Tobias Tarakan, Private Investigator

"No, Mr. Tarakan, this is my moment of history." She wasn't moving, but her cunt was dancing a farandole along my cock.

"How?" I groaned. She looked at me -- damn those eyes!

"I practice everyday with a very good friend. Now, Mr. Tarakan...." Each syllable emphasized with a suffocating squeeze of her cunt muscles. She mewled softly, gripping my shoulders and glissading up and down my cock, rasping her pubic bone hard against mine. The suckling grip of her vagina was sending me wild. I thought of cold vacations, old ladies, hospitals, anything to get my mind off the angel bouncing atop my cock, but it was hopeless. With the angel dust taking control of my head, I closed my eyes. Fuelled by the drug, my imagination started working overtime. The hotel room was gone. I pictured us both in pouring rain behind the bar in an alley. I held her pinned and impaled against a wall, her nylon sheathed legs locked tightly behind my back. My hands roamed freely over her luscious flesh and I was goring her repeatedly, each thrust met with the raucous scream of an alley cat in heat. I may have been daydreaming, but I was in control, and enjoying fucking my angel senseless.

"Mr. Tarakan, look at me." A hard slap across the face brought me back to the hotel room, and straight into those blue, hypnotic eyes.

"Oh, Mr. Tarakan, you think you can fuck me do you?" She shuddered as she rose and fell, her quickening pace left us both gasping for breath. "Mr. Tara....." Her eyes closed, and she fell on my shoulder. "Oh, God! I am...coming!" She grabbed my neck, pounding harder against my thighs, the sharp metal of her suspenders cutting tramlines into my legs. As each spasm wracked her body, she clung to me.

She writhed and twisted, her head flew back, orgasm after orgasm tore through her, and she ululated like a stuck pig, wringing spurt after spurt of cum from me. Fuck hospitals. I thought, as her clenching sheath took me over the precipice, and I gave in, spurting a load high into her womb.

"Now, Mr. Tarakan, your moment of history!" she shrieked, lifting a stiletto dagger above her head. I closed my eyes, and waited. Instead of pain, I heard the sound of breaking glass. I opened my eyes to see my angel sliding to the floor.

"Guess you need yourself a new lap dancer, partner." The Duke's voice filtered through the blizzard inside my head. I looked up toward the doorway. Prima stood with the neck of a vodka bottle in his hand, my angel splayed out on the floor. "How did you find me?"

"I found something on the DVD so I called you. You put the phone down on me, so I called your apartment phone - she had left a message with directions on your answering machine." like a hunter admiring his prize, Prema deftly rolled the unconscious angel onto her back.

"But I changed the code on the machine!"

Prema growled scornfully, "I am Premagenev, the great Russian hacker!"

I looked at Prema and smiled. "We really do need to talk."

She had played me for the putz I was. Knowing my peccadilloes, she used them to proffer herself, knowing I would bite. Dam I bit hard.

If it were not for the deranged, dysfunctional Russian, I would have been another Private Dick headlining the paper.

"Hey, Joe! Bourbon, with a twist of lemon! make this one a double!"