Chapter 4

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.