Tracking Evil, a Podcast Pt. 10

Erica reached out, taking his now soft cock in her hand. She had her doubts that, given his age, she could get him hard again so soon but the glistening tip of the black cock, slick still with his cum was enticement enough to try. Erica opened her mouth and guided his flaccid shaft inside, her tongue immediately lapping at the head, scouring it of all remnants of his cum. Even soft it was still a large cock and she hummed happily to herself as she drew on it, only releasing it from her mouth occasionally so that she could lick and nibble his nutsack before running her tongue along the underside of his cock as if she was attacking a melting ice-cream.

It took a while but gradually his dick responded. She could feel the throb as blood pumped into it, the tube of black meat swelling, lengthening as Erica continued titillating it with her soft warm mouth. Ten minutes after he had erupted, spilling his seed on the floor, Lawrence was all but fully erect once more. There was something else different about him as well, not just the fact that he had recuperated. When Erica had swapped conversation with him over coffee, she'd been left with the opinion that he was a decent man, mannerly, deferential to the needs and wants of others, in particular his wife and youngest daughter. Now, perhaps because he was in rebellion against those two women in his life or perhaps because he had brought Erica to orgasm twice already and it had bolstered a sexual confidence he had thought lost, whatever the reason, he was now taking a more dominant role in what was happening. Cheating was definitely bringing out a confidence in him that Erica was enjoying.

"Look up at me," Lawrence said, tilting Erica's chin so that her blue eyes were fixed on his face as she sucked on his cock.

"Drop your hands, yes, that's right. Just use that slutty little mouth. Mmmhmmm, good, very good." The instructions continued as his hands now rested on her head. He took a firmer hold and sent a brief flurry of strokes towards her face, his cock pushing into her mouth between pursed lips. Fucking her face.

"Guuch, awck, guh, guh," Lawrence's thumb and forefinger nipped at Erica's nose, pinching it shut as his cock filled her mouth. He tapped the back of her head, forcing his cock against her throat, holding it there until she gagged slightly from want of air, then he released her nose and head allowing Erica to breathe normally.

"Guess this is the side of you that's a successful businessman," Erica said to him after she'd managed to catch her breath. He smiled, removing his cock from her hand where she had been stroking it while talking.

"What made me a successful in business was knowing what deals were worth pursuing or gambling on and which were not worth the candle. You, you are a deal I need to close." He smiled as he said it, dominant or not, he was at his core very much the gentleman she had taken him for. Well, maybe a little rougher round the edges than she'd expected.

"Open your mouth. Yes, now stick that tongue out, further, come on, all the way. Good." Lawrence tapped his big heavy black shaft onto her outstretched tongue, then forcing it deep till it rammed into her throat. He withdrew once more.

"Slide over there, let me sit down."

Erica moved over, moving till she was on her knees instead of on the couch. Once Lawrence had sat down, she leant over him, suckling on his cock again. The mid-fifties married black man leaned back as the twenty five year old white woman fellated him, running a hand over the curve of her firm backside, the softness of her rump as he delivered an investigative slap to it.

"Jump on for a while, I want to play with those white tits," Lawrence's tone made the suggestion sound more like a command and she scampered into his lap willingly. It took just a brief second to line his cock up, her wet pussy descending down to engulf it. Erica leaned back, bouncing lightly on his black shaft while Lawrence gripped her breasts, rubbing the nipples with his thumbs, groping at them like it had been an age since he's last filled his hands with a plump breast. A large black hand to the small of her back guided Erica forward slightly so that the man beneath her could latch his mouth onto a nipple. As he sucked on her breast, Erica put her hands around his neck, pushing down a little on his shoulders as she began riding harder, moving from trot to gallop to reach her next climax.

His hands dropped to her ass, one swallowing each cheek. Lawrence added his strength to her fucking, aiding her upward motion by lifting on her ass, then bucking his own hips up as she was coming down again, grinding their crotches together. Her breath started to come in short shuddering gasps as she felt her orgasm approaching, Lawrence mashed his cock mercilessly into her. He bit at her nipple, just a nip but the sharp unexpected pain coupled with his cock slamming so deep inside her triggered the explosion within her.

"Fuuuuckkkk" she wailed, thrashing in his lap. Each violent motion of her body as it lashed back and forth only seemed to extend and increase the orgasm as it rippled within her. Erica found herself screaming soundlessly, heart beating furiously as the climax sparked off another, then another. A wave of orgasms, multiplying and intensifying until her body flopped against his. It was like every bone in her body had suddenly liquified. Erica could only sprawl against him, the big black cock in her still spasming cunt the only thing preventing her from sliding clean off of his lap and onto the floor.

He gently rolled his hips so that Erica slid to the side, angling her descent so that she fell softly onto her back on the comfortable couch. Lawrence managed to stay embedded inside her, moving himself so that he was kneeling between her legs.

"Look at you, coming on this black cock, huh? Bet you didn't think this old bull had such a stiff horn, did you?"

"Nu-uh," Erica answered weakly, still shattered from the multiple orgasm.

He slowly withdrew about half his length, his thick shaft streaked with a white mucus from Erica's pussy.

"Creaming on a black cock, well, well, well. What would your parents say if they knew huh?" His gentle teasing brought a crooked grin to Erica's face.

"Probably shouldn't tell them I guess," she answered.

"Probably not," he agreed. He leaned over her, his hands to either side of her head and he slowly began fucking her again. Gentle strokes, five or six inches of his cock moving in and out of her with each long pull of his hips. He seemed content to stay at that pace for a time, looking down at her sweet face and unspoiled body. It gave Erica the time to recover but even after her body had shaken off the effects and she began moving beneath him in response to his stately thrusts, Lawrence showed no sign of taking things up a notch once more.

"This how you fuck your wife?" Erica had meant the comment to be like his own light hearted banter about her parents. She didn't expect the momentary flash of guilt that crossed his face. She screwed up her courage to apologize, to take it back but he beat her to the punch.

"I know you meant that as a spur but let me tell you something about my wife," he said, readjusting his position above her and pushing his cock in a little deeper, a little faster.

"My wife never lets me fuck her without a condom, not for years," as he spoke Erica was aware of the married man's big black cock moving deep inside her, completely bare.

"See every time I fucked her bare, she ended up pregnant. Five time's I came inside her pussy, five times I knocked her up. After Grace, well she was done with getting pregnant." The thrusts had by now doubled in speed from his slow pace at the start of his explanation.

"Last two years, she's been nursing a headache anytime I suggested sex. So let me ask you this. Given I got two years' worth of cum backed up in me, given I'm the most potent son of a bitch you'll ever meet and considering I'm balls deep bare inside you, how smart you think it is to be waving a red cloak at an old black bull right now?"

"Ummm, shit," Erica said as he sped up once more, the sound of his body slapping against her own becoming louder. Her breasts rolling in the wake of his passage. His own thick stomach pressing down on her as if to restrain her.

"Exactly right young lady" he smirked. "So to answer your question, I'm going to show you not just how I fucked my wife, I'll show you how I bred her."

He scooped Erica's legs up, raising them till her knees pushed against her own chest, the heels of her feet resting on his shoulders. Her ass curved up off the couch so that her weight was on her shoulder blades. Then he began fucking her hard and fast, the face she looked up at had all the easy going relaxed nature of a hungry wolf looking down at a rabbit it had pinned beneath its paw.

"Uh, uh, uh, oooh, oh, ah, ahh ah, uh," Erica grunted and groaned, ooh'd and aah'd as he fucked her.

"Yes, that's right, fucking you like you are mine. You should have stayed in that club, danced with some short ass white kid who would have been happy with a hand job at the end of the night. Instead, you went and played with an old bull." He shifted a hand to grip her throat, choking her lightly, shaking her head to keep her from losing focus as her own orgasm neared.

"Uh, uh, so close, uh, stuff it in me, uh," Erica moaned.

"Yeah, stuffing this white pussy. Whose pussy is this?"

"Your pussy, your pussy, uh, uh," Erica answered quickly.

"That's right, my pussy. Mine. Going to nut in my white pussy now, going to flood it with the same seed that knocked my fucking wife up five times. You ready? You ready to cum when you feel a black bull dropping a load in your little womb?" He slammed in and out, hard and brutal now, teetering on the brink of ejaculation. Her tight pussy filled with his thick cock, his cheating on his wife of thirty years with a young white woman with a hot body, the dirty talk of breeding, it had brought both of them to the point that their bodies screamed for release.

"Hope you packed the morning after pill little girl because I aint pulling out now!"

"Cum, cum in me...urrrrgh, cum, cum now"

Lawrence obliged, sinking forward slightly, his thrusts ebbing off, his face contorting as he came inside her. Erica watched for as long as she could, his face with the welter of emotions that flooded it as his black cock pumped her full of his sperm. She watched until her own climax arrived, and her vision became unfocused and blurry for a time, her pinned body bucking as much as it could in response to the firing nerve endings that lit up like a Christmas tree.

.............................................................

An hour later, Erica was on her hands and knees. The expensive leather belt that had held Lawrence's pants up was now around her throat, a makeshift leash he had fastened about her neck on a whim. The end of it trailed down her back and to the floor, the owner of it having his hands full at that point. Lawrence was behind her, fucking her strongly from behind. His left hand holding onto her ass, his right gripping her long brown hair close to the skull.

Erica's mouth was open, she just groaned and wailed as they fucked. They had moved beyond exhaustion into a space where they were just fucking out of need. The fuel they moved on now was just the desire to get one more orgasm, one more before it all had to end. Lawrence looked like a wreck, he was coated in sweat, looking like a marathon runner just about to hit the wall. It wouldn't come to that however, he grunted, shuddered, grunted once more and became still. Erica shivered in response to his grunts, slowly falling forward as he released her hair. As the young woman sank face first onto the floor, her pussy drew itself off his shaft, like a scabbard falling free of a sword. A bead of white appeared at her pussy as it became empty of black fuck meat, the sperm disappearing as her orifice tightened up once more.

With a wince, Lawrence got to his feet, pressing the heel of his hand into the small of his back. He looked down at where Erica lay almost comatose on the floor. The black father of five let out a sigh and bent down, taking a hold of the leather belt. A few tugs had Erica unsteadily crawling the few feet to where the couch was. Lawrence guided her onto it, releasing the leash from her throat and then collapsing down alongside her.

"Just, huh, just give me five minutes," he wheezed, "five minutes and then, then...you know."

"Yeah, just want to close my eyes for a second, then totally, yeah five minutes then I'll suck your...suck your cock, just...yeah."

It only took two minutes for them to pass out exhausted.

Episode 7: 'It is only in death that we are truly cured of the sickness of life.' - Socrates

Death stalked through the quiet house, steadily and stealthily moving from the front door toward the kitchen.

That at least was how the killer liked to think of himself. Not as Death incarnate perhaps but as one who understood the beauty of it.

He had apprenticed with, and known personally, other men of violence, other killers, and he saw himself as one apart from their sort. They had quirks and needs when it came to victims, weapons, means and scenarios. None of that mattered to him. He might have preferred a knife but that was simply because it was a logical choice. Silent in its use and readily available in any home or hardware store at a pinch.

No, the kill itself was of no concern to him. Nor was the victim although some brought him more pleasure than others. The loquacious cheating wife of the Rutwell college professor had been a particularly satisfying person to usher off their mortal coil. Loud, ill-mannered and brash. Exactly the kind of person who sets his teeth to itching.

However, satisfying she had been as a victim, her death hadn't given him his usual spike of pleasure. His pleasure came at the moment when the last vestiges of life had flown from a body. When the tongue was stilled forever, and the eyes lost their luster. To look down at a silent empty shell in all its serene perfection and know that he had made it so, that was what brought him joy. His last kill, the Professors wife, had required he leave the scene before she had died. That still rankled.

He reached the empty kitchen, his gaze immediately going to the glass sliding doors that led out into the garden. The killer walked towards them, the fingers from one gloved hand absent mindedly trailing along the counter top as he passed. Without conscious thought he filled his hand with a boning knife from the kitchen block set perched on the counter. A light at the far end of the garden seemed to draw him on.

The door was locked. The Killer didn't waste time casting about for a key. He pulled a set of lock picks from the back pocket of his pants and began working on the simple locking mechanism.

Shortly after the first time he had explored his interest in death, a homeless wino he had poisoned with a tampered bottle of bourbon he'd stolen from his father's cabinet, he had been approached to join a group of like-minded individuals. This 'Web' as they styled themselves offered support to one another through safe houses, funds and for those starting out as he had been they also offered training.

Nothing fancy, no martial arts or anything of the like. Just skills that would help a fledgling killer. How to conduct and spot surveillance. How to dispose of a body. And helpfully in this case, how to bypass alarm systems and pick locks.

There was a slight click and the door opened smoothly. The Killer put away his tools and collected the knife when a sound from upstairs came to him. Just a soft creak, probably nothing, but he decided to investigate it, nonetheless.

He climbed the stairs as quietly as he had downstairs, pausing at the landing to orientate himself. From two ends of the landing, he could hear the sounds of people sleeping. On the left a low snore, from a bedroom on the right a gentle pitched sound of regular breathing. He drifted to the right, opening the door to the bedroom. Given the display of wealth he had seen downstairs in the furnishings, he was confident that the doors would not do anything as proletarian as squeak at its hinges.

It appeared to be the house's master bedroom, a super king sized bed dominating the room. A black woman in the late stages of middle age was sleeping to one side of the bed, arms folded nearly across her chest as she slept on her back. Even asleep she had a pinched, disapproving look on her face. The killer wondered if it might have to do with whomever she normally shared the bed with. A small hillock of pillows was strewn down the length of the center of the bed, a fluffy wall between the woman and the beds other occupant. If they were there of course. The other half of the bed lay empty.

He closed the door and went to check on the sound from the other bedroom. The snoring rose in timbre as he opened the door. Unlike the neat but cold ambience of the older woman's room, this bedroom was a mess. Amid a sea of discarded clothes, a double bed sat in the center of the room. Atop it, a young black woman lay on her back, still dressed for a night out. Her corpulence combined with the smirk she wore as she slept was anathema to the killer and he found himself taking an involuntary half step into the room, his knife raising. He gathered his control over his emotions before things went any further than that. The smell of perfume hung heavy in the room, and he saw a variety of bottles, wastefully left open by their owner. Her spoilt, entitled nature was clear to the killer, and he hastily shut the door lest his emotions override his commonsense. Door closed he gave a shudder of distaste with regard to the occupants of the house. The type of people who believed that wealth set them above others but who hadn't the refinement or grace to lend any truth to the lie. He and many of his ilk favored them as victims.

Satisfied that no threat lay in wait upstairs, he descended back down to the kitchen and exited the main house via the door he had unlocked. Mindful of the time he had wasted the killer hurried along the length of the garden, taking pains to remain on the pathway so that no trace of his passing would be left behind. At the bottom of the garden, he found a small gate in the row of hedges that marked the perimeter. Through this gate he found himself at the two storied garage that was next to the property.

The locked side door posed as much of an obstacle as the door to the garden had. He passed by the four expensive cars parked on the bottom floor. There was a small narrow metal staircase at the rear that wound its way up to the next floor. He threaded his way up the stairs, ears attuned for any sounds coming from the top floor. There was only silence.

The top floor looked like every middle aged man's fantasy mancave. The walls were bedecked with guitars, a pool table and lavish games system took up a third of the space, the rest being occupied by a small bar, a large TV and a number of chairs and a couch. This mancave even came with a beautiful naked woman.

Erica Anderson lay sprawled on the couch beside a much older black man. This came as no surprise to the killer as he had been discreetly watching her since she had left the club.

Looking at her now, exhausted from sex and still wearing the stains of her exertions on her body, the sweat and semen glistening here and there, he wondered to himself what all the fuss was about.

How did someone like her have the temerity to challenge even a single member of The Web much less the entire organization?

It was laughable enough that one of his peers, Butterman, seemed to be falling in love with the young reporter. He seemed to view her as a muse of sorts.