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.
