"I.D., please," said the uniformed security guard at the door.
Mike Kramer reached into his coat pocket for his badge case, showed the badge to the doorman. "Vice squad," he said.
"Right," said the doorman. He grinned at Mike. "Come to check it out?"
"Strictly on my own time. I'm here for pleasure, not business." In a way this was true – Mike had come to this convention on his own time, but he was there for anything but pleasure. This was a convention of night club owners from all over the United States and Canada, and Mike hoped that if he played his cards right he would be able to get close to Jay Snyder, close enough to accumulate some evidence that could be used to build a case against him. Since the convention was in Los Angeles, and since conventions of this sort were always attended by wild partying and paid sex, Mike figured that Snyder would have the sex concession.
Mike thought about Lisa. If he could only convince her, he thought, if he could only make her see that this was the important part of his job, nailing crooks like Snyder, and that it didn't matter what rank he held on the force just so long as he could be effective. The higher up you went, Mike knew, the less effective you became. Hell, the guys who really did the work were the patrolmen; even lieutenants spent too much time behind a desk, shuffling papers. If he could just make her see.
"Jackson's the name," boomed a loud voice at Mike's side. "Own a topless joint in Dubuque, Iowa."
Mike turned to see a short, fat, bald man of about fifty. He had a patch over one eye, and a huge gap where his front teeth should have been. Protruding from that gap was the biggest, blackest, stinkiest cigar Mike had ever seen. Mike had met hundreds of men like this in his work, sleazy little bastards who thought about nothing but money and women, who preyed equally on their customers and on the girls who worked for them. Generally they weren't worth the time of day, but tonight Mike was playing all possible angles.
"Hi," he said. "Mike Kramer. I'm from town here."
"That so?" said Jackson. "What kind of joint you running?"
"Discotheque," said Mike.
The fat man eyed him. "Discotheque, huh?" he said. "I tried one of those. Didn't go over so big in Dubuque. Now in Chicago, or New York."
"Or Los Angeles," interrupted Mike.
"Right," the fat man said, grinning and nodding his head. "Here in L.A. you guys got a good thing going. In Dubuque I got to work my ass off all the time."
I'll bet you do, Mike thought to himself. Then out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of Steve Paul, Jay Snyder's right-hand man. Paul was moving slowly across the convention floor, smiling and shaking hands with every second person he saw. Christ, Mike thought, it looks like he's running for President. But Paul was hardly presidential timbre. He ran all Snyder's collections and all his legitimate businesses, helped him maintain his front as a respectable entrepreneur. More than that, he was also his boss' aide and confidante, the only man Snyder trusted. This was a big fish indeed.
"Excuse me," Mike said. He walked abruptly away from Jackson, left him chewing his cigar and wondering. Paul was moving toward the opposite door, and for a moment Mike thought he might slip away. He hurried on, pushing and elbowing his way through the crowd. "Hey, buddy," said one of them, "take it easy. There's no rush."
"Sorry," said Mike, and he pushed on.
Steve Paul was almost to the door when Mike finally caught up to him. "Hey!" he called out.
Paul turned around, regarded Mike with a cold stare. "Yes?" he said.
"Aren't you Steve Paul?"
"That's me."
Mike was panting with exertion. "Hold it a minute," he said. "Let me catch my breath." Luckily, Paul waited for him.
Mike used the interlude to think up an approach. "Don't you own a joint on the Strip?"
"Several. To which joint were you referring?" Snyder's henchman liked to project an image of educated erudition, as if he was at least one cut above everyone around him, but Mike knew better.
"The Gay Paree, up near Fairfax. Isn't that one yours?"
"As a matter of fact, it is. You know the place?" His eyes began to show a spark of interest, a spark which Mike did not fail to notice. Now I've got him, thought Mike. Now I've got the egomaniac bastard.
"Know it?" Mike said. "I practically live there. Every time I get a chance, whenever I can trust someone else to run my little place, I'm at the Gay Paree. Quite a joint, that is. Quite a joint."
"Well," Paul said, obviously flattered, "thank you. Thank you very much." He looked at Mike closely, studied his face, frowned. "Funny, though, I can't remember ever having seen you."
Uh-oh, Mike thought. Suspicious. No wonder Snyder likes him so much. "It's no wonder," he said. "I always stay in the back where it's dark. I don't like to be noticed, if you know what I mean."
"I do know what you mean, I do indeed." He smiled at the cop. "What are you doing with the rest of your evening?" he said.
Mike's heart beat a little faster. He'd hooked him! "No plans," he said, keeping his voice calm.
"Well, we're having a little get together at my place, private, you know, in my home." He emphasized the last word so that the honor of the invitation would not be lost on Mike. "Why don't you come along?"
"Great. Love to." Would he ever! If he was lucky, he might run into Jay Snyder himself. "Fine," Paul said. He scribbled something on the back of a matchbook, handed the matchbook to Mike. "Here's the address. It starts in an hour." The gangster turned to go, then stopped and turned back to face Mike. "By the way," he said, "I didn't catch your name."
"Johnson, Gus Johnson."
In exactly one hour a yellow cab pulled up to the curb in front of an exclusive apartment building. Mike stepped out of the cab, craned his neck to look up the side of the building, toward the penthouse suite. From the top of the building lights blazed, and loud music leaked out onto the street below. Mike straightened his tie, walked into the building, took the elevator to the top floor. Well, he thought as he rang the doorbell, here goes nothing.
The door opened a tiny crack, revealed one eye and a nose. "What is it?"
"I'm Gus Johnson. Mr. Paul invited me."
"Just a minute," said the voice. The door closed, then opened wide a few seconds later, framing an elegant butler dressed in full tuxedo. Whew, Mike thought, a fancy dress ball. This guy does know how to give a party. "Come in, won't you?" said the butler.
Mike walked in. The room was brightly lit and crowded with people. Through the smoke he could see Steve Paul standing near the bar, chatting pleasantly with a dazzling blonde. The music was very loud. Someone thrust a drink in his hand.
Suddenly the music stopped. Everyone sat down on the floor, as if in answer to an unseen signal from their host. The bright lights were dimmed, a soft blue light replacing them. The music started again, a slow, bluesy tune. Heads and bodies began to sway.
Somewhere a door opened, and out stepped the most incredible woman Mike bad ever seen. She was tall, almost six feet, slender without being skinny, with bright red wavy hair. Her eyes seemed to smoke. She was wearing a belly dancer's costume, a thin gauzy dress with a burnoose and a long veil that covered her breasts. Even in the dim light, Mike could see she was beautiful.
The girl began to move her body, slowly rocking her hips back and forth in time with the music, her dress making a swishing sound as she swayed. Mike couldn't take his eyes off her. Lisa, his wife, was pretty enough, in fact some people thought her beautiful, but this girl was from another planet. Mike had never seen anything like her. And despite his faithfulness to Lisa, his prick had a mind of its own; even though he tried hard not to be enticed by this lovely woman, he felt his prick begin to twitch against his pants.
The tempo of the music increased; the girl rocked more violently, pacing herself against the music, building slowly. A woman standing next to Mike put her hand down her partner's pants. Mike imagined the dancer's hand crawling down his stomach, reaching for his rising cock. Christ, he thought, if Lisa could only be like that. He wanted that girl in a way he had never wanted Lisa, passionately, in a frenzy of rich, voluptuous sex. He continued to stare at her and fantasize, picturing the red hairs of her pussy wet and shiny with her come that he, Mike, had called forth from within her. No, he thought, no. I can't think this way. Lisa is my wife and I am her husband and we are true to each other – not particularly hot for each other, but true nevertheless.
The redhead's dancing seemed to mock Mike's faithfulness, seemed to say, "Really, now, wouldn't you like a taste of something different? Wouldn't you like a taste of me?"
Now the girl began to strip. She unhooked the veil from the burnoose, used it like a shoe-shine rag across her breasts. Mike could imagine her nipples beginning to harden from the gentle brushing of the material, could imagine those same nipples rising under his own fingers. The man next to him responded to the girl's dancing by massaging the breasts of his woman, who still had her hand down the front of his pants. Mike glanced around the room – everywhere were couples locked in one form or another of sexual embrace. Steve Paul stood at the bar, seemingly aloof from the scene around him, but Mike could see that his eyes were shining. Saving himself, Mike thought, saving himself for later. Then it hit him: was Steve Paul saving himself for this dancer? No, it couldn't be! That girl had to be his, he couldn't stand the idea of her opening her luscious body to that crook.
The dancer let her veil drop to the floor, revealing a set of the most perfect breasts Mike had ever seen. They stood far out from her chest, wiggling and shaking as she danced, without a hint of sag or droop; and the nipples pointed up. The red head ran her hands along the underside of those breasts, squeezing them, playing with them, making them stand out even more. With every bounce of her breasts, every movement of her rolling hips, the thought of Lisa and his faithfulness receded further and further from Mike's mind. He could think of nothing but his desire for this girl, this paragon of sex.
"Don't look too hard," said a voice at Mike's side. It was the butler. "She belongs to Mr. Paul."
Mike's worst fears were realized. That incredible woman, the sexiest woman in the world, reserving her charms for a gangster like Steve Paul! It was too much to take. "Is she for sale?" said Mike in a hoarse whisper.
"Generally," said the butler, "no. But under certain circumstances, on certain unusual occasions, Mr. Paul can be persuaded to part with her for an hour or so. Very unusual circumstances," said the butler, "if you know what I mean."
Money. He would pay anything to have this girl, even if just for an hour. He had a cache of a few hundred dollars, the existence of which he kept secret from everyone, including Lisa; it was for "emergencies". And if this was an emergency – Mike's rigid cock was sending out a call for rescue, and he knew that tonight only this girl could save him. "How much?"
"That depends on Mr. Paul's mood," said the butler. "Wait right here; I'll ask him."
Mike reluctantly took his eyes from the girl, who was now caressing her nipples with her tongue, followed the butler as he walked across the room to the bar where Steve Paul stood watching the dance. Mike saw the butler whisper something in Paul's ear, saw Paul shake his head, no. The butler whispered again, then both men turned and looked at Mike. Mike nodded in return. Paul whispered something to the butler, who immediately turned and came across the room to Mike's side.
He said, "Mr. Paul is very reluctant to part with the young lady – he mentioned something about an anniversary. However, for a fee of two hundred dollars, he says, you might be allowed an hour alone with her."
Two hundred dollars. This was all Mike had in his secret emergency fund. And for only one hour! What Mike wanted to do with this girl would take much longer than an hour – he could fuck her all night long, all week long, all the rest… No, he thought. It was too much money for too little reward. Besides, there were other things to think about: Lisa for example, and his job. He was here he reminded himself, to nail Jay Snyder, not to go off amusing himself with one of his whores.
Mike turned to the butler. "No," he said, "it's too much."
"Are you sure?" said the butler. "Look." He nodded in the direction of the girl.
She was standing still now, moving her pelvis in and out, thrusting her cunt, it seemed, directly into Mike's face. Her hand reached for the clasp on her hip, undid it, and the thin skirt joined the veil on the floor. She was completely naked, and far more beautiful that way than she had been when fully clothed, or even half-clothed. Mike's longing for her returned in a flash, causing his prick to beat madly against his pants.
The redhead ran her fingers slowly along her smooth, glorious thighs, beckoning Mike to do the same. She had caught his eye, was looking straight at him now, asking him, enticing him, begging him to fuck her as she'd never been fucked before. Her eyes paralyzed him, seemed to strip him of everything except his desire for her, his awareness of this throbbing prick.
Now she did a backbend, arching her trembling body so that her head and her feet touched the floor. Her cunt was pointed directly at Mike; it seemed to vibrate, driven by a power all its own. Her crawling fingers moved further and further up her thighs until they finally came in contact with her beautiful pussy. Then she spread the red pubic hairs, spread her cunt-lips wide to reveal the rigid little mound of her clitoris. Slowly she began to finger herself, treating herself gently, manipulating her hardened clitoris with the gentlest of touches – all over the room her movements were echoed by fingers, by tongues, by exposed cocks and pussies.
Mike could hardly stand it. Now there was no Lisa, no emergency fund, no cop and no vice squad, no Jay Snyder – there was only the burning in his body, the lustful squirmings of his prick, the tingling in his balls. He had to have her; there was no longer any doubt. If he never did another thing in his life, he had to have this incredible woman.
He turned to the butler. "All right," he said. "Sold."
"Fine," said the butler: "Now if you'll just wait a few minutes, I'll make the necessary arrangements."
Mike nodded, turned back to watch the girl as the butler disappeared from his side. She was reaching the climax of her dance, the climax of her body; shaking and moaning as she rubbed her clitoris faster and faster, harder and harder. Finally she screamed: "Ahhhhhh! Oh, Jesus. ohhhhhhhhhhhhh!" and collapsed on the floor, exhausted and sweating.
That's right, thought Mike as he rubbed his aching cock, rest. Rest your body, because I'm going to make that orgasm you just had seem like a popgun against a hydrogen bomb. Rest, he thought, just rest. I'll be with you soon.
"Hi," she said, smiling at him. "My name's Cindy."
"Gus," said Mike. "Gus Johnson. Can we get out of here?" He was anxious to leave the crowd in the penthouse, anxious particularly to get away from Steve Paul, who was watching them like a hawk.
"Got something on your mind?" she said, laughing. "I saw you while I was dancing. Yeah, I'd say you definitely had something on your mind."
"Let's just go," said Mike. "I don't want to stand around here talking all night."
She looked at Mike, saw the desire in his eyes, felt her own passion returning. "Where would you like to go?" she said softly.
"Your place," Mike said.
"That'll cost you more," she said.
"OK, OK." Money meant nothing now – he could always get a loan from his mother. "Let's just get out of here, quick."
Cindy had a small house, high in the Hollywood Hills, overlooking the San Fernando Valley. The lights of downtown Burbank winked up at them as they sat on the sofa, smiling at one another. Since they had arrived at the house, Cindy's whole manner had changed: she had dropped her tough-girl front, had become coy and even a little shy, and somehow this pleased Mike almost as much as her wild, orgiastic dancing. At least, he thought, she's a person, a woman, and not just a whore. That makes it better.
"How old are you?" Mike asked, suddenly curious.
Her eyes narrowed a bit. "You wouldn't be a cop, would you?"
At the mention of the word "cop", Mike's heart skipped a beat. Did she know, or was this just a guess, just a suspicion? He couldn't afford to have her know – she might tell Snyder and then his whole gambit would be ruined; his effectiveness as a whole might even be undermined. He laughed. "Hardly," he said.
"Good, I hate cops." Her voice was harsh and bitter.
Mike wondered at the bitterness in such a young girl. "Why do you hate cops so much?"
"It's a long story."
"That's OK. We've got plenty of time."
She looked at him. This guy is strange, she thought. Back at the party he was practically drooling on his shirt, and now that he's got me he says we have plenty of time. Maybe, she thought, maybe he's not like the rest of them. He seems nice enough; maybe I can trust him. "Sure you want to hear?" she said.
"Positive," Mike said, smiling.
He was so warm, so gentle and understanding, that Cindy decided to tell him the story. She began in a soft, almost blank voice, telling him about her brother and the cop who had framed him on a marijuana charge, planting an ounce of dope in his glove compartment and then arresting him. Their family couldn't afford a lawyer and the public defender had been too busy to care, so Cindy's brother had been sentenced to two years in the state penitentiary at Tehachapi. When she mentioned the prison, Cindy broke down in sobs. "He doesn't belong in jail," she wept. "He never did anything bad in his whole life."
Mike listened to her story with growing anger. If there was anything he hated more than gangsters and pimps like Jay Snyder, it was crooked cops. They gave the whole force a bad name, detracted attention from the vast majority of cops who were honest and dedicated to their jobs, created in the public a sense of insecurity and outrage. Mike would be just as happy to put a bad cop behind bars as a gangster, maybe even happier.
An idea formed as he tried to console Cindy, who had collapsed in his arms in a paroxysm of weeping. Perhaps they could help one another, he thought. Even if he wasn't able to get that lousy cop jailed or fired from the force, he could at least pressure him to get that kid out of jail on a mistrial. In turn, Cindy could help him bag Jay Snyder. He wasn't sure, but he had a feeling that she didn't work for Snyder willingly, that her liaison with Steve Paul was something she had been forced into.
He tested his idea. "Cindy," he said, "tell me about Steve Paul. What's he to you?" She stopped crying, made an ugly face.
"That bastard," she said. "He's nothing to me, in fact, I hate his guts. But when my brother went to jail, he offered to help me – I was a dancer at one of his clubs – to give me money so that I could hire a good lawyer. He talked me into working for him, like this, like you saw me at the party, and then when I asked him for the money he refused to pay, said he'd tell my parents what I did for a living. He trapped me, him and that other bastard."
"Jay Snyder?"
She nodded. "Jay Snyder."
So that was it, Mike thought. Sure, it all made sense; that was just the way those scum operated. Although he felt pity for Cindy in her situation, he was happy to hear what she said; happy first because he knew he could convince her to help him fight Snyder, and happier still to hear that she wasn't in love with Steve Paul.
He put his fingers under her chin, tilted her face until their eyes met. God, she was beautiful!
"Cindy," he said, "I think I can help you."
"You? How?"
"Well," he said, "you were right a little while ago. I am a cop."
She shrank back from him, looked around the room as if seeking help from someone who was there but not visible to either of them.
"It's OK. Don't worry, I'm not after you. I want Snyder. I want him behind bars. Now, I'm willing to make a deal with you. If you'll help me get Snyder, I'll help you get your brother out of jail."
She looked at him in amazement. "How?" she said. "How can you do that?"
"Easy. You just give me the name of that cop, the one who framed your brother, and let me take care of it. I guarantee that if you're telling the truth, your brother will be out of jail in a month."
"I am telling the truth," she said quietly. For the first time in a year, she was beginning to feel something like hope. Maybe this man could help her and her brother; no one else had, not the public defender, certainly not Steve Paul. Oh, if he could help her! She would do anything he wanted. "What do I have to do?" she said.
"Almost nothing," said Mike. "First you have to tell me everything you know about Snyder and Steve Paul."
"Gladly," she said. "I know plenty."
"And then you have to be willing to testify against them in court. You'll have immunity, of course, and police protection."
"I'll do it," she said. She got up and walked around the room, came back, sat down next to Mike, looked him in the eyes. "I guess all cops aren't bad," she said.
Mike laughed. "No," he said. "Not all of us. Not even most of us." He returned her gaze, was reminded in a flash of her unbelievable beauty, of the desire he felt for her. Their new alliance had made that desire increase a hundredfold. He wanted this girl, oh how he wanted her, and right now, tonight!
Cindy was thinking exactly the same thing. She had known right away that there was something special about Mike, had known it from the first moment when she caught his eye at the party. And now they would be partners. He's so wonderful, she thought, and he's really kind of sexy too. She felt the first calls of passion sounding inside her as she stared into his eyes, felt the yearning deep inside her body that she knew would only be satisfied when this man came in her.
She jumped across the couch into his lap. She threw her arms around his neck and crushed her mouth against his in a long, lingering, maddening kiss. Then she began to brush her lips against his, gently, softly, outlining his lips with her tongue. At the same time she rotated her hips, grinding her ass down on his cock rising inside his trousers.
Holy Christ, he thought, this is going to be even better than I imagined. He thought of Lisa, he could never turn him on the way this girl was doing, could never free herself from her inhibitions so that she could enjoy sex as it was supposed to be enjoyed. Too bad, Lisa, he thought, and then he stopped thinking altogether as he raised his hips to meet Cindy's ass, to press himself as deeply as possible into her anus.
Cindy jumped up, went across the room and turned on the stereo. Afro-Cuban music flooded the room, the congas and steel drums merging their rhythms with the hot pulsing of Mike's cock.
"A dance," said Cindy. "To you. To our partnership."
Mike watched, his passion increasing as Cindy began to sway in rhythm with the drums, her thick red hair thrashing wildly across her face. She threw her arms straight up in the air, stood stock still with her head turned to one side, her face hidden by her luxuriant hair, her hips rotating in small sensuous circles. Then she began to shimmy, making her body vibrate until Mike thought she would come apart, making her sumptuous breasts leap up and down under her blouse. Without warning, she suddenly tore her blouse from her body, freeing her breasts to continue their wild, quivering dance. Her dancing at the party had been calculated, strained, even slightly mechanical, but there was no constraint now. Faster and faster she shook as the tempo of the music increased, faster and still faster, until her breasts were a blur of motion.
Then she stopped dancing, began to tweak her nipples with her thumb and forefinger. Harder she tweaked them, and then harder yet, causing them to rise straight out from her breasts, torturing them until they nearly bled. All the while she was whimpering in a frenzy of pain and passion, crying out against her own self-mutilation, at the same time urging herself on to new heights of sexual fury.
This was entirely new to Mike, entirely new and impossibly exciting, this lovely, sensuous girl turning on through pain. He laughed to himself as he tried to imagine Lisa doing anything like this – not a chance! But this girl had obviously explored every avenue to sexual pleasure, had pleased and gratified herself, and her men, in every possible way. Mike burned with longing for her, ached to thrust his nearly-bursting prick into her, to release his hot, foamy sperm into her welcoming body.
When Cindy stripped off her pants, Mike could take no more. There she was, naked and trembling in front of him, her arms outstretched, her body taut with passion. She called to him with all the force of her womanhood, with all the volcanic strength of her lush body, silently begging him to fuck her, to fuck her again, and still again, until she was all but dead from pleasure, to fuck her and go on fucking her forever.
Mike leaped off the couch, began to tear at his clothes, popping buttons and breaking the zipper on his pants. Finally his prick burst loose from its confinement, flinging droplets of sperm out into the room, pointing at Cindy like a divining rod. She gazed at it, her eyes on fire with hunger for his enormous cock, this throbbing scepter of sex. She began to walk slowly across the room, never taking her eyes from his prick. Closer and closer she came, and it seemed to Mike that each step lasted an eternity. How long would it take, his body screamed, how long before he could finally surround himself with her burning flesh? There was no end to the things he wanted to do to her.
Cindy continued walking toward Mike, still moving with measured, unbearable slowness. When she was right in front of him, she suddenly dropped to her knees, began to nibble at his thighs with her teeth. She wanted to take her time, to show her gratitude by making this man feel every sensation to the utmost. She chewed along his legs, aching all the while to take his balls in her mouth and swallow them whole, to stuff herself with his gorgeous prick, to feel the weight of him on top of her, to feel his prick move through her like a freight train through a tunnel. She wanted all this, but still she held back, content for the moment to tease and nibble, to taste every inch of him.
Her teasing was the most marvelous agony Mike had ever experienced. Lisa's idea of foreplay was to lie flat on her back while Mike finger-fucked her; she would never have dreamed that a man was more than an emotionless, sex-crazed ramrod, that men, like women, needed to be played with and brought to an intense pitch of excitement. But Cindy knew; the barest touch of her teeth on Mike's legs was enough to throw him into a mindless fit of lust and passion.
Slowly but steadily she chewed up his legs toward his balls, sending shocks of excitement all through his body. His hands reached out for her, clasped her head between them, firmly enough so that she could feel it but not so firmly as to inhibit her movements.
Finally her mouth moved up the last few inches of his crotch until her lips brushed lightly against the hair on his balls. She gathered a bundle of the pubic hairs with her tongue, clenched them between her teeth and tugged at them gently. A sensation like an electric shock shot through Mike's testicles; it was as if someone had put his balls on to boil. He could feel the semen gurgling and bubbling in his glands, straining, begging for release. His prick had swelled to unbelievable proportions – he took one hand from Cindy's head and began to stroke it softly. "Ohhhh, Cindy," he moaned. "Lick me, Cindy. Eat me. Don't stop."
By now Cindy's playing had made him weak with desire. He placed his hands under her armpits, gently stretching her out on the floor below him. For a moment he just stood there, massaging his dick, watching Cindy writhe on the floor with her breasts heaving and her hips undulating. How beautiful she was, he thought, and soon that lush body would be his. He would drown himself in her, fill her to the brim of her oscillating pussy, fill her with his eight inches of love.
Mike dropped to his knees, straddling the girl, and lowered himself down until his balls dangled just above her mouth. He wanted to be licked by her, to feel the hard tip of her tongue as she lapped at his nuts, carrying him further and further into this insanity of sex. Mike had not known that there was pleasure like this to be had anywhere in the world.
"Mmmmmmmmm," Cindy purred as Mike's balls touched her quivering lips, their warmth and softness sending shivers of delight scurrying through her body. She made a moist pad of her tongue, broadening it as far as she could, cupping it to form a container for Mike's huge balls. Then she compressed her tongue until it formed a hard point, skated it along the underside of his testicles and up the back toward his anus, up and back, up and back, tasting the musty sweat of sex.
Mike brought one hand around behind him, ran his fingers along her moist, glistening inner thighs to the warm damp patch of her pussy. He spread her lips wide with his index and ring fingers, used his middle finger to rub her clitoris. At this Cindy began to shake and moan. Oh Lord, she thought, no one has ever turned me on like this, no one. Never again would she judge a man by his occupation – this cop was the sexiest thing she had ever encountered. What he was doing to her! She had never dreamed that anyone could excite her so.
She had a sudden urge to do something entirely new, to feel Mike's cock in the one place where she was still a virgin. She turned herself over, raised herself onto her hands and knees, rammed her ass into Mike's rigid prick. "There?" she screamed. "Do it there! Oh please, please fuck me in my asshole!"
The raunchy vulgarity of her screams excited Mike as much as her tongue had. He knew that she was half-crazy with lust now, that she was totally his captive, that he could do anything he wanted to her. What the hell, he thought, let's give her what she wants. He began to rub his outstretched prick along the crack in her ass, lubricating her with the hot sperm that leaked down from his blood-filled tip.
"Ohhhh, yes," she breathed. "Yes. Yes! YES!"
Now Mike took his hands and spread her cheeks wide apart. The tiny entrance to her rectum throbbed in front of him, pinkish brown and shiny with moisture. No matter how many men she's had before, he thought, no one has ever been here. The thought of fucking her in her virgin ass made Mike's eyes shine; his desire, which had welled up in him until it almost reached the breaking point, climbed still higher, his breathing had become a rasping moan. He wedged the tip of his dick in between her cheeks, rubbed her asshole with it – then this contact made him forget all caution, all thoughts of gentility. He had to be inside of her, he had to have her right now!
Suddenly, without any further preparation, Mike plunged the entire length of his dick into Cindy's asshole. "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!" she screamed as the huge rod burrowed into her, filling her, stretching her, splitting her, nearly tearing her apart. The pain was excruciating, but she was so mad with lust for him that the pain only excited her further. If he was going to tear her apart, then he should go right ahead, just as long as he kept on thrusting into her, filling her with his huge rod.
Mike held himself still for a moment, feeling the walls of her asshole close around him, milking him; allowing her to feel the steady throbbing of his prick. Then slowly he began to move himself in and out, marveling as her anus stretched to accommodate him. The round hills of her buttocks grazed him as he stroked in, squeezed him as he moved out. Faster and faster he went, plunging into her, withdrawing, plunging again, all the time working toward what he knew would be the most incredible climax of her life.
By this time Cindy, too, was nearing her orgasm. The stroking of Mike's prick had made her nearly faint with pleasure, made her rock her hips violently in time with his movements, slamming her ass against his body, making slapping sounds as they collided with him. Now that her moment was near, she wanted to draw it out as long as possible, but she was beyond all control.
"Ohhhhhhhhh, Jesus, oh my God, I'm coming," she yelled. "I'm commmmmmming!"
"I'm coming too," screamed Mike.
They held still, locked like two animals as Mike poured his steaming sperm into Cindy's rectum. She twitched spasmodically with each pulse of Mike's cock, tossing her head wildly as the hot semen flowed through her. Never before, she thought as she collapsed on the floor. Oh, God, never before!
"By the way," gasped Mike as he collapsed beside her, "my name's not Johnson."