Taking Care of His People

I let myself into the fifth floor hotel room, quietly. I did not want to draw the attention of the mid-level drug dealer who occupied the room next door. The guy my unit had been staking out for the last week.

As I closed the door behind me, I was somewhat taken aback. The room we had our monitoring equipment set up in reeked. It reeked of sex.

I walked down the short hallway and the bathroom so I could see what was going on.

On the single bed, still made, sat the laptop which was connected by bluetooth to the camera we had planted in the drug dealer's room. In "plain view" on the screen, the bad guy was busy fucking the hell out of a prostitute he had hired. The volume was turned down on the computer lest the subjects heard themselves through the thin walls. It did not matter, the woman's ecstatic screams could be heard clearly anyway.

Sitting in our room's only chair, watching the show, was Detective Simpson. She was not someone I was attracted to, but that is not to say she was unattractive.

She had not noticed me enter the room. Probably because her skirt was hiked up and as she watched the computer screen she was masturbating. Her panties lay on the floor nearby, apparently hastily discarded so she could stroke her clit with her fingers. Her very hairy crotch was soaked, obviously the source of the room's aroma. She whispered to herself, "Holy fucking shit, look at that fuck stick. I didn't think they made 'em that big...ohhh... mmmm..."

That brought my attention back to the monitor. My eyes grew wide. She was right. It looked like he was hammering the hell out of the happy hooker with a ball bat. My trousers had already tented, and now my little friend throbbed as the woman cried out through a series of orgasms. I was not even close to being in the same league as our bad guy.

Simpson finally noticed me, but she did not stop twiddling her snatch. Either she did not care about getting "written up" or she was just too far gone to control herself.

I don't fully understand my own actions. Perhaps it was because I had been cellibate for months. Perhaps the situation was just arousing beyond my control also. Perhaps it was simply my love for pussy. I think most likely it was just habit.

I instinctively did what I would have done for any of my ex wives had I walked in on them masturbating.

I dropped to the floor before her, slid my legs beneath the chair, and buried my face between her thighs.

She curled her wet fingers into my hair, pressing me against her mons and moaning appreciatively as I expertly serviced her with my mouth and tongue. My exes all agreed my cock was useless, but that I was the best pussy eater they'd ever had. I loved a good hot meal.

She tasted good. She felt good. She smelled delicious. Normally I would slowly take a woman to orgasm, but she was already most of the way there. So I began bathing her clit with my softened tongue, then I pointed it and began lashing her from all directions.

She suddenly tensed her entire body and cried out, "Aauuuggghhfuckyes!" Her orgasmic cries were added to those of the woman next door.

On the video, the man with the huge member stopped momentarily and listened. Satisfied that his actions had caused the couple next door to begin fucking also, he smiled arrogantly and redoubled his efforts to drive the hooker through the mattress. She screamed happily.

Simpson enjoyed several orgasms in a row, then relaxed into the chair, spent. Now she got a surprise. Rather than get up, I tenderly kissed and suckled her thighs, caressing her legs until she recovered from her orgasms and began to become aroused again. Then I worked my way back to her center and began loving on her labia, then back to her clit.

"Oh, my."

Soon she was crying out through several more orgasms. I repeated this process several times over the next hour, until she could take no more.

Our bad guy must have thought he had real competition, because even after growling through his own orgasm he just kept on going. I wondered what he was on.

As I stood, Simpson sighed, "Damn. I gotta say it, you sure go all out to take care of your people."

She saw the small tent in my trousers and tittered, "Aww, how cute." She gave it a quick squeeze, and returned to pulling down her skirt.

"Ungh." That quick squeeze was all it took. It was a ruined orgasm, but nonetheless, I came.

Simpson looked past me, "Oh, perfect timing! I am absolutely famished now..."

I turned to look. She was talking to the rest of our team, who we had not noticed entering the room in our pre-occupied state.

Anderson, a tall, muscular man who would be described in film noir parlance as "hulking" stood holding three large pizza boxes, a shocked expression on his face.

Standing next to him was Ruiz, a petite yet voluptuous and firey Latina. She bore a sardonic look.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the dresser mirror nearby.

My hair was matted with Simpson's vaginal fluids, sticking up in all directions. My face looked like a glazed donut. I often wore no underwear... my shaft was not that noticeable even erect, so I rarely worried. But now the result was a wet stain rapidly spreading at the crotch and down the left leg of my khakis, making evident I had just messed myself in a big way. I turned five shades of red.

Ruiz spoke, "We can see YOU have already eaten, boss."

She widened her stance noticeably, suggestively, and met my eyes very directly.

"Are you still hungry?"