Anonymous Encounters(33)

And Blake ate it up. He had his dick out now, his pants unzipped, the  huge purple member jutting out as he stroked it firmly, pulling off the  head with slight popping sounds, growling as he gazed at me with  ravenous eyes.

And it only spurred me on further, knowing that I had a man in my hands, ready to do my bidding like putty.

"Kiss me down there," I said. "I want to feel you tongue me," I nodded to my creaming snatch.

The big man was before me on his knees in a flash, his mouth open and  panting as he scrabbled furiously at my bikini bottoms. I don't shave,  but I make sure to trim and my landing strip was a mini-rectangle, cute  and beckoning. With a moan, Blake dove between my lips, burrowing his  tongue into my slit.

"Oohhh!" I squealed, lifting up from my nips. It felt so good to have a  man there, to have him sample my female cream, my cunt lips dripping  wetly, a trail running down my thigh I was so turned on. Blake was a  master  –  he pulled apart my labia, revealing my little clit standing to  attention, and circled it with his tongue before beginning a suck, the  jets of sensation making my legs go weak as he devoured the nub of  flesh.

Then he pulled my nether lips apart even wider to look straight up my  cunt, enjoying the view of ruby rose insides, the walls wet with need  and want.

"My dick goes there," he growled, before diving in to lick my inner  channel, hungrily kissing my puss, making me squeal with desire. "But  I'm not sure it's going to fit."

"Oh it'll fit," I gasped. At least I hoped it would, I prayed silently  to myself. I'd seen that dong and it was godawful huge but I looked  forward to the challenge, I wanted it in me, wanted to be impaled, to  feel the commanding presence of a big dick deep in my vag.

To get me prepped, Blake slipped a finger in me, first one, then two,  letting me sigh and moan, tossing my head in ecstasy as he rubbed my  pussy walls, stretching me out.

"Fuck you're a slut," he said while nuzzling my clit with his tongue,  his fingers still pounding me. And I guess I was. I was nude now except  for those high heels, a man's fingers buried in my cunt as I toyed with  my own breasts.

I was just about to cream on his hand, my pussy going into little throes  of pre-spasms when suddenly a clapping sound penetrated the clouds,  another deep, low laugh intruding on my senses.

"Huh?" I asked, half-dazed, turning my head, sure that my mind was playing tricks.

But it wasn't my imagination because just inside the door stood Bryan,  applauding, watching avidly even as he let out a deep-throated chuckle.

"Room for another?" he asked, his member already at full-bore, and I  could do nothing because my pussy was clenching  …  tight, tight, tight as  I came hard on Blake's hand.





CHAPTER SEVEN


Bryan


         

     



 

The girl was beautiful to watch as she orgasmed. Her body was all  luscious curves and jiggling flesh as she lost herself to the  mini-death, her eyes rolling up in her head a bit as my brother stroked  her cunt, his hand buried in her soft folds.

And my twin was fucking near the edge as well, I could see his donkey  dong from where I stood, the mast fully erect, glistening and glossy  with saliva. Or wait, shit that wasn't saliva, there was just so much  pre-cum that it was literally dripping down his pole, coating his balls,  even running down his thighs.

And I didn't blame him. Callie was intriguing and smart, just the kind  of girl that we like to romp with. Unfortunately we have to do bimbos as  part of our job as undercover cops, building up our cover. But sex on  the clock is just that. It's just a job, and the girls were usually  dirty and nasty, the kind of ho you're praying doesn't have some kind of  weird disease.

So meeting someone like Callie  …  god, it was amazing, a welcome breath  of fresh air. She'd been so innocent in class, fainting because of that  cat, and the interactions we'd had in the intervening week only proved  that she was a woman of quality.

Because one of the things about this particular assignment was that we  knew the perpetrators were likely college-bound kids, as one of the  victims had gotten into Harvard early admission. So we couldn't exactly  be taking remedial classes, Blake and I had to socialize with the  so-called "smart crowd," the kids who actually had the grades to get  into Ivy League schools.

But that's the awesome thing about being twenty-five  …  we'd already  graduated from high school and even the advanced classes were cakewalk  for us. Not that the material was useful in any sense of the word, life  on the beat was a thousand times more educational, but these kids would  find that out for themselves.

So we were in a ton of our classes with our favorite girl, and without  her nincompoop of a friend Chrissy. I appreciated the blonde, for sure,  she was outgoing and seemed to host a lot of parties, but frankly  …   there was nothing going on in that airhead.

During English, I'd seated myself near Callie, the better to get to know her and do some investigating at the same time.

"So Callie," I said nonchalantly. "You look like you could be a  cheerleader," I'd winked. "Did you know Brian Adams? We heard he was a  great guy, what happened to the football team after he died?"

Callie had grown quiet at the mention of Adams' name.

"I'm not sure what you mean," she said. "I mean, I'm not a cheerleader  but we all knew Brian. Most of us have gone to school together since  kindergarten," she clarified.

Oh right, in these ritzy neighborhoods all the kids knew each other  practically since they were babies, born with silver spoons in their  mouths.

"But Brian was always nice to me," continued Callie. "I started in this  district in third grade on scholarship, and I think it was the Adams'  money that made it possible. I'm not sure of course," she said hastily.  "The board never said which donor sponsored my seat, but I think it was  Mr. and Mrs. Adams."

"Was there anything extraordinary about their son's death?" I'd asked  gently. "Were you close to the Adams? How were they after their son  died?"

She looked down at her hands, not answering at first. "The Adams were  devastated," she confided in a quiet voice. "Nicer people I never knew,  and Brian was a good son. No one could understand how it happened. An  asthma attack during practice that got out of control, and suddenly  poof! He was gone."

Oh, so that's how people were playing it. Brian had had an unexpected medical emergency which took his life.

"But didn't someone try to revive him? Weren't their coaches and  trainers who were skilled in CPR, knew how to help a kid who's  struggling to breathe?"

Callie shrugged her shoulders sadly.

"I don't know," she said quietly. "I just heard that he went into  spasms, was frothing at the mouth, and there was nothing anyone could  do. He was gone within minutes."

Okay, that part sounded right. When people overdose on drugs, it's often  a nasty sight with flailing limbs, uncontrolled spasms, crossed eyes,  you get the picture. Not like dying peacefully in your sleep at all.         

     



 

"So was there an investigation?" I asked. "Was anyone held responsible? Did the coroner do an inquiry?"

But I'd gone too far.

Callie eyed me suspiciously. "Why? What is this to you? You didn't even  know Brian and now all these questions?" She turned her face away,  looking out the window pensively. I gave her credit for that. She'd been  friends with these kids since grade school and now a stranger was here,  asking all sorts of intrusive questions.

"Listen, I'm sorry," I said, backing off immediately. "It's just that  Canterdale is such an awesome place, people have been really nice to my  brother and I since we arrived. We're used to people not giving a shit,  you know what I mean? So we want to get to know this school better, the  history of the place, what matters to the folks here, that kind of  thing."

I could tell that she wasn't completely buying my explanation but it appeased her somewhat.

"Well, Brian and Tyler were great guys," she said softly. "They were in  this class and as a matter of fact, you're sitting in Tyler's seat now."

Well, well, well, what a coincidence.

"I think I'm using his books in fact," I confided, holding up a copy of  The Catcher in the Rye. "Look," I said, opening up the inside cover. And  sure enough, printed on an old-fashioned check-out card was the name  "Tyler Needham, Period 3."

"Crazy huh?" I said, as Callie's face turned white.

"They shouldn't have given you his book," she said stiffly, not meeting  my eyes. "Those were his things, I don't know, they should have burned  them or something."

"Callie honey," I said gently. "These things didn't belong to Tyler,  they belong to the school district and there's no sense in wasting  perfectly readable books. Besides, I don't mind. I didn't know the kid  and there's no harm in re-reading Catcher in the Rye, it's an amazing  piece of work."