Connie shifted her weight nervously from one foot to the other… although the temperature had been in the nineties for the past few days, she shivered as she looked around the dusty abandoned warehouse. She had been waiting for almost half an hour and was beginning to wonder whether anyone was going to show up.
She had been ready to run from Lionel's apartment in shame and humiliation the Tuesday before, until the mention of the dope reminded her of her assignment. Resolving not to let her personal hangups get in the way of her job, she had forced herself to stay, sitting at the far end of the black-sheeted mattress as they discussed the heroin.
But when she told Lionel that she needed half an ounce, he had pursed his lips in a soundless whistle of surprise. "I don't know," he said. "I can score a bag of grass or a snort of coke every now and then. And I can even help you get a fix if you need one. But half an ounce of junk is out of my league. If it's weight you're after, I'll have to put you in touch with a friend of mine."
He called her a few days later, giving her the address of this abandoned warehouse on Queens Boulevard in Sunnyside, just a couple of miles west of her apartment. He told her to meet his friend there on Saturday night at eight. Although at the time she had jumped at the chance, now she wasn't so sure that she had done the right thing.
The empty crates and piles of packing material that littered the floor of the huge one-room building cast long eerie shadows on the floor around her in the dim light which filtered through the dirt-encrusted windows. She held her watch up to her eyes and squinted at it, trying to make out the time, when the door opened and a man stepped in.
For a moment she could see him outlined clearly in the light which came from the open door. He was short and stocky and shaped like a bullet even to the top of his bluntly pointed head. When he closed the door behind him, the warehouse was again plunged into darkness. But he struck a wooden match on the concrete floor and touched it to the wick of a stubby candle that he held in his hand. Then he walked toward Connie.
"Foxy?" she asked quietly, using the name which Lionel had given her on the phone. But the stocky man didn't, answer. When he had gotten to within a couple of feet from her, he stopped and held out the candle, letting his eyes roam up and down her body. He stared silently at her, enjoying the way that her tight black denim jeans hugged the fullness of her hips and ass. He licked his lips suggestively as he examined the round swell of her tits filling the tight white sweater that she was wearing.
"Understand you're interested in some weight," he said, his voice gruff and raspy.
Connie looked at him in the flickering candlelight. His skin was pale and yellowish looking and his hair slivery gray and cropped close to his head. He looked like a specter of evil, lurking in the streets by night and haunting abandoned warehouses. He was dressed in a stained leather vest and dirty leather pants that were tied in front with a rawhide thong. His clothes looked as though he had been wearing them for months. Connie could smell the pungent odor of his body as he stood next to her.
"That's right," she said. "Half an ounce. Can you do it?" She was glad that he had been direct, coming straight to the point. She didn't relish making conversation with a man such as him.
The repulsive man laughed at her question. "I can do it, all right," he said. "It'll cost you seven-fifty. It's high, but it's pure."
Connie tried to look like she was thinking it over. "It's high, all right," she said, willing to take Foxy's word for it, "But if it's good stuff, I'm willing to pay the price. I'll need a sample, of course. Do you have any with you?"
Foxy laughed again – a cold, mirthless, bestial sound. Then he looked at her coldly. "What do I look like?" he asked, contemptuously. "Do you think I'd go to meet some broad I've never seen before with a bag of junk in my pocket? How do I know you're not a cop?"
Connie felt her blood run cold at the question. Could it be that he suspected her? But no, that was impossible. He was just being cautious. "I'll be happy to show you my identification," she said, glad that Lieutenant Blumenthal had provided her with a Connecticut driver's license before sending her out on the assignment.
"Eye-Dees mean nothing," Foxy said, his eyes traveling freely over her curvaceous body. "I got a million credit cards, all with different names on 'em. And, anyway, cops don't always carry badges."
Connie was flustered. "Well, how can I show you that I'm not, a cop, then?" she asked, unwilling to let this minor detail frustrate her now that she was so close to accomplishing her mission.
"If you're a cop you'll have a gun," Foxy said. "Got one?"
"No," she answered, glad that she had taken the lieutenant's advice about not carrying her gun on this assignment. "I assure you that I don't have a gun. Wouldn't know what to do with one if I did. Here, I'll show you my purse." She started to open her purse for him to look inside, but he knocked it out of her hand with a brutal sweep of his arm.
"How do I know you haven't got it on you?" he said. "I better check." He put the candle down on top of a packing crate and moved toward her.
"Now, wait a minute," she said. "What do you think you're doing?"
"I'm going to have to frisk you to see if you're packing," he said. "Don't move."
Connie began to tremble as the foul-smelling man approached her. "Turn around," he said, "and put your palms flat on the top of this crate."
"Keep your hands off me," she said, backing away from him. "I don't want the junk that badly," The evil glint in his beady eyes terrified her, and she wanted to put as much distance between herself and him as possible, even if it meant ruining her chances of completing the assignment. It had already cost her too much and she had resolved not to take any further chances.
But Foxy sprang in front of her, his movements remarkably catlike for so muscular a man. A folded pearl-handled switchblade knife glinted in his hand. Then she heard a click as his finger found the button and a long ugly blade sprang out of the handle. "If you want to get out of here alive," he said, "you'd better prove that you're not a cop."
"Why don't we just forget the whole thing?" Connie stammered, desperate to be away from this gorilla. "You can forget you ever saw me and I'll forget I saw you?"
"But you have seen me," Foxy said. "It's too late for forgetting. Now prove you're not a cop. Put your hands flat on the crate, like I told you." He waved his blade menacingly under her nose, the threat clear.
Trying to control the shaking of her knees as she turned to comply with his command, Connie spread her feet apart on the floor and leaned forward, resting her weight on the palms of her hands atop the packing crate. At the Police Academy she had been taught to make prisoners assume this position for frisk. She knew that it effectively exposed all parts of the body to the exploring hands of a searching officer. She tried not to think about it as Foxy stepped up behind her.
Reaching around her with his right hand, he continued to hold the knife in front of her face. Then he began to run his left hand expertly over her back and shoulders, going through the motions of looking for a concealed weapon. As his fingers examined her body through the luxuriously soft material of her white sweater, Foxy felt his long thick cock beginning to stir.
Then, reaching around in front of her, he ran his hamlike hand roughly across the swell of her tits, giving each of them a little squeeze. Connie felt a lump of disgust rising to the back of her throat as she felt the hand of this foul-smelling little man on her tits. The nipples began to pucker as his fingers kneaded the mounds of soft flesh and she cursed herself for the involuntary reaction, hoping that he wouldn't notice. But Foxy's fingers felt the stiffening of her nipples and transmitted the message to his burgeoning cock, causing it to jump inside the confinement of his tight leather pants. He ran his hand down across her belly, stroking the taut expanse of soft skin as he worked his way around to her back. Lowering his hand slowly, he stroked the round hills of her buttocks, pinching them gently and pressing his fingers against the denim which drew tightly across the crevice which separated her firmly rounded asscheeks.
Connie hoped that he wouldn't rub her cunt the way that he was rubbing her ass. It was already beginning to moisten, making her very uncomfortable. She felt the muscles of her ass clench and unclench in response to his rough exploration. And Foxy felt it, too. He squeezed back each time her ass jumped in his hand.
Then he ran his hand down the back of her left thigh, moving it slowly across the denim covered column until he reached her ankle. Slipping his hand around to the inside of her long shapely leg, be brought it up again, moving it sensuously from side to side as he moved higher and higher, not stopping until his fingers nudged at her groin, jabbing through the thick material at the tender pouting lips of her tight young pussy.
Moving his hand quickly to the other leg, he repeated this procedure, again bringing his hand high enough to prod gently at her cunt. She could feel the thick puffy lips flowering open as he searched her body shamelessly. She bit her lip to avoid shouting at him, demanding that he stop. He'll be finished in a moment, she thought. And then, when I've passed his inspection, I'll get the sample of heroin.
Since he had told her that he could sell her the half ounce, she knew that getting the sample from him would complete her assignment. As soon as she would have brought the dope to Lieutenant Blumenthal, the assignment would be finished. He would get his warrant and this slimy little dope pusher would go to jail. Then she would ask the lieutenant for a few days off to recover from the horrible series of indignities that she had suffered.
Foxy reached around her waist and was rubbing the front of her body now, bringing the flat of his hand up as far as the swell of her quivering tits and then down as far as the hair-cushioned mound of her sox. Connie pulled away from him, taking her hands from the top of the packing crate and turning to face him. "Are you satisfied?" she asked. "Now you can be sure I've got no gun."
"I don't know," Foxy said, licking his lips lustfully. "You might have it hidden somewhere I couldn't feel it. I think you'd better take off your clothes and let me have a look."
"No," Connie sputtered, her voice a nervous shout.
"Keep your voice down," Foxy said, his tone cold, hard, and menacing. He held the knife in front of her face, its point grazing the tip of her nose. "I don't like noise. And, anyway, there's no one around to hear you."
Connie felt hot tears of frustration welling in her eyes as she realized that she was completely at his mercy.
"Take off your clothes nice and slow," he commanded. "And don't try any tricks. I'd hate to have to mark up that pretty face of yours. Now strip!"
No longer able to control the sobs of humiliation that were clogging her throat, Connie began to cry openly, all hope lost. "Don't make me do this," she pleaded. "I assure you that I haven't got a gun. Please. Just let me go and we can forget the whole thing."
But Foxy just shook his head from side to side. "It's gone too far for that," he said. "Now get, 'em off." As he spoke, he ran the edge of the sharp blade lightly across the freckled skin of her cheek. The blade felt cold and razor sharp, and Connie shuddered inwardly at the thought of what he could do to her with it. He could disfigure me for life, she thought. All in a swift flash of unreasoning anger. And he might not stop there. He might kill me.
Resolving to do nothing which might anger him, she crossed her arms, reaching for the ribbed border of her sweater. She drew a deep breath before pulling the sweater up over her head. When it was off, she placed it carefully on top of the packing crate. She stood before him now, naked from the waist up except for the tight black bra that held her lusciously big fits in place. Its front was cut to a deep plunging vee, designed to give her breasts uplift under the sweater. She could see him staring lustfully at her cleavage, wetly licking his lips as he did so. With his left hand, he was rubbing the growing lump which stood out against his pants. His right hand continued to wave the switchblade toward her, reminding her of what would happen if she refused to comply with his command.
She hesitated briefly, uncertain of whether to take off her bra or her jeans next, finally deciding on her jeans so that she could keep her breasts covered for a moment longer. She unfastened the snap at the front of her pants and began to open the zipper. Her panties were black and matched her bra. She heard Foxy draw his breath in sharply as she opened her jeans, exposing the wispy garment to his view, and began to draw them down over her hips and the full ripe mounds of her ass.
As the jeans dropped to her ankles and she stepped out of them, she saw the perpetrator untie the thong which held his leather pants closed and reach inside. He was playing with his prick. Connie could see the thick organ outlined clearly against the dirty, sweat-stained leather as he rubbed and manipulated it with his fingers. Although filled with revulsion at the thought of what he was making her do, Connie found herself intrigued by the outline of the mammoth organ. She remembered what Lionel's naked cock had looked like and wondered if all pricks looked the same.
Foxy saw her looking toward his erection and smiled with satisfaction. It didn't take any of them very long to discover that there was something special about him. And no matter who they were, it wasn't long before they wanted it.
"Come on," he said. "Quit stalling! I want to see what you've got hidden inside that brassiere." His prick throbbed achingly as he surveyed her full titties, the curving white skin of their tops overflowing the low cut undergarment. He could see the puckered silhouettes of her turgid nipples pressing insistently against the material of the black bra-cups.
When Connie hesitated, he moved toward her, brandishing the knife. He ran the cold steel areoles the curve of her swelling tits, pressing its sharp point threateningly against the soft white skin separating the huge mounds of swollen flesh. "Don't make me cut this thing off you," he growled, turning the sharp edge of the blade against the tautly drawn material which separated the two black bra-cups, filled with their sensuous load.
Connie obeyed quickly, reaching behind her to undo the clasp, fearful that he would carry out his threat, leaving her with nothing to put on later. When she opened the catch, the bra fell from her, carried away by the swelling tits that it contained and which longed to be free of its confinement. She dropped the bra on top of her sweater on the dusty top of the empty crate.
Her breasts were naked now, jutting proudly from the front of her body, the two erect nipples pointing straight at Foxy. She could feel them swelling to complete erection, the rosy aureoles puckering around the rising buds of pink which they surrounded. Foxy licked his lips again as he looked at them.
"No gun there," he said, grinning lasciviously. "Now the drawers."
"You can see I've got nothing hidden in my panties," she said imploringly. "Can't you leave me one last shred of decency?"
But Foxy sneered, his teeth glinting yellow in the flickering candlelight. "The drawers," he repeated impassively.
Connie clenched her teeth in an effort to contain the sob of shame which was building in her throat and threatening to tear from her lips. A flood of humiliated tears was flowing down her freckled cheeks and dropping wetly to the swell of her naked tits. She looked down at the concrete floor of the warehouse, unable to meet the beady eyes of the knife-wielding hoodlum who was tormenting her.
Three horizontal ruffles crossed the front of her panties just above the swollen mound of her pussy. She liked wearing pretty underwear. It made her feel clean and pure. But now, posing before this repulsive creature, clad in nothing but her ruffled underpants, she felt soiled and defiled. Most humiliating of all was the knowledge that there was no way to avoid doing what he ordered.
Hooking the elastic waistband of her panties with her thumbs, she pulled them swiftly down over the curving swell of her hips. She could feel her flesh crawl as gradually it was bared for the lewd inspection of the knife-brandishing tough. When the waistband reached the top of her furred pubic triangle, she stopped for a moment, unable to bring herself to expose any more of her body.
But when the candlelight glinted off the blade of Foxy's knife, she remembered his threat. Biting her lip to keep herself from wailing in despair, she pulled the panties all the way down, feeling the dusty air of the warehouse sweep dankly over the curling hair of her sex. She could see Foxy's gaze trained openly on the pouting lips of her cunt, flowering open and peeking out through the tangled jungle of wiry fur.
"Are you satisfied now?" she asked, her quavering voice barely audible in the thunderous silence of the empty warehouse. "Have I proved to your satisfaction that I'm not a cop?" She hated this smugly sneering criminal. Hated the expression of lustful desire on his face and the look of contempt which he turned on her as she spoke.
"I don't know," he said slowly. "A smart policewoman might travel without a gun if she thought she was going to be searched."
Connie began to sob openly now, unable to control the flood of emotion which assailed the dam of her self-control. "Then what do you want?" she screamed. "What more do I have to do to convince you?"
"A blowjob!" he exclaimed, as though the thought had just occurred to him. "Cops don't give blowjobs."
Connie was confused. She had heard the word "blowjob" before, but, although she knew that it referred to some depraved sexual practice fit only for the lowest of whores, she wasn't really sure of what it was. "Wha… What do you mean?" she stammered.
Foxy laughed contemptuously. Is she kidding? he thought, untying his pants completely and allowing them to fall to the floor. Taking a step closer to her, he jabbed delicately at one of her nipples with the point of his knife. "My cock," he said. "I want you to suck it."
His words struck Connie like a clenched fist, bringing a wave of bitter revulsion halfway up her throat. He can't be serious, she thought. He can't actually be asking me to take his filthy thing into my mouth. She stood for a minute, shaking her head from side to side in shocked disbelief. How could anybody do such a depraved thing? It was terrible! Horrible! Her stomach was turning in disgust at the thought of his thick organ, pungent with the smell of cunt and urine, pushing past her lips and penetrating her throat.
But Foxy was obviously not fooling. He grabbed her by one of her long dark braids and forced her to her knees in front of him. Connie was weeping and sniveling like a newborn infant deprived of its bottle. She couldn't believe that this awful thing was really happening to her.
She looked straight ahead of her and saw Foxy's thick red penis waving obscenely in front of her nose. She held her breath, trying to keep herself from gagging at the sight of the massive hardon. When at last she took a long painful inhale, her nostrils filled with the stench of his unwashed body. A musty smell rose from his cock – the smell of countless pussies – the cunts that he had been in since his last bath – mixed with the overpowering stench of his own sweat.
A glistening drop of lubricating fluid formed at the tip of his thickly swollen purple cockhead. The sight of it made Connie's stomach crawl. Foxy humped his hips forward, bringing the moist tip of his prick against her mouth. Moving from side to side, he smeared the drop of dewey wetness over her smooth red lips. She could feel the slimy goo covering her mouth and could smell its pungent odor.
Then Foxy pulled back slightly. "What's the matter?" he asked. "Haven't you ever sucked a cock before? Why, I'll bet you're going to like it. Taste it. You'll see it's not so bad." When Connie failed to react to his words, he pressed the point of his knife insistently against the back of her neck. "Taste it," he commanded again, his tone of voice making clear his unspoken threat.
Choking back her sobs and blinking back her tears, Connie snaked out her tongue, licking the glistening moisture off her lips. It had a spicy taste, like peppered almonds. But the thought of what it was and where it had come from made it more repulsive to her than cyanide.
"Now taste my cock," he ordered, moving close to her, again. She felt the rubbery head throb demandingly against the softness of her lips. Fearing the consequences of any further hesitation, she reached tentatively out with the tip of her tongue, licking the thick knob of throbbing flesh gingerly. It tasted salty and had the slimy texture of a clam, only harder. A shiver of delight ran through Foxy's body in response to the faltering contact. This was turning out to be even better than he had expected.
Thrusting his hips forward with a jerkingly insistent movement, he battered the tip of his stiff prick against the softly resisting barrier of her tightly shut lips. "Open wide," he said. "I know you'll be wanting a little more."
Connie resisted for a moment, still unable to believe what he was asking her to do. Then, in response to the hard point of steel which dug relentlessly into the back of her neck threatening to break the smooth skin at any minute, she parted her lips slightly.
The anxious pole of palpitating penis pushed forward, slipping between her sensuously separated lips. She could feel it nudging at her teeth, demanding entry. At the renewed pressure of Foxy's knife, she opened her mouth wider, allowing the thick knob at the end of his vibrating cudgel to pass the barrier of her teeth, filling the warm emptiness of her warm oral cavity.
She felt the fat hardon pressing against her tongue, forcing it back against the opening of her throat. She thought that she would gag any minute, choking on her own tongue and the filthy smell of his unwashed organ. In order to keep herself from choking, she brought her tongue forward, running it experimentally over the crusty skin of his cock as she searched the inside of her mouth for a hiding place out of the path of his relentlessly forward-driving intruder.
"That's it," he said, his voice becoming soft in his breathless excitement. "Lick it with your tongue. Just like a big ice-cream cone." The metaphor sickened the naked young policewoman, but she hastened to comply before he jabbed at her again with his knife.
The skin of his mammoth pole of cockflesh was rough and scratchy, encrusted with the dried secretions of his own sex and the juice of all the pussies that he had visited in the past few weeks. Working for Johnny Walker brought him into contact with lots of cunts, and Johnny didn't place any restrictions on the way that his assistant treated them. Nothing pleased Foxy more than forcing a woman to submit to his will. And having this one suck him off was especially exciting. It was only too obvious that she had never had a cock in her mouth before. He liked that, even though it meant that she wouldn't be doing too expert a job. He could feel her tongue swirling amateurishly over the surface of his quivering prick stroking it, tasting it, rolling it around in the wet cavern of her mouth. He jerked his hips forward, driving two more inches of purple-veined-coursed shaft down her wide-open throat. He could feel the swollen tip nudging at her tonsils and could hear her struggling to keep herself from gagging. He was looking forward to pumping a hot slimy load, of joy-juice down her reluctant throat.
"Suck it," he commanded harshly, pleased by her instant obedience. Her cheeks hollowed as she began to suck his cock, her lips stretched tightly around its incredible circumference. His balls were beginning to tingle with pleasure.
"Hold my balls in your hand," he ordered. "But take it easy. I want this to last." Connie, numb now to her own humiliation, reached for the swinging sack of nuts which grazed her chin with every forward motion of his hips. The wrinkled skin was warm and slimy with his perspiration. She could feel the curly hairs, which formed a downy covering for the huge bag of testicles, bristling at the touch of her fingers.
She couldn't help marveling at the contrast between the iron-like hardness of his cock and the silky softness of his scrotum. She felt his palpitating cock burgeoning inside her mouth as she ran her fingertips lightly over the hair-covered skin of his wrinkled sac. His breathing was becoming labored and noisy. She thought that it meant that he was approaching his climax and that this would soon be over.
Connie's blood froze at the thought of what that would mean. She remembered the way that her cunt had felt when Lionel flooded it with his searing hot cream the Tuesday night before, and shuddered in revulsion. The spurting flood of semen had seemed to go on forever, wetting the inner walls of her just-deflowered cunt and running out to wet the insides of her thighs and stain the mattress. The thought of a similar flood of vile hot scum pouring into her mouth made her want to scream in disgust.
Foxy could feel the muscles of Connie's throat constricting around his driving prick as she tried to keep herself from gagging on the thick hairy cudgel. He knew that he would be cumming any minute, and he wanted to make sure that she, too, knew it. "Get ready for this," he whispered, his voice raspy with mounting lust. "I'm going to pop a hot load down your waiting throat. And you're going to swallow every drop of it like a good little girl. 'Cause if you don't, I'll make you lick it up off the floor. Do you understand?"
Tears ran freely from Connie's eyes as she nodded to indicate her understanding. She could feel the thick pole of flesh jerking randomly in her mouth now. His balls were drawn tightly up against his body, working overtime at producing the torrent of hot semen that would soon be jetting from his throbbing hardon and wetting her entire oral cavity with its slimy viscosity.
His cock swelled suddenly, rearing back like a rattler about to strike. Then, with no further warning, it began shooting its hot load of pentup desire into the cavern of her reluctantly sucking mouth. The first spurt was a small one, and Connie could feel it splashing hotly against the back of her throat and then trickling down past her tonsils.
But each successive jet of white-hot liquid was thicker and fuller, and her mouth soon filled with the thickly whirling gooey stuff, making her feel as if she was drowning in it. She gulped quickly, trying to swallow the hot torrent before it filled her mouth, to overflowing. Foxy watched as her cheeks alternately puffed and hollowed in her frantic attempt to stay ahead of the gushing flood of scum.
She felt a warm trickle of liquid oozing from the corner of her mouth and feared for a moment that she would lose the race. But then, by swallowing deeply and quickly, she drew apace of the flood, just managing to prevent the viscous white fluid from dribbling from her lips. She felt it sliding thickly down her throat as she swallowed, hot tears of shame wetting her cheeks and pooling on her glisteningly naked tits.
Then at last it was over and the thick pole of cockflesh was shriveling in her mouth, the once mighty club with which Foxy had beaten away her self-respect shrinking at last to the size of a peanut. Finally, licking the wrinkled organ clean, she let it slip from her lips. Quickly she turned away, trying hard not to vomit. Finally, when she had fought down a rising gush of bile which bubbled up her throat, she turned back to look at him.
His face was distorted into a bestial mask of sated lust, his eyes lidded heavily and his tense features partially relaxed. "Not bad for a novice," he said, seeing her looking at him. "Not bad at all." He bent for his leather pants and pulled them on over his thickly muscular thighs, tucking his balls and deflated cock into their front, and tying the thong.
Without waiting for his permission, Connie reached for her clothes and put them on, covering herself quickly, anxious to shield her nakedness from his depraved gaze. Her eyes were dry now, all cried out. She felt cold and unfeeling, her emotions having been taxed into unconsciousness by the horror of her ordeal.
I hate him, she thought coldly. I'd like to put him in jail for the rest of his life. Then remembering the assignment which had first cost her her virginity and now had robbed her of her last vestige of self-respect, she felt more anxious than ever to get the evidence that she had come for, so that she and Lieutenant Blumenthal could use it to punish this horrible criminal. "What about that sample?" she asked, snapping the front of her pants. "Have I convinced you that I'm not a cop?"
"Yeah, I guess you were convincing enough," Foxy said with a smug little chuckle of satisfaction. "But I'm only the screening committee." His words disappointed her. Did that mean that she would have to deal with someone else?
"I'll have to arrange for you to meet my boss, Mr. Walker," the stocky thug continued. "Do you know the Glass Onion?"
"Yes," Connie replied, concentrating hard on her assignment in a desperate effort to keep from screaming in horrified frustration.
"Be there Tuesday night at eight-thirty." As he spoke, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a crisp white card – about the size of a business card. The stiff paper was glazed expensively and the word "GUEST" was engraved on it in gold.
"Isn't the Glass Onion closed on Tuesday nights?" she asked, remembering how Lionel had deceived her less than a week before.
"It's closed to the public, all right," Foxy replied. "But only because it's the meeting place of a very exclusive club."
"What kind of a club?" Connie asked.
"It's a club where people with special tastes can get together and enjoy what they like," Foxy said, handing her the card. "Bring this with you," he said. "They won't let you in without it." He had already blown out the candle and was heading toward the door of the warehouse.
"Wait a minute," she called, "How will I know this Mr. Walker?"
"You won't," Foxy answered. "But don't worry about that. He'll know you."
A moment later he was gone and Connie was alone with her thoughts of shame and degradation.