Christ I didn’t even know her name.
But that didn’t matter as she kissed me as soon as we were in the stall, my hands reaching down and knead her ass through her short skirt. I lifted the skirt up and she wasn’t wearing any panties, the naughty little slut. Her tongue was fierce as she frenched me, aggressively exploring my mouth as her hands fumbled at my belt. She pulled my cock out, stroked it a few times then broke the kiss. I was panting hard as she pulled her dress over her head, exposing her lithe, coal-black body. She took her fingers, slid them between her black breasts, down to her black bush and shoved them up inside her, coating them with her juices.
“See how wet I am for you,” she moaned. “Fuck me!”
I didn’t need to be told twice and I pinned her against the side of the stall, her legs wrapping about my waist as I plunged into her Black pussy. She moaned as I fucked her hard, pounding away at her cunt. I needed this. I needed to forget my problems. All that mattered right now was how amazing her cunt felt on my cock as I fucked her tight, wet depths.
“Fuck your tight, slut,” I moaned. Any girl as easy as her, badge bunny or not, was a slut. “Love how you feel on me.”
“Umm, your cock is stirring me up,” she moaned. “Umm, spear me, stud! Ohh, I love having a nice shaft spearing inside me!”
Her hips were fucking me back, matching the furious rhythm. I needed to cum so bad. I didn’t care if she came, I just needed to feel that sweet release as I spilled inside her. She was so tight, my cock felt like it was in a vice, trying to squeeze out my cum. I was getting closer and closer to cumming inside her.
“Yes, yes, oh God I’m gonna cum!” I moaned. Her legs were wrapped so tightly about me I couldn’t pull out if I wanted to. I slammed once more into her and felt that shuddering release as my cum spilled into her.
Her finger was on my forehead, drawing with her sticky finger as she whispered, “Shama,” into my ear and everything went still. I stared blankly at the woman and she smiled in satisfaction. All that mattered to me was doing exactly what this woman told me too.
“Good,” she muttered, pushing me back, my cock pulling out of her. “I am Sister Agnes.” I nodded my head as she gave me my instructions.
The Drunken Pugilist may be the emptiest bar I had ever seen at happy hour. One old man sipped a pint at the bar while a board barkeep was watching the Mariners play the Angels. A fond smile crossed my face as I remembered Sean, my ex-husband, getting so excited during their ’95 season and how crushed he had been when the Mariners lost to the Indians and ended the Mariners World Series hopes. Mary was only one, then, and Missy wasn’t even a thought, yet.
Focus, Theodora, I told myself. Kurt stole your family from you, no use dwelling on that, now. You need to stop this Mark from destroying other families.
Sister Isabella followed me in. We let Providence guide us. Each of us opened the phone book, to the listing of bars, figuring guys as in trouble as these SWAT officer were would be drowning their sorrows. So we closed our eyes and jabbed our fingers down on the page. Isabella and I both got the Drunken Pugilist and Sister Agnes chose the Lucky Cowgirl.
I scanned the bar, the only other people were the two men sitting at a booth in the back, almost hidden in the shadows. I could see their auras, blacker than the shadows, the aura of a Thrall enslaved by a Warlock. It was clear that Mark had given the men an order that must have rewritten parts of their personality. Well, they were cops and I could imagine the sort of orders Mark must have given. “Let me commit crimes,” he probably ordered, or, “I can’t do anything wrong.”
Both guys looked miserable as we approached, a pitcher of beer sat between them and a few empty shot glasses. Both were fit, broad shoulder man. A swarthy Mexican with a thick mustache that ruined an otherwise handsome face, and a squashed-face white guy with a crew cut.
“Hi, boys,” Isabella purred with her sexy, Latina accent.
The Mexican’s eyes lit up when he saw us. “Hello, ladies,” he said with a smile, and motioned to the booth. “Care to cheer up a pair of cops having a bad day?”
“Christ, Riz, do you have to flirt with every chick?” the White guy asked.
“Hey man, why should I deprive my charm from any beautiful woman,” Riz protested. “Ignore him, he’s married and forgotten how to treat such heavenly creatures as yourselves.”
“Riz?” I asked, and then Isabella sat down next to him, leaving me with the White guy.
“Because his real name is pretty stupid,” the White guy said and a grin momentarily crossed his lips before his pain returned.
“Oroitz is a perfectly manly name,” Riz joked. “Besides, what kind of name is Duncan?”
“A Highlander,” I said with a smile. Everyone gave me a blank look. “Um, you know, ‘There can be only one.’ The Highlander?”
“Yeah,” Duncan muttered and took a swill of his beer. “The TV show, right. Not the movie.”
“Yeah,” I nodded.
“So, what has you guys so down?” Isabella asked. “Women, right?” Both men grunted and Isabella smiled wickedly, leaning closer to Riz, reaching out to place her hand on his. “I hope not the same woman.”
“No, chiquita, not the same woman,” Riz admitted. “We’re both in the doghouse because of work. My girl broke up with me and Duncan’s wife kicked him out.”
“Oh that’s terrible,” I cooed, scooting up against Duncan. His eyes glanced at my cleavage and then a guilty flush suffused his face.
Across the table, Isabella was snuggling up to Riz, who put his arm around her. “Yeah, it’s terrible. Me and Alicia had been dating for weeks.”
“Well, maybe I can make you feel better,” Isabella said with a naughty smile. From how her arm was moving, she must be rubbing Riz’s leg. Or maybe even his crotch based on that the big grin filling Riz’s face. And then the two were talking in rapid Spanish. In my few weeks living in LA I picked up a smattering of Spanish, but I could not begin to follow their conversation.
Duncan just set like a log next to me, staring down into his beer. “What’s the problem,” I purred. “You might feel better if you tell me about it.”
A look of self-loathing crossed his face. “Sure,” he bitterly snorted, his voice a little slurred with drink. “Why the fuck not.” He down the rest of his beer. “You heard about the whole SWAT scandal?”
I nodded my head. That is why Providence led me to you. Mark had foolishly made a bunch of highly skilled men his Thralls and didn’t bother to protect them. “There are subtle signs,” Ramiel told me in my dreams, “to tell if the Bond of Zimmah chains a Thrall to the Warlock. The black aura will have the tiniest, barely perceptible, fringe of red about it. So minute, you have to know to look for it.” As far as I could tell, neither of these men were bound to Mark.
“Yeah, instead of arresting the people, the SWAT unit…eh…” I trailed off, not sure how to finish the sentence without sounding insensitive.
“Fucked them,” Duncan finished, biting his words.
“Excuse me, Vato,” Riz said as Isabella scooted out of the booth. “You understand, right?”
“Yeah,” Duncan grunted, staring at his drink as Riz and Isabella disappeared out a back door into the alley behind the bar. A ragged sob suddenly escaped Duncan’s lips. “I don’t know what happened. We burst into this bedroom and this naked guy, Mark, falls on the floor and he just tells us to stop pointing our guns and help him up. And we did. And then…this red-head just grabs me and Driscoll and takes us inside and has us fuck her. She treated us like shit, insulted us, and we just took it. And now it’s all over the news and…” He took a swig of beer. “Kathanne kicked me out. I never cheated on her, before. I don’t know what happened.”
Poor bastard. Another Warlock’s victim. I reached out and rubbed his leg and kissed him on the cheek. “You poor guy,” I murmured. “Let me take some of that hurt away.” I slid my hand up his jeans to his crotch, feeling his cock grow beneath my touch.
“Wh-what are you doing?” he suddenly protested. “I…”
I cut him off with a kiss as my fingers slid his zipper down, his mouth sour with beer. He was hard, despite his protests, and I stroked him to his full girth. His cock was warm and trembled with his heart beat against my palm. He was uncircumcised, and I could feel the head of his cock slide in and out of his foreskin, popping out like a cute little snake.
“Shh, don’t fight, Duncan,” I whispered as I lowered my head down to his crotch, disappearing beneath the booth’s table.
He moaned as my tongue licked around the head of his cock, salty with his pre-cum. I played with the tip, tracing about the edge of the gland, then sliding up and licking through his urethra, collecting a fresh drop of pre-cum. I slid a hand down between my legs and up into my cunt, getting my fingers sticky with my pussy juices so I would be ready to draw the Mark of Qayin on his forehead.
His hand caressed my head, fingers pulling through my brown hair. “Oh fuck,” he moaned. “Sorry, Kathy.”
I cupped his balls as I swallowed his cock, sucking softly and playing with the sensitive head with my tongue. Then I slid down, slowly, until he brushed the back of my throat. I sealed my lips tight about his shaft as I rose up, sucking harder and Duncan moaned in appreciation. Up and down, my mouth filled with his cock.
“Jesus,” he moaned. “Fuck, you’re good. Christ, I don’t even know your name.”
I popped his cock out of my mouth. “Theodora,” I panted, sucking in air, and then I was back on his cock, bobbing my head faster and faster as I played with his balls.
He nuts were round and I gently squeezed them, trying to massage his cum out of his balls. He was getting closer and closer to cumming. I could feel the tension in his body grow and grow as he neared that explosive release and I tensed, ready to spring the moment his cum poured into my mouth. Up and down, I bobbed, swirling my tongue and sucking, feeling his cock tremble in my mouth, the spongy head brushing the roof of my mouth.
Duncan was a gentleman and warned me. “I’m gonna cum, Theodora,” he panted.
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