“Umm, good answer, son,” Mom groaned as my cock entered her slowly.
“He’s the best!” moaned Mary. “Umm, this slut sure knows her way around a snatch! You keep doing that and…ohhh that’s nice! Fuck, fuck, yes! That’s it! Oh, God, I’m cumming! You nasty, fucking slut! Ohh, that was nice.”
“Thank you for fulfilling my fantasy,” moaned Lynda as Mary crawled off of her.
Mary pressed her body against my back, hugging me from behind as I fucked my mother. Her breasts were soft pillows topped with her hard nipples, her silky bush tickled my ass. Her arms wrapped around my waist and her lips were wet on my neck.
“Who are you thinking of keeping for our pilots?” she whispered into my ear.
“Lynda for sure,” I moaned. “Those fucking nipple rings.”
Mary laughed. “I love a slut that drinks my piss.”
“Joslyn is the prettiest,” my mom moaned, thrusting her hips back into my cock. With Mary pressed behind me, I couldn’t fuck Mom as hard I liked, but goddamn my mom knew how to work her hips to get a man off.
Joslyn was beautiful, with her dusky, Mediterranean skin her brilliant green eyes. “She was a great fuck,” I pointed out.
Mary nipped at my ear. “Joslyn and Lynda then.”
“Yeah,” I panted. “Mmh, Mom, you know how to fuck!”
Mom laughed, a rich throaty laugh, slamming her ass back into me. “You’re not to bad yourself. Umm, my baby boy grew up to have a nice cock!”
“Cum in your slutty mom’s pussy,” Mary whispered into my ear. “Fill her up with delicious spunk.”
“Give me your cum, Mark!” Mom moaned. “Fill your mommy’s womb with your sperm. It’s so wonderful to have you back inside me! Oh, crap! Crap!”
My balls were tightening, my orgasm was building. I felt Mom’s cunt spasm on my cock as she came, slamming her ass back into me and I groaned, “Fuck, that feels so amazing, Mom! Oh, fuck! Here it fucking cums!” My balls unloaded, flooding the very pussy that made me with a flood of cum. Mom slumped forward, rolling onto her back, her legs spread obscenely open, my cum oozing out and matting her brown fur.
“Joslyn and Lynda, you’re going to be our pilots,” I ordered. “You’ll live at the hanger, stay within fifteen minutes of the plane at all times. You will love Mary and myself as your masters, and love each other. Duana, never speak of this to anyone, you can get dressed and go.”
Joslyn moved over to Lynda and stroked her face. “I never noticed how beautiful you are,” she whispered and kissed Lynda with passion.
“Ladies,” I barked, interrupting their kiss, “get over her and take a lick from my mom’s cunt.” Lynda was first, bending down and taking a single lick as I uttered, “Zimmah,” and felt the energy run from my mom into Lynda and myself, binding Lynda’s to me permanently. Lynda stared at me in awe as Joslyn took her place and took her lick and was bound to me.
“You two, go home gather your stuff and head to Thun Field, hanger 18,” I told her and pulled a pair of keys out of my pocket, tossing it to them. “The Gulfstream has already arrived. From now on, you’ll live in the plane. There’s a comfy bed for the two of you too enjoy, internet, satellite TV. Just remember, always be within fifteen minutes of the plane.”
“Yes, Master,” Lynda nodded and then gave Joslyn a wicked smile. “A bed to share, huh? I’m sure we can find some stimulating way to pass the time.”
My phone rang and I fished it out of my pocket, glancing at the caller ID. “You found Brandon?” I asked.
“I found out where he went,” Doug Allard answered. Doug was a P.I. hired by Brandon Fitzsimmons to spy on us, causing all sorts of problems when Brandon sent the media the results of his spying. We caught Doug and turned him to our side and sent him after Brandon. “He flew from San Francisco to London and from there he caught a plane to Toulouse, France. He landed in Frances about two hours ago.”
“What’s in France?” I asked aloud, frowning.
“The book,” Mary grasped. “One of the books is in France.”
My stomach sank. Who knew what sort of problems Brandon having the book would cause. “Doug, Brandon’s headed for Rennes-le-Château, the Motherhouse of an order of nuns. The Order of Mary Magdalena. You must stop him from getting a book, the Magicks of the Witch of Endor. Do whatever it takes to stop him.”
“Okay, Mr. Glassner.”
I wanted to go after Brandon myself. But he was going into the heart of the lion’s den, the Motherhouse of the Nuns. Who knew how many of those bitches would be there. It was far too dangerous for either Mary or myself to go anywhere near Rennes-le-Château.
“Mary, where was that third book at?”
“Um, with some noble. An Altgrave, I think he was called.” She grabbed her phone. “In Cologne, Germany.”
“I need to speak with him, make sure he understands not to let Brandon so much as see that book.”
“Hey, Kaeden,” Illness, the barkeep at the Lucky Cowgirl greeted me as I sidled up to the bar.
Illness wasn’t the name he was born with, just the name everyone called him. “Because I’m so Ill, man, you know, cool,” he would say in his gravely, burnt-out voice, sounding like an aging rocker who partied to hard in his twenties and lived to regret it.
“A pint of Sam Adams,” I said, sighing as I sat down on the barstool.
“You one of the…” He left the end of his question hanging. The empty look in my eyes answered his question. “Rough, man. Real rough.” He finished filling the pint and set it down in front of me. “So, did it really happen?”
I shrugged. My PBA rep told me not to talk about it. Fuck, I’m not even sure what really happened. One minute, I was storming this Mark Glassner house on loan to the FBI, and the next thing I knew Mark Glassner was leading me and rest of my SWAT unit out of the house. And then this fine-ass girl, naked, with bubble-gum pink hair and this voluptuous Latina were leading me upstairs and fucked my brain out.
And now I was probably out of a job. And maybe facing prison time. Accepting sexual favors as a bribe, Internal Affairs called it. So here I was, back at the Lucky Cowgirl, to drown my sorrows. I hadn’t been in for two weeks and I was hoping to get lucky like the last time I was here, to maybe take my mind off my problems with some female companionship. Hell, maybe that gal would be back.
Nearly two weeks ago, on a Friday, this vivacious blonde name Erin had waltzed in, flirting outrageously with me and a few of my drinking buddies. We were drawn to her, she was just so fucking sexy in her tight jeans and revealing top. And she just ate our attention, touching us, laughing at our bad jokes. I grew more and more bold and soon it was just me and her at the bar and she let my hands roam everywhere. When I whispered in her ear that I wanted to fuck her brains out. She laughed and suggested the bathroom. I gave her a good fucking all while this creep listened to us from the next stall.
And then she asked me to go get some drinks and I waited at the bar while she cleaned herself up. And waited, figuring she had to reapply her make-up. You know women. When she did emerge, she was with this other guy, her arm wrapped around him, clinging tightly to him. They clearly knew each other, her boyfriend maybe and I just stood at the bar like an idiot realizing that the guy must have been the creep in the next stall. They were like playing at cheating or something. It was straight out of letters to Penthouse.
After the day I had, I wouldn’t mind banging Erin again. Her guy could watch for all I cared. I just needed something nice to happen to me, today. I just needed something pleasant to help me forget what a shithole my life just became. All the hard work, all the sacrifices to become a SWAT officer. It cost me my marriage to Sally and a few girlfriends since. All of it flushed down the shitter and I couldn’t even begin to understand why any of us did it.
“Why so down, handsome?” a tall, African American woman asked, sitting on the barstool next to me. Her accent was strange, like she was an actual African, from Nigeria or something. She was beautiful, young, with coal-black skin and short, curly hair. Her lips were big and smiling beautifully.
I snorted. “I’m in a lot of trouble.”
“Oh, how sad,” she consoled, placing her hand on my arm, stroking me gently. “Maybe I could make it all better.”
“Oh, how?” I asked, eying her up and down. She was fucking gorgeous.
She smiled promisingly. “What are you drinking?”
“Sam Adams.”
“Buy me one, and we’ll see if I can’t make you forget all about your problems,” she promised, her fingers running up my arm to my biceps. “Mmhh, you work out. I love a man with big muscles.”
“I’m a SWAT officer,” I told her. Some women got off on banging cops, badge bunnies we called them. And the way this woman’s eyes lit up, she was definitely a badge bunny.
“How exciting,” she purred. Illness set a pint before her and she took a deep gulp. “It must be very stressful, all that danger.”
“Oh, very stressful,” I said with a shrug. “But, I live for the danger.” I used that BS on so many ladies, they lapped it up.
Her laugh was throaty and exciting. “And how do you relieve all that stress. I bet it just gets bottled up inside you, begging to be released.”
“Oh, I could think of a few ways to relive the pressure,” I smiled.
“Your hand, non?” she asked archly.
I laughed, it felt good to laugh. “Sure, but there are definitely more pleasant ways to relieve the pressure.” I took a drink of my beer. “Of course, they require someone’s assistance.”
She sipped her beer, her pink tongue licking foam off her upper lip. “I have been told I am very skilled at relieving stress.”
My cock was rock hard in my pants. God, I loved this bar. I had never met a girl as easy as Erin, but this African chick was giving that slut Erin a run for her money. Well, it worked last time, so I leaned over and whispered, “I want to fuck your brains out. Right now.”
She stood up, her smile eager, and took my hand. She was aggressive as she pulled me across the bar to the men’s room and pulled me inside. She took me to the last stall. Memories of Erin bent over the toilet as I fucked her from behind flashed in my mind. Would this mysterious Black woman’s cunt feel as good as Erin’s had.
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