Women have made great strides in American society. They are working in occupations that only a few years ago were considered the province of men only.
In "The Captive Lady Cop" author Andrew O'Christopher examines one woman's struggle in a masculine profession. The problem, as O'Christopher aptly describes, is the fact that women, no matter how masculine their profession might be, are, when all is said and done, still women with all the desires that any woman has.
This book is set on the seamy streets of St. Louis. O'Christopher takes the reader on a guided tour of a segment of American society that few people ever get to see: the pimps, prostitutes, hired killers, to mention a few. He knows the world well and speaks with the authority and knowledge that only a person who has actually been there can bring to work.
In 'The Captive Lady Cop" O'Christopher examines the problems that a stunningly beautiful woman, Officer Laura Davis, comes up against when she is given the responsibility of cleaning up the most sinful part of the city. Laura learns some important lessons about herself and her own sexuality in the exciting climax to this book. It is a climax that previewing critics have termed "powerfully erotic", a land-mark of sexual literature" and "the best police novel since Wambaugh's "Blue Knight."
We, the publishers, feel that, especially in light of the current effort to pass the Equal Rights Amendment, "The Captive Lady Cop" should be required reading. Only through works such as this can the public become aware of the major ways our society is changing and how women are trying to adapt.
However, as Officer Laura Davis discovers in this book, even if a woman wears a gun, she is still a woman-and always will be.
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CHAPTER ONE
The black girl swung her tight ass in large, inviting circles as she strutted through the night-time air of downtown St. Louis. Her wide smile was almost as bright as the streetlight above. Her large breasts strained against the sleek material of her tight silk blouse. She stopped to light a cigarette as she leaned against the light post. A black and white police cruiser slowly drove past. She winked at the cops and they smiled back, and kept driving.
A large beige Oldsmobile pulled to a stop next to her. The electric window silently glided down. The door swung open and the black girl carelessly tossed her cigarette into the gutter before sliding her expensive ass across the smooth velour of the Oldsmobile's front seat. The door slammed shut and the car cruised off and was swallowed up by the night.
The side-walk remained empty but for only a second. Another girl, dressed just about the same as the first, sauntered up to take her place under the street light.
In another part of town, a very different kind of woman was getting ready for work. Laura Davis was brushing her long blonde hair. She stopped to look at the smiling photo on her dresser. It was of her husband, Alex. Six months earlier he'd been sent on a covert assignment to Chili and simply disappeared. He worked for the Central Intelligence Agency of the United States-or more sipmly, the CIA. Laura had no idea if he was alive or dead. She tucked her sleek blonde hair under her blue cap and then reached for the .38 police special from atop her dresser. Laura Davis was the second woman cop ever hired by the city of St. Louis.
Fleet Street in St. Louis was once the finest street in the city. But that was in the days of horse drawn carriages and ladies with fine long dresses and broad floppy hats. On Sunday afternoon, they used to stroll down the avenue and show off their finery to their neighbors and friends.
Today, the neighborhood is not so nice. On the corner where the fashionable hat shop used to be is a liquor store. And out in front of that store is a select group of patrons who can usually be found there every night. They sit on trash cans and logs, drinking "Night Train" and other brands of cheap wine and complaining about how the mail is slow in bringing their welfare checks.
There is still a like to show off. But they no longer stroll on Sunday afternoon-they stroll every single night of the year. They stroll in their short dresses, their high heels, their smooth nylon stockings, and their low-cut blouses. And when a man drives by real slow, they look him straight in the eye, purse their lips and smile a smile that tells him all he needs to know. From there on out, it's simply a matter of price.
Some of the girls work by themselves, but these are usually the lower class whores, the ones who'll go with anyone, anytime, for almost any amount of money. And when the police pick them up, they simply cool their high heels in jail for a couple of days. Since they work for themselves, there's no one who gives a damn about putting up their bail.
The real "lookers" have someone that takes care of them-their "old man" they say, other people call him a pimp. He takes half of the money they make, sometimes more, beats them up when they're lazy and intimidates them from quitting. But on the other hand, should they be arrested, he's right there with the bail and should a customer take things a little too far and damage the merchandise, he's sure to suffer swift and terrible retribution at the hands of the pimp. It's an arrangement that most of the girls like.
A good pimp makes a lot of money and becomes a powerful man in his little community-he drives a flashy car, wears fine clothes and expensive jewelry. He is definitely a man to look up to, a man to respect. But the best pimp in the Fleet Street area, with the best stable of women, was not a man. Desdemona Valentine was definitely not a man. Oh, she was a pimp, alright, but one glance was all that was needed to see that she was all woman.
She wasn't a black woman and she wasn't white. She was a mulatto and had all the best features of both races. Smooth caramel colored skin, a slightly flattened nose, beautiful brown doe eyes, straight, soft black hair and a body that could bring a dead man back to life, all combined to make Desdemona one of the most beautiful women in all of St. Louis-indeed, in all of the world.
Desdemona, though, didn't walk the streets-her girls did. They were the finest street walkers in all of St. Louis, too. Girls of all sizes, shapes, nationalities, and races. Desdemona made sure her girls got top dollar, too. No common street sluts, these girls. Desdemona's were the finest that money could buy, with prices starting at $20 for a straight blow job and going up to a hundred and over for "the whole works." At the top of the ladder was Desdemona herself. But it'd cost a man $500 to see her spread those smooth brown legs. And some people paid that price. Desdemona kept a little black book with their names inside and what specialties and perversions they were fond of. The Mayor of St. Louis' name was in that book. The state senator's and one or two other congressmen were, also. One of her more frequent customers was Clyde Crow, the chief of police. For obvious reasons, Clyde received a happily given discount.
Desdemona was but 24 years old and had her business matters firmly in hand. She had the best girls in town and she also had the best connections. Everything worked very smoothly. The police never bothered her or her girls and in exchange Desdemona would often assign a couple of girls to "take care" of the beat cops every now and then. Every now and then Desdemona, through her underworld connections, would supply the police with a tip that solved a particularly troublesome crime.
Yes, everything was as it should be in Desdemona's world. Business was good and problems were few. On this Saturday night, she sat smoking and looking out the window of her "office," the front table of "Herbie's Bar-B-Que Hut". One of her new girls, white, 16 years old, and straight from Minneapolis, was working the street light in front of the restaurant. Desdemona liked to keep close tabs on her new girls until they were
"broken in" and could be trusted.
The new girl was named Linda and she stood nervously under the street light. She was smoking a cigarette and feeling more than a little embarrassed to be wearing the tight red hot pants that Desdemona had picked out for her. This was her first night.
Desdemona smiled as she sipped her coffee. These young white girls who ran away from their safe, comfortable middle class homes up north were like a gold mine to her. They had pride. Their daddies and mommies instilled it in them at an early age. But they had no idea just how it would backfire on them later. Yes, these young suburban virgins were proud-too proud to call daddy and tell him to pick them up, too proud to admit after they'd run away that they couldn't make it in the big bad world outside. So they'd do anything not to fail, anything not to have to go home with their tails between their legs, even selling their young bodies.
Desdemona never had any problem finding these girls. Down at the Greyhound Bus Station they would just sort of stand there and stare with a sad lost look on their faces. A suitcase, maybe a back-pack on the floor next to them. Sometimes no luggage at all. It was as easy as shooting fish in a barrel. Desdemona would walk up, offer a cigarette and make some small talk. Break down the defenses one by one. Get friendly. Pretty soon she'd offer to buy a cup of coffee, from there came a meal, and after that a place to stay. The girls were always so grateful. At least, that is, until a few days later when they discover that the rent is never free, that when you get something in this world you have to give something up. And there are only a few things that a young girl has to offer.
A car pulled to a stop out in front. Desdemona watched as Linda leaned into the passenger window to talk with the driver. A moment later, she moved back to the sidewalk and the car pulled away. Desdemona angrily strode out onto the street.
"Jes what the fuck happened to that last John? He hear his wife phonin' him?" she demanded.
Linda blushed. "I, uh, well I thought he was too ugly.. . . "
"Ugly! Sheeitt!! You ain't lookin' for' a boyfriend, honey. You out to peddle yo' ass and make me sum money! Dat the name of the game, sugar. Money! M-u-n-n-y! I see you turn down another trick fo' any reason less than he got festerin' sores all over his mouth-I'll let Washington have you fo' a couple more nights!"
That threat was enough to get Linda almost to flag down the next car. Washington was the big buck black who worked for Desdemona as sort of a trainer for the young girls. He took the young virgins and turned them into seasoned professionals in a matter of days. He taught them how to use every hole they had, how to give a beating-and how to get one. When a girl was lazy, or disobedient, Desdemona would often turn them over to Washington. When the girls were turned over to Washington for disciplinary reasons, Washington was allowed to do whatever he wanted. Which was too bad for the girls, because Washington had a special softness for pain and suffering. He liked to see young white girls scream and moan and beg for mercy. He especially liked it when their little blue eyes would overflow with tears at the sight of his huge, rigid, black cock.
One threat was all Linda needed on that night. Desdemona smiled when she saw the next car stop and Linda hop right in. Yes, Washington was worth every penny she paid him. . . .
CHAPTER TWO
Laura Davis slid into the front seat of her Chevy Nova and started the engine. The car turned over quickly without hesitation. Alex would be happy when he returned at the tip-top condition Laura kept the cars in, if he returned. Laura tried to turn her thoughts to another subject, but couldn't. Why, oh why, did he have to leave? She didn't even know if he was dead or alive. The man who'd been such a pillar in her life, the man who'd always been there to lean on was gone. At work, she was a tough lady cop, but the rest of the time she was all woman. With all the weaknesses, indecision, needs and wants of any woman. And it'd been a long time since any of those needs had been satisfied, a long time.
She backed the Nova out of the driveway and turned onto the clean well-kept street Alex and she had chosen to build their dream house. As she drove down to the corner, she could see her neighbors kissing their husbands goodbye, sending them off to their nice, safe jobs in the city and then padding back into the house in their robes and slippers, leisurely having another cup of coffee and then tackling the breakfast dishes. Why couldn't Alex have had a nice safe job, instead of working for the damn CIA and getting sent off to Chili? But she knew why. She knew that if Alex had been a stockbroker, or an accountant, or anything else, she never would have been attracted to him. Laura was a beautiful woman, who packed a snub-nosed .38 Smith and Wesson in her purse. Unarmed, she could disable or kill a much larger man. She was a strong woman and she needed a stronger man. A man like Alex. And now he was gone, goddamn him, she thought. And now he was gone.
Of course, none of her friends and neighbors knew what Alex really did for a living. They thought he worked for the foreign service in the diplomatic corps. This conveniently explained his frequent absences from home. They had a hard enough time handling the fact that the most attractive woman in the neighborhood was a lady cop.
Some of the neighborhood men had tried to take advantage of Alex's long absences. For a long time, after they'd first moved into the neighborhood, as soon as Alex would leave for a trip the husbands would start dropping by. It was "just to say hello", or sometimes, "If there's anything I can do to help out while Alex is away. . . . " They would've mowed her lawn, rearranged the furniture, fixed the trash compactor-it didn't matter, all they wanted was a chance to be alone with Laura. Just a chance.. . .
It didn't take too long for Laura to find out what was really going on. At first, being new in the neighborhood, she wanted to be as friendly as she could. She was very pleased with the neighborhood they'd chosen to live in, what with all the friendly neighbors. Yet, for some reason, thought Laura, the husbands seemed a lot friendlier than the wives. In fact, the wives seemed downright hostile. Laura figured they'd come around in time.
About 6 weeks after they'd moved, Alex was away on a job. He'd flown to Burma to oversee the yearly harvest of the poppy crop for the CIA. It was through control of the drug trafficking in the Golden Triangle of Laos, Cambodia, and Thailand that the CIA and thereby the United States was able to control the political machines in each of those countries.
Rodney Kercheck from down the street wasn't wasting any time. The day after Alex left, he dropped by the house. Laura was in the back yard, enjoying her day off, lying on the chaise lounge in her bikini getting a suntan. Laura had always been very proud of her smooth, silky skin, and delighted in tanning it to a nutty brown.
She was wearing a skimpy maillot swim suit which was far more revealing than she'd ever "'ear in public. But since she was in her own back yard, she couldn't see anything wrong with it.
Rodney had dropped by to return some garden shears that he'd borrowed about two months previously. Not being suspicious by nature, or when she was not working, Laura didn't see anything strange on the face of it. Somebody else might have thought it a bit strange that this handsome, dark -haired neighbor had kept the pair of garden shears for two months and then decided to return them three days after Laura's husband left the country on a business trip.
Laura heard the door bell ring, set down her lemonade on the table and ran into the house to answer it. When she opened the door, Rodney was speechless. He just stood there with the garden shears in his hand and his mouth open. He'd known that Laura was a fox, knew that she was a stone fox, but was totally unprepared for what he saw when she opened the door.
Laura was like a bronze goddess who was wearing next to nothing. Her brown skin was perfect and never seemed to stop. The amount of material that made up her swimsuit would have caused a midget to blush. Rodney's eyes quickly scanned her head to foot. Her blonde hair, bouncing up in a slight curl, rested softly on her naked caramel shoulders. Her breasts, large and firm, surged out from beneath the constraints of the swimsuit. He could make out the outline of her nipples beneath the thin, clinging material. Her stomach was flat and smooth, leading down to the top of her swim-suit bottom, which, beneath, rose softly to cover her pubic mound. What particularly grabbed Rodney's attention was the extremely fine and soft blonde baby hair on Laura's' upper thighs where she didn't shave her legs. Those downy curls always drove Rodney crazy. Especially since his wife was a dark eastern European who seemed to have coarse black hair everywhere-from her unshaved black mustache to the thick line of black curls that descended from her bellybutton to her cunt.
Laura looked at him standing there speechless for a second and then smiled and said "Hi, Rodney. You bringing the garden shears back?"
"Uh, y-y-yyeah. . . " he stammered. "I'd kinda forgotten all about it and then the other day I saw it in my garage and I, uh, remembered, that, uh, I should take it back to you and everything, so, well, here I am." He smiled lamely.
"Well, come on back," said Laura. "You can put it in the garage-I certainly don't want to carry that dirty thing."
Rodney followed Laura through the eyes, his eyes never leaving her firm ass as it moved back and forth with just the slightest seductive jiggle. Rodney felt the blood rushing to his groin and his cock began to swell. He was glad to be wearing thick Levi's which would conceal the bulge.
Once in the backyard, Laura lay down again on her lounge and Rodney disappeared into the garage to return the shears. When he came back, Laura was sipping her lemonade and thumbing through the pages of a magazine.
"Boy, it's sure been hot lately. . . " Rodney said, wiping his brow.
"Oh! Would you like a glass of lemonade?" asked Laura.
"Thank you, that'd be nice." Rodney sat down in a chair across from Laura as she poured Rodney a glass from the nearby pitcher. All Rodney could think about was how he'd like to lay Laura down right there on the grass, pull that goddamn swim suit off and climb right aboard. The thought of his mouth sucking on one of those breasts was enough to start the glass of lemonade in his hand to shaking.
"I haven't seen old Alex around lately," said Rodney. "How's he doing?"
"Oh, Alex is fine, just fine. He'll be out of town for a few weeks; he's got some meeting to attend at the embassy in Bangkok."
Rodney's eyes lit up when he heard that Alex was out of town. To his way of thinking, Laura was just a normal woman and since her husband had been gone for a couple of weeks, she was probably hornier than hell. He was a pretty good looking guy and had already fucked about half the wives in the neighborhood. He didn't know why he shouldn't be able to succeed with Laura as well. If he played his cards right, that is.
"It must get awful lonely for you when he's gone," Rodney confided.
"Well, I must say that I'm much happier when he's around than when he's gone. That's for sure!" laughed Laura.
Rodney was a man of action and in most cases liked to get straight to the point. He hated beating around the bush, so to speak, and on more than one occasion had fucked neighbor ladies by simply coming right out and asking them.
Rodney looked her straight in the eye. "You know, I must say that I think you're the most beautiful woman in the neighborhood."
Laura couldn't help but blush at the compliment, though she felt a little uncomfortable under his intense stare. It was at this point that she began to suspect that Rodney's attentions were somewhat less than honorable-but he hadn't really done anything out of line, so she'd give him the benefit of the doubt.
"Thank you." was all she could say.
"You know I wouldn't say that if I didn't mean it. You're a very desirable woman." Laura wished she wasn't wearing such a skimpy bikini as she felt Rodney's eyes roaming over her body. "I don't want you to get the impression that I'm not happily married," he continued, "because I am. But-hey-even if you ate filet mignon every night, after awhile it'd get to taste pretty ordinary. Right? That's why they say variety is the spice of life and I believe that's true in everything, from food, to loving, to marriage. I'd be the last person to try to disrupt someone's marriage, but-hey-I know what it can be like to have your husband gone for weeks at a time. I know how lonely you must get. I really do-and I just want you to know that you can trust me."
And here's where the "man of action" made his big mistake. He leaned over in his chair, planted his lips upon Laura's and placed his left hand on her swollen breast. For a second Laura was too surprised to react. This was totally unexpected! She'd thought of Rodney as no more than a friend, and a married friend at that. Rodney took Laura's non-reaction to mean acceptance of his advances and so gave her soft breast a firm squeeze and shoved his tongue deep into her throat.
When Laura finally reacted, she was as quick as a cobra. Her arms shot out from her sides, his from her body. Her teeth came down, biting his tongue, and her left leg shot up between his, sending his balls careening around in his scrotum like billiard balls. Rodney let out a scream of agony and surprise and then collapsed to the ground, moaning in pain.
Laura knew that he was not hurt seriously-if she had really wanted to hurt him she could have done that very easily. She wasn't even angry with him at this point. In fact she felt a little sorry for him as he lay there moaning on the ground-but then, you should know better than to mess around with a lady cop. Or at least have the good sense to ask before you act.
She helped him to sit up in the other chair while he cradled his tender balls in his hand. He was extremely pissed off. "Why the fuck did you do that, you cunt?"
Since she'd become a cop, Laura had heard every swear word and then some-they didn't bother her at all. "Why the fuck do you think, asshole?" she smiled.
"Well, Jesus H. Christ, you could have said something, I mean you could have asked me to stop!"
"Did you ask me before you started? I'm sorry about what I did to you, but I really didn't have any choice-I've been trained to respond to attacks in that manner."
Rodney staggered to his feet. "You're going to be sorry for this some day, bitch. You're going to pay for this. No cunt does this to me and gets away with it!" Rodney then limped out of the backyard, one hand cradling his swollen nuts.
Laura was at work by this time and pulled the Nova into the parking lot of the St. Louis police department. She parked the car and locked it carefully-even in the police department parking lot there were frequent break-ins and thefts. Laura was glad to be at the job-it was good to be able to switch into her work personality. At work her personal life was totally shut to one side, her emotional life was comfortably dismissed for the eight hours she was on the job. At work she was all business and respected because of this.
As a new graduate of the police academy, two years earlier, she had a lot of problems getting accepted by the other cops. She was the second female officer in the department history. The older male cops felt there was but one place for a woman in the police department-a secretary who answered the phone and made coffee for the boys. They didn't want to see a woman packing a pistol; they didn't want to be out on the street with the animals and have to worry about a woman in the car with them.
But Laura didn't ask for any special favors. She could out-shoot any man on the force with her martial arts training; she was lethal in any physical tussle, and after she saved the life of her partner on more than one occasion her bravery was never suspect. It took a long time to earn their respect, but she did. Alex was as proud of Laura as she was of herself.
Laura headed straight for her locker in the small dressing room aside for the lady cops-all two of them. She smiled sadly when she opened the locker door and saw the photo of Alex she'd pasted there. She quickly stripped out of her street clothes and pulled her black uniform off the hanger. She stopped to look at herself in the full-length mirror. She was 26 years old and had the body of an 18 year old in full bloom. She wore a matching bra and panty set that Alex had given her on their second wedding anniversary.
Alex had always been turned on by imagine lingerie and this particular set had really excited him. They were black and silky, with lots of lace, which contrasted stunningly with her snow white skin. His eyes were aglow with pleasure when he handed her the package to unwrap. Laura gasped when she saw what was inside. She had always been a very modest girl and would never have bought something like that for herself.
When she opened the package, she didn't say a word, but simply took the box with her into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. For a few moments Alex had wondered if he had made a mistake by giving her such a racy gift. His questions were answered when she reappeared from the bedroom.
Laura sat down on the living room couch. She was wearing her most elegant dress. It was a red silk gown that clung revealingly to every shape and curve of her luscious young body. The front of the gown dipped down low, revealing the deep swelling of her ripe bosom. The gown was strapless and her long blonde hair swept and caressed her naked shoulders. She put a finger to her mouth, telling Alex that he wasn't to say a word.
Alex was amazed at what he saw. Laura was always beautiful, but on that night she simply glowed. She moved with a confident sensuality throughout the room, her sleek thighs showing through the long slit up the side of her dress.
First, she went to the bar and fixed them both a strong drink. On special occasions they got out the Chivas and on that night, she simply left the bottle out where they could get at it easily. Next she strutted over to the light switch and dimmed the room until it seemed like a smoky night club. Finally, she walked over to the stereo and put on an album of slow, sensual Latin samba music.
Then Laura did something which neither of them could hardly believe. Prim and proper, Laura. Laura, who was a virgin on their wedding night and who for a month after wore long flannel nightgowns to bed and insisted upon undressing in the closet. Prudish Laura began to do a strip-tease in front of her husband, writhing erotically to the music.
She let the red silk gown slide down her body, all the while staring Alex straight in the eye like a lusty young animal. She stepped out of the gown and stood facing him. She wore the lacy black silk bra, the frilly black silk panties with the transparent front that revealed the curly blonde hairs of her soft pussy, black garters holding up old fashioned nylon stockings with the seam going up the back, and black, spike, high heel shoes.
She let her hands run slowly down her body, starting at the creamy smoothness of her throat. She cupped her breasts and felt their fullness, a small moan escaping from deep in her throat. Her nipples instantly became erect, poking through the soft silk of the brassiere. As she began to rub her breasts, her hips moved in small, vulgar circles-as if her pelvis had a mind of its own, as if she had no control over her own cunt.
Alex sat transfixed-the only motion in his body was in his cock, which was growing hard and firm. This was a fantasy he'd had all his life and now he was seeing it come true in the flesh. Laura dropped one hand from her breasts, and let it play with the elastic at the top of her black panties. Then the hand slid underneath and she stood with her legs spread wide apart, rubbing her cunt, exploring the deep folds of the dripping pussy lips. She moaned as her forefinger parted the labia and penetrated slowly up the dark love canal.. . .
Laura snapped out of her locker room reverie and quickly dressed in the dark blue uniform. She tried not to let her mind wander with thoughts of Alex and especially with thoughts of sex. It'd been six months since she'd felt the strong arms of a man around her, six months since that constant ache between her legs had been satisfied. Her best solution was sublimation. Putting all of her energy into her work. Being the best damn lady cop the city of St. Louis was ever going to have.
Finally dressed, Laura strode confidently out of the cramped dressing room and down the hall to the briefing room. She was on time, as always, and took her usual seat towards the back. The room was alive with the early morning babble of 30 cops getting ready to go to work. They were talking about everything but police business. Girlfriends. Wives. Baseball scores. Inflation, upcoming parties, broken down cars, and the assorted and varied physical ailments they all seemed to suffer from. There was an unwritten rule, of sorts, that the few minutes all of the cops were together in the morning before starting work would be given over to talk about themselves and their lives. Police work already took up too much of their time and thoughts.
The room immediately quieted down when Lt. Mankowitz entered the room. He was a tough cop, one who'd risen up through the ranks and was respected by everyone. When he said something, he meant it and if you valued your ass, you'd better pay close attention when he spoke.
He swaggered to the podium-the macho walk was acquired in his early days on foot patrol when a confident demeanor was an important part of street survival. He casually tossed his clipboard onto the podium.
"Good morning, men. And lady," he said, smiling in Laura's direction. He said this every morning and Laura didn't mind at all-that's just the way Lt. Mankowitz was. She knew she had his respect as a person and a police officer. Though it hadn't always been that way. In the beginning, Mank, as he was called, had a very hard time getting used to the idea of a lady cop. He finally accepted it, but only after covering a shoot-out at a supermarket where Laura had courageously run into the field of fire to pull a wounded officer to safety.
Mankowitz went through the usual early morning business rundowns of crimes committed the evening before, descriptions of stolen cars, the usual assorted rapes and assaults that take place every evening in every American city, and a pep talk about the need to step up the rate of traffic citations-revenues were dropping and city hall was putting a little pressure on the department to write more tickets and thereby help pick up the slack.
Finally he got around to the business of assignments. "As you all know," he said, "the animals have just about take over Fleet Street. The winos are there in the mornings and the hookers are there at night. All fine and good-at least we know where they are and what they're up to. The only problem is, well, election time is coming up and our friendly D.A. is running again and he's going to be on a "Clean up St. Louis" kick. So, I've been getting a lot of pressure to step up things on Fleet Street. So, it's time to turn the heat up, time to let the animals know who runs this city.
"The last time we went to war with the hookers of this city, you know what kind of shit we had to take from the citizens' review board. Seems that some of the ladies felt they were mistreated by some of you boys. I don't give a shit about any of that, as you well know, but the review board can be a real pain in the ass. I think I've got a way around that, though."
He smiled mischievously at Laura. "Officer Davis, you're hereby transferred for a period of two months to the night shift, with specific responsibilities for taking care of the animals down on Fleet Street. Officer Melons will be your partner. Any questions?"
Laura was too stunned to say a thing. What a hassle this was going to be! Going to war with the hookers and the winos, what bullshit, she thought. Yet, Mark had a point. Every time they cracked down on the hookers, all kinds of misconduct charges were brought up against the boys. Since Officer Melons was the only other lady cop on the force and they would be doing the cracking down, perhaps the hookers and their slick lawyers wouldn't be able to raise such a stink.
The assignment was also a break-through in another sense. The force had never dared put the two women together on an assignment. Laura had always rankled against this implied incapability and weakness. Now was a chance to work with another woman, one who also happened to be a good friend, and to show everyone concerned that women don't need men to lean on to do good police work.
That evening when Laura returned home from work there was a letter waiting for her. Her sister and husband were going to spend two months of the summer in Europe and Michelle, Laura's 16 year old niece, was coming to St. Louis to stay during that time. Laura would be picking her up in two weeks at the train station.
Laura smiled as she set the letter down on the desk. Michelle was a good kid and it'd be good to have somebody else around the house. The place had seemed really empty without Alex.
CHAPTER THREE
Desdemona Valentine did not live on Fleet Street. That would have been very, very uncool. It'd been thirty years since anybody with any kind of class whatsoever had lived on Fleet Street. The classiest part of the downtown area was called Browning Heights and that, of course, is where Desdemona lived. Not at the top of her high rise apartment building, but not at the bottom either. It's not a good idea in her kind of business to draw too much attention to yourself.
But the suite was high enough up to offer a commanding view of downtown St. Louis, with the silver arch dead center in her large picture window. The interior was the epitome of good taste. As it well should be, since Barrett Kirkpatrick, member of the American Society of Interior Design, had done the decorating. A faggot, thought Desdemona when she first met him, but a talented faggot.
The days of outlandish styles for madams, pimps, and hookers were long gone, at least at the top end of the scale. Oh, the lower class street niggers still had apartments done up with day-glo red crushed velvet couches and chairs. Tiger skin design fuck carpet, purple drapes that might have come from a funeral parlor, and throbbing disco lights that would make a blind man happy he couldn't see. The lower class pimps still had wet dreams over metal flaked Cadillac Eldorados with "gangster whitewalls," big TV antennas, wet bars, and reproductions of the Venus De
Milo as hood ornaments. Desdemona drove a silver BMW Baveria, which she traded in every year on a new one, same car, same color.
Desdemona sat in the leather chair near the picture window, looking out at the night time St. Louis skyline. The lights twinkled as far off into the distance as the eye could see. A truly vibrant city, thought Desdemona, one that was just coming into its own-like Atlanta, like Houston, and like Seattle. Cities on the way up, with that special kind of energy and pride the older cities just no longer had.
Sitting in the opposite leather chair was the long, muscular shape of Mr. Washington White. He was hunched over the coffee table, razor blade in hand, carefully chopping the fine crystals of cocaine into even finer crystals. He was very slow and methodical with the blade, chopping carefully, but with confidence and precision. Washington enjoyed preparing his drugs almost as much as he enjoyed using them. The preparation was a prelude, like a doctor scrubbing up and slipping into his greens. If the coke was not chopped just right, big clumps would stick to the membrane lining his upper nasal cavities. These big clumps, instead of rapidly being absorbed and giving instant pleasure, like the finer crystals, would sit and burn a painful hole right through the tender tissue. And that was uncool, very uncool. Mr. Washington White was never uncool.
Desdemona turned her gaze from the St. Louis skyline down to the coffee table where Washington was pushing the cocaine around with the edge of the razor blade, forming long, tempting glittering lines.
She didn't say a word, but simply took the solid gold tube that hung on a chain from her neck, bent to the table and began to suck the powder deep into her head. When she finished, Washington did the same. Then they both leaned back in their chairs, leaned way back, sniffing their noses and feeling the warm glow of pleasure spread from their heads down through their bodies.
Washington smiled, his white teeth lighting up the darkness of his black face.
"That some mighty fine shit, baby." he murmured to Desdemonia.
"Should be, jack," she replied. "Uncut, unfucked with-straight from Miami. The very best money-or anything else can buy."
Washington's broad smile grew even larger. That's what he liked about Desdemona-always the best, the very best. Whether it was drugs, women, food, wine, or cars, it was only the best. Washington liked that. He learned class from Desdemona; he learned style. Before he hooked up with her, he was just another street-wise nigger, just another boy who could talk himself into a few dollars or out of an arrest. Before he met Desdemona, he thought he looked pretty sharp in his double-knits and polyester. Now he laughed when he saw the cats on the street wearing that kind of shit. Washington looked like he stepped right out of the pages of Gentleman's Quarterly. He laughed, looking over at Desdemona. She was fine, mighty fine in every way, and Washington knew where his bread was buttered.
They were just getting their minds right before the business they had ahead of them that night. Washington was going to break in a new girl. A real beauty, 18 years old and fresh off the bus from Chicago. A white girl. Blonde hair, jade-green eyes, a tight young body. She could've easily been a cheerleader the year before at Lincoln High School. If she'd been interested in that sort of thing. Which she wasn't. To her parent's dismay, she'd always seemed to hang around with the "bad" kids. The kids who stood around every morning before class on the corner across the street from the school, smoking cigarettes and looking belligerent.
Her name was Patti. Her father was a self-made man and owned the largest plumbing supply house on the north side of Chicago. He wanted the best for his little girl-even if his little girl wasn't particularly interested in what he thought the best was. He had plans for her and she never ever really seemed to measure up. From the time she became a teenager they'd been at war.
All their problems came to a point when Patti graduated from high school. She thought that meant she was an adult and should be given more freedom, more control over her own life. Her parents, afraid that they might be losing their little girl, drew the reins in even tighter and let her know that, "unless she shaped up," they were going to restrict her even further. After all, "weren't they still paying the bills" and "doesn't your daddy provide the roof over your ungrateful shoulders?"
One day, Patti decided she couldn't take it any longer. While her parents were sleeping, she slipped into their bedroom and emptied daddy's wallet of the $238 it contained. Then, with her small suitcase in hand, she went out front to the waiting taxi and headed for the Greyhound Bus Station.
Three days later, Patti met Desdemona. Patti was sitting on a bench in the small park near the arch. Her money was just about gone and she didn't know what to do. She just sat there.
Desdemona read the signals perfectly. One look at the forlorn girl sitting on that bench had told her well trained eye all it needed to know. She sat down on the bench next to Patti and struck up a conversation.
Of course, it wasn't really Desdemona's apartment that Patti would be house-sitting. It was a special apartment, one that Desdemona kept especially for this purpose. But Patti had no idea what the purpose was. She thought she'd run into an angel. A savior who allowed her to salvage her pride, give her a few days to get her feet on the ground, a chance to show her parents that she could make it on her own. Even though they had no idea where she was, she wasn't going to have to come crawling home to them.
As Desdemona and Washington drove across town in her BMW, Patti had been in the apartment for four days. Desdemona had phoned in every night to see "how things were". Patti was taking real good care of the place for her.
Desdemona was a good driver-and fast. The custom sound system, with its 100 watts of clean power and six strategically placed speakers, pumped the smooth sounds of the O'Jays. Washington, in the passenger seat, was feeling good. Good coke, a good car, and good sounds were all he needed in life to be happy, that and good pussy, of course. But ever since he'd started working for Desdemona he had more good pussy than any nigger even had a right to dream of. Shit, he thought to himself, I'm even smoother than Smokey Robinson.
Desdemona parked the car in front of the apartment building. The building was fairly nondescript-not too nice, but not run down either. Just the kind of place a runaway middle class girl might feel comfortable and safe in.
When Patti opened the front door she was all smiles. "Hi, Desdemona, glad to see you back!" Then she smiled at Washington. "Who's your friend?"
"Patti, I'd like you to meet Washington. He helps me with my business."
They made small talk for a short while. Patti was far more animated than when Desdemona had first picked her up in the park. Her depression was now pretty much gone and in its place was a new self assurance, a new confidence. She had made the break from home, landed herself in a nice apartment, and was doing okay. They had a lovely time, the three of them. Desdemona had opened a bottle of wine from the kitchen and they sat in the living room like the oldest of friends.
"Patti, what are you going to do now that I'm back?" asked Desdemona.
Patti was silent for a moment. She hadn't really thought about it. She didn't want to think about it. The only place she had to go was back to the park, or back to Chicago and her parents-and anything was better than that.
"Oh, I don't know," she answered, "I guess I'll get a job or something, and then maybe get my own apartment somewhere.. . . "
Desdemona glanced at Washington. They had been there many times before with many other young girls. This was going to be easy. These sweet young chickens could be taught to peck and flap their wings. They just needed a little guidance and a firm hand.
"I was wondering," said Desdemona, "if you might be interested in working for me. I've been impressed with you and I think you could make a solid contribution to my business. What do you say?"
This was too good to be true. Patti was so grateful she almost began to cry.
And tjien Desdemona added "You can even have this apartment. I've got another on the other side of town I like to stay in."
That did it. The tears began to flow down her smooth, unwrinkled, girlish cheeks. "I don't know what to say," she sobbed. 'Thank you, thank you. But what can I do for you? I don't even know what your business is-I can't type or anything like that." Then she started crying twice as hard as before. "I can't do anything!" she wailed.
Desdemona sat next to her on the couch, putting an arm about her, comforting her. "There, there, there . . . if I didn't think you could do the job then I wouldn't have asked you. I know you'll be great." She took a handkerchief from her purse and dried her tears.
"What we do," Desdemona continued, "is run an escort service of sorts. Businessmen come into town by themselves, they may want company at dinner or to the opera. They may want someone to show them around the city or any number of other things. I know you'll do great. Do you want to work for me, Patti?"
Patti didn't hesitate. "Oh, yes! You just tell me what to do and I'll do it."
Desdemona patted her on the knee. "That's the girl. I have to go now, but Washington will stay and tell you more about the job. I'll be talking to you soon." Desdemona gathered up her coat and disappeared out the front door.
Patti was a little nervous at first with this muscular, black hulk of a man sitting in the chair across from her. Her parents were not very fond of black people. In fact they were out and out racists. From the time she was a little girl, they had warned her that to be alone with a black man meant nothing but trouble. Big trouble. But Washington seemed friendly enough and he worked for Desdemona-so she guessed it was okay.
Washington had gone to the bar and helped himself to a scotch. He made one for Patti and brought it over and sat it on the table next to her. He sat back down in his chair, relaxed and smiling.
"So Desdemona tells me you finished up wid your high school jes last year," said Washington.
"Yeah, I even graduated," offered Patti.
"Well, that's good. That's good. Not enough people these days know the value of a good education. Yes sir, a good education is important no matter what kind a work you be doin'. " Washington paused a second, scrutinizing her. "You wanna smoke a little pot?"
Patti didn't know what to say. Back in high school she smoked pot almost every single day. All of her friends smoked dope too-and did a lot of other things. For the last few days she'd been dying to get hold of some weed, but without any money or contacts, it'd been an impossibility. But she didn't know if Washington was just trying to find out if she used drugs or not before Desdemona hired her. She didn't want to blow her new job if the boss didn't want any dopers around.
Washington read her hesitation. "Hey baby, it's cool. All us who work for Desdemona get high. She do too. Fact is, she gave me this pot just tonight-thought you might like to have some to relax. Thought it might make you feel like one of the family."
Reassurred, Patti didn't hesitate. "I'd love some," she said. Her delight was obvious. Washington smiled with all those white teeth, thinking how pretty she looked. How young, how innocent, how sweet. He knew she would taste so fine and that furry pussy would be so tight, sooo tight. He thought of what she'd look like in a skimpy high school cheerleader's outfit and the thought began to raise his massive black member from its slumber between his legs.
Washington pulled out a perfectly rolled joint from his shirt pocket. With his solid gold lighter he lit it, inhaled deeply and then passed it to Patti. She greedily sucked the smoke deep into her lungs and held her breath as she passed the joint back to Washington.
She exhaled slowly, enjoying every last particle of smoke as it flowed from her lungs, up her throat and then out her perfectly formed pouty mouth.
"Desdemona said you'd tell me all about the job. Some kind of escort service?"
"That's right," mumbled Washington. "You just be patient, we'll get around to business soon enough, honey."
Soon they were smoking the roach, sucking hard to get every last bit of smoke from the tiny butt. Patti took the last puff and then ate the roach. Washington reached into his pocket and pulled out a small packet.
"You like to do ludes?" he asked.
Well, Patti loved to do quaaludes. Those pills were one of her very favorite things in the whole world. But she also knew what happened when she was high on quaaludes-she'd do damn near anything. That, along with the fact that she was already very high from the pot and alone with a strange black man made her decide to say no.
"No thanks," she said. "I think I'm high enough on the pot."
Washington handed a little pill over to her, a small white one with the numbers 714 imprinted in the top. "Here, go on ahead and take this."
"Really, I don't think I should."
Washington's smile grew larger, but also less friendly. There was something decidedly vicious in that leer. "Baby, it don't matter whether you think you should or not. That ain't the point. The point is that my job is to train you fo' your job and that means you gotta do what I say. You dig? 'Cause if n I go on back to Desdemona and sez that you didn't do what ol Washington tells you to do, well, she ain't gonna be too happy, no sir. Fact is, she gonna be mighty pissed off.
She gonna fire yo ass and you gonna be out on the street again-but worse than that 'cause you already owe her. Who you think pay for this apartment? Santa Claus? Who buy the food in the freezer? Girl, you gotta learn that there ain't no free rides in the life, there ain't no free rides. Now, sweet chops, when Washington says take the pill, what you say is thank you. Now, take the pill."
He leaned over and handed her the pill. She sullenly took it in her hand, not saying anything. She was, by nature, a strong-willed girl, used to having her way. She didn't like anybody telling her what to do-that's why she ran away from home in the first place. She placed the pill down on the table. .
"I'm sure that Desdemona would rather I didn't get involved with drugs," she said coolly. "In fact, if I told her about what you tried to do tonight, I rather think it'd be you instead of me get gets fired."
Washington laughed in her face, got up ,took one step toward her, lashed out with his left arm, striking her full on the face, sending her sprawling. "Bitch," he said, "when I tell you to do something, then you do it! Don't give Washington no shit!"
Patti was flat on her ass in the corner of the room, one hand on her swollen lip and the other wiping the tears from her eyes. She was scared, real scared. No one had ever hit her before-her parents didn't even believe in spanking. All of a sudden she was in an apartment with a big, mean nigger, high on pot.
"If I take the pill," she asked in a quivering voice, "will you leave me alone and go home?"
Washington walked over, grabbed her by the hair and viciously threw her across the room. "Goddamn it'! " he screamed. "You damn well better do as I say and don't go giving Washington no conditions!"
Patti's head throbbed where the hair was pulled. She thought better of doing any more arguing with Washington. Her mother had been right about black people. For a second, she wondered whether her mother might have been right about a few other things too. But she didn't have time to think about that kind of thing. She scrambled on her hands and knees over to the table and gulped down the pill.
As soon as she'd taken the pill, Washington seemed to visibly relax. His whole threatening attitude seemed to disappear and he seemed to become a nice guy again. He went to the bar and fixed them each a fresh drink.
"Sit up in the chair, baby, and drink this.' he said calmly. "Soon as you start comin' on to that lude you be feeling better. There's a lot you gotta learn 'bout this job and I'm the man that's goin' teach you. But the first thing you got to learn is that when Washington says you do something, then you do it. You don't argue with me, baby. You don't whine, you don't give excuses-none of that shit. You just do it!" He laughed, sort of chuckling to himself. "Yeah, you just do it and you have yourself a sweet time when you be doing it."
They sat drinking in silence for awhile, each with their own thoughts. Patti's nervousness and apprehension began to vanish as the qualalude and alcohol spread their warm glow through her body. Her whole body felt pleasantly tingly, the skin alive with sensation, wanting to be touched, wanting to be stroked.
Washington got up and sat down on the couch. He leaned over and turned the dimmer of the light down a little lower. "Come over here, baby," he commanded, his voice soft but firm.
Patti didn't want to go, but she had a pretty good idea of what would happen if she didn't. She meekly walked over and sat on the far end of the couch from Washington. She had a good idea of what he was leading up to and it scared her to death. She had had tentative, reluctant sex with her old boyfriend in high and didn't think too much of the whole experience. And because of her good looks, she'd spent many years fighting off the amorous advances of high school boys and college men. She was good at cock-teasing. But she'd never been with a man before, especially never a black man.
If she wasn't so high, she would've been scared to death. As it was, she was pretty damned frightened, but the drugs gave the whole thing very much of a dream-like quality.
She sat down on the sofa, knees together, looking straight ahead. She didn't want her "body language" to give Washington any ideas whatsoever. Maybe, she thought, if she acted totally uninterested, Washington might not do what she thought he was about to. Her heart sunk when he lifted one black arm, curved a finger, and silently ordered her to slide closer to him. She slid over.
"That's better," observed Washington. "You learn fast. You do a good job for us and you'll be sitting pretty. Nice clothes, nice car-you get to keep this apartment. And we take care of you. You get sick, we take you to the doctor. Somebody hassles you and we make sure they never want to do it again. You get in trouble and we get you out. It's what they call a "nice arrangement." We all one family-those of us that work for Desdemona. But you gots to be good, you gots to be first class. Because if you ain't, then you don't work for Desdemona and you be out on your own."
Almost afraid to ask, Patti ventured, "just what is it that I have to do?"
Washington laughed and slid his arm around her shoulder. "Desdemona told you. We run an escort service. Businessmen come to town. They be lonely and they want some company, you know. They don't want to eat dinner alone. They don't want to go to the movie alone. They don't want to go home alone."
"What!" cried Patti, standing up.
Washington just smiled confidently. "I said, they don't want to go home alone."
Patti backed away from him, shock and indignation on her face. "I would never, I would never do anything like that!" she cried.
Washington was still calm, but there was a fire burning behind his eyes. "Now, Patti honey, I thought we already had this conversation. I thought that we had worked it out so that when I told you to do something, you did. No discussion, no talk. I am a patient man. A gentle man. But my patience is wearing out, you dig? And when the patience wears out, why then I even scare myself. So why don't you just come over here before I have to go over there and get you?"
Patti ran to the door to escape. The handle just turned freely in her hand. The door wouldn't open-there was no way to get out. Patti, like a frightened doe, turned to face Washington.
With a resigned expression on his face, he slowly raised his massive black body from the sofa. He walked deliberately over to the front door where Patti stood shaking. Washington was so fast that Patti never even saw the blow that sent her sprawling. But it knocked her halfway across the room, flat on her face. She had barely hit the ground when a swift right foot to her ass lifted her clear off the ground, flipping her over in the air so that she landed on her back.
The second she landed, Washington was on her, pinning her shoulders to the carpet. His black form towered over her terrified face. His right hand shot out, slapping her hard across the face, raising a bright red welt on her pure white skin. Then his left. And then the right again. The smacking sounds bounced and echoed off the apartment walls.
Then he stopped. He knew it would be easy, knew that these little white girls had no stomach for pain. He'd teach her all about pain-but that would come later. Right now all he wanted was to break her spirit, snap her will.
Patti sobbed uncontrollably. She was helpless and she knew it. Back home, no one would have even dared touch her. Her daddy would have made sure of that, her daddy would have made them sorry. But she'd run away from daddy and now she was out in the real world and she was about to learn what it was all about.
And she knew that whatever this cruel black man wanted from her, she would have to give. She knew that whatever demand he made, her answer would have to be yes.
Washington waited for her crying to calm a bit and then gently said, "I do believe, my pretty little girl, that we are comin' to an understanding of just how it's going be between us." He then got up off her shoulders, walked back to the armchair and sat down, spreading his legs.
"Come over here," he commanded. Patti didn't have to be told twice this time. Stifling her sobs she obediently walked over to the chair. Washington smiled at seeing her so submissive-not that he minded beating the bitches to make them behave, but all that slapping around could wreak havoc with a man's manicure.
"Now kneel down between my legs."
Patti did just as she was told, the marijuana and qualuudes still flowing through her body, making everything dream-like, making everything not quite as bad as it really was. Patti was on her knees between the black man's legs, looking up at his face. At that moment he was her god, her master. His wish was her command. She was his slave and nothing more. She smiled bitterly at the thought-a beautiful white girl the slave of a nigger! God, she thought, if only daddy could see me now.
Washington began to talk in a low voice. "Now, baby, today's lesson is gonna be how to give a man a proper blow job. How to suck him off and how to swallow it. How to make him shoot that hot sticky cum all over your young face and let it run down your cheeks, let it run down your chin, let it run over your sweet red lips and into your hungry mouth. You're gonna learn to open that mouth and to take cock, to take cock all the way down your throat, to swallow that meat. You gonna be gaggin' on cock, and you gonna love it too."
Patti began to feel sick to her stomach. She had never done that before, though her boyfriends had always tried to get her to do it. She thought it was nasty and vile and disgusting. To actually put a man's penis into your mouth!! She didn't have much time to think about it, though.
"Take your hands," said Washington in a stern voice, "and pull my zipper down," Washington was leaning back in the chair with his arms behind his head.
Patti slowly reached up and unbuttoned Washington's gold Gucci belt. She couldn't believe what she was doing. But she was doing it and she wasn't about to risk hesitating and getting Washington angry again. She pulled the belt buckle aside and then undid the top button of his slacks. She grabbed the top of the zipper and slowly began to pull it down. The slacks gradually came apart the farther down she went. When she reached the bottom she stopped and awaited the next command.
Washington spoke harshly. "I ain't about to tell you how to do every little thing! What the fuck do you think you supposed to do now!"
"I, uh, well," Patti began timidly, "I've never done this before and I'm not sure-"
"Fuck that shit!" Washington interrupted. "I think you know what's goin' on here and if n you don't, why don't you just use your woman's instinct and get down to business. Now I don't want to hear any more shit outta you."
Washington was right. Even though Patti had never done anything like that before, she knew what it was all about. Her girlfriends in high school had told her all about it and two summers earlier she had gone downtown with a friend and seen "Deep Throat." She knew what it was all about.
Patti reached up and pulled the top of his slacks apart. Washington raised his hips so that she could slide them down. At first she tried to avoid looking at what she had just exposed, but finally had to confront what was before her.
The first thing she did was to gasp with surprise. She had seen penises before, she had even given her old boyfriend a hand job once or twice, but that totally left her unprepared for what she now saw. Washington was hung like a big black stallion. His thick, meaty cock, even hanging limply between his legs, was a solid eight inches of ebony muscle. Patti thought it looked like a huge black sausage, though she was a little confused by the way the end of it looked. It appeared that Washington had no cock-head. But then she remembered about circumcision and realized that Washington must have never had the operation. His massive rod lay atop two equally impressive balls, all covered with kinky, short black curly negroid hair.
Patti reached up and tentatively placed her hand around the thick black cock. She shuddered for a second imagining that it was a snake-a vicious black mamba. But then she felt the stirrings within, felt the blood rushing to fill the giant cock cavity, felt the rod beginning to stiffen just at her touch.
There was plenty of room on Washington's love rod for Patti to place both hands. She began stroking slowly and saw the huge pink cock-head slide out from beneath the folds of black skin around the top. She ran her fingers up and around the head and the slit, let them run down the length of his cock and then cradled his balls in her hand.
Washington let out a low moan of pleasure when she fondled his nuts. They were so large that they could both barely fit in her hand. The cock was growing and Patti was incredulous. She couldn't believe what was happening right before her eyes, couldn't believe that the black monster was actually growing so large. Soon it was rock hard, hard as a diamond, all ll inches sticking straight out from his sweaty groin.
He reached one huge black hand down and wrapped it around and through Patti's blonde hair. He applied a little pressure to the back of her head, pushing it toward his cock. His meaning was unmistakeable-just like a rider giving his horse a signal. Patti knew what was expected.
She opened her mouth to get her first taste of cock. The tip of the swollen pink cock-head punched past her lips and she opened wide. God, oh God, thought Patti in anguish. How did I end up here, why didn't I stay home where it was nice and safe. Oh, Gross! A nigger's cock, I'm going to suck on a goddamn nigger's cock. Washington kept pushing his thick rod in further. Patti opened wider to accommodate the massive girth.
"Now suck on it, bitch! Suck on it and tell me how much you like nigger cock in your sweet white mouth!"
Patti started sucking, though it was difficult because the penis filled her entire mouth.
"I said, tell me how much you like sucking on nigger cock!" Washington demanded. He grabbed her hair and wrenched her head back. "Tell me, goddamn it, tell me!! ! "
"I, uh, I, uh," Patti stammered, "I love sucking on your . . . nigger cock."
"That's better, cunt. Now suck on it. Lick it, love it."
Patti began to suck furiously as Washington pumped his suffocating thickness deep into her mouth. Only by keeping two hands firmly around his cock could she prevent him from ramming it all the way down her throat.
He grabbed the back of her head and began to pull her head up and down the length of his shaft. Pumping faster and more furiously.
"Oh yeah!! ! " he moaned. "Just suck it like that, suck it like that, you white bitch, you white cunt, suck on my big black cock. Taste my big black cock deep in your slut mouth. You on your knees, you on your knees in front of your nigger god, sucking on his nigger cock. And you love it. I knows you love it."
Patti began to feel his dick swell and throb within her mouth. She felt so degraded, so humiliated. If she wasn't terrified of what this nigger animal might do if she displeased him, she never would have done it. But she didn't have much time for thoughts like these-Washington was going crazy, slamming his cock in and out of her mouth, his balls slapping and pounding against her chin. She gasped for breath, thinking that if this ordeal didn't end soon, she'd pass right out.
Washington began to grunt and rasp, making strange animal noises that came from deep in his chest. "Uhhh, uggghhhgg, ooooo!! ! ! ! Oh, baby, oh you sweet white whore, you suckin' on my cock and you goin' make me cum. I goin' drown you in hot nigger jism."
Then his groans grew deeper, the stroke of his black member deep into her mouth, deeper, slower, more deliberate.
Patti felt the thick shaft swell even larger and then burst. Washington let out a low moan and began to pump squirt after squirt of the hot milky fluid down her throat. Patti was swallowing as fast as she could to keep up with the flow, but couldn't get it all down. A thick drool of cum escaped from the corner of her mouth and ran down her chin.
Washington groaned a sigh of relief and then patted her on the head. His energies, for the moment, were spent. "That pretty good, baby, that pretty good. For a beginner you ain't bad-though you got a lot to learn. We gots to teach you to relax those throat muscles so you can take it all the way down. But for a start, that wasn't bad, that wasn't bad at all. Now stand up."
Patti did as she was told. The taste of the salty sperm was still in her mouth and it wasn't as bad as she thought it was going to be. Washington was just leaning back in the chair, his once mighty cock now lying limp between his legs. Patti thought it was still pretty damn impressive.
"Turn around and let me take a good look at you."
Patti slowed, turned around and couldn't help but blush under his close scrutiny.
"I like that turning red shit," Washington commented as he saw her blush. "The customers will like that-you just remember how to do that. Yeah . . . you look pretty good, the clothes, raggedy as they are, hang pretty good on you. Well, let's see what you look like in the flesh-take 'em off."
Patti knew better than to argue. But she'd been hoping, been praying that he might be content with just a blow job, that he wouldn't want anything more. But now it dawned on her that not only did he want everything, but that he was going to take everything and that there was nothing she could do about it.
And she also realized just what this escort service was all about. She was going to be a whore and there was nothing that she could do about it. She was going to be a prostitute. She ran away from home and ended Up a prostitute and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. So this was the price of friendship with Desdemona, this was the price of the apartment and the frozen food she found in the refrigerator.
She tried to stop from crying, but couldn't. A small tear ran down the side of her face. She faced Washington and slowly began to unbutton her blouse. First the top button, then the next and then the one down below that. She opened the blouse wide, revealing her lacy white brassiere, her soft young breasts swelling out over the top. She thought with irony how her old boyfriend would have loved to see her do this and how she'd always been too prudish to let him. She looked at Washington who was sitting in the chair, a fat smile across his black face and his cock dangling between his legs. She blinked back another tear and reached back to unfasten the brassiere.
CHAPTER FOUR
Officer Melons, Laura's partner and the only other female officer on the force was fun to work with. Laura hit it off with her right from the start. They'd both faced the same wall of suspicion and distrust when they joined the force and had both overcome it. Laura was glad that Sally Melons was her new partner. She knew they'd work well together.
Physically, Officer Melons was just the opposite of Laura. Sally was exactly what you might expect a lady cop to look like. She was stout and strong and her short-cropped black hair made her look a little more like a bull dyke than a lady cop. Her large breasts were often the butt of jokes around the station house, many of them in connection with Melons-which was her last name. Laura was soft and Sally was strong. Laura was shapely and Sally was bulky. Laura could have been a fashion model and Sally a truck driver-they were that different.
But they immediately took a strong liking to each other and even started spending time together when they were off work. Of course Laura's husband, Alex, was still missing in Chili and she was lonely, and Sally just never seemed to go out or get involved with anyone, so she was lonely too. It made a nice combination.
The two of them had immediately begun work on their new assignment-which was to clean up Fleet Street and make it presentable before the next election. The mayor and the D.A. had both made a point of promising that this would be accomplished and the police department was feeling a lot of pressure.
The first thing that Laura did was talk to all the undercover officers who were working the area. She wanted to know what "games" (what kind of crimes) were being played and who the players (criminals) were.
Jim Barchin had been working undercover in the Fleet Street area for about six months. He was a rugged cop with many years experience on the force. His specialty was smoking out the faggots in the gay bars. He could easily pass for one of them himself, with his classical features, firm tight body, and constant come-hither look in his eyes. He could have been a young Adonis if not for the outrageous size of his chin. That coupled with the name of Barchin made him the butt of many jokes around the station house. Because of his work with faggots, his nickname was the "chinpansy."
Patti met with him early one morning in the station house to get an idea of just what was going on down on Fleet Street. They were in one of the meeting rooms at the station, basically an empty room with a conference table, chairs spread around and nothing on the wall. Jim was smoking a Marlboro and drinking coffee when Laura walked in. Laura had her own cup of coffee and didn't waste any time with small talk before getting down to business.
She pulled up one of the institutional brown vinyl chairs and sat down. Jim didn't like the early morning and it showed-he was unshaven and looked like he'd slept in his clothes. Not having to be too concerned about appearances was one of the reasons Jim liked working undercover.
"As I'm sure you're well aware of by now," Laura began, "the department is getting leaned on pretty hard by city hall to clean up the Fleet Street area. My partner, Officer Melons, and I have been given the job of coordinating the clean-up. What I want from you is everything you know about Fleet Street. I want to know who the players are, who needs to get busted right away, who might lay low until after the election and who is dangerous."
Officer Barchin lit another Marlboro and inhaled deeply. "Laura," he began, "they have certainly given you the Pandora's box this time around. That street is bad news and there are some bad characters down there. You got a big numbers business goin' on, you got the booky joint in the basement of the Stanford building, you got that garage that's open all night, usually dismantling stolen vehicles, you got the faggot bars, the dirty book stores, let's see-I think they've been makin' dirty movies up above the Chi Chi Club and, of course, you got the most visible problem on the street, the hookers. Fleet Street is where the sisters take their stroll."
They talked for almost two hours. Laura learned about all the various characters on the street and devised a plan to help quiet things down and to get some publicity before the election. The numbers business and the bookies were going to leave alone. This kind of crime isn't really visible to the general public and usually has big mafia guys backing it up. Not something to be taken on unless absolutely necessary. They decided it wasn't all that necessary.
It'd be easy enough to raid the auto garage with the stolen cars and they decided that that would be one of the first priorities. That type of operation would also get a lot of good press in the papers.
They both agreed that the biggest priority would have to be getting the hookers off the street. Any respectable citizen could drive down Fleet Street on any night of the week and see the girls standing under the streetlights, swishing down the sidewalks, and hitchhiking on the corners. They boldly smiled at every driver and would sometimes even wink at a man who had his wife and children in the car with him.
The regular street hookers wouldn't be too much of a problem. All they had to do was bust their asses and that would be it. The problem, they both agreed, would be another group of hookers. And that group of hookers was associated with a certain lady by the name of Desdemona Valentine.
Months before, word had filtered down from the top echelons of the police department that Desdemona was to be left alone. No one asked why, that would have not been very smart. But everyone pretty much assumed that the reason was that Desdemona had some friends in very high places in the department. And some information about those friends that could prove to be very embarrassing.
This time, however, the word to crack down came from outside the department. City Hall usually overruled the police department and so Ms. Desdemona Valentine was no longer off limits. But, if possible, she was to be handled with kid gloves and, if busted, busted so hard that she couldn't cause any problems for anybody in the department.
Towards the end of their meeting, Laura noticed with disgust that Officer Barchin was paying more attention to certain parts of her body than to the subject they were discussing. She noticed that his gaze kept dropping to her breasts and staying there. She liked being admired, but all it did in this situation was pain-fully remind her that Alex was gone, Alex was missing. It had been a long time since she'd been touched, since she'd been held, since her husband had made love to her-or looked at those breasts like Officer Barchin was now doing.
"Something interesting to look at on my chest, Officer Barchin?" Laura asked pointedly.
Jim was caught and he knew it. He blushed a bright red, stammering, "uh, well, uh, not really, Officer Davis. I was, uh, just daydreaming.. . . "
"I suggest you confine your daydreaming to when you are not at work and for the moment focus your attention on police business," Laura said coldly.
Jim straightened up his chair, staring icicles at her. She had embarrassed him when she didn't have to. Yeah, he'd been looking at her tits-big fucking deal. They were great tits, so what? She didn't have to make such a big fucking deal out of it. She didn't have to get on her high horse and try to embarrass him about the goddamn thing. Christ! He was a man and she was a woman, what did she want? After all, he thought, her husband had been gone for over six months. She's got to be hungry for some cock. Just a cold fucking bitch, he thought. Just a cold fucking bitch. She's good looking, but no one's good looking enough to give that kind of shit to Jim Barchin and get away with it. Laura had not made a friend.. . .
When they left, Laura realized that she might have overreacted to Barchin's gaze, but fuck it, she thought, she was a police officer and not a goddamn Playboy Bunny.
Sally was driving as they pulled out of the station parking onto Bush Street. Sally was the more aggressive, confident driver of the two, so she was usually the one behind the wheel.
Different parts of St. Louis were like being in different parts of the world. Because of its situation on the Mississippi River, there was a large and active dock area with all the low lifes and problems a dock area anywhere else in the world has. But once you crossed to the East Side of the River, there were no low lifes to be found, just wide long streets with neatly cut lawns and stately trees. People there led clean and untroubled lives, their cars were always washed and their children were always good. Tonight, Sally and Laura would not be crossing the river; they would be staying on the West Side. In the heart of the West Side was Fleet Street.
They didn't really plan on any action that night; they just wanted to check the place out, get a feel for the scene. As they drew nearer to Fleet Street, they could see the neighborhood deteriorate. The houses grew seedier, black people hung around outside on the porches, sipping beer, drinking wine, smoking cigarettes and watching the world go by. The cars parked on the street grew older, less cared for; empty lots became more and more covered with refuse and garbage and abandoned cars.
The people in the neighborhood didn't like police cars and the black and white that Sally and Laura drove drew nothing but dull hostile stares-mingled with curiosity at seeing two women in a police car.
Sally swung the car onto Fleet Street. Even though they were on special assignment, they still kept the radio on, since they were expected to respond to any emergency calls.
The next morning they compared notes and basically came up with the same conclusions. They were going to leave bookies and numbers runners alone and concentrate most of their energies on getting the hookers off the streets. Every single undercover cop had discussed Desdemona Valentine at length.
She was the only female pimp on the street and also the most powerful. Not only did she have the finest streetwalkers working the pavement, but she also had a stable of the finest call-girls in the city. And everyone had been quick to point out that she had some friends in very high places. Everyone also agreed on one other point-there could be no crackdown on Fleet Street without a crackdown on Desdemona Valentine.
Since Sally and Laura were both working special assignment, and could set their own hours, they both agreed to take the rest of the day off and meet later that night to go down to Fleet Street to check things out.
At 9 pm they were both in their uniforms and in the garage checking out their squad car. They drove down to Fleet Street.
There were two or three girls on every street corner and it was obvious what they were there for. Short mini-skirts, over-done hairdos, too much makeup and world-worn faces were like badges of their jobs. None of the hookers seemed overly concerned with the police car going by-it'd been a long time since the police had done some serious hassling.
Outside a bar called "The Stud" was a slightly different kind of a hooker. These were young, fresh-faced boys. With a surly pout on their mouths, they would stand on the curb, waiting for a "chicken-hawk" as they called men who went for young lads, to drive by.
There were massage parlors with shy customers darting quickly in and out, there were liquor stores with the usual bottle gangs out in front, and there were street hoods who just seemed to pass the night away standing in doorways looking out, waiting for some action, waiting for a chance to hustle some bucks, some women, or some drugs. This was a rough part of town and Laura and Sally definitely had their work cut out for them. Of course they wouldn't be expected to do it themselves. They would simply coordinate the action for the department as a whole-decide what bars would be hit and when, decide what hookers would be picked up and how, etc.
They were about to turn around and make another pass down the street when they heard a noise coming out of Rolfe Park. It was a woman screaming.. . .
Tommy Rimoldi had planned it so that there wasn't supposed to be any screaming. For three nights in a row he'd watched this young woman walk through the park on her way to work at Mercy Hospital on the other side. Each night she had a man with her, her boyfriend, Tommy supposed. But he hoped that one night the boyfriend wouldn't be there, he hoped that one night she'd walk through that park all by herself, wearing that nice white uniform.
Tommy liked uniforms, especially nurses'. He liked their whiteness, their starchiness, their cleanness. Nurses weren't dirty, like other women were. His mother had always told him that women were dirty, that women would give him disease and then his wee-wee would fall off. As a child this had terrified himhe used to pray to God as a little boy, when he sat in the bathtub looking at and playing with his cock, he used to pray that he wouldn't ever meet up with some dirty woman who'd give him a disease and make his wee-wee fall off.
So, when Tommy was no longer a boy, when Tommy had grown to be a man, he wasn't much interested in girls. And, for some reason, they weren't terribly interested in him. But Tommy found that his body needed women, his body desired them. But not just any woman. Tommy desired clean women. To be specific, Tommy desired nurses or lab technicians. If they wore clean, white, starched uniforms, Tommy figured they weren't carrying diseases.
Tommy ended up spending a lot of time hanging around hospitals, watching the nurses come and go. Sometimes, when the situation was right, he'd take a nurse and then do what he wanted with her. Nurses were made for Tommy's pleasure, they wore white
GO uniforms as a sign of their availability for Tommy. They wanted Tommy. Sometimes they'd fight and sometimes they'd scream-but those who did weren't real nurses and Tommy would have to kill them with his knife. Nurses were supposed to love Tommy.
He'd waited for days for this one nurse, with the pretty red hair falling down from under her starched white cap, to come walking to work without her boyfriend. He knew that sooner or later she would be able to ditch the boyfriend so that she could be alone with Tommy. Yes, real nurses wanted to be with Tommy just as he wanted to be with them.
On this particular night, his heart leapt in his chest when he saw her enter the park. He was hiding in the dark shadows, behind a tree, watching her come down the narrow paved path. The small street lamps lighted up the walkway, but everywhere else in the park was dark. Nice and dark.
She was walking quickly, nervously looking from side to side and occasionally behind her as she hurried on her way to Mercy Hospital on the other side. She clutched her large purse tightly to her chest.
Tommy followed her in the shadows, watching the way she walked. Watching the way her leg muscles work beneath her white support hose, watching the way her nice ass twitched back and forth, back and forth as she walked. As if she were waving a big flag for Tommy to see-a big flag that said "Tommy! Tonight I'm walking here just for you, tonight I've come all by myself, just for you. Tonight you can have me any way you want. Tommy, I'm all yours-every part of me is for Tommy."
He had his spot all picked out. Further ahead, the path made a sharp turn and right where it turned was a big tree with a hollow cut into it. He could wait there; he could hide in the hollow part of that tree until she came near.
He hurried ahead of her and hid in the tree's nook, waiting.
His hand was on his knife and he could feel the clean, sharp blade. It felt good, strong. Nobody would argue with this. Nurses liked scalpels, didn't they?
So he waited, his heart pounding in his chest, the blood pounding in his head. She was quiet when she walked, all nurses were quiet when they walked. It was those crepe shoes they wore. But Tommy could hear. Tommy could hear real good. He heard the soft squish squish coming closer and closer; he heard the rustle of her stiffly starched white uniform with the slips and petticoats underneath. As she neared the tree, he thought he could smell her perfume wafting before her.
She only took one step past the tree when his arm shot out. His right arm went quickly around her head, his hand covering her mouth, stifling the scream that sprang instantly from her lungs. His left hand pushed the sharp tip of the knife blade up under the white skin of her throat.
She froze in her tracks, the scream dying in her mouth, her eyes were wide open with terror and fright. Tommy held her close from behind and whispered hoarsely in her ear.
'Tommy loves nurses. Nurses love Tommy. Love me and you don't get hurt. Real nurses love me. If you aren't a real nurse, then Tommy has to kill you."
He dragged her off the path and through the bushes to a small, enclosed clearing-still holding the knife tight against her throat.
"Tommy doesn't want you to scream. Tommy doesn't want you to be hurt. Do you want to be hurt?" he asked her.
She shook her head no.
"Are you going to scream?"
She shook her head no again.
"Do you want to make Tommy happy?"
She shook her head yes this time, but tears began to flow from her eyes.
Tommy pushed her gently to the ground and then looked at her as she lay there in her white uniform against the soft green grass. He kneeled beside her and placed the knife down next to him.
He began to run his hands over her submissive body, over the clean white uniform. He ran a hand up and over the softness of her breast, up and around the curve of her neck and throat. He was pawing her like an animal might before a meal, murmuring, "Tommy loves nurses. Yes, he does. Tommy loves nurses.. . . "
She lay with her eyes shut tightly, her fists clenched. She didn't want to look at him, didn't want to see what he was doing. She just wanted to come out of this experience alive. She'd do anything as long as she wasn't hurt.
Tommy picked up the knife and began to cut away the buttons from her uniform. One by one, starting from the top down. The uniform began to part open, revealing the lacy white slip underneath. Tommy liked this nurse. She was a good nurse and wasn't screaming. She liked Tommy, he could tell. She wanted Tommy to fuck her. She wanted Tommy inside her.
He peeled her uniform aside like it was the skin of an orange. Then he moaned as he ran his hands over the exquisite smoothness of her slip, feeling the softness of her flesh underneath, his hand running from her cunt up to her breast-oh, such a nice breast, such soft nursey breasts. He rubbed his face on the slip, sliding it up and down the length of her body, smelling the mixture of her odors; the faint perfume, the strong nursey smell of soap (yes, she was clean! she was clean!) and the aroma of her sweat-that had the smell of fear upon it.
For the first time, she opened her eyes and looked up at him. She was speaking so softly that he could barely hear her when she said, "Please, please, please, don't hurt me. Don't hurt me!"
Tommy sat up above her, looked down and smiled thinly.
"Hurt you? Tommy ---likes nurses; Tommy loves nurses-because they love Tommy. Do you love Tommy?"
She paused for a second, her eyes searching his face. "Yes, yes, I love Tommy. Does Tommy love me?"
"Tommy loves nursey."
"Well, if you love me, please let me go."
Tommy picked the knife up from the ground and when he did, she began crying and trembling in fear. He took the knife and slowly slit the top of her slip, spreading it open.
"Because Tommy loves you, he will make you feel so good, he will make you feel so good. Do you feel good?"
He was holding the knife, rubbing the edge with one of his fingers. She searched his face again and knew what answer was expected, knew what she better say if she valued her life.
"Yes, Tommy," she whispered desperately, "I feel good; I feel good."
Tommy rolled off her and sat down with his back to the tree. He nodded for her to come over closer. She did, most of her clothes hanging in ragged scraps about her body.
"I want to see your breasts," he asked. "Let me see your breasts, please." He asked nicely and politely, but she knew that he was asking no questions. It was a command and one that she'd better fulfill if she expected to get out alive.
She reached behind her back and undid the hook of her brassiere. She shrugged the straps off, letting her breasts tumble out for Tommy to see.
Tommy just stared at them for a second. They were so large, so round, so soft. So perfect! He looked at their whiteness, their smoothness, and at where the white skin met the brown-red of her little nipples. The nipples were rock hard and standing straight out. Tommy knew it was because she was excited to be with him. She knew it was because she was more scared than she'd ever been in her entire life.
His eyes never left them, he just said, "Put it in my mouth." She leaned forward and, cupping her right breast in her hand, pushed it into Tommy's open mouth. He began to suck, making infantile, gurgling noises, as if he were feeding. She looked for the knife and saw that he was still clutching it in his hand. Tommy's free hand ran up her leg, up her thigh, under her slip and began to rub her cunt from the outside of her panties. He began to try to pull them off, to tear them off, and pulled so hard he yanked her breast right out of his mouth, throwing her to the ground.
He straddled her, pushed her, slid up around her waist and looked at the plain white cotton panties. (They were clean!) He grabbed the side of the panties, slid the knife underneath and with one slash cut through them. He pulled them out from between her legs and threw them aside.
Her pussy bush formed a nice, fluffy curly vee of red hair. He pushed her legs apart and began to run his hand up and down her slit. Feeling the juices that couldn't help to flow-no matter how scared she was. He drew his hand back up from her cunt and smelled it. He smiled-it smelled clean. It was all right for Tommy to fuck it.
He thought about making her blow him, but then decided to leave that for later. He wanted her lips around his cock, wanted to push it down her throat, wanted to shoot his sperm in her mouth, on her face. But he'd fuck her first and then when she sucked him, her own smell, her own taste would be on him.
He quickly undid his pants, pulling them down, releasing his own hard-on. He proudly stroked it in front of her. He pushed the swollen purple cock-head up to her face. She shuddered with disgust as he drew near.
"Kiss it," he said simply.
She puckered her lips and did as she was told.
"Do you like Tommy's cock?"
She wanted to scream NO!! ! I hate your ugly cock and I hate you and I want you to die. Goddamn you!! Goddamn you!! ! What right do you have to do this to me?? ! ! ! What right do you have to play God with my life?? ! ! !
But she knew better than to say what she thought. She knew that he held a very long and very sharp knife in his left hand. She knew that he was crazy; she could tell by the childish way he spoke and by the distant, far-away look in his eyes.
She took a deep breath and then said, "Yes, I love your cock."
Tommy looked straight in the eyes. "Do you want Tommy to fuck you with his cock?"
She closed her eyes and heard herself answer, "Yes."
'Tell me, tell me how much you want me to fuck you with my cock."
"I . . . I want you to . . . fuck me with your . . . c-c-cock."
"HOW MUCH!? " he hissed, urgently.
"Oh, please, please, fuck me with your cock. I want you to fuck me with your cock . . . please."
She was pleading for his cock. Tommy liked that. This was a real nurse-she really wanted Tommy's cock deep inside her, she wanted his hot cum dribbling down her smooth-shaved legs. He was going to make her happy, going to make her real happy. And after, he let her suck his cock, let her mouth take the last drop of sticky cum from him. . . .
He slid down between her parted legs and she spread them further. He liked that-he didn't have to ask, didn't have to threaten her like some of the others. He pushed his thick blue-veiner up against the opening of her love hole. He took some spit from his mouth with his hand and rubbed it on the end of his organ.
He grunted and pushed it past her spread labial lips and then with one mighty push shoved it all to the hilt, deep in her tight love canal. She whimpered in pain when he shoved it all the way in, biting her lower lip so hard that it began to bleed.
Tommy was happy. It felt so good, so tight. He could feel his meat deep inside her pussy. His hands could feel her white uniform, his mouth could suck on her breasts. He could bite her little rock-hard buds of nipples. And feel her move, could feel her move under his body as he began to shove his impaling cock deep inside her and then pull it out almost all the way until he could feel the thick head right at the opening of her hot, slippery hole. Then he'd rub it around a little before slamming deep into her cunt. He liked that-he liked hearing his balls slap against her little pink puckered asshole. He liked it when she grunted every time he drove his rod all the way in.
He pinned her legs high up around his shoulders, so that they were waving almost straight up in the nighttime sky. That way he could go even deeper, even farther inside her, as if the giant cock was splitting her in two, going all the way through to the other side.
Every time he humped her, it lifted her naked, sweating ass off the damp grass and into the air. He felt her soft buttery buns as he worked his cock in and out and around and around. He ran his hand up and down her ass crack, feeling her steaming love juices run down, around and over her anus.
He wet his fingers in the juices, got it real slippery. Then he began to prod the tight defense of her pink little sphincter. He slipped his index finger all the way up her bung-hole just as he plunged his meaty penis deep into her pussy.
She gasped and then couldn't help but cry, "Ohhh, ohhh, ow, ow, ow. Jesus, mother mary, goddamn, goddamn, ow, ow, it hurts, it hurts so bad, so bad, ow! ow!"
Tommy couldn't take it when she said that he hurt. He felt his cock stiffen even further. She kept moaning as he slid two fingers in and really began to ream her asshole.
Tommy felt a small tingle at the bottom of his spine, felt the little sparks of electricity began to shoot and surge and then knew it was too late. His balls began to pump hot jism, sticky load after sticky load, into the nurses' splayed and opened cunt.
He lost all control, all thought, as he felt the rivers of sperm, spraying out of him, spraying into her and coating the tight walls of her love canal with his salty funk.
But the nurse hadn't lost all control-she hadn't lost control at all. All the while that Tommy was pumping away, shoving and sliding his meaty cock deep within, she was thinking and planning. How was she going to get out of this alive? When Tommy came she saw her chance-he was so lost in his orgasm that he forgot about everything-including the knife that was lying at his side.
She thought it was close enough for her to reach. She thought if she was just to reach her hand out she'd be able to grab it. Then what? Stab him? She didn't know if she could do that, she had spent an entire lifetime being gentle to all animals, large and small. She became a nurse so that she could help people and preserve life, not destroy it.
But was she going to let this asshole shoot his sperm into her, as she lay flat on her back with her legs spread, was she going to let him shoot his cum and then reach down, grab the knife and stab her?
No. The instinct for self-preservation was too strong. She didn't want to kill him, but wasn't about to let him kill her. Her hand reached down for the knife. He was on her, hot and sweaty, grunting and groaning with a mad animal passion. She grabbed the knife as he was coming. She wrapped her legs tight around him, drawing him even deeper into her steamy cunt. He moaned with what he thought was her sexual response. She humped her hips and at the same time swung the knife with a large arc, burying it deep in the meat of Tommy's ass.
Tommy bellowed with pain and rage, not understanding what had happened. He was on top, fucking, loving this sweet, sweet, white nurse who wanted it, wanted him. She wanted Tommy's big cock. He was coming, coming so nice-and then this. This searing white-hot pain, this tearing, ripping pain. And she was screaming. Screaming, "Help!! HELP!! ! ! Dear God, someone HELP me please!! ! "
He reached for the knife; he would kill her, he would kill her dead. She was not a real nurse, she was a liar, a faker. He would stop her screaming. But the knife was not there. And then his eye got a glimpse of its steel blade in the moonlight. It was flying through the air. Away. She had thrown it away. He had to get it. Had to get it and then cut her, stop her screaming. Cut her and let the red blood go all over her white uniform.
He rolled off her and tried to go for the knife, but his legs wouldn't work right. The blood was on him, running down his ass, running over his cock and balls.
The nurse got up as soon as he rolled off and began to run away, screaming. He grabbed for her but she was too fast.
* * *
When they heard the first scream, Laura and Sally immediately radioed in, parked the car and took off at a run into the park. The first thing they saw was the nurse, hysterically crying and screaming. Her once perfect uniform was hanging in torn shreds from her naked body.
They stopped her from running and tried to calm her down. The uniform was blood stained, but she didn't appear to have been cut. Sally slapped her across the face to calm her down.
"Where is he!? " she demanded. "Where is he?"
The nurse couldn't talk, all she could do was point her finger behind her to a bushy, wooded area. Sally immediately took off in the direction that the nurse had pointed while Laura stayed behind momentarily to comfort the nurse and help cover her nakedness.
Sally charged through the bushes with her .38 special drawn. She had a special thing for rapists. She liked getting ahold of them. Especially right after they committed their vicious crime.
She burst into the clearing to find Tommy, obviously in pain, struggling to pull his pants on. He had recovered the knife and had it in his hand. He looked up when he heard the crashing through the bushes. The look on his face when he saw an angry lady cop with a drawn pistol was priceless.
Sally thought for just a second when she saw him sitting there with the knife in his hand. She would have been well within policy to just blow the mother-fucker away. Just let him have all six shots in the cylinder and waste his ass. Watch him dance and jump as she pumped the bullets into his miserable body.
But then she smiled. That would be too easy. That wouldn't be justice. Dying so quickly wouldn't be sufficient punishment for what he'd done to the nurse.
She walked in closer. He just sat there motionless on the ground. Paralyzed with fear and amazement. He'd never seen a female cop before. She smiled at him gently before kicking him in the teeth. His head snapped back like a soccer ball. He groaned in pain and tried to crawl away, spitting out blood and teeth.
Sally drew her billy club and rapped him hard across the ribs, feeling that satisfying crunch when the bones broke. She beat him up and down the muscular parts of his body, making sure the bruises would go all the way to the bone, making sure it would be months before he could even move without tremendous pain.
Tommy drew up into a fetal position as she administered her beating, trying to protect his vital areas. This was a nightmare beyond belief, he couldn't believe this was happening to him. The pain was so intense he wished he would simply black out; he wished that he would die-anything just so that this would stop. All he could hear was the loud whumps as the club hit his body over and over and over again. The tone of the whump would sharply rise in pitch when sho missed and hit bone instead of muscle.
Finally she stopped. He lay on the ground, moaning, blood streaming down the side of his leg where he'd been stabbed and blood drooling down the side of his mouth where Sally had kicked his teeth out. He hoped that it was over, hoped that she'd stopped for good.
But Sally wasn't finished with him just yet. She hadn't administered her coup-de-grace. She knelt down next to Tommy's moaning, prostrate form and jerked his pants down around his knees. She reached down between his legs and cupped his balls in her hand. She whispered in his ear.
"You mother-fucker. How do you feel now?"
Tommy pleaded. Tommy begged. Sally just smiled at him, gently rolling his balls in her hand. And then she squeezed. She crushed his nuts into two soft little grapes, just like hot putty in his scrotum.
Tommy couldn't even scream, the pain was so horrible-un-like anything he even dreamed a human being could experience. His eyes turned white, the color drained from his face and he began puking and wretching. Sally knelt down long enough with him to rub his face in the vomit real good. Then she got up to go get Laura. She knew the rapist wouldn't be going anywhere.
CHAPTER FIVE
Laura was in good spirits as she drove to the train station to her niece Michele. It would be good to have someone else around the house for a couple of months. Anything at all to take the loneliness of Alex's absence away.
She had always gotten along with Michelle really well. She was more like a sister than a niece to her. Michelle was a very mature young lady for a girl of 16. Both mentally and physically. But she was a good kid. She didn't use drugs, hang around with a bad crowd or do anything else that 16 year old girls shouldn't do.
Laura was relieved that Michelle had such a high set of morals. She was just a pretty girl, a sexy girl in a very natural, innocent way, that was going to have to learn to deal with men at a very early age. Laura hoped that it would be a long time before Michelle had to confront the problems that a woman does.
Laura had had pretty much the same background as Michelle. Both had been devoted to their fathers, both were raised in a strict religious environment, both attended private girls-only parochial schools, and both were extraordinary beautiful.
Laura hoped that some of her experience would be helping Michelle in avoiding some of the problems that she had faced.
She remembered back when she was 16. Her family had sent her to spend the summer with her grandmother in Sacramento, California. The thought of spending the entire summer in California was young
Laura's idea of heaven.
She remembered the hot days in the Sacramento Valley, the way it would cook all day long and then become so delicious in the early evening. Laura didn't have much to do during the days but sit out in her grandmother's big backyard and work on her suntan. Since she was not out on the beach with a lot of people around, Laura wore a much skimpier swim-suit than she would have dared wear elsewhere. She was very abundantly endowed for a girl of 16; in fact, her body was completely developed at that young age. She had naturally light skin, but it was soon tanned a deep, nutty brown that contrasted delightfully with her blonde hair. Her limbs were long and sleek, her breasts soft and over-flowing-she was a beautiful woman at the very peak of her physical attractiveness.
Laura did a lot of reading as she sat out in that backyard, mostly gushy gothic romances, where at the end of the book the heroine would receive a chaste kiss from the man she loved. And nothing more. Laura didn't even like to think that there was "something more", Oh, she was aware of sex and knew what it was and everything-her mother had taken great pains to explain all about it to her, but she never thought of sex as something that she herself might be involved with. In that sense, she still thought of herself as nothing but a child.
For Laura, sex was something that would be saved for when she was much older, something that would be saved for her husband. But romance, chaste and simple 16-year-old romance was something that she thought about all the time. And the more she read those silly little books in her grandmother's back yard, the more she thought about it.
David Crowe lived three doors down from Laura's grandmother. He was 18 years old and everything Laura thought a man could possibly be. He had just graduated from Delancey High School and was going to the University of California the next year and had been a star player on the high school basketball team. David also had the responsibility of taking care of Laura's grandmother's yard. He came over once a week and spent the whole day working in the yard. He cut the lawn, trimmed the bushes, pulled the weeds, and did the watering.
At first when he came over, Laura would go inside the house until he left. She wasn't terribly comfortable around boys, and, wearing that skimpy swim-suit, she was especially shy. Often, she would find herself looking out from behind a curtain, watching David work. He was tall and as sun tanned as she was. But he was strong. She watched in fascination as his thick young muscles moved beneath the taut skin on his back and thighs. She thought he was extraordinarily handsome.
As the summer progressed, she became more and more comfortable around him and actually couldn't wait until the next time he came over. She never ran inside the house anymore and even quit blushing when she felt his eyes were roaming up and down her body. They became great friends and Laura followed him all around the yard as he did his work, talking to him. After a while he even started dropping by on days that he didn't have any work to do, just to talk with her.
Laura was falling in love and she knew it. It was just like in the books she read. She thought about David constantly. Thought about him as she lay in bed at night, thought about him as she got up in the morning. She became obsessed with young David Crowe and the idea of David Crowe. She wrote love poems and letters to him every day that she hid between the pages of her diary. She would have died if anybody had ever seen them.
Laura's grandmother was a very busy old bird. She had a million friends and million different things to do-as a result she was very rarely at home during the daytime. If she wasn't at bridge club, then she was at the garden club, or having lunch with the "girls". In any event, most afternoons Laura was all by herself and it didn't take David too long to catch onto this.
One afternoon they were sitting and talking on the towel that Laura had spread on the big backyard lawn. Laura had become increasingly bold in her innocent little flirtations and liked to see the reactions they had on David. She reached down and started spreading more suntan oil on her shiny, sleek body. She acted like she couldn't quite get it on her back.
She looked at David in her most innocent manner, though inside her heart was pounding, and said, "Could you please do my back?"
He grinned from ear to ear and said, "Lie down."
Laura lay down on her stomach, spreading her long blonde hair to the sides and off her back. She closed her eyes as she felt David's hands rub the oil into her soft skin. The feeling that his hands gave her as they rubbed up and down her back was exquisite. No boy had ever touched her before-she had never even held hands with a boy before. But now-this. She started something, just what it was, she wasn't quite sure. But she knew that she wanted a boyfriend and she wanted to let David know that it was him that she wanted. But that's all that she wanted. A boyfriend. Nothing more. The thought of having a lover never entered into her mind. Her mind was truly pure and thoughts like that simply had no resting place.
The same could not be said of David Crowe. The second he laid eyes upon Laura he knew that he wanted to fuck her. He knew that he wanted to strip that tiny bathing suit off that little body and just give her his cock. He couldn't believe his luck when she came to stay for the summer. But the first time that he saw her, he knew exactly what he wanted. He just didn't know how to go about getting it.
She seemed really different from the California girls that he knew. Maybe, back in Missouri, they were all like Laura. He didn't really know. She was shy, he could tell that much, and none of the girls he knew were that way. Being good looking and star of the basketball team meant that he could have just about any girl in school that he wanted and he had wanted more than just a few. He loved fucking and he loved fucking young girls and he knew that he wanted to fuck Laura. He wanted to fuck her silly.
The problem was that he didn't quite know how to go about doing it. She seemed so sweet and innocent that he thought he would just bide his time and see what developed. When Laura lay face down on that towel and asked him to rub the oil into her back, he knew that waiting had been the right thing to do.
He spread the oil onto his hands and then, for the first time, touched Laura's back. He felt his cock begin to rise in his cut-off jeans as he ran his hands up and down her back. He started right where her tiny suit covered the top of her taut little ass, followed the curve of her spine up and over the little string of a strap that held her top on and then up and around her neck and the muscles of her shoulders. She was so young, so firm, so perfect.
He ran his hands down her back, sliding on the oil as he worked it into her skin-and when he reached the bottom he wanted to keep going, wanted to run his hands over the twin mounds of her ass, run his hands down her sleek, firm thighs and then back up again, dipping between her legs for a quick, not too lewd, rub of her cunt. But he knew better and just kept rubbing her back, rubbing it until all the oil was well worked in and her skin was smooth and silky.
He leaned down then and kissed her gently on the back of her neck. He was so excited that his cock literally wanted to burst from his pants, so excited that he could hardly stop himself from shaking. He wasn't like this with other girls, they hadn't ever affected him like this. Was it because she was so pretty? Was it because she seemed so innocent and young? Was it because he wasn't sure just how far she would go.
She didn't react when he kissed her on the back of her neck, but Laura's heart was pounding in her chest. She knew that it was wrong to let a boy kiss her like this, but she also knew that she wanted him to do this. Wanted him to do it real bad. But thought that she loved him. Didn't that make it a little less wrong?
He kissed her again and then placed a hand on her bare shoulder to turn her over. She willingly moved with the pressure from his hand and turned to face him. As he bent to kiss her, it seemed like an eternity before their lips met-everything seemed to be happening in slow motion, like it was in a dream. She felt like she had about as much control over the situation as you would in a dream, too.
His lips met hers and his tongue pushed its way into her mouth. She was surprised that it tasted so good, so warm. She felt her whole body respond to his kiss, to his touch. She couldn't believe what was happening to her. Is this what the nuns in school had always warned her about? She didn't care-it felt so good, so right. She felt the warmth of his wet kiss flow from her lips down deep within her, felt it flow into her womanly breast and its now-hard nipples, felt it flow even farther down to her private area which kept getting hotter and hotter, throbbing with pleasure. She could feel it getting moist, warm, wet and squishy. It felt so good, god it felt so good. And so scary. She didn't know what was going to happen, didn't know if she could keep her good common sense about her, didn't know just what it was that David wanted. She would have been happy just to sit there kissing him, forever.
But David's needs were a little different. Kissing Laura had excited him just as much as it did her. He couldn't help but moan a little as he slid his tongue deep into her hot mouth. He could tell right away that she'd never been kissed before, but he could also tell that she was a natural at it, that she had a very sensuous nature. He wanted to unravel the bud that was her flower. He wanted to taste that sweet juice, he wanted to be the first into this perfect virgin's body. They were now lying side-by-side, stretched out upon the beach towel, his hands roaming up and down the sides of the body, touching the smooth skin, leaving trails of pleasure wherever they passed. He wanted to touch her everywhere, wanted to slide his hand underneath her swim-suit top and cup her breasts. He wanted to slide his hands beneath the elastic of her swimsuit bottom and be the first to touch her young pussy. But he knew that he had to be patient, that if he went too fast he would end up with nothing.
So he was careful. He didn't let his hands slide where they shouldn't be too soon. He just kept running them up and down her back, around the sides of her bare shoulders and down her thighs. Each time he widened the area where he rubbed, so that as he slid up and down her legs his fingers would brush across the cheeks of her ass and as he went up the side of her chest his fingers would brush against the side of her breasts. He hoped he didn't have to wait too long, didn't have to be too patient-his balls felt like they were ready to explode.
He started grinding his hips into hers and was encouraged when she didn't seem to mind, when she didn't stop him. All of a sudden, he gently rolled over on top of her and looked deeply at her. They were silent for a moment, just looking in each other's eyes and then he said it.
"Laura, I love you."
He didn't give her a chance to respond, didn't give her time to answer. He pressed his mouth down upon hers and her mouth opened to receive his tongue. He slid a hand down to spread her legs underneath him and she didn't stop him from doing that either. It was okay, she thought. He loved her! He loved her! And she thought she loved him too. And if he loved her, really loved her, then she could trust him. She knew in her heart that she could trust him. For a second, when he reached down to spread her legs so that he could lie in between them, for a second she felt like stopping him, like saying no. It seemed wrong, dangerous. But then, she thought, they were both wearing their swimsuits and she could trust him. So it was okay.
At first, after having spread her legs and sliding down between them so that his rock hard cock was pressed up against her virgin pussy, he did nothing. He just concentrated upon the kissing and rubbing the sides and back. He wanted her to get used to it before he tried anything else.
Finally, he started moving in slow circles, with just a little bit of pressure on her pussy. When she didn't stop him, he pressed down harder and at the same time increasing the intensity of his kisses.
His cock was right in the vee of her cunt and it was only the thin material of her bikini bottom and his cutoff pants that separated the two of them. He could tell it was having some effect, that she was getting turned on. Their kisses were becoming more and more impassioned and then she started grinding her hips up to meet his, humping up as he humped down. Their heavy breathing had achieved a mutual rhythm and they both glistened with sweat and neither one of them cared.
The time was right and he knew it. He started grinding into her pelvis hotter and faster and in one swift movement, as if carried away with passion and not thinking about what he was doing, he slid his hand under her top, pushing it up over her breast and then moving his mouth to her nipple at the same time.
Laura's hand went immediately to his head. She was shocked, she couldn't believe this was happening, things were out of control. But it felt good, it felt good-yet she knew it was wrong, it had to be wrong. She half-heartedly tried to push his head away, but it wouldn't budge. He was sucking, biting, and lapping her right breast while his left hand was kneading her other like it was a fresh loaf of bread. Her hand stopped pushing his head away and just held it, held it tight while he sucked and licked her nipples, driving her crazy.
He knew he had her just where he wanted her. All her common sense was gone; she was temporarily transformed into a bitch in heat. And only 16 years old. He was afraid that he might come in his own pants before he had a chance to shove it up inside of her, before he had a chance to see how hot, juicy and tight her young pussy was. The important thing was not to give her a second rest, not give a chance to collect her wits and realize just what was happening. He had to keep the ball rolling, had to keep her passion building.
Without letting her know what he was doing, he ran his hand down the length of her bottom and then back up again. He did it once more, but this time, he unbuttoned the top of his cut-offs. The next time he was able to pull his zipper down, freeing his hard-on. He kept sucking and rubbing her breasts, grinding his cock into her swimsuit bottom-he could feel how hot and wet it was, he could feel the juices flowing out her virgin hole and soaking the front of her swimsuit. He knew she was ready-at least he knew her body was ready. He would go from breast to breast, licking, kissing, and sucking and then up to her mouth, which always eagerly opened to accept his probing tongue. His cock was out and hard and he thought that she wasn't even aware that it wasn't safely tucked away inside his shorts. The element of surprise was crucial.
With his left hand he reached down to pull the front of her bikini bottom to the side to allow his cock to enter without having to take it off. To divert her mind from what he was doing, at the same time, he whispered, "Do you love me? Tell me you love me.. . . "
She broke her hungry mouth away from his long enough to answer, "Yes, yes, David. I love you. I do. . . . "
At that instant he slid his cock into her hot, surprised, virgin pussy. She yelped with pain, not really aware immediately of just what had happened. Then it became clear to her. The pain was between her legs, something was inside (INSIDE!) of her and since both his hands were on her breasts it must be . . . Oh, God!! No!! Please, please, I'm not ready for that. I'm not ready. I'm too young, I'm just a child. Oh God, Oh, Jesus.. . . "
She tried to push him off, but he wouldn't budge. "Please, David, no, no, no! Don't do it to me, please!! ! Please, take it out; please take it out. It hurts, David, it hurts real bad."
David wasn't really hearing anything she was saying. He was lost in his own little world and his thoughts were with his cock and her tight, tight, little pussy. He couldn't believe how tight it was-it was almost as if he were splitting her in two as he slid the length of his rod into her. God, it felt so good . . . He felt her trying to push him off but he didn't care-he was where he wanted to be and wasn't about to leave.
Her legs were spread wide as they lay out in the open on the beach towel in the back yard. The top of her swim suit was pushed up around her neck and he felt his swollen cock sliding in further until he hit an obstacle. A cherry! A goddamn cherry! He was 18 years old and had fucked a lot of girls but this was his first cherry. He wanted it.
Laura felt the tip of his cock push up against her hymen and realized that in just a second she would no longer be a virgin, that in just a second she would no longer have something to offer her husband on their wedding night, that in just a moment she would go from being a nice girl to nothing better than a cheap whore.
She fought harder, trying to push him off, trying to get him out of her. It did no good, he was just too strong. She was crying from fear and pain and she felt him push harder, felt the tissue of her hymen, deep within her young vagina, begin to stretch. It hurt, it hurt so bad!
"Please, David!! Please, don't do it, let me stay a virgin, please. David, it hurts so bad I think I'm going to scream!" she whispered urgently.
David clamped a hand tightly over her mouth and with a powerful, rending surge, shoved his meat all the way in to the hilt. Laura felt her cherry stretch and then shred as he violently split her pussy in two. She screamed and screamed, but with his hand tight over her mouth, no one could hear.
She gave up fighting and just lay there limply as he began to slide his cock in and out of her burning, pain-wracked cunt. She felt a small trickle of blood run down her thigh and onto the towel.
When he came, his whole body jerked once or twice and then he was through. He seemed embarrassed, ashamed of what he'd done. He didn't want to talk to her, didn't seem to want anything to do with her. He kissed her lightly on the cheek and then got up and left. Laura never thought that as she watched his muscled back disappear around the corner of the house that it would be the last time she ever saw David Crowe. He never came around again.
So these were the thoughts that filled Laura's head as she waited for young Michelle's train to come in. Michelle was a lot like the way Laura had been and she hoped, that through her wisdom and experience, she could help her avoid some of the pitfalls that young girls have to face.
The train was almost due. Laura grabbed her purse and left the car to go to the platform. The purse was something that Laura never left behind, anywhere. Within it was her .38 special. Department policy required that officers always be in possession of their weapons, whether on duty or not.
As the train pulled in, Laura scanned the windows as they flew past, trying to get a glimpse of Michelle. She didn't see her until she was coming off the train and then she hardly recognized her at all. In one short year she had gone from being a very pretty young girl to a stunningly sexy young woman. Not that she dressed in a sexy or provocative manner, but she was built like a brick shit house and couldn't help but exude a very sexy manner. Men's heads turned like they were on pivots when she walked past. Laura realized then and there that she was going to have her hands full.
When Michelle saw Laura she squealed with delight and ran up and gave her a big hug. Laura smiled. She may look like a sexy woman, but she was still just a child.
"Aunt Laura! I'm so glad to see you. I just know I'm going to have so much fun!" cried Michelle.
Laura laughed. "Forget the Aunt Laura stuff. Just call me Laura."
All the way back to Laura's house they talked and talked and never stopped. Michelle chattered on about high school and the classes she was taking and the teachers she had and what a good year the football team had had.
"Well, what about your social life?" Laura asked. "Do you have a boyfriend yet?"
Michelle wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Oh, I've been out on a few dates, but not with anyone I've really liked. The boys in school just seem like little kids, I mean they're so childish. And they want to get.. . . " she paused, looking for the right word to say, "well, you know, I mean, they want to get so . . . physical, if you know what I mean."
Laura laughed affectionately. "I know exactly what you mean. They can be a real pain. I remember I certainly had a lot of problems with them when I was your age. I'm sure we're going to have a lot of good talks on that subject-especially since I see you've developed quite a bit in the last year."
Michelle blushed. "I know . . . I think it's just so horrible, I don't know really what happened. I mean, I know what I look like on the outside, but that's not the way I feel on the inside, if you know what I mean. I guess I still feel like a little girl . . . and everyone, I mean the guys, mainly, think that because I look like a grown up woman I should act like one. I mean that's just not me."
Michelle looked down at her breasts. "I just wish thees things hadn't gotten so big . . . all the time I see guys just looking at them. I think it's so gross!"
Laura reached over and patted her on the back of the neck. "You know, I had the same problem when I was your age. In fact you look a lot like I did when I was 16."
"But you never had any problems, Aunt Laura!"
The image of David Crowe passed through Laura's mind as she swung the car into the driveway of her house.
CHAPTER SIX
Desdemona Valentine slammed the BMW into third gear as she was tearing down Plains Drive at 60 mph. She always drove fast and liked it. She didn't worry too much about tickets, either. Getting them fixed was no problem.
The Commodores were screaming out of the four speaker stereo. "She's like a brick-house! She's mighty, mighty, just lettin' it all hang out. She's like a brick -house!"
Washington, sitting in the passenger's seat was singing along with the music, rocking back and forth in the leather seat. When the song was over, he turned the volume way down.
"I think that new white chick, Patti, is going to be a real gold mine. She did $1400 dollars last week. And all class Johns-they be calling each other up and turning her on to friends and shit like that. She real young and you know how they like that young stuff. And she real good too-I mean she a fuckin' and suckin' natural type bitch. like this was the work she was made for. I mean she so good, feel so fine and tight, that I find myself going over every now and then to try a piece."
Desdemona looked over. "Don't you go wearing out the merchandise, Washington."
Washington grinned, his white teeth lighting up his black face. "Oh, don't you worry none 'bout that. I just be fine tunin' the merchandise. Now, what I been thin' is this. I know we usually like to give the girls a little experience on the street to season them-but I think this one be so good we keep her on call only. I mean there's an innocence about her that just be driving these white businessmen crazy. I think in another month or so we be able to move her into our first rank of ladies. We have to see, of course, but I think she can be trusted."
The first rank of ladies, was the group of hookers that Desdemona reserved for her very special clients. These were the local dignitaries, politicians, and very wealthy businessmen who wanted the youngest, the cleanest and the most discreet girls in town. And were willing to pay for it.
Desdemona slowed down as she approached Fleet Street. "Well, if you think she's that class of lady I'm going to take your word for it. That's one of the reasons I pay you all the money that I do, for your judgment, for your black nigger judgment."
Washington grinned from ear to ear. It felt good to be appreciated. He never thought he'd ever be able to deal with working for a woman. He thought that it was impossible for a real man to be bossed around by a chick-but Desdemona was different, the lady had balls.
Desdemona drove slowly down Fleet Street, like a queen surveying her kingdom. She was checking on who was working and who wasn't. Who the new girls on the street were, who the new pimps were and if any of them were going to be causing her any problems or cutting too heavy into her trade. She definitely was queen of the street, but she didn't mind a little competition-it was the American way, after all. But she liked to keep an eye on things anyway, just to remind everyone who ran the street. Everyone on the street knew her and there were respectful nods of the head as she drove past. Washington wasn't the only "gentleman" in her employ. She had a few others she called upon from time to time to take care of business. These she called her "enforcers". And they came in very handy.
About a year earlier a slick pimp from New Orleans tried to establish operations in St. Louis. Desdemona wouldn't have minded, except for the manner he was going about doing it. That nigger, thought Desdemona, was gonna be the goddam Colonel Sanders of whores.
This New Orleans pimp brought only the dregs of his stable up to St. Louis. The junkies, the transvestites, the violent and hard cases, the ones that were hard to control, the ones that didn't take too good care of themselves and ended up too often with the syph, the clap, or herpes.
Desdemona simply couldn't stand for this nonsense. If whores were walking the streets of St. Louis, robbing their customers and giving them diseases, it was going to make life a lot harder for everyone in the business.
Some poor clown would get off work at the factory, pick up one of these cheap New Orleans whores, fuck her at the XTC Motel and then go home and give his wife a little present of herpes. Or the Clap. And she wouldn't know about it for another two weeks. And neither would he. Three nights later he might pick up one of Desdemona's clean girls and give her the same diseases. And Desdemona wouldn't like that.
The first thing Desdemona did was send Washington over to talk over things with him. The New Orleans pimp then made a very large mistake. He had three of his thugs beat the living shit out of poor Washington. Put him out of action for two weeks. Well, not only did Desdemona think of Washington as a friend, but having him off work for two weeks and having to have to pay his medical bills did not make her very happy.
She could have had the police take care of things and get the St. Louis pimp and his girls off the street. She had enough connections to see that they made a selective crackdown on prostitution. But that would have been too easy. And maybe the New Orleans pimp wouldn't have gotten the message.
So Desdemona sent her "enforcers" over to have a chat in their own special language. But first they were to pay a visit to the thugs who had worked over Washington. Since they were simply doing their jobs, the enforcers let them off easy. No broken bones. But they hurt bad enough to steer clear of St. Louis for a long, long time.
When Desdemona's boys knocked at the door of the New Orleans pimp's hotel suite room, he was very surprised to find that his body guards were nowhere. The "enforcers" simply strolled into the hotel room without saying a word. He knew who they were from and why they were. He ran to the dresser for his gun, but never made it.
They worked him over real good, making sure to bruise almost every muscle in his body. They broke each of his little fingers and each of his little toes. Just so that it would be awhile before he could wear those tight alligator shoes he was so fond of. They put about fifty cigarette burns all over his bare ass, just so that it'd be a little while before he could sit down and still look smug.
And then, after having beat him unconscious, they gave him a very special present. One that would give him reason to remember St. Louis for some time to come. And remember it as a place he'd rather not go to. One of Desdemona's boys opened a small case that he brought along. From it he pulled a needle, syringe, and two small vials. Then they gave him a couple of shots. Ten days later, while recovering in his New Orleans home, the pimp began to develop the symptoms of both gonorrhea and syphilis. And he didn't know just where he got it from-except that it must have been in St. Louis.
And this is one of the reasons that, as Desdemona slowly cruised Fleet Street in her silver BMW, she got nods of deference and respect all along the way. But Desdemona was not in the best of moods on this night. Washington could tell just by the way she looked. Something was on her mind and it was something that wasn't making her terribly happy.
Washington knew better than to ask what it was. When she was ready, then, and only then, would she tell him what it was that was bothering her. He didn't have long to wait.
"Washington," she began, "we are going to have a talk. I got a problem. You got a problem. We all got a problem and I don't know what it is we're going to do about it. Let's have a drink and figure this out."
She parked the BMW in front of "Larry's Place", an exceedingly dark bar of which she was part owner. They walked in to the back and sat at their usual table. Susan, the waitress, brought their usual drinks without even waiting for them to order. There was, of course, no check.
Desdemona lit a cigarette and leaned forward, speaking in low tones. "The shit is going to be hitting the fan around here in not too long and I don't like it one bit. I've got the word from some rather well placed friends of mine that Fleet Street is supposed to be cleaned up before the upcoming elections. And my "friends" say that this time around there is nothing they can do to help me out. They say I'm going to have to fend for myself."
Her voice grew intense and angry. "Well, I'm not going to stand for this kind of shit. No way, baby! They don't fuck around with Desdemona Valentine . . . I've taken care of a lot of important asses in this city; I've stuck to my side of the deal-and now these mother fuckers think that because they got some problems I'm just gonna roll over and die, that I'm just going to let them close up my business without fighting back. Well, fuck them. Ain't no way that's going to happen."
She stuffed out the cigarette and lit another. "Washington, you know what Fleet Street means to me, you know what it was before I got on the scene and what it is today. I made this fucking street what it is today and I'm not about to give it up. A full goddamn seventy percent of my livelihood comes off this goddam street."
Washington was concerned. He'd never seen
Desdemona this upset before over something like this. She usually rolled with the punches until things on the political scene cooled out. This time he thought she really meant business when she said she wasn't going to take it, wasn't going to allow it to happen. Goddam, he thought, the bitch is going to take on the whole city. And he wouldn't be surprised if she won.
"So what we gonna do?" asked Washington.
"Well," Desdemona began, "it seems if you can believe this shit, that this clean-up is not coming down from the vice squad. Oh, they'll be in on it alright, when the shit begins to fly, but they won't be in charge of the whole thing. It seems that St. Louis has two lady cops. And these two lady cops have been given the job coordinating the clean-up. Now how do you like that kind of shit? They send a couple of bitches out to deal with me."
Washington couldn't help but laugh.
"What the fuck are you laughing about?" Desdemona asked, her eyes narrowing to two vicious slits.
Washington stopped laughing right away. "Uh, well, I think I saw these two cunts the other night driving down the street, real slow like. They eyes be bugging out like they landed right in the middle of Sodom and Gomorrah. If these be the bitches, I don't think we got too much to worry about."
Desdemona waived the waitress over to get her another drink. She didn't order one for Washington. "Yeah," she responded, "if that's what you think, then you've got your head up your black ass. I hear these be a couple of tough ladies. The other night, out in Rolfe Park, some psycho bagged a nurse. Fucked her every way and then some. She got away, but then these lady cops arrived on the scene. The cat is still in the hospital and he's mighty fucked. They squashed his nuts so bad that they'll never work right again." Washington grimaced as he imagined that.
"So," she continued to Washington, "let's not underestimate these, uh, lady cops. What I want you to do is find out all you can about these women. Find out if there's any dirt we can use against them. I wasn't to know where they live, who they fuck, and what the color of shit is that comes out of their assholes. You get the picture?"
"Uh, yeah . . . " Washington answered.
"Well, then. What the fuck are you doing sitting here. Get your black ass out of here and find out what I need to know. If they shut this street down there'll be a lot of people looking for work and I believe I'm looking at one of those people right now."
Washington left. Quickly. And swearing under his breath, remembering exactly why it was he hated working for women.
Desdemona ordered yet another drink. If it's war they want, she thought, then it's going to be war they get.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Laura and Sally had been warned. Officers from the vice-squad, undercover cops, people in city hall, and even people from the streets had told them it would not pay off for them to do too good a job cleaning up Fleet Street. '
Oh, they should make an effort; there should be something in the papers about a "crack-down," but they had damn well better not step on the wrong toes. What did they care if the mayor and the D.A. were reelected. There wasn't anything in it for them. And they were risking quite a lot if they actually decided to go ahead and clean up the street. Really go ahead and put a lot of people in jail.
Laura and Sally had a long talk about this. They knew that they were being used by city hall and they knew the risks they were running. But they were also aware of something else. They were the first two lady cops in the city. They were the only two lady cops. They had something to prove; they had to show that they were tougher, stronger, and could do a better job than the men cops. They weren't going to shirk from their duties.
Officer Jim Barchin met with them early Monday afternoon to give a briefing on the current situation down on Fleet Street. They all shuffled down the same dingy, neon lit street to the same dingy conference room they had used before. Barchin's uniform, as usual, looked like he'd spent the night in it.
He lit one of his ever-present cigarettes, pulled a sheet of paper out of a folder and looked good-humoredly at the two of them.
"Congratulations on your bust the other night in Rolfe Park."
"Well, thanks," said Laura, "but, uh, Sally here did most of the work."
He looked at Sally with renewed respect. "Well, all I got to say is that that mother had everything you dished out coming to him. He'd literally been terrorizing that hospital for the last two months. We think he's the guy who murdered that Puerto Rican lab technician last month. It was the same M.O.; first he cut up the uniform, fuck-uh, forced himself on the girl, and then cut her up. If you two hadn't arrived on the scene, God knows what would have happened."
'Thanks," grunted Sally. She didn't work for praise and it didn't really matter if she received it or not. She was just a cop doing her job.
"One thing, though," Barchin continued, "you gotta be careful when you, uh, administer justice out in the street-like I have a suspicion you did in the park there that night. That poor clown is going to be in the hospital for a month or more and there's a big question as to whether or not he'll ever be able to get a hard-on or not. Somehow, maybe he tripped and fell, his nuts got crushed. Poor guy. But you see," and here he was looking at Sally, "if this guy was connected, and lucky that he isn't, if this guy had some good friends in high places or even money to buy a good lawyer, you could find yourself in a whole lot of trouble."
Neither of the girls said a word. They were not at all sorry for what happened in the park that night. They would continue to do their job the way they saw fit.
Barchin was still pissed off at Laura, but he tried not to show it-and he was trying real hard not to look at those luscious breasts, soft and round under her brown uniform shirt. She called him on it last time, and he grudgingly admitted that she was right. But fuck it all, he was a man and she was a woman and that was the bottom line. How the fuck did she want him to act-Christ, no woman had a right to look that good, even if she was a cop.
He knew that her husband hadn't been around for over six months now. She had to be hungry for some cock-unless she was getting it elsewhere. He wondered what would happen if, after the meeting, he made a point of talking to her alone, really apologizing for his lewd and lascivious stares and then asking her out. What the fuck, he thought, she might say yes. God, she'd be a fine piece.
Officer Barchin tried to stifle his fantasies concerning Laura and get his mind back on the work. He looked down the sheet of paper that sat there on the table in front of him.
"Uh, getting back to the problem of Fleet Street, I've gotten the word that the people upstairs want to see some results by the end of next week. KXTV is filming some footage this week as a kind of 'before' picture-next week when they film that street the mayor wants it to look like Main Street Disneyland. You get the picture? So, what do you ladies think might be an appropriate sort of action here?"
Laura spoke first. "I think we should plan a sweep of the street. Get a bunch of undercover officers, be sure they use their own cars, and arrest as many of them as we can.
"We'll pack the jails full. And if they get out the next night, we'll do it again."
Barchin looked a little uncomfortable. "You know," he began, "that we never have any real sweeps of the hookers down there. What we do is get the word out so that certain friends of certain people can get their girls off the street and then we go down and arrest a couple of independents, just for form's sake."
"And that's exactly why we've got the problem we do," responded Laura. "I suspect that certain someone you're talking about is Desdemona Valentine. Well, I want to bust her and I want to bust her on. From what I understand, she thinks she's somehow above the law, that she almost runs this city. If they want Ms. Valentine handled with kid gloves, then they gave the job to the wrong person. They want that street cleaned up, then they are going to get it cleaned up. And Ms. Desdemona Valentine is going to go down."
"Are you sure you're not biting off more than you want to chew?" asked Barchin.
"I guess we're going to find out," replied Laura.
As the left the room, Barchin said, "Officer Davis, would you stay for a second?" Sally looked questioningly at Laura, but Laura waved her out.
"Yes?" asked Laura.
"Well, I just wanted to apologize for my behavior during the last meeting. I guess that sometimes I'm not the classiest guy in the world and when I'm with a beautiful woman, and I do think you are, well, I can't keep myself from looking. And so, well, uh, I just wanted to apologize for being an asshole, I guess."
Laura was used to being looked at. Men had looked at her all her life. The reason she had gotten so upset with Jim at the previous meeting was that he had been ogling her when she was at work, he had been ogling her when she was wearing the uniform of the City of St. Louis. It'd been a long hard climb for her to garner any respect whatsoever as a police officer and she wasn't about to sacrifice any of that because some guy got his jollies by staring at her breasts.
"I accept your apology, Jim. You see, for me what's most important is being a good police officer. When I'm on the job that's all I want to think about. When I put on this uniform I want to be considered a police officer first and a woman second."
"What about when you're not at work?" Jim asked.
"What do you mean?"
Jim seemed a little nervous and had trouble getting the words out. "Well, I was just wondering if sometime, after work, you'd like to get together.. . . "
Laura was incredulous. "What?"
"I was wondering if you'd like to go out sometime."
Laura's eyes grew steely and hard. "Are you aware that I'm married?"
"Uh, well, yeah . . . but I heard that your husband has been gone for a long time and might be dead or something and I thought, well, you know, that you might be lonely and might want to go out and-"
Laura interrupted him. "Officer Barchin, I'll have you know that I am a married woman. Please remember that fact. Always. And while I am here, I am a police officer. One of your brothers." With that she spun on her heel and walked out the door.
Laura didn't see Jim's face turn a bright red with anger and embarrassment. She was out the door by the time he started cussing to himself in a low voice. Goddam her! He thought. Goddam cunt! He couldn't help himself, even as he watched her leave, his eyes were right on her ass as it swayed from side to side on out the door. He was obsessed with her and couldn't get her out of his mind: All he wanted was to fuck her and fuck her in every way imaginable. Goddam her!
He didn't know what it was about her that got him Wing so. First off she was a foxy lady. Real foxy, but classy at the same time. But there were other foxy ladies around and they didn't affect him like Laura did. There were secretary's who worked at the police station that were good looking and they didn't affect him like she did. He searched his mind for answers, the thing had really got him bugged. Normally, Jim Barchin wouldn't think twice about some bitch that put him down like that. He didn't need that kind of shit in his life. He could live very happily without it.
But there was something about Laura. And then it dawned on him. It was her uniform, her power, and her gun. He had never known a woman in his life that packed a .38 pistol on her belt. And the belt was wide and made of thick, shiny, black leather. And there were handcuffs hanging from that belt and that belt was stuffed with extra bullets. And her nightstick hanging from her side.
Officer Barchin looked at Officer Davis. What was different about her'. '
Oh, Christ! Now he knew what it was. Now he knew what was different about Officer Laura Davis. like him, she carried death on her hip. She was powerful-out on the street she was God. And she was a beautiful woman on top of all of that.
Shit . . . he felt that his cock was hard as a diamond inside his official blue uniform pants. He couldn't get her out of his thoughts. He saw her ass, her breasts, her full lips that just needed some cock shoved down there. That begged to have some cock shoved in. He saw her gun hanging from her side, all steely and blue, the trigger glinting in the light. He saw her standing naked, facing him, her cunt hair soft and furry and blonde and she was wearing her leather belt. And she was wearing black boots and smiling at him.
He couldn't take it any longer. He hustled down to the bathroom at the end of the hall, looked to see that there was no one else there and then locked himself in the last booth. He pulled his pants down, sat on the seat and grabbed his dick.
And he began to think of Laura and what he wanted to do to her. He took some saliva from his mouth and rubbed it all over the swollen, purple head of his cock.
He tried imagining where she lived and saw an apartment on the first floor of a building. It was night time and he was sneaking along very quietly. He crouched behind the bushes under the dining room window. He reached up and unhooked the screen, taking it down very gently. Next he tried the window and found that it was locked. No problem. By pressing just right on the latch, he was able to spring it and slide the glass open.
With one smooth movement he lifted himself up and through the open window. All the lights were off and he landed softly on the thick fuck carpet. No dog. That was good.
He stayed motionless for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the dark. Soon the black became gray and he was able to make out the shapes of the table and chairs and the hallway door.
He moved toward it without making a sound. He knew what he wanted; he just had to find it. He walked down the hall to the first door. It was shut. He put his hand on the knob, turning it slowly, at the same time holding it tight against the frame so it wouldn't spring open with a lot of noise or squeak. He turned the handle all the way and then slowly, gently opened it. He pushed his head into the room and could make out the form of a bed against the wall. He tiptoed in. The bed was empty. Wrong room.
He walked back out to the hallway, his heart pounding and adrenalin flowing. He had to be quiet. He couldn't risk waking her up before it was time. She had to be asleep when he found her.
He walked to the next room and found that the door was only half shut. There was a dim glow in the corner by the floor from a tiny nightlight. But it was plenty light enough for him to see inside.
Laura was lying in a small, single bed, the blankets drawn all up around her neck. Her blonde hair was hanging free and spread out all over her white pillow. She looked like a sleeping angel.
Jim moved stealthily into the room, but didn't go straight to her bed. He stopped at her dresser, working hard to control his breathing-every breath sounded to him like a hurricane roaring through the room.
He opened the top drawer of the dresser. It was filled with letters and knick-knacks and jewelry. He gently shut it.
He opened the drawer beneath it and found what he was looking for. Her brassieres were just like he thought they'd be-delicate, lacy and feminine. He picked one up and felt the material as he ran it through his fingers. It was so soft, so womanly . . . He pulled a pair of her panties from the neatly folded stack in the drawer. They were of red silk and so smooth . . . He brought them close to his face, examining the black lace trim, The cool black looked so good against the deep red silk. He ran it across his face, feeling the slick smoothness and the soft texture. He ran it over his nose, smelling it, searching for odors. It smelled fresh, of distant soap and soft lemon. He dropped it back in the drawer.
As he came up to the bed, his excitement grew. She was sleeping deeply, not tossing and turning at all. He knelt down next to the bed and looked at her face swimming in the blonde hair. She was so beautiful.
He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead and she didn't move. Good. Real good. He gingerly took hold of the end of the blanket and began to pull it down. He got it past her bare shoulder and then down to her breasts. He could just see their soft, white curve. No bra! He couldn't believe his luck. He pulled it down further and then gasped with pleasure when they were completely revealed.
Her breasts seemed so naked, so vulnerable in the soft light of the room. She was sleeping on her back and they were rising and falling with each of her deep breaths. They were stunningly white and full and topped perfectly by her round nipples.
He reached his hand out and gently brushed it against her breast. She stirred a little in her sleep, but not too much. He rested his hand lightly on her breast. He squeezed the milky flesh between his fingers. He ran a finger up and around her rosy nipple and it hardened even in her sleep.
He stifled a moan deep within him as he took that nipple in his mouth and began to suck. But gently, so gently. He could feel the warmth rising up from under her blankets and he could smell the freshness of her linen.
He slowly pulled the blankets and the top sheet down further, and didn't stop until they were all the way off her body. He stopped for a second and just looked at her as she lay there flat on her back, fast asleep. She looked so innocent, so helpless . . . All she was wearing was a thin pair of white, nylon bikini briefs. Her legs were pressed tightly together.
He gently sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to jar it too badly and risk waking her. He could see the vee of her pubic area under the sheer material of her pants. He lightly rested his hand on top and when she didn't move, began to gently rub her cunt. Sliding a finger under the elastic band on the top, he let his hand explore her fleecy curls-moving slowly and watching her carefully at all times. She was deep in her sleep and didn't seem to take any notice at all of what he was doing. He kissed and sucked her breast some more while his hand went even further down into her sleeping pussy. His fingers found the top of her and tenderly pushed her labial lips apart. Her pussy, in her sleep, was bone dry. He brought his hand up to his mouth and took some warm saliva down to it. He spread it up and down her slit, getting it moist and juicy. He loved sucking on her breast, feeling its warmth and softness in his mouth and how full and ripe it seemed.
His hand went even farther down, spreading her legs slightly. He inserted his forefinger into her vagina. That was dry too, but as he worked it in and out and deeper, it began growing slippery and hot.
He hooked both his thumbs around the elastic band of her panties and began to roll them off the full flesh of her hips. He lifted her buttocks slightly and pulled them down farther until they were around her knees. He stopped for a second and bent down to kiss her cunt. The curly hairs felt good against his lips. She smelled fresh and clean and good.
He pulled the panties all the way off and then spread her legs wide, pushing the legs up and bending the knees at the same time to give him better access to her love hole. He pulled his own pants down and knelt between her thighs, holding his thick meat in one hand. He wondered if he'd actually be able to fuck her without waking her up, would he be able to slide his cock deep in her cunt without arousing her.
He supported himself with stiff arms on both sides of her and then pushed his thick, purple cock-head up against her blonde fleecy curls and then against the gates of her cleft.
She groaned a little and turned her head to the side as he pushed the cock-head into her cunt. He stopped then, waiting for her to slip back into a deeper sleep. He was working as hard as a yogi to control his breathing, taking quick, short, shallow breaths. He pushed a little farther, feeling his meat slide between her tight, smooth pussy walls. He shoved it all the way in to the hilt, but slowly, very slowly, until he could feel his bloated testicles slap against her pink anus.
It felt so good, it felt so good just to have his cock deep inside her pussy, just to be all the way into her love hole. And especially good because she didn't know it-she went to bed that night, maybe read a little of the tepid romance book that still lay open on her night-stand and had no idea that she would be ravished while she slept. She had no idea that while she was dreaming sweetly, someone would break into her house, sneak into her bedroom, pull her blankets off, strip her nude and then violate her most private parts.
He was fucking her now and there was nothing she could do about it. Jim Barchin was deep into Laura Davis' juicy pussy, her hot love box, her beautiful blonde slit, and she couldn't do a thing about it. He made a slow curve with his ass, moving his meat deep within her.
And then he began to slide slowly out, enjoying the hot sensations of her sweet box every inch of the way, feeling her cunt and her juices and her heat. When he had his meat almost all the way out, when he could just feel the cock-head at the beginning of her vagina, he slid it back in, but this time harder.
She moved a little in her sleep, but he no longer cared. She could do what she wanted to now and it didn't make any difference-he was fucking her now and he was going to fuck the shit out of her.
He started pumping in and out of her as she lay there sleeping, shoving his cock all the way in and pushing her against the mattress. She was still asleep, but she began to respond anyway. When he pushed down he felt her push back up against him. Yes-it felt so good; the bitches are made for fucking. They even respond to it when they're asleep.
He was fucking her hard now and didn't care whether she woke up or not. Though still sleeping, she was grunting and groaning every time he slammed it home to her, every time he drove his skewering thickness all the back walls of her womb. She even spread her legs farther so he could get in deeper. He began sucking and lapping at one of her breasts and feeling the other up with his hand.
He felt his asshole began to twitch and felt his desire and the sperm boiling deep in his loins. He knew he'd be coming and he knew it would be any second.
She started talking, low at first, "Wha . . . unnhh, unhhh, what is . . . unnHHHH!! OH!! OHHH O God, O GOD!! ! Mmmmmmphhh!! What, what ARE YOU DOING!! ! WHO ARE YOU!! ! ! ! GET OFF!! ! GET OFF ME!! ! ! HELP!! ! HELP!! ! "
He knew he was coming and slid his throbbing gristle all the way out and shot load after load of hot, creamy, thick sperm all the way up her stomach, over her breasts, and finally onto her face.
She was screaming by now. He slapped her once, hard across the face, and she immediately shut up. He quickly got dressed, slipped out of her room, padded down the hallway to the dining room and climbed out the window. He disappeared into the night as mysteriously as he arrived.
Jim sat breathing heavily in the last booth of the station house restroom, his cock in his hand and cum all over the place. He wiped himself off with toilet paper, pulled up his pants, fastened his gun belt and left the room.
Someday, he thought, I'm really going to fuck Laura Davis. Someday, I just won't be jerking off to the thought of her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
For the first time in a long time, Laura looked forward to coming home from work. She wouldn't be facing the prospect of a cold, lonely house. Michelle would be there, and though it wasn't as nice as if her husband Alex had returned, it was still better than the previous six months.
It'd be good to have someone to share a meal with, someone to talk to and someone to help get her mind off of police business. She'd been preoccupied with the problem of Fleet Street and what they were going to do about it. It looked like she'd gotten herself into a no-win situation. All of her superiors at the station seemed surprised when she made it clear that she was going to actually go ahead and try to clean up the street-that she was going to arrest a whole lot of people and that she didn't give a shit who they were or who their friends were.
She didn't really care about the mayor's election of the D.A.'s either. But that wasn't the point. She had been given a job to do and she was damn well going to do it. That's just the way she was. And that's the way her husband Alex was too. She knew he would have been proud of her.
She pulled the car into the driveway and parked it. She didn't bother locking it. Their neighborhood had very few problems with crime. She was aware that if a person wanted to get into her car, they could very easily, whether it was locked or not. If she was going to get ripped off, she'd just as soon not have them smash the vent window to get in.
Michelle was doing yoga exercise on the living room carpet when Laura came in. Laura glanced enviously at her young body. Ah, to be 16 again! Though Laura's body was still in great shape-fantastic shape-it didn't rival the perfection of young Michelle's. She was wearing a danskin exercise outfit that fit like a second skin.
"How was your day?" asked Michelle. "Not too bad. Things are really getting hectic at work."
"What's going on?"
Laura, still in her uniform, sat down on the couch, taking off her gun belt and laying it on the table. "Oh, we've got a big problem in this town with prostitution on Fleet Street and yours truly is in charge of taking care of said problem."
"Well, I hope you arrest them all," Michelle was glancing at Laura's gun belt. "Can I ask you something?"
"Go ahead, shoot."
Michelle went and sat down on the couch next to her. "I've never really seen a gun before. I mean close up and everything. And I, uh, was wondering if you'd let me look at yours."
Laura laughed, "Sure . . . " She picked up the gun belt and took the pistol from the holster. She swung the cylinder open and let the bullets drop out, counting as they fell, "one, two, three, four, five six.. . . " She double checked to see that it was empty and snapped it back into place with a loud, metallic click. She handed it to Michelle.
Michelle took the gun in her hand like it was a live hand grenade, staring at it in total fascination. "I can't believe how heavy this is. Wow! Did you ever have to shoot this at anyone?"
"Well, yeah, a couple times."
Michelle's eyes eagerly lit up. "Tell me about it?"
"Oh, I don't think you really want to hear about that kind of thing," said Laura.
"Please.. . . "
"Well, alright. I'd only been on the force for about two months. I was still a rookie, you know, and there was a lot I had to learn. Anyway, I was off duty one night-but we always have to carry our weapon with us whether we're on duty or not.
I had been over to my friend Mary's house for dinner and some cards with some other old friends. Alex was out of town at the time. Now, Mary doesn't exactly live in the best part of town, but that shouldn't bother me because I'm a cop, right?
So when everyone is leaving, Mary's husband walks the other ladies out to their cars-but because I'm a tough lady cop I tell him I can do fine for myself. He was reluctant to let me go off by myself, but I told him I'd be fine. I was parked about two blocks away behind a dry cleaners.
The parking lot was pretty dark, but I didn't think too much about it as I walked to my car. When I put my key in the lock, I felt something sharp poking me in the ribs from behind. I turned around and there was this black guy with a knife. He told me not to say a word or he was going to cut me up."
Michelle's eyes were opened wide. This was the type of thing that only happened in movies or that you read about in books. "Holy cow!" she exclaimed. "What did you do then?"
"Well, what could I do? I didn't say a thing, just like he said. If you're ever in a situation like that, Michelle, and they've got a gun or a knife-worry about your life first and everything else second. It may be the most horrible thing that ever happens in your life-getting raped-but believe me, you'll get over that a lot sooner than you would getting stabbed or shot."
"What happened then, Laura.. . come on, tell me!"
"okay . . . so, he's got this knife in my ribs and tells me to get in the back seat of the car and lie down. It's kind of obvious what he has in mind. He's pretty young and he seems more scared than I am. But he's got the knife and it's sticking in my side, and for the time being, that makes him god. So I climb in the back seat, keeping my purse with me, because that's where the gun is-that's really where my only chance is.. . . "
Laura's eyes grew distant for a moment as she remembered what happened next, she seemed to grow quiet and dressed. "And then, I, uh, shot him, and that was that. . . . "
Michelle didn't say anything for a little while, though it was obvious she wanted to hear the rest of the story. When Laura didn't say anything, she broke into her silence. "How come you don't want to tell me the rest of the story?"
Laura looked closely at Michelle, as if to see whether she could really handle hearing the rest of the tale.
"All right. I think you're old enough to hear this, but it isn't very nice and it isn't very pretty. But this is the real world and this kind of thing goes on every day-I just pray to God that this never happens to you. . . .
So I climbed into the back seat like he told me to. He made me take off my slacks and my panties. And I did-there was nothing else I could do. He was right there, holding what looked to be a very sharp knife. I knew where my purse was all the time-I just kept in mind where that purse was, waiting for my chance to get at it. I wasn't going to take any chances, though. I wanted to get out of here alive.
"God, this is embarrassing . . . So, I was lying there with my pants off and my panties off-still wearing my blouse and shoes-he didn't seem to care too much. His eyes were bugging right out of his black face though. And I still remember how he popped a sweat on his forehead as he looked at me.
Now, my purse was in the floor of the car, in the back, right next to where I was. I could easily reach down and get the gun, but I had to wait until he didn't see what I was doing.
"Well, he dropped his pants and I was just so disgusted you wouldn't believe it. He climbed in the back seat, spread my legs and lay down on top of me.. . . "
Michelle was just transfixed by the story, as if she'd never heard anything like this in her life-and she hadn't. She was leaning forward, her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands.
Laura continued the story. "He was really clumsy. And he's uh, trying to put it inside of me and it, well, it really did hurt.. .because he didn't know what he was doing or how to go about doing it. And he starts cussing to himself trying to figure it all out-I actually felt kind of sorry for the poor bastard-but not too sorry. I could tell he was distracted; he almost acted like I wasn't there, like I was some dead piece of meat.. . . "
"So, I let my hand drop down by the seat to where the purse was. I opened it, reached inside and took hold of the gun-the very same one lying on that table there. He was grunting and cursing away and trying to get it in-and now I have the gun in my hand.
Now, my problem is, what do I do with the gun. Kill him or wound him? I could just shoot him in the ass or the leg, but then I don't know what he might do-he might just go ahead and do me in with the knife. Or I can kill him-it's not something I want to do, the thought of killing another human being is pretty serious. But my life is on the line here, too-and that's what has to be more important.
"He still hasn't gotten the damn thing inside me yet and if I'm going to blow him away I'd rather do it before hand than after. I can see he's really concentrating, that his eyes are shut and he can't see what I'm about to do. And it's important that he doesn't see-because he's never let go of the knife.
I pull the gun up behind his back so that he can't see it and I point it at the back of his head. I hesitated for a second-I mean I was going to kill someone; I was going to take a human life and whether he lived or not depended entirely upon whatever motion my little finger made.
"Then a thought passed quickly through my head If it wasn't me, it could be someone else here in the back of this car. It could be a girl like you.
So I pulled the trigger. The bullet took the back of his head right off. And he was dead. Real dead. I pushed him off me-god! it was horrible, it was so horrible. I was covered with his blood and little pieces of hard white bone and some gray stuff that looked like scrambled eggs. God, I wanted to scream, I just wanted to run and run and leave. But I couldn't. I was a lady cop and I had just killed a man. I'm supposed to be able to take it. So I took it. I pulled myself out from underneath him, dragged my blood stained clothes out, got dressed and waited for the other police to arrive.
Michelle just sat there, a look of complete amazement and horror on her face. She kept glancing at the gun as if it might jump up and bite her, as if the gun had done the killing and not the person pulling the trigger.
Finally Michelle spoke, "Gee, Laura . . . what a horrible story."
"You don't think you'd ever be able to kill someone?" asked Laura.
"I don't know. I really don't know," replied Michelle.
"I think if someone was trying to rape you, you might be a little more inclined to do it."
"Well, maybe."
"Michelle," asked Laura, "have you ever been in a situation with a man or a boy where you weren't uh, in as much control as you would have liked to have been?"
"Do you mean has a boy ever tried stuff that he shouldn't, even though I tried to stop him?"
"Yes, but you don't have to tell me unless you want to."
Michelle thought about it for a moment and then began' hesitantly, "Well, when I was a freshman, last year in the 9th grade-well, really the year before last, I went to a party at David Nathan's house. He was a junior and his parents were out of town. So a lot of kids were over there and so was Rick Marcus. I had had a crush on Rick for a long time-he was on the varsity basketball team."
Laura's thoughts traveled back to the summer of her 16th year and the boy who had ravaged her in her grandmother's backyard-he too had been on the basketball team.
"Well, anyway," Michelle continued, "I had never even dreamed that he knew I was alive. I mean, I had never really even talked to him-I was always too shy to at school. I just looked at him as he went by-he was so cute!
So I went to this party and there was a keg of beer and everything and I know that I'm too young to drink, but all the other kids were, so I thought it'd be okay. Some of the other kids were even smoking pot, but I didn't do any of that.
Well, Rick came over and started talking to me. I was just blown away! Rick Marcus was talking just to me and he seemed like such a nice guy. Pretty soon, I don't really even know how we got there, we ended up talking in one of the back bedrooms. At first there were other kids there, but pretty soon we were there all by ourselves.
"I was really nervous, but excited too, I guess. He put down his beer and looked at me-I kinda knew he wanted to kiss me, so I put mine down too and looked at him. And then he kissed me-I was about to die. I couldn't believe that it was happening. Rick Marcus was kissing me. I was in heaven! But I was scared, too. I mean, no one had ever kissed me before like that-he was putting his tongue inside of my mouth . . . I thought it was kinda gross, but it felt pretty good too, and I guess the beer I had drunk made me feel a little freer than I should have too.
He stopped kissing me and sort of stood back and looked at me, in the eyes, and I felt just like melting. I could hardly stand it. The light switch was one of those with a round dimmer thing on it and he dialed it down low so that it was real romantic and everything in there. He went and sat down on the edge of the bed and I just stood there-I didn't know what to do.
"He just kept looking at me and then he patted the edge of the bed and said 'Come over here, Michelle.' It was like he commanded me, I mean it wasn't a question or anything. So I did. I sat down on the bed and he put his arm around me and started kissing me again and I just melted in his arms. Laura, it felt so good. I'd never ever felt anything like it at all.
"I don't know how it happened, but all of a sudden we were laying down on the bed and I felt him put his hand on my . . . chest. . . and I knew that was wrong and so I told him 'please, don't" and put my hand on his to pull it off. I mean, I just wanted to kiss him and hold his hand, I mean, that's all I wanted.
"But he kept putting his hand back up there and, Laura, I couldn't help it, I let him keep it there because it felt so good and he started rubbing my . . . breasts . . . and I knew that he shouldn't, but I thought I could trust him.
"I don't know how he did it, but before I realized what was going on, he had his hand underneath my blouse and had pushed my bra up and he was kissing me all over my chest. I tried pushing him off, but I guess he was just too turned on. It was like he wasn't hearing anything I was saying or paying attention to anything I was doing. He just kept going. Maybe it was my fault for getting him turned on . . . I don't know. But he was all over me. I mean his hands were everywhere!
"Then he started pulling down my pants . . . Oh, Laura, he was just like an animal. I started crying and he didn't even care. I was trying to hold my pants up and he was trying to push them down and his eyes were all glazed over and he was a lot stronger than me.
"I don't know what would have happened if some of the other kids hadn't walked into the room just then. I was so embarrassed! But that made him stop for a minute-they left right away, but they saw me with my sweater all pushed up around my neck and my bra off and my pants halfway down. I wanted to die.
But when Rick stopped-he was really surprised when they walked into the room, I slid right out from underneath him and ran into the bathroom and closed the door. I put all of my clothes back on.
"Rick was on the other side of the door and he kept talking to me trying to get me to come out, telling me he loved me and a lot of other stuff like he wanted to take me to the prom that year and other stuff. I wouldn't open the door though. I must have been in there for two hours before I was sure that he was gone. "When I finally went out, I left the party and went straight home. I didn't want to talk to anybody. I didn't want anybody to see me. I just wanted to leave. And, Laura, this was really horrible. The next week at school a story got around that Rick had 'done it' to me and all these sleazy guys started asking me out-I was so mad."
Laura pui an arm around her. "You know, Michelle, that sort of thing happens to most girls at one time or another in their lives. You did nothing wrong. And I think you learned a lot from that experience. The same thing happened to me when I was your age. There are men out in the world who are good and decent and kind. But you have to look a long time before you find one-and when you do, don't let him go for anything."
Laura was thinking of Alex when she said that. Wondering where he was, if he was alive or dead, if he was being held prisoner in some jail in Chili-maybe being tortured.
"Look kiddo," she said to Michelle, "it's getting late and I think we'd better grab some shut-eye."
Laura turned off the light and they retired to their respective rooms.
Outside, across the street, crouched down low in the front seat of a parked car, Washington lit another cigarette and made a mental note of how many houses in the immediate neighborhood were still up at ll:30 pm. A dead neighborhood, he thought, as he noticed that almost every house was dark by that hour. He started the motor, taking one more look at Laura Davis' home, and then drove off.
CHAPTER NINE
Laura planned the first major crackdown of Fleet St. for the following Saturday. Always the most popular nights on the street, this was the time they could count on the most arrests-and of course, with no major news on a normal Sunday morning, they would get the greatest press coverage.
Laura had plainclothes cops in unmarked cars, regular cops for back-up and a big 82 seat police department bus. The bus would be parked five blocks away and the plan would be that the plainclothes cops would pick up the girls on the street, get enough evidence to make an arrest, then drive the five blocks to the waiting bus, where they would be held until taken down to the station. Word was out on the street that something would be going down, but nobody knew just when it would be.
* * *
Saturday night began like any other in St. Louis. The setting sun turned the arch into a golden scimitar that shone over the city. The streets were not yet as busy as they would be in a few hours when all the people from the suburbs flooded back into town for an evening's entertainment. College boys and girls would be coming to see movies, married couples would be coming to eat dinner at a fine restaurant, junkies would be looking for thier fixes, and lonely men would be driving downtown looking for love. And if love was not to be had, then straight sex would do nicely.
They would be driving down to Fleet Street. They did every Saturday night and there was no reason that this one should be any different. The married men were making excuses to their wives as to why they had to go into town on a Saturday night by themselves, the lonely men in their single apartments were brushing their hair, counting their money and hoping they had enough. Young men were nervously gathering with their rowdy buddies, wondering if they would really have the nerve to go down to Fleet Street and pick up a hooker.
And Officer Laura Davis was getting ready. Along with her partner, Sally, they were down at the police station, organizing and coordinating the plainclothes officers, briefing the regular cops and making sure the newspapers and press stayed out of the way until things were in full swing. The first arrest was scheduled to be made at 10 pm sharp. And from there on out it was open season on hookers. Laura had been contacted a number of times by various people, suggesting that everybody might be happier if she took it easy on some certain few hookers-who just happened to have a close working relationship with Ms. Desdemona Valentine.
Laura listened, she listened very well. But she made no promises. If they asked her to shut the street down, then that's exactly what she'd do-no ifs, ands, or buts. If they wanted a half-ass job, the asked the wrong lady to do it.
* * *
Elsewhere, some other people were getting ready for the night's work. Desdemona knew that things down on Fleet Street were going to get real heavy, real soon. She had Washington planned to be on the street that night in case something went down. They wented to be there when it happened. They wanted to be sure that their girls weren't hassled by mistake. They had done a lot of people a lot of favors to make sure that this very thing didn't happen. Business was too important to let a silly thing like the law get in the way.
Desdemona and Washington were sitting in her penthouse, enjoying a little Johnny Walker Red as the lights began to flick on across the St. Louis skyline.
"So what did you find out about our little Officer, Laura Davis?" asked Desdemona.
"Well," began Washington, "the bitch seems like a pretty tough cookie. I mean, she get a lot of respect down at the station-she been on some very wet (bloody) jobs and she shore held up her share of the action.
Our good fren' Officer Jim Barchin tell me that she don't plan on cuttin' our operation any slack on this crackdown. Can you believe that shit?"
"Yes, I can believe it. Do we still have Barchin by the balls?"
"Does the pope jerk off with olive oil? Shore-as long as we got those pictures of Officer Barchin with those cute little girls he gonna do anything we want him to do."
"That's good. Now tell me more about Laura Davis."
"Well, les' see. She married and, now this be pretty heavy, word I get is that her old man work for the Feds, in the CIA or some shit like that. Only thing, though, he be missin' for 6 months in Chili or some other funky place like that. So he's not in the picture.
"Now here's something I think might interest you real good. She ain't living by herself any more. She gots a niece from somewhere who moved in for a couple months and I tell ya true, this gal is a looker. I mean, if n she was workin' for us we could turn her out for just Congressmen, Senators, Ministers and Generals for nothing less than $500 a night. She's that good looking."
That information seemed to interest Desdemona a great deal. "What's the girl like, Washington? Is there a reason she's not staying at her real home-was she sent to Ms. Davis for discipline or something like that . . . was she in trouble back in her home town? How's she getting along with Ms. Davis? Any problems there?"
Washington chuckled and poured himself another drink. "No, I'm afraid from the looks of things that they ain't too much potential of gettin' this little girl to work for us-if that's what you had in mind. From everything I can find out, she's a real goody-goody. She's got no problems at home that I can find out, she's never been in trouble; seems to get along with everyone, don't take no drugs, don't drink no booze-she don't do shit. She come out here as sort of a vacation to stay with her aunt. . . . "
Desdemona was deep in thought. She just sat staring out the window, looking at the skyline, which was now enveloped with the night. "Washington, you know, in the long run-and that's the way to always look at a situation-in the long run, it may be better off for our interests that the little girl is sweet and innocent. How close is she with Ms. Davis?"
"Oh, they be real close, just about sisters, from what I can make out. They tight family. Tight."
Desdemona put her empty glass down and went to get her coat so they could leave. "That's good. Real good."
Down in front of the. apartment building, Desdemona had the doorman ring down to the garage to bring the BMW up. Desdemona put a leather briefcase into the trunk of the car. The case was filled with cash-a lot of it. This was just in case the police screwed up and arrested some of her girls she would be able to throw their bail.
As they drove off to Fleet Street, Desdemona turned to Washington, "Now, you have talked to all our girls 'bout what may go down tonight?"
"Right. They all know that one of these nights there's gonna be some heavy police action on the street. They also know that that action ain't supposed to include them. So, if n they get picked up they just supposed to tell the cop that they are one of your girls and that should take care of that."
"That's it, baby." Desdemona replied. "I did bring some cash along in case we end up having to go down to the police station and spring one of our girls. But I hope that don't happen. I pray that don't happen. 'Cause if it does, there is going to be some shit to pay around this town. I can tell you that for sure."
Desdemona turned on to Fleet Street and pulled into her usual parking place in front of "Larry's Place". They walked to their table at the back to see what the evening would bring. It was 9:30 pm.
* * *
Five blocks away, in the parking lot of the River City Savings and Loan, Laura and Sally were taking care of a few last minute details. The bus was all set up. The matrons were there to conduct the body searches before the whores were put aboard. The regular uniformed cops were there to keep order, and off to the side of the parking lot, crews from the local TV stations were reading their newscasts. They were covering it live for the ll o'clock news. Twenty plainclothes officers were also there, all in cars borrowed from a New York film company that was doing a movie on location in St. Louis. They were, of course, all unmarked cars, but more importantly, they were of all different years and models. The problem with the regular unmarked police cars is that they are exactly the same as the patrol cars, but with no lights or markings of any sort. They might be able to fool a housewife who makes a rolling stop at a corner, but to a streetwise hooker, they shout "Police!" as loudly as if they had a revolving red light on the top and a screaming siren. It was 9:45 pm and Laura sent the first four drivers out to pick up their working girls.
* * *
Out on the street the girls were out in the usual large numbers for a Saturday night. Business was pretty good, a lot of cars cruising up and down the street, a lot of action. Desdemona and Washington had grabbed a table by the front window of "Larry's" just so they could keep an eye on what was going down. So far, so good. Everything looked normal. The girls were out on the street, guys in cars were picking them up and the girls were going off to work. Business was good. Desdemona had an eye out for plainclothes officers in their very obvious unmarked cars. There didn't seem to be any; the way things were shaping up it looked like just a normal night. Better than normal, actually. It seemed like the girls were getting picked up real fast, all up and down the street.
Jimmy the Weasel came running through the front door of Larry's. He looked around and then approached the table where Desdemona and Washington were eating their meal. Jimmy was an old street hustler who hung out on Fleet Street, scrounging a buck any way he could.
"Uh, say, Miss Valentine, I, uh, got some news I think you might be interested in.. . . "
Desdemona looked at him coolly. "You do, do you? What makes you think I don't already know what you're going to tell me?"
"Well," said Jimmy, "if you did, I don't think you'd be sittin' there having a drink, no disrespect, ma'am."
Desdemona looked over at Washington, who just shrugged his shoulder. "All right," said Desdemona, "just what is this little tidbit of news going to cost me?"
"I'd say this is worth a C-note easy," said Jimmy.
"I'll give you $50 and you should consider yourself lucky at that."
"Well, I don't know. You see, this information has a time value on it-every minute you don't know about it, it costs you more money-but I'll give you a guarantee-you don't like my product, you don't have to pay."
Desdemona nodded at Washington and he reached in his coat pocket and peeled a $100 bill off a thick wad and handed it to Jimmy. They both looked at him expectantly.
Jimmy pointed out to the street. "Been a lot of business tonight, right? Only thing is, some of the girls should be back on the street now, already done with the first job-there's been more than enough time. But the girls ain't back there on the job-ain't none of them come back. They all over about half mile away in the parking lot of the River City Bank in a big police bus. It don't look like it, but most of them cars picking up the girls is cops. And they all be getting busted. . . . " Jimmy didn't have time to finish. Desdemona and Washington were out of their seats and out the front door.
Desdemona was angry, real angry. They weren't playing fair, they weren't playing by the rules. If they wanted to pick up the other girls, she didn't care-but they didn't hassle her girls. That was bad for business and was damn well going to be bad for some very important people in town. Jimmy was right. Desdemona looked up and down the street and there were about half as many girls working as there should have been.
They hopped in the BMW and sped over to the River City Bank. It was just like Jimmy had said. The bus was there and there were a lot of familiar faces staring forlornly out the windows. And the place was crawling with cops. And TV crews. Goddam! What was the world coming to?
They parked the car and walked up to the parking lot. A uniformed officer intercepted them. "I'm sorry, but you can't go any farther-this is a police operation."
"It's a police rip-off is what it is," answered Desdemona. "Who's in charge of this bad joke?"
The cop at first taken aback by Desdemona's attitude and authority, soon regained his composure. "Lady, you aren't going any closer. The person in charge of this operation is Officer Davis." He nodded towards Laura, who was supervising some of the matrons as they searched three of Desdemona's best girls.
Desdemona smiled viciously. "Would you kindly inform Officer Davis that if she has a moment to spare, Desdemona Valentine would like a word with her?"
The cop knew the name. And knew it well. "You wait here," he said, and then walked over to Laura and Sally. They talked to the officer and then all three of them walked back to where Desdemona and Washington were standing.
"May I be of some assistance to you?" said Laura, with just the slightest tinge of sarcasm.
Desdemona tried hard to conceal her anger. "Do you know who I am?" she asked.
"Yes, I do," Laura replied. "This officer was kind enough to tell me. Now if you'd please tell me how I might be of service to you-I really am very busy."
"Yeah, you can tell me just what the fuck is going on here!! ! ? ? "
"We are cleaning up Fleet Street. The prostitutes are a blight upon the moral sensibilities of our community and we are taking them off the streets and putting them in the jails where these scum belong. Any more questions?"
Desdemona was almost frothing at the mouth. "Lady," she spat out, "I gonna have your goddamn job over this. You never gonna work in this town again-doin' nothin', by the time I get through with you. You know who I am. You know I play ball with you people when you play ball with me and I don't give a shit about the other girls on this street-but I insist you let my girls go this instant!"
Laura smiled slightly and glanced at Sally. "These girls," she said to Desdemona, "work for you?"
Desdemona could hardly control herself. "You know goddamn well they do! You cunt!"
Laura motioned to three uniformed officers who were standing nearby to come over. "Would you please arrest this woman?" she said, "Book her for pimping and pandering and put her in the bus with the rest of the girls."
One of the cops reached out to take Desdemona by the elbow. She brushed his hand off, shouting, "Fuck this shit."
Laura smiled. "Add on resisting arrest."
At that point Washington made the mistake of giving Laura a little shove. Before his arm had left her shoulder, Sally had her baton out and rapped it across the back of his nappy skull. He crumpled in an unconscious heap. "Arrest him too," said Laura. "Assault on a peace officer."
"I'm going to get you for this, bitch!" screamed
Desdemona as they dragged her away. "You gonna be sorry you ever fucked around with Desdemona Valentine!! I'm going to make you crawl.. . . "
One of the male cops grinned at Laura, "I don't mean this to sound crude, Davis, but you sure got balls."
Laura smiled. That was the nicest compliment she'd ever received.
* * *
Because the briefcase with all of Desdemona's bail was in the back of her BMW, she had the pleasure of staying in jail until Monday morning when she could finally get ahold of her lawyer to spring her. She had not been terribly happy in jail. Neither were her girls. When Desdemona walked out the front door of the downtown station, she was one very pissed lady.
CHAPTER TEN
Washington had it all planned perfectly. He knew when Laura left the house for work and he knew when she came home. He knew when Michelle was home and he knew when she was home alone. At 4:30 that afternoon, the only person in that house would be young Michelle.
Washington was not alone in the car that pulled up in front of Laura's house. With him were two of the "enforcers" that Desdemona often used to handle her dirty work. She got out of the car, walked up the front steps and simply knocked on the door.
Michelle didn't think twice about opening the door to a stranger. She'd lived in good neighborhoods all her life and had never had reason to be suspicious of anyone. She opened the door with a smile and said, "Yes?"
When she saw the gun hidden under one of the black men's coat, she knew better than to argue or resist. The four of them all walked quickly to the car, got in and drove away. They said nothing to Michelle, though she kept trying to ask them what was going on, where they were taking her, what did they want and so on. All they would say is that they were just delivering a package and that they wouldn't harm her-if she cooperated.
They drove to an apartment on the black side of town. Inside, waiting for their arrival, was Desdemona and two black studs with shaved heads. And a photographer.
Michelle was trying her best to be brave. She knew that Laura would expect that from her. But it was hard, real hard. She wanted to cry. She was afraid she might wet her pants-she was that scared. Why her? Why? What were they going to do? Kill her?
They walked her into the living room. Desdemona looked her up and down and then smiled in approval. "Good afternoon, Michelle." she said sarcastically, "I'm glad you could make it. Whatever happens to you here, you have your Aunt Laura to thank."
"W-w-w-what do you want me for?" asked Michelle in a trembling voice. "I-I-I don't even know you. . . . "
"Well, Michelle, we think you're a very pretty girl. A very pretty girl. One that should be in a magazine. Yes, we think you should have a modeling career. And we're going to help you get started."
"But I don't want to be a model!" protested Michelle.
"That's not up to either you or I," said Desdemona. "That's entirely up to your Aunt Laura. We're just going to take some pictures of you. I'd like you to meet our photographer, Yago."
Michelle looked at Yago, who wasn't smiling. He was a short, greasy looking Oriental, surrounded by all kinds of camera equipment-lenses, lights, tripods, the whole works.
Michelle looked around her in the living room of the apartment. The two "enforcers" were standing by the doorway. Washington was in a lounge chair in the corner of the room smoking a joint. The photographer was fooling with his equipment and Desdemona was standing next to the couch, smoking a cigarette. The two black studs sat on the couch. There wasn't much she could do, she thought. She prayed that all they wanted to do was take some pictures-but why would they want to do that?
"What do you say we get down to work?" asked Desdemona, smiling. Everyone in the room smiled along with her. Michelle didn't. "Now, Michelle, dear, would you please take off your clothes so that we can get going with the pictures?"
"What!! ? ? ? No . . . I won't. You let me go right this minute!"
Desdemona nodded at the two "enforcers" standing by the door. They began to advance slowly on Michelle as she moved away from them. They each grabbed an arm and threw her down to the carpet.
"NOOO," she screamed.
"You can yell all you want," said Desdemona, "nobody will hear you here. And even if they did, in this neighborhood nobody would care."
Michelle knew right away that she was right and decided to save her voice for a time when it might do her some good. That's what Laura would have done. And there wasn't much use in struggling, because the two guys holding her down to the carpet were really brutes. Big black animals, she thought. She wouldn't help them though-they could do what they wanted, but she wouldn't cooperate.
Michelle bit her lip as they started taking off her clothes. She was mortified. She'd never been all naked in front of a man in all her life and now three were going to see her. One of the guys took off her shoes and stockings while the other worked on her shirt. He got that off and was busy trying to unfasten her brassiere about the time the first was pulling her pants down around her hips, over her knees, and then off. Her brassiere was pulled off and then her panties. She lay there on the carpet, trying to cover her nakedness from the lewd stares of the men around her.
"Bitch looks pretty damn good!" remarked Washington. "I might like to get into some of that white meat myself!"
Michelle's reaction was one of pure horror and disgust when she understood just what he was talking ahout. Try as she might, she could not cover her na--. kedness completely. She lay on her back with one hand covering her bush and the other arm trying to cover her breasts. But it just wouldn't work-her breasts were too large. One or the other kept sliding out from under her arm. Her whole body was blushing with embarrassment and shame.
Desdemona walked over and looked down at her, laughing sarcastically. "Well," my cutie, are you ready to help us take some nice pictures?"
"No! No! I'll never help you do this, ever, not for anything!"
"Are you a virgin?"
"Yes!" Michelle answered proudly.
"Do you like animals?"
Michelle didn't know what she was getting at. The question confused her. "What do you mean?" she asked tentatively.
"Just what I said. You do like animals, don't you? like dogs?"
"Uh, of course I like dogs. Who doesn't?" Michelle answered.
"That's good. Real good." She nodded to one of the "enforcers" who left the room, went down the hall and returned with a big German Shepherd on a leash. "I think this is a dog that's going to like you too," said Desdemona.
The two "enforcers" each grabbed Michelle, one taking her arms and the other her legs, spreading her wide. She was a vision of perfect youth and beauty. Her skin was flawlessly white, not a pimple or a bump, or marking on her entire body. Just one smooth creamy expanse of teenage skin stretching from her toes up her calves, to her thighs, which were covered with a fine downy sort of blonde hair, up to her virgin pussy, up past her flat, smooth stomach, and then to the glory of her breasts-round, full and firm. They were ripe, her whole body was like a ripe fruit just waiting to be tasted and enjoyed for the first time.
Michelle was writhing in horror, trying to break free of the grip that the two black men had her in. But it wouldn't work. They were too strong. She couldn't believe what was happening, this was too gross, too disgusting. She'd never even heard of anything like this before in her life. Why me, she thought, "Dear God, why me? Why couldn't they have just killed me or something, anything but this. Please God, oh please, don't let that dog near me. . . . "
But her prayers were not heard. They had her spread open wide. The Shepherd walked up, curious, his tail wagging. He pushed his black nose between Michelle's spread legs and gave her bush a good sniff.
Michelle couldn't help but scream, "NOOO!! ! PLEASE NO!! ! "
Desdemona motioned for Washington to pull the dog away. "This is a horny dog," Desdemona said. "He ---likes girls, he ---likes to get that slimy red cock of his all big and hard and then he ---likes to fuck girls. Oh yeah, he really knows how to do it too-shoots that doggy cum way up inside of you . . . Do you really want to lose that sweet virginity of yours to a goddam dog, Michelle?"
Michelle closed her eyes, answering fervently, "No, please . . . I beg you, please, take the dog away, please, for the sake of God, don't let him near me."
"Are you going to be a good girl and pose for some pictures and do just what we tell you-or are you going to get fucked by a dog and then by three or four black men?"
Michelle took a quick look around her. The studs on the couch were grinning ear to ear, enjoying what they were watching. The two that were holding her down also seemed to be enjoying themselves. Washington was holding the German Shepherd. She didn't really have much of a choice. "Alright," she conceded, "please take the dog away and I'll do whatever you ask."
* * *
They spent the next three hours taking photos. All kinds. Michelle with her legs spread wide, sticking a linger up her cunt, looking like she's about to cum. Michelle on her hands and knees, looking back at the camera, showing off her asshole. Other shots of her with the black studs, simulating fucking, shots of Michelle jerking them off, sucking on their black cocks, licking their pink anuses. They licking hers.
There were other shots of Michelle masturbating with various fruits and household appliances. One shot had her sticking a leafy green-topped carrot deep into her ass while sucking on one of the black stud's cocks.
Yago, the oriental photographer, was good. Real good. The pictures that came out of that session had everyone of them walking around with hard-ons for a long time. All the black guys were pretty pissed off when Desdemona wouldn't let them actually fuck young Michelle. Desdemona said she had her reasons and none of them had balls enough to question her.
Michelle was in a daze when they finished the shooting. She felt totally humiliated, violated. But they hadn't fucked her,; she could thank God for that. She wondered why. They had all wanted to, all of them standing around with those huge, disgusting penises. And then Desdemona had told them no, that they couldn't. Michelle was thankful for that consideration.
When they were done, Michelle began to gather up her clothing. "May I go home now?" she asked in a shaky voice.
"I'm afraid not," said Desdemona, "You're going to have to stay around here until your Aunty Laura comes to get you. Washington, put her in the back bedroom and lock the door.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Laura was late coming home from the station that night. There had been a lot of extra paperwork from the big hooker's bust the weekend before. But the bust had been a huge success-two local TV stations had covered it extensively, both newspapers featured it prominently and both the Mayor and D.A. had called Laura to congratulate her on her work.
Laura was weary, but in good spirits as she walked through the front door. "Michelle! Michelle, I'm home. . . . " She was surprised when there was no answer. Michelle was always home to greet her, especially at this late hour. Laura grew worried as she walked through the house looking for her. There was no reason why she would not be home.
Back in the living room, Laura saw a note sitting on a large manila envelope. With a shaky hand, she picked it up. It read: "Good evening Laura. We have your niece. She's safe and unharmed, for now. Take a look at the photos inside. We think they're pretty good. In fact there are a lot of magazines all across this country that would be delighted to print these. In case you're concerned, dear Michelle is still a virgin-all the shots are simulated. But I've four big, black bucks that are just dying to get at her. I don't know how long I can keep them off.
If you're interested in saving your sweet niece from wide-spread publicity and degradation, I suggest you come and pick her up. While you're here, we can discuss a little business. Specifically, an alteration in your "clean-up" plan.
You are to come alone, unarmed. No one is to be contacted or talked to about this. Should any problems arise in any way, for any reason, copies of these photos will be given to sleazy magazines all across this country.
We expect to see you tonight. The address is 5527 S. Adams."
Laura slowly opened the envelope, afraid of what she'd find within. The enclosed photos exceeded her worst fears. They were nasty, lewd, obscene-as bad as anything she'd ever seen. The shots of Michelle sucking on those black cocks could not have been simulated, nor could the shot of her with the carrot sticking out of her ass. As she thumbed through the photos, Laura grew red with anger. They had no right! Not to Michelle, not to take an innocent teenage girl and make her perform these disgusting, sick, poses.. . She wanted to kill, she wanted to call up Sally and bust in there with their guns blazing. She wished Alex were home-he'd know how to take care of those scum.. . .
Laura's head was throbbing with pain. She had to decide what to do. She put the photos down and went outside to clear her head. She forced her anger down. It would only get in the way. The most important thing was getting Michelle back safely. It was hard to believe that they hadn't violated her virginity, but if that was true, it was doubly important to rescue her before it happened. The whole experience would be traumatic enough as it was, but for a young girl to lose her virginity under those circumstances . . . well, Laura just knew she had to get Michelle out-no matter what the cost. That was the most important thing, more important than cleaning up the hookers; more important than her job, more important than her personal safety. She didn't even want to think about the emotional scars a young girl would experience if pictures like those ended in dirty magazines in dirty book stores all across the country.
Laura knew where the address was located and was not too happy about it. It was deep in the heart of the black ghetto, a place where even marked police cars were hesitant to go. There was really no law there except that of the street and the survival of the fittest. But that's where Michelle was being held prisoner, so that's where Laura would go.
Laura drove carefully into the ghetto-the last thing in the world she wanted was some minor accident before she rescued Michelle. Sullen black faces stared at her from street corners and porches as she drove past. Laura shuddered. This was really a jungle.
She finally found the address and pulled up in front of a dilapidated house on a rundown street. Graffiti was on most of the walls and houses in the neighborhood, proudly proclaiming that area to be the turf of the "Rude Boys" gang. Laura sat in the car, thinking for a moment before she got out. The note had told her to come unarmed. What would she be risking by bringing her gun with her? She considered taking it in, and then decided not to. She would do just what the note asked-there was something at stake here more important than her own personal safety. She pulled her .38 from her purse and slid it under the front seat. She got out of the car and walked up the weed-overgrown path to the front door. She knocked and heard a voice from the inside say, "It's open. Come in."
Laura pushed the door open and stepped inside. The two enforcers were both in crouched positions with guns trained on her. Michelle, looking totally terrified, was sitting on the couch between the two black studs with shaved heads that Laura had seen in the photographs. Desdemona and Washington were standing behind the couch, smiling like two fat spiders who have just seen something tasty stumble into their web.
Laura froze when she saw the gun.: on her, and raised her arms over her head. She knew how to act. Washington came over to frisk Laura. She reddened a bit as Washington, chuckling to himself, performed a very thorough search of her breasts and pubic area. But she suffered it in silence. Her revenge for this would come later, after Michelle was safely far away. Satisfied that Laura was not carrying a weapon, Washington stood aside.
"Well, well, well," said Desdemona. "I'm glad you could make it here tonight. I hope you liked our little photos?"
"Cut the crap," said Laura sharply. "I've come for Michelle and the negatives of those prints. What do you want in return?"
"I'll tell you what I don't want. I don't want my girls to be hassled again. I don't want my business to be interrupted. I have what could be termed a very special working relationship with certain powerful people in this city and state-I want that to continue. I want you off my back. I want an apology for arresting Washington and me.
Now, I've always cooperated with the police department. You've got an election coming up and you want to clean up things for appearances sake, fine. That's okay with me. You just come to me with your problems and we'll work out a solution. I'll take some of my girls off the street and put them on straight call. You can arrest the other pimps' girls. But not mine. Do we have a deal?"
Laura thought for a second. Desdemona wasn't asking for anything she didn't have before-she was simply asking for a return to the status quo. "If I agree to this, you'll let Michelle go free and give me the negatives and all the prints?"
"Certainly," smiled Desdemona.
"All right," agreed Laura, "you have a deal."
"Uh, there's just one other, sort of major thing we have to settle here. How do I know you're going to abide you your end of the deal?"
"I guess you'll just have to take my word for it."
"Take the word of a Cop? Don't make me laugh . . . I need to be sure-that little fiasco of yours last week end cost me not only a good deal of money and good will, but tarnished my reputation as well. I need some insurance."
"What do you want?"
"Yago, come out here." Yago came out of the back bedroom with some of his camera equipment. "I want to get some photos of you."
Laura was stunned. It all became very clear. And there wasn't much she could do. There were six of them and just one of her-and the two "enforcers" were armed with very wicked pistols.
"Take off your clothes," commanded Desdemona.
Laura hesitated for a moment. "Uh, isn't . . . isn't there some other kind of arrangement-you'll never get away with this, you know that? You let Michelle go and give me back the negatives and I'll see to it that this whole matter is dropped. Kidnapping has a death sentence, you know. . . . "
"So does murder. I could kill you both and with my connections get away scott free. Consider yourself lucky.. Now take off your clothes before I have my fellows here do it for you. Or maybe I'll let Washington here take little Michelle into the back room and let him do what he's been wanting to do for the last 24 hours. Want to fuck this little muffin, Washington?"
Washington grinned lasciviously from ear to ear. Michelle looked like she was trying to say something but couldn't get the words out. Laura looked at the sheer terror on her face and knew she had to do what had to be done.
"Could you please have everyone but the photographer leave the room?" asked Laura in a resigned voice.
"Nope. Everybody gets to watch. This is going to be fun, baby."
Laura said a silent prayer, please God, get through this, give the strength I need to save my niece. She bit her lower lip, cast her eyes down and tried to shut everyone around her out as her hands reached up to undo the first button. She went to the second and then the third, but the plan to shut out thoughts of those around her was a failure from the beginning.
"Take it off, baby!! " shouted Washington. "Les' see some skin!" The others were hooting and howling along. Laura tried to maintain some self-control, but she couldn't keep from blushing a bright red and her hand began to tremble as she went to the next button.
She finally undid the last button and shrugged off her blouse, eliciting roars of approval from the negroes. Laura grew angry at what they were doing to her, at their total lack of humanity. Damn them, she thought. They think they've got me beat, well they don't. They want a strip-tease? Well, they won't get one-but they aren't going to get a scared rabbit either. There are worse things in this world than taking off your clothes in front of a group of men. Women do it every night in bars all across the country. So she held her head up high, and looked them straight in the eye. She would beat them at their own game-they could make her undress, but they could do nothing to her spirit.
She bent down, undid the straps of her shoes and then kicked them off. She undid the front of her green wool slacks, took a deep breath and then slid the zipper down. She pulled the pants down past her hips and then stepped out of them. Laura was disgusted with the smiles and grins she was seeing all around. They were certainly having a good time at her expense!
But those grins were hungry grins. Those black men could hardly believe their eyes-they thought that Michelle had been a knockout, but lord have mercy! Laura had a body that just wouldn't quit and it was in perfect shape. She stood facing them, wearing nothing but her white, lacy brassiere (Laura cursed herself for not wearing one that was a little more plain), her pink nylon panties, and her sheer nylon stockings. She bent to roll one of the stockings down when Desdemona nodded to Yago and began to click away, taking photographs.
Laura rolled down one stocking and then the other and cast them aside. Now came the moment she dreaded, up until now she was left with her underwear on and that wasn't so bad. But now came the moment of truth, the moment when she would really have to reveal herself to these animals, these sub-humans.
She slowly reached behind and unhooked the straps to her brassiere. She shrugged her shoulders and her breasts tumbled free of the lacy cups that had held them back. There was a collective gasp all around the room.
"Goddamn!" exclaimed Washington. "Goddamn, goddamn, goddamn-oh but my cock is getting hard just looking at those beauties."
They were spectacular. Round and full without the slightest bit of sag to them-they stood straight out and proud. Perfect alabaster orbs, their ivory smoothness just begging to be kissed, to be felt, to be sucked on. Laura muttered a silent curse to herself as she felt her nipples harden and stand straight out.
Laura hooked her thumbs over the elastic band of her pink panties and began to slide them down over the smooth, ivory skin of her hips. Her pussy bush sprung free and inviting, bringing another round of approving gasps from the assembled negroes. Her curly pussy hairs were the same honey-blonde as the long hair on top of her head but just forming a trim little vee between her thighs. She stepped out of her panties and faced them, as if to say, what now?
If she had asked them, they would have answered her all as one. Plain and simply, they wanted to fuck her. They wanted to fuck this white cunt so bad, fuck this white bitch lady cop until she couldn't walk anymore. They wanted to pump her full of so many loads of hot nigger juice that she would make lewd sloshing noises as she moved around.
"You know what kind of poses we want, baby," said Desdemona.
Laura knew. And she didn't want to play the game of having them tell her what to do. The sooner she got this over with, the better-the lustful stares of those black men were making her very, very nervous.
She lay down on the carpet, facing the camera and spread her legs. Dear Lord God, she prayed, please give me the strength to do this-for Michelle's sake, please God . . . She spread her legs wide, revealing to the camera the perfect whiteness of the flesh of her inner thighs and the glory of her fleecy blonde cunt. A pussy that hadn't been entered by a hot male cock in over 7 months-ever since her husband Alex had disappeared.
She knew what they wanted and her hand slid down her stomach and brushed over the fine curly hairs it met at the top of her pubic vee. Yago sporting a big bulge in his own pants, was busy clicking away. Laura's fingers parted her pink labial lips wide and she slowly inserted her forefinger deep into her tight, forbidden orifice. The sacred hole that was for her husband only, that was sanctified by their marriage, was now on lewd display for these niggers. She began to rub her slit up and down, dismayed at how her body rebelled against her mind. Damn, damn, she thought. It's actually getting hot and moist. My vagina is getting turned on by this-I can't let this happen. I can't let them have this satisfaction. She tried thinking of other things. She thought about shooting people. She thought about shooting Desdemona and Washington-anything to get her mind off the feeling of hot desire that was raging through her genital area, anything to get her mind off the. heat she began to feel, the heat that began to build and grow, the heat that she'd denied herself for seven months.
She pulled her fingers out of her steaming pussy and using both hands began to knead her breasts-she knew that's the kind of photos they wanted and that's the kind she was going to give them. She closed her eyes and tried to shut those lewd black faces out of her consciousness.
When she shut her eyes, Desdemona nodded to the two enforcers. They quickly grabbed Laura, one holding her legs and the other her arms. Oh, Christ, she thought, what now? Then she remembered some of the other photos-they were going to have to simulate sexual acts.
Laura's thoughts were interrupted as one of the black studs with the shaved head knelt between her legs and began to lick her pussy with his long pink tongue.
Laura was shocked. This was not any simulation-no way. This was the real thing. "What's.. . what's going on here!! "
Desdemona laughed. "What the fuck do you think is going on? You're getting a pussy licking and it's being recorded for posterity."
"But . . . but. . . this is supposed to be simulated!"
"Well it was, for young Michelle here. I didn't have anything against her, so we just simulated it. She was just a way to get to you. When you arrested me, I told you I was going to get you, and now I'm getting you. Scream if you want, it doesn't make any difference. We're going to do what we want."
Laura's heart sunk in her chest. She felt so vulnerable, so powerless, so naked as she lay there spread eagled. They were going to do whatever they wanted to her and there was nothing she could do. The only weapon she had was not to respond, just to lie there like a log and see how they liked that. She forced her whole body to go limp. The two enforcers looked at each other and then let go of her limbs-she just lay there. The one who was licking her pussy kept at it. He spread her legs wide and began lapping her sweet pussy with long laps of his dripping tongue. He would go the whole length up and down, up and down. Pretty soon he could feel her own juices flowing out to meet his saliva. He could feel her getting hot, could tell just when her little bud of a clitoris began to swell and rise straight out of her steamy slit, almost crying out loud, lick me, bite me, chew on me!
Laura tried to block out the sensations she was feeling, tried to block out the raging genital heat that was flooding her entire body with the release of seven months of repressed desire. But her body was winning the battle. Damn it, dammit, she thought. And then his tongue shot deep into her cuntal hole, drinking up her hot love juices. Laura couldn't help but arch her hips up to meet his black face, to meet those huge red lips and his pink tongue.
"Oh, oh, oh, oh!" she moaned as his tongue slid in and out of her fleshy lips. She was losing control. She could feel herself slipping every second. Please, please, God, let me wake up from this dream. Don't let a black man take me. Don't let a nigger have me-it's sinful, it's dirty-dear God, save me! Save me!
Then she felt another sensation. The other stud was sucking on one of her breasts while his hand kneaded her other. Not this! she thought, anything, but not this. Not two at one time!! But she didn't have a choice in the matter. He was already upon her, slurping at her magnificent orbs, her bountiful breasts. Sucking on her nipples like a starving baby going for milk. "Mmmmmphhh!! ! " she moaned as a tongue flicked her clitoris.
She was going over the edge. She felt herself falling. She was humping her hips and moaning and groaning and she couldn't help it, couldn't stop it. The whore that's in every woman was being released, and the whore that was in Laura was awesome. She hissed her desire. "Fuck me, you niggers! Give me your goddamn black nigger cocks! Shove it up my cunt, shove it in my mouth. Fuck me in the ass, if you're men enough!! ! "
Laura couldn't believe the words that were coming out of her mouth! Was she saying that! She was. . . but it felt so good! That tongue was driving her crazy. She wasn't herself. All she could think of was cock. She wanted some cock and she wanted it in her mouth. She put one hand on the nappy head of the negro who was eating her pussy. "Yeah, yeah," she moaned, "OH YES!" she hissed. "That's it, that's it, you cunt eating sambo!"
The others weren't wasting any time either. The two studs had stripped off their clothes and the two enforcers did ---likewise. All of a sudden Laura felt four men licking and kissing and feeling all over her body.
She opened her mouth. "Give me a cock. Give me a cock right here to suck on! " One of the studs was quick to oblige. He brought his massive black member up to her lips and Laura began greedily slurping it, sucking it, wanting it. She fought back the feelings of shame and despair that Laura Davis would feel-right now she wasn't Laura Davis, she was a wanton whore-a cheap slut getting fucked by all the niggers she could find.
She relaxed her throat muscles so that she could take the meaty black erection all the way down her throat. Then, she almost choked when she felt another skewering thickness rend its way all the way up her pussy.
"UUUUUNNNGGGHH!! ! ! ! " grunted Laura as the impaling meat drove home again and again. She obscenely jerked her hips up in the air, meeting the cock and turning lurid circles of wanton lust. Dizzy with excitement, Laura opened her eyes. One black was kneeling in front of her, grunting and groaning as she deep-throated him, another black-skinned stud was humping her, the sweat glistening on his ebony shoulders, and two others were standing above her, their rigid cocks standing straight out, waiting their turn. Yes!! thought Laura. More cock, more cock, I want more cock!! ! !
Laura felt her whole body begin to shake with the passion of her orgasm. It was building. It was taking over. She was going to aim!! ! She pulled the thick meat from her mouth so that she could breathe easier. She began wildly humping her hips, bouncing the big negro who was fucking her up and down, up and down. She was like a wild bitch in heat. Totally without shame, modesty or conscience.
She started moaning in a low voice, but growing louder, "Fuck me, fuck me, you big goddam nigger, shove your cock, shove your cock. SPLIT ME IN TWO!! ! ! FUCK ME! FUCK ME! HARDER, HARDER, HARDERr I'm, I'm, O-O-O-oohhhhhh!! ! ! I'm coming. I'm . . . " Laura's voice trailed off to low mewling noises.
The big buck who was drilling her started grunting, himself. All of a sudden he pulled his throbbing black rod from the depths of her steaming pussy and began to pump load after load of bubbling negro juice onto the outside of her pussy, her spread thighs, and her stomach. Laura closed her eyes and just lay there as the black climbed off her, the white-milky cum, glistening where he had shot it, and slowly running down the inside of her thighs.
Laura was slowly coming to her senses and as she did, feelings of shame and despair began to overwhelm her. What had happened to her, what was she becoming? She bit her lip and fought back the tears that wanted to come out so badly. But the feelings in her body again began to reassert itself, her pussy felt so good, it was still throbbing and every time it throbbed, the word "COCK!" flashed in her mind like a neon sign. Oh, God, she thought, I am a whore, I am a whore. . . .
But she was not allowed the luxury of these thoughts. There were still three horny black men with huge hard-ons wanting satisfaction. One of them rolled her over on her stomach and began rubbing saliva up and down the crack of her ass.
Laura's eyes opened wide. Not that!! Please, God!! Don't do it there!! Not my anus!!
She looked at Desdemona, who was sitting on the couch watching the whole spectacle. "Please, please, Desdemona, call them off, call them off. Haven't you done enough to me? Haven't you humiliated me enough?"
Desdemona just smiled, "Honey, I'm gonna punish you for what you did to me and now you going to suffer. You going to get the biggest black cock you ever seen all the way up your ass. Washington, show her what she's going to get to sit on."
Washington wasted no time dropping his pants and showing Laura the longest, thickest, meatiest cock she'd ever seen. She almost fainted when she saw it-there was no way her asshole could ever handle an organ that size. It was a dark, evil black, with a thick, swollen purple-pink cock-head. There was a single drop of cum glistening on the end.
Washington knelt down behind her. Laura closed her eyes and bit down on her arm, expecting the pain that was sure to come. Instead, she felt Washington's hands spread her buns wide. Then she felt his hot breath on her anus. No!! No!! This is too disgusting, she thought. He's not going to do that!! But he did. She felt his warm tongue slurp up the length of her ass crack and then circle the rosy rim of her anus. Laura had never felt anything like it in her life. It felt good!! !
She could keep from grunting her pleasure and it was with dismay that she felt the whore in her taking over again.
She snapped out of her pleasurable thoughts as she felt a searing pain course through her body from her asshole. Washington had stuck his finger up her tight little orifice and was widening it with little circular motions, loosening up the hole that nothing had ever entered before.
"It hurts, please don't!! ! ! ! Christ, it hurts!! ! " All Laura heard in reply was Washington's lewd chuckling. And then with a loud "pop" he pulled his finger out. Laura knew what was going to happen next and she steeled herself for it. Everyone else, except Michelle, who was sitting on the couch with her head buried in her arms so she wouldn't have to watch, was standing around watching-seeing how well Laura would take having Washington's massive girth crammed up her ass.
Washington brought the swollen purple-pink tip of his massive rod up against the tiny red hole of her rectum. He pushed gently at first and it wouldn't budge. "Goddam!" Washington exclaimed. "This be one tight little asshole!" He began to push harder and Laura bit down on her arm as the pain intensified. She could hardly stand it and then she gasped as she felt it part her forbidden hole and enter her virgin passage.
The pain was greater than anything Laura had ever experienced. The cock was so thick Laura felt like she was being ripped in two. She wanted to faint but the pain was too great for even that. And then she felt it sliding in deeper and deeper. When would it stop? The tears fell from her eyes as she struggled to relax, struggled to take the length of Washington's massive rod-she had to take it or it would destroy her. But the pain didn't stop. It kept growing, kept intensifying.
Laura kept moaning, "Ohhhh, Ohhh, Ohhhh!! ! ! It hurts, god, it hurts, Christ it hurts! You goddamn black son-of-a-bitch! You're hurting me . . . unngghhh!! ! Ohhh!! Ohhh!! It hurts!! ! ! It hurts!! !
Washington gave a mighty lunge and when Laura heard the lurid plop of his bloated balls against the gates of her pussy, she knew he had buried his rod all the way into the depths of her intestines. He was buried farther into her than any man ever beforeand no man had ever fucked her asshole before!
But it still hurt, Christ it hurt!! Washington slowly began fo withdraw his skewering rod from the depths of her intestines, each inch he retreated sending searing pain through her impaled body. Her rubbery gripped rectum wouldn't let go, it's strong pink muscle holding on tight to Washington's black cock.
Right before she thought that she couldn't take any more, right before she thought that she was simply going to die from the pain, it relaxed. It felt as if her whole asshole opened up to take his blood engorged member-and as bad as it felt before, it now felt good.
She arched her hips to slide back upon his impaling member. Grunting each time he slammed up against her firm, spread, butt-cheeks. "Oh yeah!! Fuck me in the ass, fuck my ass!! I love it, I love being fucked in the ass!! ! "
The other stud with the shaved head couldn't stand it any longer. He was going crazy with lust. "Got to gets me some white pussy!! " he shouted and lay down next to Laura. She was still getting it up the ass when she saw the tip of another large cock at the opening of her pussy.
"Yes! Yes!" she exclaimed with lustful joy. "Fuck me, both of you niggers fuck me at the same time.
She felt the thick meat slide up her pussy while the other cock was buried deep in her rectum. She felt them sliding, working against each other, and she knew she was coming again. She was a goddamn oreo cookie-a white girl between two black studs and she knew she was going to cum . . . "
But she didn't. The pleasure was too great and she simply passed out. That didn't stop the blacks, though. They spread her unconscious form wide and they all took turns fucking her until their animal lust was satisfied.
Yago had been taking pictures the whole time. Finally, when everyone else had sated their desire, he walked to her, dropped his pants and began fucking her unconscious body. She was smeared all over with the jism of countless loads of milky sticky cum. As Yago was about to cum, he pulled his little yellow penis out and shot the load all over her face and hair. Then they all left.
As Desdemona was going out the front door, she turned to Michelle and tossed her a packet. "These are the negatives from your pictures, honey. You've got nothing to worry about-we've got no quarrel with you. But when Officer Davis wakes up, just remind her of our deal.
Desdemona shut the door. Michelle wet a washcloth and began to clean the caked jism off of Laura's body.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Laura was surprised the next day to discover that the only thing that was really damaged was her pride. And that was hurt in a big way. Her asshole was terribly sore, but it didn't seem like anything serious.
She didn't offer any explanations when she submitted her resignation to the police force the next day. She wanted to move away from St. Louis and she wanted to move away as soon as possible. She put Michelle on the first bus home and got to work putting her own affairs in order.
The experience hadn't been all bad, she thought. It awakened a feeling in her that she had been trying to ignore. She was a sexual woman and she knew she couldn't deny it. She would move away, go to another town and find a man there. Maybe more than one man. She knew what she wanted and now wasn't afraid to get it. She could thank Desdemona Valentine for that, she thought ruefully.
And if Alex came back, that would be great. But she wasn't about to spend her life waiting. She knew what she wanted. She knew what she needed, and she was going to get it.
