It was just before eight-thirty when Connie raised her hand to knock on the ornately carved door of the Glass Onion. The shades had been drawn and no light could be seen coming from the windows of the little discotheque. It appeared closed, even to her knowing scrutiny. If Foxy hadn't told her, she would never have guessed that some kind of meeting was going on inside.
She wondered what sort of club it was that used the neighborhood hangout as its headquarters. An "exclusive club", he had called it. One for members with "special tastes". Connie was intrigued. Lifting the heavy onion-shaped brass door knocker, she rapped loudly, wondering whether Foxy hadn't been putting her on. When no one answered her knock, she raised the brass onion knocker for another try.
But before she could finish, a peephole opened in the door and she found herself face to face with a human eye. "Your card, please," said a voice from behind the door. Connie fumbled in her pocket for the gold-engraved card which Foxy had given her. Finding it, she held it up to the peephole for inspection by the anonymous eye. "One moment, please," said the voice politely.
Seconds later the door swung open admitting her to the familiar surroundings of the popular discotheque. As she entered, a tall thin man wearing the uniform of a nineteenth-century butler appeared at her side and took the card from her hand. "Will you be meeting someone?" he asked. "Or would you like your own table."
She considered mentioning Mr. Walker's name and then thought better of it. "I'll sit by myself," she said. "A gentleman may be joining me later on."
"Very good, Miss," said the butler. She followed him into the discotheque and allowed him to seat her at one of the tables which ringed the elevated stage. She ordered a gin and tonic – the incident at Lionel's apartment the week before having been enough to get her off scotch, forever – and waited to see what would happen. Looking around, she saw several waiters, all dressed like the man who had admitted her, flitting busily around carrying trays laden with cocktails.
Connie glanced around at the posters of rock stars which adorned the walls, and at the glass onion-shaped globes on the lighting fixtures. Although the room – with its familiar onion decor and crowded table arrangement – was exactly as she had always known it to be, Connie didn't recognize any of the waiters. The usual Glass Onion personnel were a friendly bunch – casual to the point of rudeness. They called all the customers by their first names and mingled freely with them, sitting at tables uninvited whenever they felt like it. But tonight the staff was stiffly formal. She saw one of the waiters bow to a customer as he placed his tray on the edge of a table.
The change, was refreshing and Connie smiled, forgetting for a moment the seriousness of her mission. She looked around in the dim light of the discotheque, hoping to spot a familiar face. But the customers were all strangers to her as were the waiters. She glanced at the bar, where a thin dark-haired girl sat sipping a drink by herself, and shrugged. Not even the bartender looked familiar. A moment later the waiter returned with her drink and Connie occupied herself by stirring it vigorously with the red plastic onion-topped swizzle stick. She raised it to her lips, savoring the tang of the liquored quinine.
The dark-haired girl at the bar watched with interest as Connie sipped her drink. Connie hadn't recognized her – probably because she wasn't wearing her blonde wig or her star-shaped beauty mark. But Sheri recognized the policewoman, all right! She wasn't likely to forget that face or the way that it had distorted with undisguised hatred when she had arrested the young prostitute in Manhattan the previous month. Looks like she's strayed out of her precinct, Sheri thought. But then we all get around, don't we? Sheri wouldn't have traveled all the way to. Queens herself if not for the fact that she needed money desperately. Street hustling wasn't as lucrative as it used to be now that Blumenthal's raiders had started making life miserable for the girls of Eighth Avenue. So when she heard that the people who operated this club were looking for a female performer, she had jumped at the chance.
The bartender had told her that the manager wouldn't be available for a couple of hours, but that she could wait at the bar if she wanted to. His offer of a drink "on the house" had been enough to ease the boredom of waiting, at first. But now it looked like something interesting might happen, after all. She glanced over the rim of her glass at the undercover policewoman who sipped her own drink unsuspectingly.
Connie glanced at her wrist watch, wondering whether Mr. Walker would keep her waiting long. The waiter, misinterpreting the gesture appeared solicitously at her side. "The show will be starting in a few minutes, Miss. May I get you another drink?"
"By all means. Get Miss Dresden another and put it on my tab." The voice was deep and resonant, but soft and gentle at the same time.
"Yes, sir, Mr. Walker," the waiter said, pulling out a chair for the tall muscular Black man who had spoken. "The usual for you, sir?"
Johnny Walker nodded, sending the waiter on his way. "Good evening, Miss Dresden," he said. His voice was cultured and genteel, contrasting sharply with the vicious-looking pink scar which broke the smooth clean line of his right cheek. "Permit me to introduce myself. I am Johnny Walker."
"How do you do, Mr. Walker," Connie answered politely. Something about the Black man's manner – gentle yet supremely confident – was putting her at her ease. He was nothing like the brutal animal that she had met in the warehouse. Johnny Walker was dressed impeccably in a gray-and-white pin-striped double-breasted suit. Under it he wore a shirt striped in muted tones of blue and purple with a white silk tie. When he smiled, Connie glimpsed a flash of gold surrounding a gleaming heart-shaped cutout on one of his upper central teeth. Although it contrasted with his otherwise relatively conservative attire, it seemed distinctive rather than gaudy.
"I'm sorry it I kept you waiting," he said. "I usually try to be prompt, but was unavoidably detained by a pressing business detail." So soft and cultured was his voice that Connie never would have believed that the pressing business detail involved the physical punishment of one of Johnny's stable of whores.
A moment later the waiter reappeared with their drinks – another gin and tonic for Connie and a tall glass of straight Johnny Walker Black Label for her companion. "To your health," Johnny said, lifting the glass to his lips. "And to a miraculous recovery for your unfortunate sister."
Connie was startled, having momentarily forgotten the story about her dying sister. Then, adopting an appropriately unhappy look, she raised her glass and sipped. The cool tangy liquid felt good going down, refreshing her on the hot muggy New York summer night.
"Did you bring me a sample of the merchandise, Mr. Walker?" she asked, suddenly anxious to transact her business and get away from there.
"Slow down, Miss Dresden," he said. "Or may I call you Connie?" Connie nodded. "There will be plenty of time for business later. Let's just enjoy our drinks for a while. The show will be beginning any moment now. I'm sure you'll like it. It's rather unusual, although not for our little club. You see, we specialize in the unusual. May I order you another drink?"
"No, thanks," she said, determined not to allow herself to become intoxicated as she bad the week before. "I'm still fine." She indicated her glass, still half full.
"You won't mind if I do, then, will you?" he asked, signaling the waiter with a nod of his head. Just as the waiter placed another glass iii front of him, the lights dimmed and a bright-red spotlight illuminated the stage. An announcer, dressed in a gold dinner jacket and red trousers, stepped into the spotlight and waited for quiet.
In a moment the room was hushed. "Ladies and gentlemen," he began. "I know you're all anxious to see the show so I won't bore you with longwinded introductions. Tonight, for the first time anywhere, the management is pleased to present George and Martha." He stepped quickly off the stage.
Johnny Walker took a long swallow of his drink and then looked up at Connie, a friendly smile lighting up his coal-black face. "The manager tells me that they're very good," he said, indicating to the stage with a gesture of his head. Connie looked up to see a tall shapely woman standing alone in the middle of the elevated stage.
As the color of the spotlight changed from red to white, Connie was surprised to see that the woman was totally nude. She was swaying sensuously, moving her body in rhythm to the notes of an imaginary melody – a tune heard by her and her alone. Her eyes were half-closed and she was licking her lips sensuously. Connie was embarrassed by the shocking display of uncovered pulchritude and sought an excuse to turn away. But Johnny Walker was looking directly at her, taking silent note of her every gesture. She felt instinctively that this was some kind of test and that it would be wise for her to pretend enjoyment of the lewd exhibition.
She forced a smile and redirected her gaze at the naked woman on the stage. She was running her hands sensuously up and down her nude body, caressing her breasts and stroking her flat white belly. The girl was of medium height and build. But her tits were huge. They hung pendulously down in front of her, swinging obscenely from side to side as she swayed to the imaginary music. Her hair was bright red and very long. It was tied back into a single pony tail which hung almost to her full round ass. The furry triangle that surrounded her pussy was red as the hair of her head. She tangled her fingers in it as she rubbed her belly.
Connie was shocked to see so prurient a display being presented on the familiar stage of the Glass Onion. Up until now, the only performers that she had seen there had been wearing faded Levi's and flannel shirts and bad plucked the strings of battered guitars.
The redheaded girl was cupping her long luscious tits now, rolling them about in her hands and bringing the huge walnut-sized nipples to quivering erection. The aureoles were brown, but the pointy caps were rosy pink. Connie wondered whether the girl had applied a bit of makeup be fore going on stage.
She was moaning softly now as her own fingers tweaked and petted her nipples, rolling them lovingly between thumb and forefinger. Connie remembered how good it had felt when Lionel had stroked her nipples that way and wondered whether self-stimulation produced the same sensation. The girl on stage was apparently enjoying it. Her face was distorted into a mask of sheer pleasure and she was licking her full red lips lewdly as she stroked and petted her mammoth tits before the crowd of hushed onlookers.
"Oh, feels so good," she moaned, her voice soft and sexy. While she continued petting her own tits with her left hand, moving it slowly from one swaying mound to the other, she moved her right hand caressingly over the silky plane of her taut white belly. She fluttered her fingers as she did so, moving them like the wings of a butterfly and stimulating herself even more. Then, bending her knees to separate her smoothly curving thighs, the girl began to rub her own sizzling pussy with the flat of her hand. Connie was shocked at the lewd sight. Rubbing her breasts had been bad enough, but this shameful display of public masturbation was awful. How satisfying it would be, she thought, to stand up suddenly, flash my badge, and place the entire room under arrest. But remembering the importance of her mission, she put all such thoughts out of her mind, forcing herself to watch the shameful spectacle taking place on the stage of the Glass Onion.
Johnny Walker leaned over so that his lips were but scant inches from her ear. Speaking just loud enough for her to hear him, he asked. "What do you think of her?"
Connie conquered the urge to shout the word "obscene" in response to his question, muttering a noncommittal, "Not bad."
"No," Johnny answered. "Not bad at all."
The woman's body was covered with perspiration now, and she rubbed it sensuously over her thighs and belly. Connie wondered whether the redhead's heat was the result of the spotlight or of her lascivious self-stimulation. The passionate expression on her face made Connie sure that it was the latter. But it certainly was warm in there, in spite of the air conditioning.
Connie was perspiring steadily. In fact, she felt as though she were bathed in sweat. Warm stains were forming at her armpits, wetting the pale-yellow blouse that she was wearing. And her crotch was bathed in moisture, the damp material of her panties sticking wetly to her pussy and working its way uncomfortably into the puffy pink slit. She tried to work it loose by shifting her position in the chair, but her movements only served to pull the twisted cloth even more tautly across the lips of her moist young cunt. The girl on stage had leaned way back now, exposing her pussy to the view of all the members of the audience. Connie found herself staring at it in fascination. She had never seen another woman's pussy before. She wondered whether it was normal for the lips and inner membranes to be so red. As the performer leaned further back, the lips of her cunt pulled obscenely apart, revealing the deep-red hue of her cuntal interior.
Connie's panties were becoming more and more uncomfortable as they pulled insistently across the sensitive mound of her snatch. The heat was becoming intolerable, and the light material felt like it was wringing wet. Connie reached under the table and tugged at the crotch of her black jeans, trying to pull the bunched-up material away from her cunt.
The girl on stage had plunged one long finger into the wet red confines of her drooling cuntal opening. Connie watched in shocked disbelief as she began driving the finger in and out like a pistoning cock. She had never seen or even imagined anything so lascivious before in her life. She wished that she could turn away from the obscene performance, burying her face in the sand like a frightened ostrich, but feared that to do so would arouse Johnny Walker's disapproval.
Then, suddenly, a man walked out on stage. Like the girl, he was completely naked. His cock was long and thick, and hung down in front of him, not quite erect, as he walked to the center of the stage and bowed elaborately. He was short and slight of build. The hair on his head and around his long dangling cock was dark and shiny. But the rest of his body was almost hairless. His skin glistened wetly in the illumination of the bright spotlight in which he was centered. The red-haired girl abandoned the lewd fingering of her pussy and placed both hands behind her on the floor. She leaned back until her long red hair was spread luxuriously out on the floor beneath her head. The pouting lips of her pussy were splayed open obscenely, drawing the attention of every pair of eyes in the room. Connie couldn't believe her eyes.
The dark-haired man fell to his knees in, front of the open-cunted girl and brought his face close to the flowered lips of her glistening pink pussy.
Then, with no further preliminaries, he kissed her cunt, his lips making a loud smacking sound which could be heard throughout the room.
Extending his long pink tongue as far as it would go, he pressed forward, burying his face in the wet slash of her gaping pussy. Connie was astounded. The man was lapping at the thickly moistened membranes of the red-haired girl's widely splayed cunt with apparent gusto. Connie could hear the slurping sounds made by his tongue as it sawed feverishly in and out of the gaping slash.
The sound was having a strange effect on Connie, making her own cunt tingle as it had on the night of her forced seduction by Lionel. Her breathing was becoming labored, and her eyes were riveted to the sight of the girl performer's cunt, her thick mat of flaming red pubic hair framing the bobbing head of the man who lapped so greedily at it.
Connie could hear the girl moaning with delight as the man plunged his stiff slithering tongue deeper and deeper into her cunt. She actually sounded as if she were enjoying the shameful act. Connie simply couldn't understand it. It was so dirty and immoral. How could anyone do such a thing? she asked herself.
The girl bent her elbows, lowering herself gradually to the floor. As she did so, the man followed her down, his head apparently glued to her pussy as he continued, lapping and sucking her with a lewd slurping sound. Connie found herself craning her neck, straining involuntarily for a better view of the shameful spectacle.
Now the girl lay flat on her back, her shapely white legs thrown wide apart, opening her pussy completely for the lingual assault of the dark-haired man. He had turned his body now so that his head pointed at her feet and his knees straddled her head. Connie could see his prick, long and hard now, swaying from side to side just above the red-headed girl's nose as his body shifted. The girl inhaled elaborately, letting everyone in the room know that she was savoring the aroma of her cunt-lapping partner's sex.
Then, to Connie's amazement, she extended her tongue, running its curling tip lovingly along the underside of the thick hard cock. Connie could see the swollen shaft jerk violently in response to the touch of her tongue. He buried his face even deeper in her vaginal slit, turning his head from side to side so that he could lick the inner walls of her cunt from all directions. His nose nudged insistently at the swollen bud of her clitoris protruding erectly from the scarlet tent of cuntflesh which sheltered and surrounded it. The deep-red pleasure button was long and cylindrical, like a miniature wiener.
Connie had never really examined her own clitoris, but was vaguely aware of its sensitivity, having stimulated it accidentally with a bar of soap in the shower a few times. She knew that it was tiny, not much bigger than the head of a pin. She couldn't imagine why the girl on stage had such a big one. Connie wondered whether they became enlarged with exercise like the muscles of one's arms or legs.
Connie was painfully aware that her own blood engorged clit was throbbing and that she longed to disentangle herself from the damp material of her twisted panties. Perhaps if she went to the ladies room, she could straighten herself out. But glancing quickly about her, she realized that she would have to stand up and walk in front of the stage, attracting the attention of all those present who were staring at the lewd performance being enacted. She resolved to untangle herself as soon as the act was over. It couldn't go on much longer.
"Like the show?" Johnny Walker asked, his deeply resonant voice soft and controlled.
"It's all right," Connie said, trying to sound casual. She was aware that her voice had risen several decibels above its normal pitch, betraying her nervous excitement. She hoped that Johnny Walker hadn't noticed.
The couple on stage rolled over, the man now on his back on the bottom while the girl straddled his face. He was still working lovingly at her cunt and Connie could hear the loud slurping sound that he was making with his tongue as he drove it in and out of the red-fringed gash.
But then Connie's attention was completely captured by the sight of the girl's mouth wrapped hungrily around the thick red shaft of the man's cock, moving rapidly up and down its length. She thought briefly of the horrible scene that had taken place the Saturday night, before in the Sunnyside warehouse. The thought of Foxy's evil smelling prick forcing its way down her throat made her feel like gagging again. Yet the girl on stage appeared to be enjoying her work.
She let the throbbing prick slip from her lips and whirled her tongue rapidly across the silky surface of its palpitating purple head. She was making a soft moaning sound in the back of her throat and her face wore an expression of sheer ecstasy. Her hips were rolling and bucking in response to the merciless lashing of her drooling red cunt by the skillful tongue of her partner.
Connie watched the girl's head bobbing up and down in synchronized syncopation with the movements of her hips. She was lapping and licking the thick hardon with slobbering relish, enjoying every lascivious minute of it. Her groans were clearly audible as they increased in volume and tempo.
Connie was vaguely aware of her own hips moving in a little circle, grinding her fully rounded asscheeks against her chair and pulling the wet crotchband of her panties into electric contact with the swollen bud of her trembling clit. She tried to stop the rhythmic motions but found that she couldn't. Each time she rocked her pelvis forward, the wet material of her panties pulled tight across her pubic area. When she rocked back, the taut material slackened, continuing to rub mercilessly at the sensitive membranes of her moistening cunt.
The couple on stage were rocking and bobbing together now, the rhythm of their movements approaching an exploding crescendo. Both of them were crying in breathless agony as their bodies rolled about on the floor.
From the corners of her eyes Connie saw that some of the members of the audience were standing for a better view of the stage. A man and woman sitting at a nearby table were shamelessly rubbing their hands over each other's genitals as they watched the wildly sixty-nining couple on stage.
Then the nude redhead uttered a long low moan of pleasure, culminating as her partner's vibrating tongue carried her over the wall of orgasm. Her super-aroused cunt began to flow copiously, filling the sucking mouth that pressed tightly against it with its spicy honeyed secretions. At the same moment, the man heaved his hips up at her, rocking his body rhythmically as his jerking cock fired spurt after bursting spurt of hot sticky cum, flooding the girl's hungrily sucking mouth.
The couple rolled about on the floor of the elevated stage, panting and groaning out the fury of their mutual orgasms to the delight and joy of the thoroughly excited audience. After an eternal instant, the spasms of orgasmic delight began to subside and the tense muscles of their intertwined bodies relaxed. Each of them lapped lovingly at the last drops of the other's sex-juice. Finally they, came to rest, she with her head pillowed on the inside of his thigh and he with his face still buried in the soft wetness of her oozing pussy.
After a long pregnant moment of silence, the crowd went wild, shouting and applauding thunderously. "Bravo!" someone shouted as though the performance had been of a fine symphony by a great philharmonic orchestra. Connie found herself applauding, too, although she wasn't thinking about the impression that she had to make on Johnny Walker. Though she would never have admitted it, even to herself, Connie had been moved tremendously by the salacious spectacle.
Her damp panties were plastered to the wetness of her cunt, and her entire body was bathed in sweat. She longed for the privacy of the rest room and an opportunity to straighten out her undergarments. But before she could rise and excuse herself, Johnny pushed back his chair and smiled cordially at her. "Excuse me," he said. "I want to go straighten my tie. I'll be right back."
Connie wondered whether his underwear was as tangled as hers, and then scolded herself mentally for the sexual boldness of her thought. She tugged at the crotch of her jeans, taking advantage of Johnny's absence to pull the tangled crotchband of her panties from the hot wet slit of her pussy. She was beginning to cool off now, and to remember her assignment. She hoped that the well spoken Black had the sample with him.
Johnny Walker was about to step into the men's room when he felt a light tap on his shoulder. Turning quickly, he faced a tall, thin dark-haired girl – obviously a junkie. She was wearing the confident smile of an addict whose next shot of dope was practically guaranteed.
"Excuse me, Mr. Walker," she said quietly. "Maybe this is none of my business, but I have some information you might be interested in." She stopped dramatically, waiting for his invitation to continue.
"Go on," Johnny said. His voice took on a tone of studied boredom, but his eyes were sparklingly alert.
"Well, it's about that girl you've been sitting with," Sheri continued. "I just thought you might like to know that she's a policewoman."
"Oh, really?" Johnny answered, wearing his confident smile like a mask. "And what makes you think so?"
It was Sheri's turn to smile. "She busted me for prost about a month ago," she responded. "In the city. Eighth Avenue, to be exact."
"You're sure it was her?" Johnny asked, his voice casual.
"I'll never forget her face as long as I live," she answered. "I got the feeling that she wanted to kill me."
"I want you to know I appreciate this," Johnny said, flashing his confident smile again. He pressed two crisp one-hundred-dollar bills into her hand as he spoke. Then he turned on his heel and entered the men's room, knowing that she would be gone when he came out.
After he had finished urinating he stopped in front of the mirror and grinned mechanically, checking his teeth to be sure that they were clean and sparkling. Then, wearing his friendliest smile, he returned to the table at which Officer Connie Dresden awaited him.
Pulling her chair out so that she could get up, he said, "Come along, Connie. We'll have to go up to my place for that sample." Connie rose quickly, anxious to be finished with her assignment. As they walked toward the door, she slipped her hand into the crook of Johnny Walker's elbow, certain that she had passed his inspection.