Dan Webster - Forced into damnation

She let the throbbing prick slip from her lips and whirled her tongue rapidly across the silky surface of its palpitating purple head. She was making a soft moaning sound in the back of her throat and her face wore an expression of sheer ecstasy. Her hips were rolling and bucking in response to the merciless lashing of her drooling red cunt by the skillful tongue of her partner.

Connie watched the girl's head bobbing up and down in synchronized syncopation with the movements of her hips. She was lapping and licking the thick hardon with slobbering relish, enjoying every lascivious minute of it. Her groans were clearly audible as they increased in volume and tempo.

Connie was vaguely aware of her own hips moving in a little circle, grinding her fully rounded asscheeks against her chair and pulling the wet crotchband of her panties into electric contact with the swollen bud of her trembling clit. She tried to stop the rhythmic motions but found that she couldn't. Each time she rocked her pelvis forward, the wet material of her panties pulled tight across her pubic area. When she rocked back, the taut material slackened, continuing to rub mercilessly at the sensitive membranes of her moistening cunt.

The couple on stage were rocking and bobbing together now, the rhythm of their movements approaching an exploding crescendo. Both of them were crying in breathless agony as their bodies rolled about on the floor.

From the corners of her eyes Connie saw that some of the members of the audience were standing for a better view of the stage. A man and woman sitting at a nearby table were shamelessly rubbing their hands over each other's genitals as they watched the wildly sixty-nining couple on stage.

Then the nude redhead uttered a long low moan of pleasure, culminating as her partner's vibrating tongue carried her over the wall of orgasm. Her super-aroused cunt began to flow copiously, filling the sucking mouth that pressed tightly against it with its spicy honeyed secretions. At the same moment, the man heaved his hips up at her, rocking his body rhythmically as his jerking cock fired spurt after bursting spurt of hot sticky cum, flooding the girl's hungrily sucking mouth.

The couple rolled about on the floor of the elevated stage, panting and groaning out the fury of their mutual orgasms to the delight and joy of the thoroughly excited audience. After an eternal instant, the spasms of orgasmic delight began to subside and the tense muscles of their intertwined bodies relaxed. Each of them lapped lovingly at the last drops of the other's sex-juice. Finally they, came to rest, she with her head pillowed on the inside of his thigh and he with his face still buried in the soft wetness of her oozing pussy.

After a long pregnant moment of silence, the crowd went wild, shouting and applauding thunderously. "Bravo!" someone shouted as though the performance had been of a fine symphony by a great philharmonic orchestra. Connie found herself applauding, too, although she wasn't thinking about the impression that she had to make on Johnny Walker. Though she would never have admitted it, even to herself, Connie had been moved tremendously by the salacious spectacle.

Her damp panties were plastered to the wetness of her cunt, and her entire body was bathed in sweat. She longed for the privacy of the rest room and an opportunity to straighten out her undergarments. But before she could rise and excuse herself, Johnny pushed back his chair and smiled cordially at her. "Excuse me," he said. "I want to go straighten my tie. I'll be right back."

Connie wondered whether his underwear was as tangled as hers, and then scolded herself mentally for the sexual boldness of her thought. She tugged at the crotch of her jeans, taking advantage of Johnny's absence to pull the tangled crotchband of her panties from the hot wet slit of her pussy. She was beginning to cool off now, and to remember her assignment. She hoped that the well spoken Black had the sample with him.

Johnny Walker was about to step into the men's room when he felt a light tap on his shoulder. Turning quickly, he faced a tall, thin dark-haired girl – obviously a junkie. She was wearing the confident smile of an addict whose next shot of dope was practically guaranteed.

"Excuse me, Mr. Walker," she said quietly. "Maybe this is none of my business, but I have some information you might be interested in." She stopped dramatically, waiting for his invitation to continue.

"Go on," Johnny said. His voice took on a tone of studied boredom, but his eyes were sparklingly alert.

"Well, it's about that girl you've been sitting with," Sheri continued. "I just thought you might like to know that she's a policewoman."

"Oh, really?" Johnny answered, wearing his confident smile like a mask. "And what makes you think so?"

It was Sheri's turn to smile. "She busted me for prost about a month ago," she responded. "In the city. Eighth Avenue, to be exact."

"You're sure it was her?" Johnny asked, his voice casual.

"I'll never forget her face as long as I live," she answered. "I got the feeling that she wanted to kill me."

"I want you to know I appreciate this," Johnny said, flashing his confident smile again. He pressed two crisp one-hundred-dollar bills into her hand as he spoke. Then he turned on his heel and entered the men's room, knowing that she would be gone when he came out.

After he had finished urinating he stopped in front of the mirror and grinned mechanically, checking his teeth to be sure that they were clean and sparkling. Then, wearing his friendliest smile, he returned to the table at which Officer Connie Dresden awaited him.

Pulling her chair out so that she could get up, he said, "Come along, Connie. We'll have to go up to my place for that sample." Connie rose quickly, anxious to be finished with her assignment. As they walked toward the door, she slipped her hand into the crook of Johnny Walker's elbow, certain that she had passed his inspection.

When Connie and Johnny Walker stepped out of the Glass Onion and into the quiet darkness of One-Hundred-Eighth Street, a light rain was falling. One of those midsummer New York drizzles which seem to fall up and sideways as well as down. The stagnant air was filled with a mist of fine droplets that made it smell almost clean. The street and sidewalks shone with moisture, reflecting the light of the streetlamps.

Although the air wasn't cold, Connie shivered, suddenly afraid. This assignment was turning out to be more dangerous than she had anticipated. Her fear had been forgotten in the crowded activity of the Glass Onion, but now that she and Johnny were out in the street, she realized that she was alone. And at his mercy! What if he decides to rape me the way that awful man in the warehouse did? she thought.

But then Johnny spoke to her, and his soft and gentle voice put her at her ease. "My car is up this way," he said. "Shall we walk? Or would you rather, wait here and I'll pick you up?"

"I don't mind walking in the rain," she answered. "It always makes me feel so clean."

"All right, then," Johnny said. "Let's go." He took her gently by the elbow and led her up the street toward the bright lights of Queens Boulevard. Connie could see taillights and headlights flashing as the evening traffic whizzed along the busy thoroughfare. It gave her a strange feeling to realize that although the past week had brought a dramatic change to her life, business was as usual for the rest of the city. "Here we are," Johnny said softly, interrupting her thoughts. She looked up to see a shiny white Lincoln Continental parked next to the curb. Although it was parked in a bus stop, there was no parking summons on the windshield wiper…

"How do you get away with parking in a bus stop!" she asked naively.