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who could give her everything she needed. He reached around behind her, dipped his finger in the
viscous fluid around her cunt, and stabbed his finger deep into her anus, continuing all the while with his
stroking. "Yes," she screamed. "Yes! Do it there too! Do it everywhere!"
Judy was going crazy. Never had anyone done this to her, never made her feel as if she would die if she
didn't get more, as if there was nothing else in the world except this tremendous cock inside her, this
finger rotating in her anus, making her mad with lust, building passion in her until she thought she would
come apart. This was a man, oh yes, this was a real man! Already she could feel the stirrings deep inside
her, the little series of shocks that would eventually lead to that final orgiastic explosion. The stirrings
became deeper and more pronounced with each thrust of Tim's prick, with each rotation of his finger;
building and building and building, becoming a solid wall of pleasure, until she knew she could hold off
no longer, until the pleasure was too much for any woman to contain.
"Ohhhhhhhhh," she yelled. "Oh, God, oh, Jesus, oh my God, I'm cummmmmming! Oh God I'm
cummmmming NOW!"
Her pussy was oscillating like an electric vibrator, her hips thrashing wildly as Tim continued to stroke,
building her climax to incredible proportions as he moved toward his own. "Scream," he said. "Scream,
baby. Feel it. Feel me. That's right, scream!"
Tim could hold himself back no longer. He relaxed his sphincter muscles, allowed the pleasure to build
up inside him as he took the pressure off his straining balls. "Oh, here I come! HERE I COME.
NOWWWW!"
His hot sperm spurt in rivers from his cock, filling Judy with the fabulous juice of passion. She grabbed
his balls, squeezed them hard, wringing every drop of sticky come from him, making him scream with
pleasure and pain, drawing out his climax until he nearly fainted from ecstasy. Lord, he thought, as he
collapsed on top of her, there was no one like this girl. No one.
Judy was thinking exactly the same thing. "Tim," she said, "I love you.
I love you very much. What you did ... oh, I'm so happy."
Tim knew she couldn't possibly be lying, not now. Now they were truly together, now nothing would
ever separate them. They had made love like no one before them, and they would go on doing it forever.
In fact, he thought as he reached for her, it's almost forever already ...
Chapter 5
"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's 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." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]