Rod Strong - Dealing in adultery

She clung tightly to my ass, enjoying the way I was socking it to her. She churned her bottom around and around, up and down, in and out.

"Fuck it to me, Fokker," she muttered, biting my ear-lobe. "Come on, man. I've giving it away for free this time. Make the best of it."

I shut her up by plunging my tongue into her mouth, pressing her slim, resilient body to mine, feeling those large tits mash against my straining body. God! She had really large, long nipples, and they rubbed hard against my chest, digging in. Shit! This was a girl made for fucking. She had a nice ass, a slim waist to which I could hold, and those beautifully large breasts I could feel and suck, all at the same time. God, what magnificent, monolithic mammary development.

My burning cock steamed into her soaking honeypot, reaming in and out at high speed. She drew her legs up, flexing her knees and finally throwing her calves over my shoulder. Now I was really into her, screwing away magnificently, enjoying the way her depth enveloped my entire fire pole. She bounced so hard it felt as if she might snap my pounding prick off right at the stem. Her legs crossed at the ankles behind my neck as she pulled my head down, forcing me to plunge into her lascivious cunt to an even greater depth.

"I'm… gonna… come," I whispered, feeling the hot gism starting to rise.

"Not yet," she snapped, "not yet. I'll kill you if you come without bringing me off."

Her ass vibrated like a well-oiled machine as her fevered nest slid up and down my solid cock, swallowing my prong, gorging itself on the meat, gourmandizing. I was the one on top, but Debbie was the one moving. She bucked her churning ass in every direction, yet still maintained her up and down motion.

"All right," she murmured in my ear. "All right. I can feel it. Make me come, and you can come at the same time."

Yeah. Like I can control something like that. Debbie was a great fuck, but what a dumb little twat. I didn't know whether to kiss her or give her a good solid belt. Instead, I slammed my fiery fuckstick into her as never before, making her grunt with both surprise and pleasure. If it had been possible I'd have nailed her ass to the bed then and there.

We chattered our bodies against one another in rapid-fire motion, our stomachs clapping together like Jupiter's thunder, and then Debbie's grasping labia began to strangle the life out of my pushing pecker. The spasming rhythm of her hungry pussy seemed to suck it all out of me, and the new load I'd built up since fucking Judy Roberts went splashing into Debbie's hungry cunt. I groaned uncontrollably as my ecstatic testicles unloaded their manufactured liquid.

"That's it, Fokker," Debbie moaned. "I feel it, wet, deep and hot."

She pounded on my back with her fists while kicking my ass, jamming her twat tightly against my groin. When this girl came, she came. Man was it ever intense. Then we rested, Debbie drifting off to sleep while I dressed and stared at the monitor.

It was supposed to be a simple divorce case, but I soon found it was a helluva lot more. My interference was about to put a crimp into the plans of more than one person.

At five o'clock Joan Randall and Cy Roberts parted company, and I packed up my equipment figuring I had all the evidence Judy Roberts wanted. Debbie was still sleeping when I left, getting ready to handle the onslaught of men who crowded into the Elton after midnight.

Leaving the hotel, I put my equipment in the trunk of my car, got in, and just as I started up, noticed Cy Roberts coming out of the luncheonette I had gone to earlier. If he'd stopped there for a quick bite to eat it meant he wasn't going home, yet.

Another rendezvous? I wondered. If so, it would give Judy Roberts even more evidence. Well, what the hell! I had nothing on for the evening. Might as well do what I'm getting paid for.

I watched Roberts get into his white Cadillac Sedan De Ville, and followed him to the Sunrise Highway. Once there, we headed west, me two cars behind Roberts. We headed to Seabrook, an unincorporated village a few miles away. On Island Blvd. Roberts made a left and I remained behind him. We drove for less than a mile before Roberts pulled up in the side parking lot of a building with the legend Knights of Seabrook on the outside.

I bypassed the building and put my car in the nearby lot of a shopping mall open until nine thirty. Then I got out of the car and walked back to the Knights of Seabrook Building. All the windows were dark, which made me wonder why Roberts would come here at this time of night.

Standing against the side of the building, I was all but invisible. I watched another car pull into the building parking lot and join the dozen or so cars already there. When the man got out, I watched him go to the side door. It opened, a light lancing out into the shadows of the late afternoon, and I could see two other men standing inside the entrance, making sure no "unauthorized" individuals got in. Hell, it was kind of early for a meeting of the "Knights." I wondered what the hell was going on.

Directly above my head, a little to the left, was a slightly open window some careless janitor hadn't noticed. Though far from an athletic personality, I was able to climb in the window after opening it a bit more. I closed it but didn't lock it. If I had to make a hasty exit I hoped I'd be able to remember the right window.

I was in a storeroom, with a big mess of cases and things blocking my way. It was dark in the room and I used my pocket flashlight to light the way to the door. Easing the door open, I peered into a well-lit room obviously designed for public meetings. Ten men were standing around, smoking, chatting, yet none were laughing. Plainly this was one serious conclave, though all the men were in their shirtsleeves, including Cy Roberts.

Three more men entered the room, and the door was shut. No one bothered glancing in my direction. Not only was the storeroom door in the shadowed part of the room, but no one seriously considered the possibility of someone hiding there, which was fine by me.

"The doors are all locked," one of the men said, and I recognized him as part of the pair who had been guarding the side door.

The faces of almost all the men looked familiar. Two of them were minor county officials, and five of them were officers in various corporations based on Long Island. The other six were not well-known men, yet I'd seen the faces of two of them recently in the newspaper, though for the moment I couldn't recall why.

"Meeting's called to order," one of the men said, standing on the platform in front of the others as they took seats. "I'll make this meeting as brief as possible. I want progress reports. Mr. Walker and Mr. Carter are excluded since both have succeeded."

Walker! Carter! Yeah, sure. Walker's face had been on page three of Newsday when his wife had been discovered drowned while swimming off a public beach. It had been declared an accident. And Carter's kisser had adorned a page of Newsday only two days before when his mother-in-law had driven the man's new Mercedes off an embankment on the Long Island Expressway, slamming its way through the guard rail. The woman had been an habitual alcoholic, and was chalked up as a victim of her own drunken driving. Boy, talk about mixed emotions, learning your mother-in-law has died taking your brand-new ten thousand dollar car with her. Wow!

"Mr. Randall, have you made any progress with Mrs. Roberts?" the man on the podium asked.

"I haven't made contact with her," Randall admitted. He was a tall, lean man, and looked a helluva lot like his wife. "I'm waiting to see how far Roberts has gotten with my own wife."

"I've made excellent progress, so far," Cy Roberts said, rising. "But she hasn't responded as I've been assured she would respond. For a woman with a weak heart she's been holding up admirably."