Pauline Nottee - Action backstage

Like a scene in a movie theater when something goes wrong with the projector and all action stops with the actors in strange positions, everyone froze. Nothing moved except cocks instantly going soft.

Lieutenant Vance Dawson and Sergeant Tom Stanford were dressed entirely in black. Tight-fitting jeans and rubber-soled shoes, turtleneck sweaters. They had ugly black guns in their fists too. They had come up ropes and over rooftops.

"Up against the wall, motherfuckers," Dawson said with a gesture of his stubby.357 Magnum Smith and Wesson. "Climb and spread 'em!"

"Where the hell would any of them hide a piece, Vance?" his partner asked, grinning, his eyes moving to take in the two naked and obviously fucked-out women.

"Who are you cock-suckers?" Rick said defiantly.

"We're cat burglars, boy," the lieutenant said. "We just went into business tonight, and already we swiped two hundred cats. Now we've come for your pussy. MOVE!"

The boys lined up, spread-eagled and trembling against the wall. As the sergeant covered him, Vance Dawson shook the room down. He found Rick's gun and slipped it into a pocket. He found a half lid of prime grass and confiscated that.

"You want to call anybody?" his partner asked.

"No point," the lieutenant said. "We'll handle this ourselves. Herd these bastards out in the living room where we can work."

The now-terrified teenagers meekly moved ahead of the gun into the living room. Their nakedness, in contrast to the sinister black garb of the intruders, stole from what little courage they had.

Candy and Jonie were made to come also. The boys were lined up along the front walls, and the women told to sit on the sofa. The sergeant put his gun away and the lieutenant handed him his own revolver. He studied his captives through the smoked glasses effected by bike cops, picking Rick out.

"You," he said, his voice cutting like a chain saw. "You smartass punk! You think you can fuck around with a girl who means millions of dollars to big people? You dumb shit! I've got an open contract on you. But I won't kill you. I'll just make you wish I would. Then when you get out of the hospital, you can tell your buddies how groovy it is to fuck up a million-dollar talent-until you get caught."

Without another word the big, rangy cop picked Rick up with one hand by the hair of his head. He held him a full foot off the floor and began to,work him over with his gloved left hand, slapping and digging with stiffened fingers, not using a clenched fist. He was an expert. There would be no permanent marks, but it would be weeks before Rick Benton would walk upright or go more than an hour without having to urinate in great pain.

The lieutenant's strong arm might have been the boom of a crane as for more than five minutes he held the screaming, pleading boy in the air and his left hand blurred with the swift violence of his punishment. When he dropped him, Rick curled into a ball and cried like a baby.

Candy had screamed in protest at first, and then subsided, knowing she could do nothing.

Jonie Karson showed no emotion, and felt none. Rick had gotten too big for his boots, and now he was paying. She knew the violence of the ghetto, if the farm boy didn't. The big guy was hardly giving him a spanking by those standards. He was lucky they didn't break his neck and stuff him down the nearest manhole cover. Lieutenant Vance Dawson was by no means finished. He had merely warmed up had flexed his iron-hard muscles. He looked at the remaining half-dozen cowering boys.

"The odds are about right," he said in a soft voice. "I am going to beat the living shit out of all of you at once. Anything goes. Get with it!"

He hit the first boy in line, Fredo before the hulking teenager could get his hands up. His fist went straight to the overlarge nose, flattening it, making blood spurt. As Fredo cried out in pain and covered his face, the lieutenant kicked him in the balls. As the boy doubled over, a rabbit punch to the back of the neck dropped him like a stone. The whole thing took less than three ticks of a clock.

From that point on, it was a case of trying to catch them before they could run naked from the room. They piled up in the doorway and the black-clad lieutenant was all over the squirming, screaming tangle of teenager, and it was over almost before it really got started. Had they rallied and faced him, they could have overcome him by sheer weight of numbers, but they were totally disorganized and he was an avenging, wrathful angel. Only a few pieces of furniture got broken, and there was surprisingly little blood.

"You, girl," he said to Jonie. "Collect whatever clothes these pachucos had and see they get into them and to hell out of here." He pointed at Candy. "You get your ass in the bedroom and wait."

Completely cowed, the two women did as they were told. In a few minutes the boys, one helping another, were dressed and limping and crawling away, thoroughly convinced they had gotten into something far above their heads.

Candy and Jonie did not think to cover their own nakedness. They were still too shocked by the sudden turn of events, and neither could account for the sudden appearance of the two black-clad men. Candy knew the agency would use drastic measures when it had to, but her dalliance with Rick certainly wasn't worth this!

"Who are you?" she whispered as the two brawny men came into the bedroom. "Did Jason Wells send you?"

"I sent me," Lieutenant Vance Dawson said as he produced his identification and badge. "This is a private raid. I don't think any of those punks is going to beef. You were headed for hell in a hand basket Candy, and your ass is too pretty for what was ahead of you. You could beef me for this but I doubt you will. The D.A. would have to bust you too.

"I know you now!" she said in awe. "You're the cop. You took my Mercedes for a spin."

"And you chased me in my own car," the youthful cop said with a grin. "I've got a car you might get jollies from."

"I know I should thank you," Candy murmured. "But did you have to be so-so brutal?"

"The only language they understand," the big, rangy cop said. "If you don't believe me, ask the girl."

"It's true, Candy," Jonie said. "You went to the zoo and played with the young tigers. Wyatt Earp here came along before they chewed your throat out." She glanced at Sgt. Stanford, lifted an eyebrow interestedly and added, "I guess this must be the cavalry."

"Tom Stanford," the other said, grinning.

"Well, score one for the guys in the white hats," Candy said, quickly regaining her poise. "What now?"

"We're no different than any other guys," Vance Dawson said. "We like to fuck."

Well, Candy told herself, there's always a price to pay. They were handsome and virile young men. And she still had the terrible burning need in her pussy from the spiked drinks. She knew that if she went out of the apartment now it would be to the nearest bar or drive-in where she would wantonly offer herself to the first thing that looked like it had a cock, regardless of what it entailed.

"I need to be fucked," she admitted. "I feel messy-you know? Let me clean up."

"Me, too," Jonie said.

They went into the bathroom, quickly filled the tub and got into it together, soaping and washing each other. At the mere touch of the other girl's hands, Candy became overwhelmingly aroused.

"Damn, you do need cock," Jonie said as she teased the long outthrusting nipples of Candy's heavily heaving tits. "The Spanish Fly really hit you."

"Something did," Candy moaned, wanting to be fondled.

"We've got to bring you down," Jonie said with authority born of experience. "The three of us at once."

"Three of you!" Candy gasped. She had never heard of such a thing. "How can you ever… how can I ever…"

"I'll show you," Joanie promised, kissing her full on the mouth.