Captive Lady Cop
by Andrew O'Christopher
(FPS-140)


FOREWORD 

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. 

* * * 

 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. 

"Ohhh . . . please, jesus, oh please, dear god, it hurts!! ! Christ it 
hurts, please, unnhh . . . unnhhh. ohhhh!! ! ! ! Unnhhh!! ! " 

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. 


THE END
