Rod Strong - Dealing in adultery

Ella was burning again, in need of an orgasm. She jumped off my halflimp prong and shoved me back on the bed. I lay back, my legs forming a V, and I let Ella toy with my tired screw machine. It was only half hard now, and she pressed it against her burning flesh in the hope of resurrecting it. But for a while it was no use. All I could do was lie there. And then I felt her move her body between my thighs. I could feel her dangling tits rubbing against my inner thighs as the nipples found their way to either side of my balls, their hot, ruby points pressing into the crevices where my thighs joined my body. First one nipple, then the other ran across my limp cock, touching the head and the sensitive undernerve. Little by little my wang started to come back to life. It reared its head, pressing its leaking hole against the soft flesh of her firm tits. Ella pushed her tits together and trapped my growing cock between them.

My hot prong was fully awake now, stiff, burning, and ready for whatever she wanted. I'd gotten all I'd expected from her, and I figured she deserved one good come of her own any way she pleased.

She loomed above me, her dark brown hair flaring wildly around her face, accentuating her delicate features. Her hair curled around her shoulders, ran over her chest, and settled near her pink nipples. The rigid nipples bounced, jiggled, and glistened as she lowered her gurgling cunt onto my upstanding rod, spearing herself with its thickness, sucking in her breath as it seemed to split her wide open.

I shuddered with bliss as her flaming pussy engulfed my thick rod. Blast-furnace hot, my prong soothed itself in the silky heat of her inflamed cunt. Her nether lips suckled so convincingly on my prick at first I thought it was back in her versatile mouth. But no! When I looked, she was still seated on me, her rounded buttocks resting on my thighs, the soft mounds yielding to the hardness of my own legs. She rolled back and forth on me, and my skewer felt more like a corkscrew as it twisted about within her body, pressing against the walls of her burning abyss.

Ella sat on me for a long time, her eyes closed, her body soaking in every sensation as she rotated herself again and again. Although every pore of mine was alive with feeling, my body was tired, what with having come so many times earlier. So I lay there and let her do her thing, watching her bobbling breasts shine in the orange, sinking sunlight. Her face was a mask of many features, twisting as the pleasure boiled up inside her. She could plainly feel my fleshy column tightly up inside her deep, sobbing pussy, and the way she moved told me she wanted to tear it out at the root, keeping it locked inside her yearning hole forever and ever. Then she leaned forward, balancing herself on her elbows, and slammed her wide hips down, sucking up my throbbing meat, until she felt her hotbox expand to suck my pidookie all the way in, and then fell on top of me as she orgasmed again and again. The very squeezing of her pussy brought me off one more time. No liquid this time, just sensation.

Ella spent the night in my apartment, doing all sorts of nice things to me again and again, though I wasn't able to climax anymore. She worked so damn hard to please me, I had to comply with her request. I promised, as long as Debbie wasn't around, I'd give her first call for any business.

It was noon of the following day, Monday, when she finally left, satisfied she'd accomplished what she'd set out to do. When I finally managed to dress and get to my office, after having had a sparse breakfast, my telephone-answering machine let me know four prospective clients had called. I called each one back and set up appointments with them for the following day.

I called Judy Roberts and made sure she was all right.

She wanted me to come over, but I didn't have the strength. Ella had done too good a job on me.

I spent the day watching videotape reruns of myself with Judy Roberts and a half dozen other former female clients. There wasn't much else to do.

At six o'clock I had a light supper at the hamburger place across from the Elton. I wanted to see if Andy Durslag had any additional. information for me, but he never showed up.

Getting into my Falcon, I drove to Seabrook and parked my car in the same shopping center parking lot I'd used on Friday evening. Then I watched the members of the murder club show up. Cy Roberts was the last one, and from the tired way he dragged himself into the building, it was obvious he had been working on Joan Randall again.

I was tempted to enter the building by way of the storeroom window again, but I had a feeling this was a good time to stay out of there. And sure enough, twenty minutes later, a half dozen squad cars pulled up in front of the building and twelve cops with riot guns poured out and charged inside.

The skirmish was short. The members of the murder club were in no way equipped to fight the police and all surrendered. But on the way out of the building I saw one of the club members break away, make it across the street and get lost in the early evening twilight. Four cops went chasing after him, but lost him.

"It was that guy with the chicken face," I heard one of the cops say as he got back. "You know, that doctor."

"Carreba?" another cop asked.

"Yeah, that was the one."

They piled the handcuffed members of the murder club into the cars and drove off. And that was when I saw Cy Roberts emerge from the building. He stood outside, leaning against the front entrance. He didn't see me standing in the shadows nearby. Neither did Carreba, who for some unknown reason had decided to return.

"How'd you get away?" he asked Roberts.

"I was in the craphouse when they broke in," Roberts explained. "So this is the end of it all, huh?"

"We were finked on," Carreba nodded. "In a little while they'll know your name as well as mine. I suggest we both get the hell out of the country. An APB'll sure as hell go out for us shortly."

"But who could've finked on us?" Roberts wanted to know.

"I only know of one guy," Carreba responded. "It has to be Kalman Albert. Something must've happened and he wanted out. And he'll never get caught because no one else knows he's been the head man."

The two of them moved out of range and I wasn't able to hear anything else said. So I returned to my car and headed for my apartment.

Parking my car in the area behind my building, I went inside, went up to my apartment, opened the door and turned on the light. Surprise! There was a dead body in the middle of my living room (actually my only room) floor. It was bleeding all over the place, letting my carpeting soak up the gore. And the body was that of Mitch Evergrad. I was so surprised at seeing the dead police chief, I forgot to shut the door and came into the room. Did I dare call the cops and tell them their chief was lying dead in my apartment?

The decision seemed to be taken out of my hands when Kalman Albert himself appeared from my bathroom waving what appeared to be a.38 Police Special.

"You happy, Fokker?" he asked, pointing the gun in my direction. "Mitch told me he was canceling the murder club. He told me he wasn't taking any more chances. He also said I was to stay far away from Moira, his sister. But then you know all about it, don't you. You set everything up this way. I know. I spoke to Raquel Roberts just before she tried leaving town, yesterday."

"Tried?" I asked.

"She's dead meat, Fokker, just the way you're gonna be. Why couldn't you leave things alone?"

"I'm paid not to leave things be."

"You're nuts. I sent those two broads here to keep you off my back, and this is how you do things?"

"You sent Ruth and Cassandra here to make sure I wouldn't work for Judy Roberts. By that time my job for Judy was finished, and I haven't worked for her."