen when I did, and i was not disappointed to find that flicking and nibbling at her clit sent her fucking wild, but her real moaning came as I let the flat of my tongue spin round her firm button. I couldn’t believe there was anyone in the building who didn’t know what was happening here. I started to say something, but she cut me off.

“Don’t worry, this room’s sound-proofed. Now shut up and fuck me. Hard.”

She put one of her high-heeled shoes onto the back of the chair she’d previously been sat in, and I stood at her desk, allowing the head of my cock to touch the soft folds of a labia for the first time.

“Please don’t make me wait any longer, put that fucking monster in me now”, she whispered huskily, still business-like, but pleading slightly.

I let the head tease her for a few seconds longer, then allowed it to slip in just a little. “Aahhh! Oh my God that’s so big. Oh, shit!” she sighed as I gave her a moment to acclimatise.

Her pussy felt warm. No; it felt damn hot, like my dick head was in a hot bath. Her tight little pussy squeezed it all over and I immediately felt it start to throb.

I thought about football, about maths, about Teresa May, anything to stop myself from finishing, but all I could feel was this amazing experience. I was determined I was NOT going to cum without at least making an impression, so trying to keep that in mind, I began to stroke in and out of her amazing pussy, trying to move gently. Rebecca looked down, and must’ve seen that I wasn’t all the way in. She pulled me to her with her legs, wrapping them round me, almost biting her own lip to stifle her scream as I did. I stroked deep, thrusting into her again and again. As she leant further and further back I could see more of her pussy and ass until it all became just too much, and I knew I was going to cum.

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