Palmer Ch. 02

Then, when they saw his giant of a cock, their attitude changed again. A couple of times, they'd almost begged him to fuck them. He never did, of course. He got off on the power; cumming in their mouths or between their tits was just icing.

Towering above the young blonde in his hotel room, he was in complete control. He loved that. When her eyes displayed that growing realisation, he slipped off his jacket and began to unbuckle his belt.

"Just think of the money, baby," he manipulatively muttered as he saw doubt cloud her eyes. She wouldn't doubt him in a moment.

His slacks dropped down to his ankles. Her eyes followed. He pulled his semi erect cock from his boxers. "Well, what do you think?"

"Geez," the girl gasped. "It's enormous."

"Enormous indeed," he murmured, fisting the soft flesh and waving it in front of her. "Now why don't you show me how much you want to earn your money?"

Bannerman slid his free hand through her soft, blonde hair, slowly pulling her head to his thickening shaft. As expected, there was no resistance. She was a sensible girl. This wasn't anything she hadn't done before. And think of the money! Besides, who could refuse such a monster?

He moaned as she took his hardness between her lips. His hand tightened behind her head, though he knew it was unnecessary. He felt her low growl tickle across him. She accepted this. When her tongue began to flick along his hardness like a snake searching for its prey, he let out a soft groan.

She'd told him she was inexperienced - she was anything but. The young blonde took him as far inside as she could, the head of his cock touching the entrance to her throat. One hand dug into his ass, whilst the other dropped to caress his balls. He dug his fingers into her scalp, displaying his growing pleasure.

Encouraged, she took his thick cock into her throat. And she did it easily. Bannerman groaned, ripping her headband away and tossing it into the corner. How many high school guys had she sucked already? How many would she before finally settling down? Bannerman huffed at the fantasy.

She sucked with a purpose and a passion. Her long tongue created a wonderful friction all along the underside of his shaft. Both of her hands gripped his ass, her fingernails digging in as she worked on her personal mission.

When he was close, Harry pulled her head up so that he held her gaze. He nodded. She went back to work, but kept an eye on him. Slowly, he began to buck his hips against her face. He was close. She knew it. She was ready for it.

This was almost the moment of truth. The money would go out of their young minds and a primitive sexual need took over. It was a desire to please their man, to make him cum. This one was no different.

Her fingernails dug deeper, drawing blood from his chubby buttocks.

He tightened his grip on her hair, close to the point of no return. A final suck of her mouth, a fondle of his balls, and he was there. Her eyes stayed on his. His hips spasmed. His muscles went taut. His groan pierced the air.

The blonde gave out a guttural moan as he fired the first blast against the back of her throat. She growled, almost greedily accepting burst after burst of his creamy tribute.

When she'd taken it all, she lay back on the bed and slipped her hand under her skirt. Rubbing herself furiously, she came almost immediately.

***

Palmer sat quietly when Webster switched off the recording. Despite the repulsion he felt, there had been a surprisingly erotic quality to the way Savannah had gone about her business. It was almost a classy seduction, rather than the basic rough and tumble he'd expected.

"Well?" Webster asked.

"How did you get onto this?" Palmer asked, more for something to say.

Sandra Wilson smiled. "It was a tip off."

"One of her tricks?"

Webster shook his head. "Shit, no. We picked up a few hookers about a month and a half ago. Knew them all. One of them started complaining."

Wilson laughed. "Big Elsie. Quite a woman."

"Yup," laughed the fifty-year-old Vice boss. "She's all of that. Well, this particular evening she was drunk, or as near as dammit. She complained we're always picking on the low-renters and letting the high-rolling ladies get away with it."

He turned to Wilson. "Get me another coffee, will'ya?"

She rolled her eyebrows at Palmer and slid of her chair, making her way to the battered machine in the corner of the next office.

The young detective watched the tall, black-haired female go. Her black, skin-tight jeans hung low on her slender hips, and her snug, red blouse didn't quite cover her flat midriff. Her gun was holstered right up against her tailbone, although it wasn't the gun Palmer found himself looking at.

By common consensus of the guys in the department, the thirty-three year old divorcee was as sexy as hell, though few dare mention it for fear of her infamous temper.

Her bright smile was bestowed on very few, though Palmer received more than his share. So did Goodwin. Although it was strictly against department rules, Palmer had an inkling there was something going on between those two. But that was their business as far as he was concerned.

Webster's voice brought him back to the present. "Elsie musta realised what she'd said because she wouldn't give us anything else." He laughed. "So I gave her some more drink."

Palmer gave a soft chuckle. "That's a technique I haven't heard of—"

The Vice boss nodded, licking his lips. "Did the trick. Within ten minutes she came up with a name and address. That's how we got onto this Savannah."

Wilson walked in with two coffees. One of the buttons of her red blouse had worked its way undone. The way her cleavage spilt over her white lacy bra and between the open folds was pretty sexy.

He nodded to the offending button, giving her time to surreptitiously fasten it after she handed him the second coffee.

"See," Webster joked, referring to the coffee. "You're getting respect already."

Wilson gave Palmer a thank you grin as they turned back to their boss.

"Anyway," he continued, "this Savannah proves to be a busy lady. You wouldn't believe who we've recorded with her. Then, a few days ago, bingo! We got a whole new ball game. I don't have time to take it forward. That's where you come in."

"Okay, Chief. I'm intrigued," Palmer confessed. "Tell me more."

"I thought you'd read the file?"

"I have Chief. It's a little short on detail!"

Webster grunted. "We got a big fat shakedown. The people she's involved with are mega names in the political, entertainment and business world."

"Is that any of our business?" Palmer queried. "We're Vice."

Webster's eyebrows arched. "We get involved in anything I say. This is the biggest thing to hit the department for a while. They could blackmail these johns as far as we know. We're gonna follow it all the way."

Palmer smiled. "Well, we could sure do with a bit of excitement, Chief. I'm all for that. Want me to lean on this Savannah?"

Webster ran a hand across his baldhead. "No, Palmer. That's not what I want. We make the wrong move and we can blow the whole case out the freakin' window. Understand?"

"Okay," Palmer said, looking from Webster to Sandra Wilson and back again. "But can you give me the low down?"

This time Webster nodded across at Wilson. He drained his coffee as he slammed his feet on top of his desk.

"Well," the female cop began. "She led us to a friend of hers, Brooke Welles. It seems they're working together. We got her place wired as well."

Webster couldn't resist joining in. "Pretty soon we got a third. Roxanne Lopez. From what we can tell, now there are three of them. All of them, fucking internationally known men. Decision makers."

Palmer nodded. "Do we have a line on Brooke and Roxanne?"

"Oh yes," smiled Wilson. "Goodwin and I got lucky one night. The three of them were together, with three tricks. Japanese. Tony Mizato, a big shot businessman. Money to burn. And two people he was hoping to impress."

"They'd be impressed alright," Webster growled.

"We tailed 'em," Wilson continued with a roll of her eyes. "And then followed 'em home. A limo the size of a jumbo jet picked them up, took them to Gordon Ramsay's Boxwood Café for dinner then to the China White nightclub. Money no object."

Palmer whistled. "Maybe I could take them out on a date."

"Yeah," Webster laughed. "On your pay, a McDonalds combo. That's where you take your old lady, isn't it?"

Palmer winced at the mention of his wife. He and Kelli seemed to have become more distant lately. Too many late hours.

"Anyway," Webster continued, "we already got Savannah and Brooke's apartments wired. Now I got us permission from my Judge friend to wire Roxanne's, too. That's your next step, Palmer."

The young detective's mind was doing overtime. "We got a first class wireman lined up?" he asked.

Webster laughed—a wry, sarcastic laugh. "Are you shitting me? We got the combined skills of you, Wilson and Goodwin. That's it. The three of you should be capable of tapping her phone."

"No," Palmer responded. "I want the whole place wired."

"Well, good luck with that," Webster almost snarled, shaking his head at Wilson. She grinned back, running a hand through her unkempt black hair.

Palmer smiled. "And I know who can do the job. Taffy Boyd."

Webster grimaced. "Taffy Boyd? A bloody Welshman?"

"This guy's the best wireman you're ever likely to meet."

"I'm not likely to meet him," Webster responded.

"You already have, Chief. He's in narcotics."

Webster's faded eyes briefly leapt into life. "Boyd? He's good."

Palmer nodded. "I know. And I can sneak him out long enough to do our job."

"Holy shit. I don't want to know," Webster snorted. "You do what you got to do, Palmer. Just don't fuck it up."

***

This girl was hotter than most he'd picked up. A little on the waif-side, but he didn't mind. It made her look even younger. He watched her as her fingers worked furiously beneath her white, cotton thong. That wasn't so innocent.

Bannerman had done this countless times. He found he couldn't stop. When he saw an innocent girl by herself, it was like a half-full bottle of whiskey to an alcoholic. Yet he'd never fucked one of the girls. Never felt the urge. Never, that was, until this one.

Andthatmeant it was time to go.

The blonde's head shot up as she heard the zipping sound of his fly. Watching her get off made it difficult to stuff his monster back into his pants. "Where are you going?" she asked, reaching out and grasping his belt.

Her short, pleated skirt had ridden up her thighs. Bannerman hadn't missed that detail.

"I don't..."

His protest died as she reached back in, fished out his semi-swollen cock, and took it back into her mouth. He was full after two slippery bobs of her head. And when he was full, she pounced.

A habit of a lifetime, out the window. When she pushed him back onto the bed and began to tear off her schoolgirl clothes, he knew he was heading into murky waters.

"Leave the socks on," he begged as she pushed the skirt and thong over her narrow hips. She was skinny, but her girlish tits were large enough to fill her small, white bra. "And the shoes." Those black, patent leather shoes.

"Want me to put my hair in pigtails?" she asked as she unhooked her bra, posing for him, pigeon-toed and demure. God, she was his fantasy come to life, from the pouting lips right down to her smooth sex.

"Oh, Jesus," he moaned, his hand instantly going to his cock.

"Let me do that," she giggled, crawling down between his legs. Her fingers barely fit around his girth. "This is the largest I've ever seen," she marvelled, licking the tip like a lollipop.

She snaked up his body, doing a quick one-eighty as she settled into his lap.

He could see their reflection in the side mirror as her hand held his saliva-damp cock upright. She placed the mushroom head against her quivering opening. She teased him with the delectable flesh. This girl was no virgin.

"Ohhhh!" she moaned as she lowered her spasming pussy over his hardness.

Bannerman shuddered as he felt her moist folds parting around him. Remarkably, she bottomed out on him, her snug little pussy swallowing him whole. She laid back against his chest, letting him wrap his arms around her perky tits.

And then she began to gyrate. She moved like a stripper on his lap, her peach-like ass making tight little circles in his lap.

The fat man redirected his hands to her slim hips. This girl was a slut and it was time to show her how he dealt with sluts. He began to pile drive the little blonde in his lap. He went from zero-to-sixty in half a second, his hands slamming her down against his legs. His monster of a dick burrowed deeper and deeper into her sex, penetrating as far as he could possibly go.

She flexed her legs and bounced back up, moving with the energy of a cheerleader. A cheerleader that she probably was! Fuck! He slammed her back down before she could recover.

Over and over, he pounded the willing teenager, her little tits bouncing with his thrusts. His forearms burned from the effort.

"Yeah, baby," her vibrating voice gasped, over and over again. "Yeah, baby. Yeah, baby..." She urged him through her desperate cries.

Bannerman lost himself. He became a thrusting machine, whipping her lighter body harder and harder on his lap. She arched her back, pushing her shoulders against his. Her soft, blonde hair draped across his chest as he gave every ounce of energy he had. The sweat poured from him. His heart dangerously worked overtime.

When he slammed her down again so hard he was sure his chubby legs would be bruised, he detonated inside her pussy, crying out as he disgorged shot after shot of hot cum into her young body.

Her sex twitched with each burst, the slick muscles tightening each time she sucked another rope of pearly seed. He couldn't stop, still cumming thirty seconds later, his hips twitching with each explosion as the teenager gratefully accepted each further explosion.

Neither moved for a few minutes, just resting. Both exhausted. Eventually, the young blonde pulled away and sat up on her elbows. "Did I do well?" she asked.

"Yes," he sighed, his voice indicating how tiresome he found the question. How often had he been asked that? "Very good. You can leave now."

"My money?" she asked, almost apologetically.

"Money?" he replied with a hoarse laugh. "I've got no money. Now get out of here before I break your fucking fingers."

***

Kelli put the phone down. It had been good of Erin to check on her and to provide her with details of tomorrow's shoot. A thrill of excitement shot down her spine. She hadn't expected things to move so quickly.

Despite her fucking session with Jack, she was frustrated. A new assignment meant that she wasn't sure when she'd see him again. Nothing new there. She hated that. Hated the way he was married to his job.

She'd broken up with Danny when his passion for football saw him travel around the country. He'd attempted to make it professionally, but all he ever managed were short-lived trials by one club after another. Never quite good enough; not bad enough to quit. His obsession took him away from her for long periods of time. Too long.

It's what had indirectly led her to Jack. She was young and beautiful, just breaking into the world of modelling, even though it was minor league stuff. She'd broken things off with Danny. Feeling low, she'd decided to go out. She'd met Jack in a bar, dated the next night, fucked the night after that, and been inseparable ever since.

Until he'd been made a detective, that was. Now, she felt déjà vu, and hated herself for it.

But then, would she really be spending her nights alone if shewassingle? The illicit thought caused her to tremble with shame and, she admitted deep down, a little excitement. Her pink nipples grew hard and she pulled her silk robe tightly around her. There was a plethora of attractive, young men who'd be desperate to get into her panties.

Kelli shook her head, banishing the terrible thoughts. She loved Jack. She was his wife and took that promise seriously. Yet she couldn't suppress the overwhelming sadness that was overtaking her. Did he not understand what he was doing? Did he not understand that she couldn't put up with his absence for much longer? If their marriage was going to remain intact, Jack would have to change his ways.

But he hadn't shown much sign of wanting to do that so far. If anything, things were worse.

Could this modelling opportunity change everything? Maybe, if she made it big, then he could be around more. Maybe it would help her finally get over her profound loneliness. Or maybe, her new lifestyle would help her deal with his absence in other ways...

The more she thought about the way things were between them, the unhappier she became.

***

Sandra Wilson was getting ready to leave for the day. Like the rest of Vice other than Webster, she sat in an open plan room, her small desk stacked high with unfilled reports. Unlike Webster's, however, at least her papers were lined up in the semblance of organization.

She stood and stretched, catching her reflection in the grimy window that looked out into the ally. She looked tired. She needed some sleep. Too many long hours with little reward. As usual, she'd tied her straight black hair into a knot high on her head, although a few unwashed strands had escaped.

"You're still here." A snow-white haired head crept up behind her just as she shouldered her leather attaché.

"Goodwin," she smiled, feeling her face flush a little at the sight of the older man. They'd been partners for close to ten years and over that time, had developed into good friends. Best friends. Each had helped the other through their messy divorces – the ink on Sandra's still wet. "You're still here, too."

"I think we're the only ones," the older man whispered, stepping into view. Alex Goodwin was pushing sixty although the barrel-chested man kept himself in great shape.

Sandra shivered, thinking about his body under those clothes. She hadn't been with any man but Jason since they'd started dating twelve years ago. Until last week, that was. She still wasn't sure how she and Goodwin had gotten together, but she loved the way his thick cock had fucked her.

"Oh yeah?" she responded, raising a playful eyebrow. "It'll take me twenty minutes to reach home. Make sure you're not far behind."

***

Harry Bannerman made his way to the Fifth Floor of DeVere Towers. His body ached all over and he'd much rather be soaking in his own flat. But when his boss called, he came running.

The computer complex was exclusively housed in the building. Only half a dozen people worked there, all of whom were experts in their own field, but none of whom understood the bigger picture.

Only Harry knew that. And Dominic DeVere, of course. There was nothing about his business that the crew-cut man didn't understand.

The young brunette that met him had worked there for eighteen months. Harry often thought about her sucking his cock, but knew better than to mix business with pleasure.

"Well?" he asked. It was his standard question whenever he went into work. Loosely translated, it meant tell me anything I need to know.

"Everything's fine, Harry," she smiled. But then it always was. Each of Harry's employees was a specialist in their field. That's why he'd hand picked them and why he paid so much.

A graduate of Harvard, many years ago, Harry's computer and financial genius was the best there was. He'd approached DeVere, not the other way around.I can save you a couple of million a year,he'd told his future employer.I've studied your annual reports and what I can find of your business plan. There's no doubt I can revolutionise your computer operations and make your business more tax efficient.