Heather Brown - Juicy piece

"Your cunt, your cunt," he demanded excitedly, "tell me about your pussy!"

"It's foaming," I crooned, obediently dropping my hand to the call of my cunt. "The pussy juice is lathering like thick, rich suds. I'm rubbing it like shampoo into my cunt hair, spreading it all around. My fingers are everywhere, now, all over the hair of my pussy, working the lather in. The curly, brown hair goes all the way from the insides of my thighs to the lips of my pussy, and halfway to my navel. Every strand of it is sopping wet from my sticky rubbing. You'll love to eat it. Your cock will shudder when it slides through my pussy-lips. My cunt is going to fuck you so well."

"Your ass," he croaked. "Tell me about your ass!"

"Yes, of course," I caroled, putting a hand around to my cheeks and pushing a stiff finger into the clenched hole of my ass, feeling the ridges pucker around my knuckle. "My ass knows how to fuck, too. It's spasming now, horny for your cock."

With each word I was moving closer, his face slowly coming into focus as I sought to make out his expression and ascertain some sort of identity.

"Now can you see my body?" I cried. "Can you see my tits straining toward you, my aching pussy yearning for your hard, stiff cock?"

But the answer was not the wildly appreciative yes I had expected, or anything even approximating it. It was a short, snapping sound of only two syllables, but its impact on me was as profound as if it had been a roar.

"Heh, heh," the man at the end of the ledge cackled, the brief phonetics shooting at me like cracks of a rifle.

Suddenly it occurred to me where I had heard that nasty-sounding laugh before. But it wasn't associated with just a single individual. Father Marmelstein… Agent Marmelstein… and Shark! They all had that treacherous laugh.

And the note. M.S.? Did it stand for Melville Shark? Or Marmelstein Siblings? Maybe there were two of them out there. Or all three of them huddled somewhere near the far corner of the building.

In my blizzard of uncertainty I looked down for the first time since I'd walked out on the ledge. I quickly saw that a crowd had assembled in the street thirteen floors below us, watching my every move as they contemplated the apparent spectacle of my impending suicide.

The beam of a searchlight suddenly began piercing through the darkening skies, heavy rain clouds moving in with the twilight. Abruptly, the searchlight's hot glare burned against my bare skin, briefly highlighting the front of my naked body, bathing my tits and cunt in its glow.

"Now I see you," the man on the ledge hissed in a voice that suddenly sounded all too familiar. "I see everything you've got, boobie."

My mind chugged to get my reasoning process restarted, but the commotion below was now becoming too loud to let me think.

"Come down immediately," a voice blared through a makeshift p.a. system, "or we're coming after you."

It didn't seem like a very sympathetic approach to attract the interest of a potential suicide victim; however, since killing myself was the last thing on my mind, I didn't give it a second thought. But the true implication of the remark from the p.a. system suddenly and astonishingly became clear when a blast of orange light flickered from on top of a nearby building. The explosion of gunpowder sent a high-powered sniper's bullet thudding into the wall three inches from my left ear, as the blast that had propelled it echoed in the canyon of buildings.

"They're shooting at you!" the man on the ledge cried, sounding strangely triumphant.

"Why?" I pleaded.

"Because an FBI agent called the local police before you got here and told them he had infiltrated a subversive organization and had just gotten a tip that a guerilla terrorist was going to bomb the Creel Building, using a secret escape route along the southern ledge," he spat rapidly, this time leaving no mistake about the triumph in his voice.

"Marmelstein!" I gasped.

"The priest or the G-man?" he replied nonchalantly.

"The G-man…" I said, just getting two words out before I had to duck another rifle shot.

"Come to the end of the ledge, quick," he urged. "I have a place where you won't get shot. They're only looking for you on the south ledge."

"Thanks," I said, momentarily forgiving his prior offensiveness in gratitude for the promise of safety, no matter how tenuous. But as I inched along the ledge, keeping my back to the wall and splaying my uplifted arms against the wall for balance, making my tits and cunt a perfect target for the sniper, something suddenly came to me.

"How did you know about the priest and the G-man both being named Marmelstein?" I blurted, just as his strong hand reached out and grabbed me by the wrist, pulling me so dizzily around the comet of the building that I squeezed my eyes closed to defend my senses and half fainted.

As my head cleared, I realized that as soon as I opened my eyes, I would be face to face with the answer to the enigma that had been surrounding me lately. Marmelstein… Marmelstein… Shark, the names peeled through my mind. Then, suddenly, the noise stopped, and in the quiet of my brain the answer materialized.

"The Marmelstein brothers are really the same person," I blindly accused, recalling the newspaper story about the abduction of the real priest, Father Coughlin, whose place Marmelstein had obviously taken. Father Marmelstein's long, face-obscuring beard… Agent Marmelstein's ski-mask… all the things wrong with the set-up of the last few days came together in my brain. "And that person is you… Shark! M.S. is none other than Melville Shark!"

Having spit out the bitter bile of the truth, I opened my eyes to its reality: the wolfish cast of Shark's cruel face, his leering lips releasing his inevitable, "Heh, heh."

"Did you read my column yet, Shark?" I said, trying to act blase until I thought of what to do. But in my feigned nonchalance I stumbled and grabbed for something to hold onto. Whatever it was I snagged onto was hard, yet pliant, something more like a short rail than anything else as I clutched it to keep from falling. But then I opened my eyes again and realized that I had been paying so much attention to Shark's evil face I hadn't noticed until now that he was completely naked. Suddenly I knew that I was hanging for dear life onto his hot, throbbing prick.

I instinctively looked down and saw that I had a beauty of a cock in my hands, a long, sinewy chunk of meat that swooped from a hairy pubic thatch and hard balls, and almost a foot later culminated in a bulb of fiery red at the heart-shaped head of his prick. A little dew-drop of milky semen graced the tip of his cock, drooling stickily from the puckering vertical slit in the middle, the finest details of his prick instantly crystal-clear to me despite the unfavorable weather conditions.

I tried to bluff my way through my sudden fascination with his thrillingly erect prick, but when I asked the ostensibly innocent question, "How did you like my column?" I fully revealed my motives by nervously constricting my fingers around the shaft of his perfect cock, uncontrollably rubbing and squeezing the meaty shaft. As I pressed his brawny cock, the pressure at the end of it expanded, the angry-looking head of his prick releasing a further discharge.

"Well, frankly, I don't know how our Jewish readers will like this new approach, you know, with all that Jesus Christ stuff," he said as I paid no attention to his reply and went down on him, not being able to wait a second longer before I tasted the delectable glob of juice at the end of his cock. The sperm was as sweet as coconut in my mouth as I lapped it down and then automatically gobbled up his whole stiff prick, munching it all the way within seconds so that it was imbedded in my face to the squashing hilt of Shark's hairy balls.