Chapter 1

THE CAPER

How would you like it if you walked into a public restroom, suddenly had your arms pinned behind you, your trousers yanked down, and were then wonderfully sucked off by a beautiful, well-built, blonde? And, after that, you were sucked up hard again, then laid on the floor on your back while a gorgeous redhead got on top of you and fucked merrily away until you came again? Unbelievable? Not if you live in New York City today. And in fact, the odds are that that is exactly what might happen to you if you spend much time in Manhattan, even as a tourist.

My name is John Bartley. This incredible story first came to light about a year ago. As a reporter for a large daily newspaper, I was assigned to the Police Beat. One evening as I lounged about the local station house, shooting the shit with my friend Sgt. Holloway, of the Detective Squad, a man stumbled in, yelling and screaming that he had been raped. Naturally, such an accusation provoked a lot of laughter, and several of the officers joked that it should happen to them; they should be so lucky. But the outraged citizen wasn't amused, and considering how he looked, I really couldn't blame him. His name was Mr. Purdy, and he was about forty, balding, with the beginnings of the usual middle-aged spread prominently showing.

Both arms were inside his trousers, one in front and one in back. They had been tied at the wrists, and his trousers were then pulled up, zipped, and belted. As a result, he was forced to walk rather crab-like, adding to his discomfort. We had to take down his pants in order to free him. When we did, we found that almost his entire lower body was covered with clear imprints of female lips; indelibly inscribed with bright red lipstick. Whoever had put it there certainly meant for it to be seen.

After freeing Mr. Purdy's hands, calming him down enough so that he could talk without raising his voice, and refreshing our coffee cups, we listened to his story; with open-mouth awe.

Mr. Purdy had been in New York City on a convention trip. Leaving his hotel, he had strolled about seeing the sights, like any other tourist. Feeling the call of nature, he went into a public toilet facility in one of the large office buildings. Being unfamiliar with the city, he wasn't able to tell us which one for sure. Anyway, as he had closed the door, two pairs of hands had grabbed him, while a third expertly unzipped his pants, pulled his meat out, and then he saw that his attacker was a gorgeous blonde girl, no more than twenty or twenty-one. To his utter astonishment, the girl then fell to her knees, popped his joint in her mouth, and proceeded to give him the wildest blow job he had ever before in his life had.

For a lass so tender in years, she had certainly been experienced at sucking cock. Her tongue had played around with the head until Mr. Purdy thought he would scream in ecstasy. Then she had let almost the entire shaft sink so deeply into her mouth that when she swallowed, it felt as if he were being milked. Well, Mr. Purdy is only human, and after very little of that treatment, she made him come. Blushing profusely, he admitted that he had come in her mouth, and that she had swallowed every drop of it. Holloway and I exchanged glances, wondering if maybe we had some kind of a kook on our hands. But the sincere way in which he told his story convinced us both that it was the truth. We urged him to go on.

After the girl had finished sucking him off, she got up and another one took her place. Mr. Purdy's cock had started going down, but there were still traces of come on the head. She smeared these droplets all over the still swollen tip; giving Mr. Purdy the sensation that there were a million little insects crawling all over it. Dropping his head, Mr. Purdy admitted that he didn't remember too much about what had happened for awhile. The feeling was so delicious that he thought he was going to faint.

"How many were there?" asked Sgt. Holloway.

"Three. And all three were young enough to be my daughter. There was the blonde, the one I told you about first. Then the second girl was a redhead. Really beautiful. And there was a little brunette; although she had a grip like a wrestler. She was the one holding me. I have never seen any one so small, yet so strong. I couldn't move. I know that might sound like I really wasn't trying very hard, but it's true. I swear it is. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't would I?"

"Relax, Mr. Purdy," Holloway soothed, seeing that he was beginning to raise his voice again. "We believe you. It's just that we need all the information you can supply. Now, go on. What happened next?"

Taking a big swig of hot coffee, Mr. Purdy went on with his story. After getting it hard, it seems the redhead pulled his balls out of his pants, and began kissing them. She didn't stop there however. They took his pants down, and she kissed him all over. That was when he got the lipstick on him. It was then that Mr. Purdy recovered from the shock of what was happening and started to make an effort to get away. All three of the girls forced him to the floor, and while two of them sat on him, the redhead stood, and slowly pulled her dress up. Dropping his voice so low we had to ask him to repeat, Mr. Purdy said the redhead hadn't had any panties on underneath. She was, however, a real redhead. That much Mr. Purdy could testify, was real.

After she had her skirt hiked up over her waist, she had stepped astraddle of Mr. Purdy. One of the other girls, the brunette he thought, was holding his cock upright, sort of jacking him off. Smiling at him seductively, the redhead had then lowered herself agonizingly slow, until her cunt was just barely touching the tip of his staff. Then, she had tormented him by rubbing the moist opening over his cockhead, holding the lips open so that his cock would almost penetrate her. After what had seemed like a lifetime of torture, she had suddenly dropped on him, completely enveloping his throbbing sex organ. Mr. Purdy admitted that he had become so hot by what she had been doing that he had come almost at once. As soon as he had started shooting off in her however, she had jumped up, and his prick had fallen onto his stomach, the warm, sticky, fluid gushing out all over him.

As he lay there writhing, the blonde had leaned over and licked every drop of the man-milk from his skin. Then, laughing gleefully, all three of the girls had jumped up, and leaving Mr. Purdy laying on the floor, with his pants down around his ankles, had rushed out of the room, giggling and blowing him kisses.

Mr. Purdy had been so stunned that he could only lay there, the high pitched tinkling of the girlish laughter still ringing in his ears. It had taken a long time before he had managed to gather his wits about him enough to try and get up. Staggering to his feet, he had made it to a wash basin, and washing his face with cold water, had convinced himself that it had really happened. Shaking his head, Mr. Purdy mumbled something about what a crazy town New York was. He said he wished he had never come here. Nothing like that had ever happened to him before. Mr. Purdy sat, staring into his coffee cup, shaking his head.

"How did you get tied up?" I asked. "Huh?"

"Tied up? How did you get tied up. You said the girls left, and then you made it to a wash basin. What happened then?"

"Oh yes. Well, as I was standing there the door opened and all three of them came rushing back in. It all happened so quick. I ... I don't exactly recall what did happen then. They grabbed me, and the next thing I knew my hands were tied, and they had pulled my pants back up. Then they were gone again. That's when I came here." Mr. Purdy finished the last of his coffee, then looking at Sgt. Holloway, he demanded, "Well! Aren't you going to do something?"

"We will do everything we can Mr. Purdy. But you will have to admit you haven't given us very much to go on. You can't even tell us for sure what building the attack took place in. All we have to go on is a partial description of a gorgeous blonde, a beautiful redhead, and a very strong petite brunette. Think hard Mr. Purdy, isn't there anything else you can remember? Anything at all, no matter how insignificant it might seem to you. It might be important."

Mr. Purdy accepted the fresh coffee, then staring at it hard, concentrated. But after a short time he could only shake his head, and looking first at me, then Sgt. Holloway, declared that he had told us everything that he knew, or could remember. A pained and puzzled expression that suddenly appeared on his face prompted me to ask him if he was hurt.

"No, at least not the way you think. I was just running the whole thing over again in my head. It seems so damned incredible. Even I can't believe that it happened. But," he paused, indicating a stained napkin that he had used to wipe some of the lipstick off with, laying on the table next to his arm. "That sure as hell isn't catsup on that napkin. What a town this is. A guy can't even go to the can. What am I going to tell my wife? You tell me officer, what am I going to tell my wife about this whole thing? You think she is going to believe me?" Snorting, he answered his own question. "You know damned well she isn't. You fellows know how women are. And whether you believe it or not, I've been married to the same woman for almost twenty years, and I have never cheated on her. Except for that time I got a little drunk at the convention in Paducka Falls. But you really can't count that ti...."

"Yes, well I'm sure that you have been a proper husband. Now why don't you just go back to your hotel, and we'll call you if anything comes up. You are going to be in town for a few days aren't you?" Sgt. Holloway said, interrupting what sounded like it was going to be a long hearts and flowers story.

"Yea! We are going to be here for another two days," replied Mr. Purdy, reaching for his coat. Then remembering that he hadn't thought of anything to tell his wife, he quickly turned back.

"But what am I going to tell Emma? That's my wife, Emma. What am I going to tell her? You tell me?"

"Why tell her anything Mr. Purdy?" Holloway answered sighing heavily. Man, some of the characters a cop had to put up with.

"Huh?" a bewildered Mr. Purdy grunted.

"Why tell her anything at all. Why don't you just go back to the hotel, take a nice hot shower, and then go about your business as if nothing had happened. After all, it really isn't so terrible. There are no marks or scars. Nothing at all that would give your wife a clue as to what actually happened. So, unless you tell her, there's no way for your wife to find out, now is there?'"

Mr. Purdy just looked at us. He didn't say anything for a long time, then finally he slowly shook his head. "She wouldn't believe me anyway. You fellows know how women are. She wouldn't believe that three pretty young girls jumped me in the men's room, sucked me off, then fucked me. She just wouldn't believe that I didn't have anything to do with it." Mr. Purdy convinced himself that such was the case, and went right on out of the room, still shaking his head, still mumbling to himself. The poor fellow was having trouble convincing even himself that it had really happened.

After Mr. Purdy had left, I poured my fifth cup of bad coffee for the night, and picking up the report form that Holloway had been filling out, glanced over it.

"What do you think?" I asked.

"Sounds pretty wild doesn't it?" he answered noncommittally. "What do you think?"

"Well, the guy was obviously telling the truth. The thing that bothers me; why? Some kind of a joke? If the guy lived here in town, there would always be the possibility that one of his friends was playing a joke on him. But if that was the case, surely one of them would have stepped forward by now. Even if it was a convention joke, same thing. Nope, I don't think it was something instigated by anyone he knew. There has to be another reason. Any ideas?"

"You believe him then?"

"Yea! Don't you?"

"Uh uh! I believe him all right. And not just because he sounded so damned sincere either. He is the third one to report something like this in the last month. And not just at this station house. Once up on the West Side, and again down in the Village. If we have had three reported, just think of how many times some guy wouldn't say anything."

The truth of what he said made sense. I nodded my head soberly. The information that there had been two other report cases came as something of a surprise. Once, yes. It could have been a practical joke, a spur of the moment dare by a bunch of girls out on the town, something like that. But three times? There was a story here, and my nose started itching like it always did when I got close to something hot.

"You sure about those other two cases? Same thing, same way?" I asked Holloway.

"Almost," he answered, taking the report form out of my hand, and passing his hand over his hair. "Little different places, and different girls; except for the blonde. She crops up in all three. Weird! That's what it is, weird. When I first heard about it, I thought it was someone trying to put us on. But then when the second one came through, me and a couple of the boys from another division started doing some snooping around. Everything we came up with pointed at fact. All three of the victims fit pretty much into a pattern. Middle aged, not much in the way of looks, pretty nondescript sort of guys. All of the attacks took place at about the same time, in more or less out of the way places. Weird, man; weird! The chief is going to flip when he sees we got another one. It's all right if they fuck around with the locals, but when they start bothering the tourists, the mayor gets into the act, screaming like a banshee. Man, I gotta' come up with something, and do it fast. If you have any ideas, let me in on it. I could sure use some."

"Yea! Well, as a matter-of-fact I don't. But, I do have a few friends in the tenderloin district, and some down in kooksville. Maybe if I put the word out, I can get a nibble. It's worth a try anyway."

"Thanks," Holloway said, and from the haggard expression, he meant it.

I hung around the station house for the rest of the evening, but it was pretty dull. Only routine stuff; a couple of dozen muggings, a murder, three rapes, two armed robberies of local stores, with twenty or so burglaries thrown in for flavoring. All pretty common, and not very newsworthy. What the hell. When it came to news, people wanted to read about what was happening to other people; not to themselves.

Finally, pressed by a deadline, I managed to make a sort of story out of the murder. It was a case where an addict knocked off his pusher, after catching the pusher making it with the addict's chick. Not really much of a story, but since the pusher turned out to be a fourteen-year-old lesbian, I thought just maybe my editor might give it the go. As I figured, he didn't think much of it; too old hat, but since he was in a hurry to be at Mike's Place, on his usual stool when they opened, he called me a few choice names, and let the story go through.

Deciding that there was nothing else to be gained by hanging around, I waved goodbye to Holloway, and after promising to keep in touch, went out to the police parking lot to get my car. I collected my two fish from the lot guard for our standard night's bet; two fish that my hubcaps would (he said) or would not (I said) still be on the car. I usually won, although for awhile there it was neck and neck. Starting my car, I carefully eased it out of the gate. You have to be careful going out of that particular gate, because the kids frequently use that street for a drag strip. If you don't watch it-Wham!-you got a lawsuit on your hands. And the last thing I need is an irate parent breathing down my neck, while I quietly have to run up a twenty thousand dollar hospital bill in the local charity ward. Who needs it?

Seeing that it was almost three o'clock, I speeded up just a little. My bird always get squirrelly as hell if I'm late picking her up after she gets off. Wanda, my chick, works at the "Red Rose," a local night spot. She is a go-go dancer, and helps convince the out-of-towners what a cesspool the city is. Funny thing though. None of these characters ever seem to catch on that the only people in the joint are from out of the city. Well, it takes all kinds.

Wanda is a cute little bundle of joy that stands five foot two, has eyes of blue, and a pair of forty-two inch globes that I just love to orbit around. Man, when she comes on, I go off, and I mean way off. I met her about six months ago, and we've been swinging steady ever since. She bitches quite a bit when I'm late, but after we get home in bed, she forgets all about it. Me too.

Parking the wheels in front of the fire hydrant at the entrance of the club, I flipped the door keep an ace, and went inside. The music, as usual, was bad, but plenty loud. Cindy Lou, another chick at the club, was just finishing her bit, and the T-Boys were lapping it up; and they were almost able to drown out the tinny sound of the band. But not quite. Once inside, the smoke burning my eyes, it took a couple of minutes to adjust. Meanwhile, Wanda had seen me come in, and bouncing, literally, over to me, she grabbed my arm and pulled me to an empty table. Wanda was on a break, and was due to go on as soon as Sue Ann, another go-go girl finished. It seems that Wanda had drawn the long straw that night, and had to finish up. Cindy Lou and Sue Ann, getting the short ones, could split as soon as their bit was done. Wanda didn't look happy.

"Gee baby," she wailed. "I got fucked tonight. I think that whore Cindy pulled a fast switch on me. This is the second night in a row that I've got hung up."

"Don't sweat it," I answered, yelling at the top of my lungs so that she could hear me. "I need a Utile rest anyway. Rough night." Actually I didn't mind at all. About the only time I ever got to eyeball other chicks was when she had to work late. I hadn't seen Sue Ann do her thing yet. She was new to the club, and I hoped it might prove interesting. Besides, between my job and Wanda, I was one busy boy. Wanda was the only chick I had ever met who kept me so turned on that for the most part I was half dead most of the time, and half asleep the rest. I hadn't been kidding when I said I could use the rest.

Cindy Lou had just finished, and after pausing long enough to let one of the customers give her a tip by shoving it inside her G-string, copping a feel while he was about it, she headed out through the little curtain in back. Just as she disappeared, the band struck up a loud finale, and a tired, slightly drunk M.C. took over the mike.

"All right," he yelled into the mike. "Let's hear it for little scintillating Cindy, the gorgeous gyne from Georgia." There was a smattering of applause, accompanied by several loud cat-calls and whistles from a table occupied by four very happy citizens from Broken Creek, somewhere or the other. Apparently they were the ones who had been tunneling the stuff to the M.C. because he made a big production about acknowledging their appreciation. My conviction was fortified by the joke he told; so old that only very happy citizens from Broken Creek, somewhere or the other, would laugh at it. They probably told it to him.

"Shay," the M.C. mumbled. "Do you know the difference between snowmen and snow women?" Without waiting for an answer, he hurried on, lest the yokels get wise. "Snowballs, baby, snowballs!" Convulsing into fits of stage laughter, the M.C. pointed to his benefactors, who were likewise convulsed into exaggerated whoops of glee. Man, let's face it. Broken Creek was never like this. Thinking that one over, I almost formed an attachment for Broken Creek.

I almost felt sorry for the M.C. What a lousy way to make a buck, mooch a few watered down drinks, and avoid paying alimony. It was almost enough to make a man want to go back to his wife. But, if the guy kept getting enough live ones like his frolicy foursome, maybe he just wouldn't give a damn anyway. I kind of hoped so.

Finally regaining his composure, along with a fresh drink handed up to him by one of the happy citizens, the M.C. went on with the show. "All right folks," he gasped, taking a big swig of the watered down booze, and making an appropriate face. "Time to get on with the interesting part of the show." A few shouts of encouragement greeted that. Frowning, the M.C. went on. "The 'Red Rose' is fortunate to have with us tonight, for the first time on any stage in New York, a lovely lass from South Carolina. The Beautiful, lusty, busty, siren of the south, Miss Sue Ann. Come on boys, let's hear it."

Still holding both the glass, and the mike, the M.C. almost dropped both when he tried to clap his hands. Making a lunging grab for the booze, his legs got caught in the mike cord, and he unceremoniously fell flat on his ass, much to the merriment of the foursome in front. Getting him untangled, they helped haul him down off the stage, just as the band set about torturing still another piece of music. The curtains parted, and a strikingly beautiful blonde glided smoothly on stage. I felt my balls tighten, and was aware that it was getting pretty crowded down there. That was the rub with jockey shorts; no room to expand.

Sue Ann was absolutely beautiful. There is no other way to describe her. Although of only average height, she gave the appearance of being tall; this thanks to her slim, firm, lithe body, which was put together with all the right pieces in the right places. I felt myself beginning to pant. Man, was she some chick. Her tits, firm, hard, and upthrust, were just barely covered by a gauze-like piece of fabric tied behind her neck. Her G-string was little more than two small triangles of the same flimsy material, and her cunt, bare of any hair, could be seen easily. The T-boys were going wild, and if any of them had been wearing contacts, they would have popped them long ago.

Wonder of wonders, Sue Ann could actually dance, and considering the rank type of music she had to work with, she was doing a hell of a job. The nipple on her right tit seemed larger than the other one, and through the gauzy film, I could see that it was taut, and erect. My own meat had somehow gotten in the same state, but I had made one mistake. Forgetting about Wanda. But she didn't forget about me.

Feeling a sharp tug on my arm, I was rudely snapped back to reality, and turning, I found myself looking into the flashing eyes of the girl, who only that morning I had sworn to love forever. Man she was some kind of freaked out. I couldn't hear all she was saying, but the sparks flying from her eyes sure got the message across.

"You bastard," she screamed. "Just what in ... you looking

"Easy baby, easy," I yelled back, trying to pull her to me. "I was just looking at her in a clinical sort of way. You know, sort of seeing if she was as good as you."

"Liar!" she hollered back. Then, moving fast, her hand went under the table and she grabbed my dick before I had a chance to move. "You son-of-a-bi...." She screeched, the last syllable being drowned out. "You let that bleach blonde, two-bit whore give you a hard-on. I ought to pull ev...." Again the last part was overshadowed by the blaring band, but the tugging action she was giving me said what she had in mind better than words. I quickly reached under the table and grasped her clinched fist in self-defense. Wanda could be one hell of a mean chick when she got worked up. Pulling her to me, I pinned her arms.

"Cool it, luv," I yelled into her ear, in what was supposed only to be a whisper. "You got it all wrong. I've had this up ever since I came in and saw you. You know how you affect me. One look at you, and pow! Instant straight-pole." Then trying to put her on the defensive, I added, "that sure is one hell of a way for you to show appreciation." In what I hoped was a convincing pose, I pouted the best I knew how.

"Bullshit," she spat back, although some of the certainty had gone from her voice. Then looking at me carefully, and still not sure if she should believe me or not, she said, "For real baby? You're not putting me on? It's been hard ever since you came in?" The tone of her voice told me that she wanted to believe me so desperately, that it wouldn't take much to convince her. I decided that I'd play it down.

"Fuck it, chick," I answered, feigning anger, at the same time letting go of her hand and moving slightly away from her. "If you think that cunt on stage could get the kind of action out of me that you get, then you just think whatever you want to. I'm too tired to rap about shit like that. Personally, I wouldn't trade her for two hairs off the back edge of your cunt." I had to force myself not to grin. I knew that that last would do the trick. But it had been close.

"I'm sorry Johnny," Wanda purred, her hot breath doing crazy things in my ear. "I know you wouldn't ... that is, I don't think you would fuck around on me." Her anger returning momentarily, she shouted, "at least you'd better not. If I ever caught you, I'd cut the motherfucker off." Then cooling down again, she laid her head on my shoulder, at the same time letting her finger tips run up the inside of my thigh until they reached my still swollen meat. "Besides, I'm the only one that knows how to take good care of you. Isn't that right, Johnny? Isn't that what you told me?" The warmth of her hand made my joint begin to throb. I swallowed hard, trying not to look in the direction of the stage.

"You know it's right baby," I replied, swallowing hard again. "Remember what happened this morning?" Out of the corner of my eye I could see swirls of golden blonde hair twirling round and round, and the music even seemed to get better. Wanda squeezed slightly; I swallowed again.

"Prove it!" Wanda ran the tip of her tongue around the inside of my ear, and the beat of the music banged away inside my head.

"Huh?" I asked stupidly. The flashing flesh was moving in and out of my field of vision with tantalizing effect. Sue Ann was just out of focus, but I could still tell that she was gaining in momentum as her dance became headier. The freight train roar of the crowd told me the same thing, and the T-boys had started stamping on the floor. I wanted to look so badly my mouth had gone dry.

"I said, prove it," Wanda cooed, all lovey-dovey now, and massaging my hard cock relentlessly. At the rate she was going, she would have me shooting off in my shorts before long. I knew perfectly well what she meant, since we had done it many times before.

Wanda never wore anything under the simple pullover dress she put on between her acts. Underneath, there was nothing but erect tits and hot, moist pussy. She would simply pull my cock out, lift up her dress, then sit on my lap; letting my cock sink deep into the wonderful warmth of her slit. Sitting there, with no one being the wiser, she would then contract her inner muscles, milking me until I deliriously exploded, filling her with hot, creamy come. The fact that she would always have to clean herself up afterwards never seemed to bother her, and more than once when I had come in a little uptight, she had fixed me up. Now she was in the mood again, and there was nothing I could do but go along. Not that I really felt exactly put out about the whole thing. To tell the truth, I felt pretty fucking uptight right then too.

Grabbing her by the hair, I glued my lips to hers. Wanda's educated tongue flicked out, setting a series of small brush fires every time it touched. At the same time, she expertly worked my zipper, and soon I felt the glorious heat of her bare hand on my meat, then it was out. No one even paid any attention to us, their gaze riveted to the stage. I was going to have to take a look, even if Wanda wound up kicking me in the balls. When she stood up, I grabbed the opportunity.

Sue Ann was bent almost completely backwards, her feet firmly set, and legs widely spread. She peeked back at us from between her open legs, at the same time gently caressing the insides of her thighs. Her cunt was so clearly out-lined that I could even see her clit protruding through the teasing gauze. Even the musicians, usually a bored lot, had started taking notice, and the beat was exotic and sensuous. My prick began throbbing wildly, and then my field of vision was blocked by Wanda, who had lifted her skirt, and was even then holding onto my erect member as she slowly settled herself down over it.

Once Wanda had my joint completely in her, she began to frantically milk it, hugging me to her with an urgency. She became so excited that she even began to bounce a little, something she would do when she was going to come herself. As her fiberous muscles clamped down hard on the engorged head of my dick, she pulled herself up slightly, making me moan loudly. Over her shoulder, I could see Sue Ann had gradually worked her fingertips up the insides of her thighs until she was now at the edge of the thin covering over her slit. She was toying with the edges, and the crowd was going wild. For once I couldn't blame them. She was nothing short of sensational. If I hadn't been fucking Wanda right then, I would probably have shot my load anyway.

Between the wild, animal, hedonic dance that Sue Ann was putting on, and the delicious, delicate milking that Wanda was doing, I felt my semen begin to boil deep inside. My balls felt like they would burst if they swelled any more, and I knew that it wouldn't be long before I shot off. Wanda was bouncing in earnest now, and she was kissing my ear, and running her tongue around the inside so fast I was almost afraid she was going to bite it off. From the heaviness of her breathing, I knew that it wouldn't take her more than another minute to come. When we both came together like that it was wild, and I knew I would wind up getting the stuff all over my pants. At that point however, I didn't give a fuck if the Russians walked down the middle of Pennsylvania Avenue in their skivvy shorts.

Sue Ann had grabbed the edges of the gauze, and pulled it so taut that her clit stuck out like a marble. Still bent over backwards, her eyes were closed, and it looked as if she had gone into some kind of a trance. She was working the coarse cloth back and forth across her enlarged clit frantically now, and I realized that she was going to come herself. The whole fucking place was going wild, and some of the T-boys were throwing wads of money up on the stage. I caught a brief glimpse of the trumpet player, and his eyes were so wide that I was sure they would pop out; but man he was sure as hell blowing the shit out of that horn. Like his very life depended on it.

Sue Ann dramatically yanked the thin fabric into the middle of her slit, clearly exposing the swollen lips of her pussy; at the same time fingering her button fiercely through the cloth. Wanda collapsed against me, and bit into my neck. I didn't even feel the pain. Just then she tightened her velvety pussy so tight I felt as if I were in a vise, and I felt her flooding herself. At the same time I exploded, the hot cream gushing out in angry, pulsating spurts. Grabbing her firmly about the waist, I helped her bounce up and down on me.

"Ohhh, Johnny," Wanda screamed into my ear. "Ahhhhh, babyyy!"

Letting go of her hips with one hand, I made a desperate grab for one of her huge tits, and finding it, squeezed it hard. She moaned even louder, and almost bounced herself right off my cock. Fortunately it was so hard, and I was so hot, that it rammed itself willingly back into its snug haven.

"Ohhhhh, Johnny, fuck me, baby!" Wanda gasped, increasing the speed she was bounding about. I then realized that she was going to make it a second time, something that wasn't really too rare for her when she got herself properly aroused. One look at Sue Ann's widely spread cunt made my meat again full of blood, and my hard-on seemed like it was going to last forever. The din from the crowd was so deafening that I could no longer hear what Wanda was saying, but as I again started shooting off, I really didn't give a good shit. Opening her legs as wide as she could, Wanda let my whole shaft drive deep inside of her; then holding for an instant, milked me violently. I exploded like a rocket on its launching pad, again filling her gaping cunt with hot come. I could already feel some of the sticky stuff trickling down over my balls, but it was the most wonderful sensation I had ever had. For a second, I was afraid that I might even black out.

Then it was over. As wild, and fantastic, and wonderful as it had been; it suddenly ended. Jumping high in the air, and straightening herself, Sue Ann dropped back to the stage completely erect. Pausing for a moment, she took a long, low, seductive bow and turning, rushed off the stage.

Where a moment before there had been pandemonium, now there was complete, deafening silence. The stage was empty, still littered with wads of thrown money. The band, their instruments still in playing position, froze. The trumpet player, his horn seemingly glued to his lips, only stood and stared at the still fluttering curtains through which Sue Ann, had just disappeared. Everything had come to an end so swiftly that everyone had been caught by surprise.

The patrons, most of them sweating profusely, sat with their gaping mouths dribbling saliva; staring at the curtains. Many didn't even seem to be breathing. They just sat there, some with their hands held rigid in the open stance of applause. Nothing moved. Not a sound was heard, except for the whimpering sobs of Wanda, her face buried in my shoulder. The poor thing was trembling. I had been too busy to count, but she must have come at least three times. I only got off twice, but man they were real ball breakers. My nuts would be sore for a week.

Everyone waited for Sue Ann to come back again. Nothing happened. The curtains finally stopped swaying, and just hung there, mute testimony of the taciturnity. Wanda gradually regained her composure, and raising her head, looked around. All eyes stared in the direction of the now still curtains. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she pulled my hanky from my breast pocket, then dextrously slipped it under her skirt; wiping my cock clean as it slipped out of her, and then using it as sort of a napkin. Wanda stood up, smiling, her face flushed and happy. Tossing her long hair back over her shoulders, she turned in the direction of the stage. Doing so, she bumped into a table. The noise broke the fragile stillness.

A very obese man sitting close by issued a wheezing sigh. The low murmur of voices began in the murky dimness; quickly followed by many shouts and cries for an encore. Sue Ann still didn't appear. The band found its collective voice, and began playing. The din increased until the M.C. finally succeeded in making it back to the microphone. Waving for quiet, the M.C. shouted into the mike.

"All right fella's, what did you think about little Sue Ann?"

The deafening roar that answered him had just about died down, still not producing any Sue Ann, when the house lights came on, and the band gave a blaring sign off. Glancing at my watch, I was astonished to see that over an hour had passed. It was after four. Wanda hadn't even had a chance to go on. Sue Ann's performance had taken so long that it was time to close up the joint. In fact, except for the mesmerizing influence of her act, the place normally would have been cleared out by now. Hurrying, Wanda moved toward the curtains, anxious now to change.

In the glaring brightness of the house lights, the club looked even shoddier than it really was. The thick smoke hung like a pall, the odor of stale alcohol permeating everything. The crowd was still shouting, whistling, stomping their feet; demanding that the M.C. again produce Sue Ann. Swaying slightly, he alibied that they had already stayed open past the legal closing hour, and that they had to get everyone out of there in a hurry. This excuse seemed to mollify some of the people, and quickly downing the rest of their diluted booze, they started moving toward the door. The band had already put away their instruments, and were busy trying to grab a quick one before the bartender put all the hooch away. A few customers, as usual, were trying to talk him into pouring that "one more for the road," and in the case of the good tippers he was allowing himself to be convinced. The stiffs went dry.

Eddie, the guy who managed the club for the organization, came over and sat down. With cool detachment, he watched as the bouncer and door keep hustled the last of the customers through the door, then fastened it. Turning to me, he asked if I wanted a drink; of the good stuff. I accepted. After the fucking and show combination, my mouth was so dry I needed something. Giving the high sign to the bartender, he turned back to me.

"What'd you think?" he asked, keeping his voice noncommittal.

"About what?" I asked, pretending ignorance of what he was talking about. With Eddie, sometimes the less you knew, the better.

"The new dame! What'd you think of her?"

"Wild!" I answered, shrugging my shoulders. "Not bad, but then again the other girls aren't exactly zombies." You gotta' play it cool with Eddie. Never can tell what he has in mind. For all I knew, he might be ready to give Wanda the bounce, and be trying to use me for a patsy. That Eddie was shifty as hell. That was one of the main reasons the organization had made him manager of the club.

"Bullshit," he sneered. "She was the greatest fucking dancer we ever had. You see those mark's faces? Stoned, man! Plain stoned. Why you coulda' walked off with all the bread in their pockets while she was on, and not a one of them woulda' twitched a whisker. Man, is that chick ever hot." Making a sound that passed for a laugh with him, Eddie went on. "Shit! The broad even gave me the hots." He laughed again.

Shaking his head in mock amazement, Eddie picked up one of the drinks that the waiter brought over, lifted it in a salute, then downed the whole thing in one gulp. Eddie had had his share for the night. He never had more than one, and then not until after closing time. Sometimes I even suspected that the only reason he even drank then was because it was against the law. That was the way Eddie thought. If a deal was straight, it was for "marks" only. If it was crooked, it was right down Eddie's lane.

Eddie was tough. He had been brought up on the lower East Side. Eddie learned to use a switchblade before he knew what a football was. When the kids played cops and robbers, Eddie would always be one of the robbers. He was practicing. The only thing Eddie ever hit with a baseball bat was a kid's head from a rival gang. Yes, Eddie was tough; and mean. The only reason I even bothered talking to him was that he had a thing about reporters. It made him feel big or something. Besides, he was a good source of information now and then. I remembered the story.

"Say Eddie? You hear any odd rumors around? You know, weird things like broads busting guys. Things like that."

Eddie looked back at me with his blank, cold, expressionless eyes. I could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. Eddie wasn't exactly bright, but he was careful. This boy wouldn't even take a shit until he made sure that the crapper flushed.

"Broads busting guys? You gotta' be kiddin'. What'd they want to do that for?"

"Yea, well if you hear anything, let me know. I'll appreciate the favor."

I took another sip of my drink, then stared blankly at the glass. I tried to concentrate on the tickling sound of the ice. Eddie knew something. I could tell. He was foxy, and the dumber he played, the deeper the shit was. If he kept quiet and didn't ask any more questions, I knew for sue that I would be right. Eddie changed the subject.

"Hey Johnny. One of the 'Big Boys' is having a party. Wanna' come?"