Heather Brown - Juicy piece

"R.Q.," I blurted.

"Are you Ma…" she started to say, saved from revealing my identity only by the cock imbedded in her mouth that forced her to mumble incoherently.

Afraid that the knowledge that I was Madame Fellatio of Honey Pot magazine might complicate my situation with the FBI agent who was presumably outside listening to everything, I quickly winked at R.Q., in the hope she would catch the gesture in the shadows, and said hurriedly, "Yes, uh, Rhonda, I'm Miss Saunders, the social worker from the Child Welfare Bureau to reply to your complaint about being abused."

She seemed to catch on, or at least was too confused to say anything more, as she removed the cock from her mouth and looked silently up at me, shiny strings of saliva and some sperm that had prematurely leaked into her sucking mouth glisteningly joining her parted lips. As I looked down from the sticky evidence on her lips, for the first time I really noticed the thick, hard cock she had been so diligently sucking. Instead of being pink, it was blue and red and green, resembling an angry snake, poised to strike. It was connected to a nude body equally covered with grotesque markings as I realized that I was watching R.Q. with the tattooed man she had written to me about.

The tattooed man, his prick released by R.Q.'s mouth, tried to wriggle free so he could apparently bust out of the tent before he got involved in anything messy. I assumed that Marmelstein would have no choice but to abandon his cover and grab him before he got out of the flaps. But to my surprise, the burly tattooed man, looking like a comic strip drawn on rubber, bustled out of the tent and disappeared into the night, babbling in Hungarian.

"Marmelstein, Agent Marmelstein, where are you?" I called, but to no avail. There was no reply, and when I poked my head outside, no sign of him.

Realizing I couldn't turn my back on the helpless girl inside the tent, I pulled my head back in and turned to face her pathetically nude armless and legless body. Immediately my eyes were riveted to her cunt, a vast hairy gash slicing across the bottom of her trunk, looking more like the cut of an ax than a part of the human body. Her well-formed tits slid shimmeringly off to either side of her chest, the pink nipples standing firmly at attention, both buds ridged by dozens of tiny goose-bumps clustering around the rosy areolas.

Her tits were beautiful, but it was the lure of her cunt, so totally unprotected and fantastically open, that brought me towards her, its musky pussy scent filling my flaring nostrils. Suddenly I found myself hovering over her open cunt, my face within inches of the slobbering red gash that was puffed open and oozing cream.

"You're not really a Miss Saunders from the Child Welfare, are you?" the girl said. "You're Madame Fellatio, aren't you, come to answer my letter?"

My body, totally controlled by the hypnotic attraction of her perpetually flexing cunt, took over and I wordlessly threw my face into her pussy and instantaneously began reaming out its salty slit with my stiff tongue. It was a fantastically delicious cunt.

"My, my," she called to me. "You ought to change your name to Madame Cunnilingus."

I blurbbled in her pussy in a sticky mumble.

"I read a lot of sex magazines," she said. "In fact, I think it was in yours that I read that cunt-eating was more fun if there was enough to go around at once."

Yes, indeed, that was the kind of perverted garbage that Honey Pot printed, but at least I liked to keep my column reasonably high-toned. Funny, though, when Rhonda said it, it seemed more like an invitation than a quotation, and suddenly I couldn't resist having my own pussy eaten by a cunt-hungry, armless and legless teenage girl.

As though I were a programmed robot, I reached down and automatically undid my skirt, standing nude from the waist down except for my stockings, the shreds of the panties I'd started with this morning long since discarded. Without missing a blissful lap in Rhonda's foaming cunt, I used my mouth as my point of balance and swiveled my lips and tongue around in her cunt as I brought the back of my body over her, straddling her head with my quivering thighs, my knees bent and resting where her shoulders would normally be.

Slowly, like a drawbridge, I lowered my cunt towards her reaching lips, hovering in maddening midcourse as she tantalizingly tickled the drooping flanges of my pussy-lips with her straining tongue. At last I rested the mouth of my slobbering cunt against the soft lips of Rhonda's mouth, her tongue instantly shooting into my fuck-hole like a stiff cock as soon as it was able.

As she tongue-fucked my hole in a way that made my pussy feel like it was full of inch after inch of swelling cock-meat, I continued lapping her cunt, sloshing up and down its foamy split with unabated passion. Her body was so small and compact that, as I huddled over it, I felt as though I could draw it entirely into mine, absorbing her incomplete body into my amply endowed one. Yet, had we been having an athletic contest, I would have been the loser in the battle for physical dominance as her cunt systematically sucked me into her like it was a vacuum cleaner.

Clearly, all of Rhonda's strength was in her cunt, all the energy meant for her arms and legs merging into a dynamo of power in her aggressively flexing pussy. As her cunt sucked my face deeper and deeper into its pulpy maw, I couldn't help but think that having a pussy like this must be the only saving grace in Rhonda's life, and vowed that I wouldn't be the one to darken her little world as I compassionately returned every slobbering flexing with a sharp stab of my tongue and slight bite of my teeth.

I was so deeply involved in the swamp of Rhonda's sloppy cunt that at first I didn't even hear them talking. And then when I finally noticed it, it seemed to be in some foreign language. I dismissed it, decided that either I was hearing things or Marmelstein was back to make his pinch. If it was Marmelstein, he'd have to pay the price of showing up late by having to pry me off of the sweet spilt of Rhonda's pussy with a crowbar and an acetylene torch.

But then suddenly I realized that they really were talking in a foreign language. Hungarian! I recognized it when a rough voice repeated the same phrase I had heard the tattooed man yell when he'd run out of the tent. I looked up from Rhonda's cunt and over my shoulder and there he was again, bigger than life, the marks of a million needles making his body seem a bulky quilt. He was still naked, his long prick standing garishly from his loins. As I looked at the base of his prick and his incredibly round, blue-black balls, it suddenly occurred to me that there was something different about him. Then it hit me.

That was it, he had no hair on his body! The tattooing must have made his body so completely smooth that the skin appeared to be vinyl. I was fascinated by the lack of hair around his cock and balls. And surprisingly enough, the eagle whose wings erupted from the base of his balls and spread in a multicolored fan around the circle of his dick where his cock hair would have been, made the whole thing seem even more fascinating. Where first I'd thought him repulsive, I was now mesmerized by him.

"What are you two saying?" I urgently asked Rhonda. "Why are you talking in Hungarian?"

"It's the only language he knows," she said.

"I know a little of it myself from a high-school elective in New Jersey," I said, and then added: "Why is he back? I thought he left because he thought I was a social worker. I heard him yelling."

"No, he left to go get the others. That's what he was yelling about," she said matter-of-factly. "And here they are… and here we are. Doesn't look like we're in much of a position to say no, which is the story of my life."

How precious her courage was, I thought, and how like God to send me to this place so I could witness this spiritually inspiring experience. How could I abandon her by refusing to stay with her now in her time of peril?