Chapter 2
The Bank of Ocean City was a hallowed institution, and the old, ornate building downtown had actually been a church once, which explained its sacred appearance.
The lobby of the bank was now teeming with almost the entire police force of Ocean City, less than a dozen cops. The last robbery at the bank had taken place thirty-five years ago-until this morning.
Two clear facts emerged as Chief Kurt Whittaker finally calmed the bank employees down to get their statements, The three robbers were longhaired, probably from San Francisco and high on drugs. And second, they were by now probably heading north, on the way back to the city. They'd escaped with a little over ten thousand dollars, and Whittaker, who'd immediately notified the State Police, was certain these rank amateurs would be caught. One of them carried a shotgun, and the Chief only wished he could take up the pursuit personally, although catching up with them on the crowded freeway was out of the question. They had a description of the car.
He'd never fired his Magnum except on the target range, but even that feel of the handgun kicking with enormous power in his hand almost enabled him to get his rocks off.
The Chief was in his element now as he strode briskly around the bank, making sure his cops were pumping witnesses for details. He knew he looked deeply impressive in his custom-tailored blue uniform and slick, gleaming boots and he wasn't surprised when a ravishing young blonde walked up to him and touched his arm.
"Chief, my name is Karen Edmonds," she said, flashing him a dazzling white smile. Nice lips, the cop thought with a tingle in his cock. Very nice body, softly rounded tits and ass, tanned legs, a real California pussy, trim, sleek, sexy.
"I'm not a teller," she explained, licking her lips in a way that reminded him of his wife. "I'm Mr. Johnson's personal secretary, but I think I can give you a very detailed description of the robbers."
Johnson was Bank President, the Chief knew. Too old to be cutting this stuff, so old he probably needed a portable hoist to get it up. He glanced at the wedding ring on Karen's finger, envying the lucky bastard who was pumping her. The Chief knew she could just as easily give her statements to one of his cops, but a sharp excitement in his loins told him there was something screwy about this one.
On the surface she was so clean and wholesome and radiant she might have been a Girl Scout. But her melting blue eyes were definitely giving him a very unwholesome message and from the way she darted her tongue out from time to time, rolling it around her lips, he could swear she was giving him a mental blowjob. Nothing too obvious, just a great many hints.
After all his years on the San Francisco Vice Squad, Whittaker had, like most cops who dealt constantly with the more sordid side of life, cultivated a deep cynicism and distrust of all women. His first wife had left him and his daughter to run off with a forger, a common criminal, which filled him with smoldering rage.
In turn, the Chief had gone and married the best-looking, most sensuous ex-call girl in the city, prodded by two major reasons. First, Sally got along terrifically with his daughter, who obviously needed a mother's touch. They were very fond of each other from the moment they'd met. Second, Sally gave the hottest, wildest blowjob in the world, a blistering job that always got his rocks off with explosive violence.
Whittaker's cold, calloused views toward sex-it should be quick, savage and without any frills-did not endear him to many women. But some women sensed his icy cruelty and for some reason were tremendously turned on by it.
A psychiatrist might have said such women were seeking punishment for imaginary sins and overpowering guilt, and when they looked at the steely-eyed, grim face of Kurt Whittaker they knew he was a punisher. Psychiatrists, however, got much of their knowledge from books and did not deal with acid-tongued whores, or teenage girls who were dinged out on drugs, or frantic nymphos or sleek housewives who ravenously sucked off tender girls.
Karen Edmonds was definitely turned on by the Chief, mainly because he was different from any man she'd ever met. Cold, tough, hard as granite, like a goddamn Gestapo officer.
It was clear from his bored, cynical expression he wasn't about to pant after her luscious ass like almost all the men the sexy blonde encountered. She would have to do the panting, and eager as Karen was to list him in her diary, she came on hot and strong, quick to meet the challenge.
The young housewife had no way of knowing he could easily see through her cute, coy game. After listening to her and observing her with narrowed eyes, Whittaker knew with solid conviction the wholesome blonde was a nympho, ready to fuck practically anything in pants-just once, for the feeling of conquest or to reassure herself her pussy was lined with gold.
For a few minutes, the Chief let her play her dumb game. Karen did not realize she was poking a tiger with a stick. She wasn't dealing with a horny young jock from a small California town. She was playing with a very tough and jaded cop who understood her thoroughly-and despised her.
To make matters more dangerous, Karen reminded him of his first wife when she was young, also a very wholesome, sexy girl when he married her. And also, Whittaker found out years later with vicious bitterness, a nympho who was screwing half the police department behind his back.
A shrewd psychiatrist might also have said Karen had a deep-seated feeling of guilt for her wanton sex-activity, for being promiscuous, and as a result was secretly seeking someone to cruelly punish her for her sins. As full of shit as psychiatrists frequently were, in this instance he would have been uncannily accurate.
The eager victim and her chosen tormentor homed in on each other like heat-seeking missiles.
"Gosh, it's almost lunchtime," Karen bubbled, licking her lips suggestively. She paused dramatically and with a bored expression the thief took the bait.
"So it is," he smiled in his thin-lipped way. With his crew-cut he looked more than ever like a Gestapo officer. "Why don't you finish your description over lunch, Mrs. Edmonds?"
"Why, I'd just love that," Karen gushed. "Be back in a minute, Chief. Just want to get my purse."
He watched her gorgeous ass ripple against the thin material of her knit-dress as she walked through the bank lobby, and his long cock began to pound relentlessly. Mouth, ass or pussy first? he wondered. Christ, but she reminded him of his first wife, that treacherous little cunt! A profound fury mingled with Whittaker's hot excitement. Same goddamn coy game, all sweetness and gushing girlishness on the outside, frantic little fucking machine on the inside.
He'd give her gold-plated pussy a lesson it wouldn't forget for a long, long time, he thought grimly, fingering the butt of his Magnum.
His place was out, since his wife would be home. The Chief had never figured out exactly what in the hell his sultry brunette wife did all day long while he executed the forces of law and order in this hick town. One of these days he'd just pop home and find out.
Karen returned with her purse and they went out to his unmarked car. "Your husband come home for lunch?" he asked casually.
Her tits began to past through her knit dress. "No, never. He's too busy."
The Chief nodded and started the engine. "We'll eat at your place, then."
Only for a moment did Karen open her mouth for a token protest. Normally she'd put a brief show of resistance for the sake of appearances before she stripped naked and began sucking and fucking with animal fervor. But it was so obvious this hard-faced bastard knew what she was up to, it seemed like an insult to his intelligence to go through the ritual. He was a tough cop, not an eager jock, and he'd been around.
"Put your hand on my cock," he said harshly as he drove.
Karen parted her mouth in surprise, but she quickly obeyed with trembling fingers. She liked being talked to like that, she discovered with a thrill. It made her feel weak and faint inside, and very helpless. Usually she had the upper hand with men and she knew it.
Not this time, and the experience was beginning to excite her feverishly in a way she'd never felt before. Her panties were almost soaked through with her hot cunt-juices. She always got primed in seconds anyway. His prick throbbed massively through his pants and she stroked it and squeezed its thickness eagerly as he drove, following her directions.
The Chief's lips tightened as she played with his hard rod. Her eagerness confirmed his opinion of her, a goddamn tramp in spite of her luscious, wholesome looks. Just like that frantically swinging little bitch, his first wife.
Her apartment, like her own appearance, was immaculately clean. Inside, she double-locked the door and turned to him, her eyes blazing with nymphomaniacal heat, her soft flesh trembling with urgency.
She pressed her panting full tits to his chest and wrapped her arms around him, grinding her steaming crotch to his throbbing bulge. .
His powerful hands clutched her lush tits and he squeezed, his eyes gleaming on her.
"Listen, you little whore," he said in a low ominous voice, "I know your type. I know what you need, too, and it isn't just a hot roll in the sack. I was married to a tramp like you once, and the dumbest mistake I ever made was being nice to her." He suddenly flung her away and began unbuckling his belt. "Get undressed," he snapped.
"Hey, take it easy," Karen said, frowning. "You don't have to-"
His vicious backhanded slap caught her by surprise, leaving her stunned, rubbing her red cheek.
"Strip," he ordered harshly.
Trembling with fear as well as lustful excitement now, the blonde took off her clothes. There were white bikini-marks on her plump, beautifully rounded tits and curved hips. Her golden pussy-hairs were moist. She stood before him, stark naked, feverishly hot and afraid.
"Born to fuck," the Chief murmured, his long dick leaping powerfully at the sight of her satiny ripe flesh. His own body was lean and athletically hard, his cock bristling above huge hairy balls. His first wife wasn't as ripely curved as the blonde, but she had a cunt like a mad animal in heat. Karen watched him with wide blue eyes as he unleashed his thick leather belt from his pants.
"Why-why do you need that?" she whispered, shaking.
"I don't need it, you do," he snapped. "Does your husband know you're a little whore? That you'd fuck anything in pants behind his back? Get on your knees, tramp. Down!"
Quickly, the blonde dropped to her knees before his looming red prick. Tiny purple veins throbbed obscenely along its length. She stared up at him with naked fear in her eyes, as the Chief wound part of the belt around his fist, leaving a long whip of over two feet. Standing over her, he trailed the leather end caressingly over her naked plump ass-cheeks.
And Karen suddenly realized she was terrifically excited by her helplessness. She'd never felt so humble or feminine in her life, like a sex-slave. She was used to having her ass kissed, not whipped. She was accustomed to having men trail after her gorgeously curved ass like puppies, not vicious hounds.
In the next shattering hour, a whole new vista of sex-thrills would open to the frenzied nympho, and the passionate blonde would never be the same again.
"Kiss my balls," the Chief ordered. "Lick 'em!"
Timidly, Karen hunched her mouth forward, lifted his pulsing meat in her fist and obscenely darted her tongue out to lap at his hairy testicles.
The tail of the leather belt rose and came down with fury on her naked ripe ass and Karen screamed, hot tears stinging her eyes.
"I said lick 'em, you hot-tittied whore! There, that's better, mmmmm, now suck on 'em. Good, better, yeah, now start sucking my cock, and I'll tell you right now, you'd better make it a hot job, lady, because I've had the best and I'm spoiled, see? I want the hottest blowjob you've got, you nympho-move!"
Again the whip tore at her buttocks and Karen yelped and shuddered with pain. Some profoundly deep craving for punishment was mingling with her obscene passion and she'd begun to look forward to the lash blazing across her naked ass as she devoured his cock.
His prick was like his personality, she thought feverishly as she whipped her mouth back and forth on his rod with excited moans. It was hard, unyielding, cruel the way he'd begun jerking his hips in sharp fucking motions and forced his huge knob to batter the back of her throat. There were no lingering, teasing thrills the way she loved to go down on a big cock, no delicate nibbling or gentle sucking, just raw brutal oral sex. He was actually raping her mouth now, occasionally stinging her velvety round ass with the thick belt, sharp jolts of agony that spurred her to suck him off faster and more lewdly.
"Eat it, you tramp!" Whittaker snarled, fucking her tight, juicy mouth with savage relish. She was clumsy compared to his fiercely sucking wife with all her dazzling tricks of the trade, but she was still exciting as hell, young lovely pussy whimpering with lust and fear. He brought the belt down again, and his prick surged and got brick-hard in her frantic mouth. He was serving a double purpose with the belt, venting his rage against his first wife for leaving him for a goddamn common criminal, (actually, the forger made very good money, more than the Chief did, and he was too cunning to be convicted,) and he was also getting her gorgeous naked ass hot for what was coming.
He was beginning to spurt in her fiery mouth now and wild moans came from her throat as she gulped his boiling cream down. Going down on a big cock had never really excited her half as much as furiously hot screwing did and now that this demand was out of the way, she was certain he'd fuck her. She knew that would be swift and brutal too and her pussy gushed juice in response to the idea.
She released his limp rod with a shaking breath and tenderly felt her raw ass-cheeks. The heat of the pain was reaching her loins, making her intensely aroused. And it would look very impressive in her diary, being whipped and raped in the mouth by the sadistic Police Chief.
There were times when her obscene diary excited Karen so much she was tempted to show it to someone else. But she wasn't the kind that kept girlfriends, almost always screwing their boyfriends or husbands at the first opportunity and then somehow letting them find out about it. A bitchy and unnecessary act, she knew, but she had to prove she could get anyone. Once she was even tempted to leave the diary, which she kept locked in a metal file-box in the closet, around the apartment casually or hide it so it could be found almost at once, just to let Johnny read it.
He'd be shocked and furious, of course, and then she'd beg him with tears in her eyes to forgive her, she'd never screw around again. And then they'd fuck for a solid twenty-four hours to make up. Then she'd propose what was really on her mind.
Karen knew damn well that Johnny was laying a lot of housewives, along with most of the eager young working girls, who called him Johnny Lightning. She knew that he was balling everything he could, including his partner's wife. Since Karen, also, was screwing a lot of married men, why didn't they try swapping? She'd go to bed with the boyfriends and husbands of the girls he screwed and they'd try swapping partners.
That way they could keep their action in the open, with mutual benefit. Karen loved games, and she knew that there were numerous games, swapping couples played. It was the perfect solution for keeping her husband and still maintaining a wild and exciting sex life. Because Karen had to have a constant variety of men, she had to feel that funny twinge of excitement every time she met a man and wondered if he was a real stud, if she could give him the hottest fuck of his life, if she could drive him up the wall with her lips and tongue and pussy and asshole.
Now, staring up at the Police Chief with tears of pain in her eyes as her ass throbbed furiously, Karen took his limp cock in her fingers without being told and began lustfully jerking him off, trying to get it erect again fast.
And he responded very quickly, not so much from her eager fist as from watching her tawny nakedness. It had been a long time since he'd had anything this young or luscious and his mind went as usual to his own sixteen-year-old daughter. But Lisa was an angel, she had the sexy promise of her mouth without the bitchy or sex-obsessed character. She was a virgin, he knew, and he wanted her to stay that way because there were enough tramps like the blonde at his feet to go around.
"Get over on your belly with your knees under you," Whittaker commanded. When she turned over on the thick shag carpet, his prick gave a tremendous leap. Her ass was deliciously curved, two stark-white mounds with her pink slit dripping beneath.
In order of preference, the ex-vice squad detective liked blowjobs from women first, their pussies second and their juicy buttocks last. Staring at Karen's lovely naked ass, he could barely decide. He tossed his belt aside and kneeled between her spread thighs, while Karen hunched over on all fours, panting eagerly.
"Where would you like it first, tramp?" he rasped, rubbing his boiling dick-head along the crack of her ass to make her shiver with excitement. "Pussy or ass? Don't be bashful, speak up, dammit!"
"My ass," Karen whispered, lying. She knew he'd purposely choose the other one and he did. She sucked in her breath as his hard burning rod slid deep inside her tight silken cunt. Gripping her silky ass-cheeks in his hands, the Chief began to piston his thick rod in and out of her fiery pussy, delicious jolts of excitement rippling through his cock as her succulent cunt squirmed and wriggled on it passionately.
"Oh, I-ooooh, that's a hot dick!" Karen moaned, slamming her ass back to meet his lunges. She was in her element now, doing the thing she loved more than anything else in the world, strenuous hot fucking. She somehow always felt empty and aching when there wasn't a stiff rod plunged deep in her throbbing slit.
She'd read that with most nymphomaniacs, the disease was basically emotional, that the violent need to constantly screw was usually a result of some traumatic event that happened in childhood. Sometimes a single rejection to a sensitive teen-age girl could tigger a furious response of fucking every boy she could, to prove she was still sexy. And it became a deep habit pattern, dominating everything else in their lives.
But the blonde knew that this wasn't true in her case. She had a very wholesome upbringing, losing her cherry to a boy in the back seat of a car at a drive-in movie. That's when she discovered she thrilled to the feel of a thick boiling prick deep inside her and began to crave it constantly, craving endless variety like a drug. With Karen, it was purely physical. She loved to fuck, was born to fuck, designed by nature to reek with hot sex appeal from her lusciously curved tit-mounds to her stunning ass to her sleek, tanned legs. She was an authentic screwing machine without any emotional problems.
Except for her newly-awakened desire to be punished ... But even that, the hotly aroused blonde knew as she swung her hips lustfully while the Chief plunged in powerful strokes to gorge her tight pussy, even this new urge to be tormented and punished was probably nothing more than a search for new kicks in sex, new channels of variety and excitement.
"Hot pussy, Jesus!" gasped the Chief, realizing she was tighter and hotter than his own wild life. Still, Sally's cunt was more exciting because of the way she used it, her muscular control like a silken, boiling trap. The Chief had had so much ass as a vice-squad detective in swinging San Francisco, he needed something special to get his rocks off. His sultry brunette wife could spark his fierce lust, and now this moaning, thrashing, feverishly screwing young blonde triggered it.
Karen reminded him sharply of his first wife, whimpering and hissing and groaning as she fucked beneath him, a hot silken animal who wriggled her juicy slit on him with lewd greed. And on anyone else that came along, her later discovered.
He was starting to spurt in her wriggling pussy now and Karen clawed at the carpet and writhed her naked ass in a frenzy of obscene delight. The first torrent of his jism fired her shuddering climax, the cream tickling madly in her sensitive cunt.
"Again!" she sobbed, grinding her soaked slit; on his deflating rod in desperation. "Fuck me again, please!"
And that sounded like his first wife too, the Chief thought with a stab of vicious anger. His icy eyes sought out his holstered Magnum on the floor. He reached over and got the handgun. The barrel was snub on it. First he made sure the safety catch was on.
Only a nymphomaniac who was deliriously aroused could get her rocks off on this, he decided.
"So you want more action, tramp?" He placed the barrel up against her weaving, dripping cunt-lips and suddenly slammed the gun forward. Karen screamed when she realized what the cold metal was.
"No, don't! It might go off!" Karen wailed.
"If it did, it would blow your brains out," the Chief rasped, "because that's where your mind is, up your pussy!"
Obscenely, he pistoned the Magnum up her narrow slit and the blonde sobbed and squirmed, unable to control her excitement. Still hotly aroused, her ass wriggling lewdly, she panted and moaned as the barrel of the gun rubbed and thrilled her pussy-flesh. It was the cruel humiliation that fired her lust as much as her smoldering loins.
She was being raped by a gun and getting off on it!
The Chief watched her pink cunt thrashing on his gun with disgust. Christ, she'd enjoy it if he rammed a baseball bat up there! But watching her luscious hot ass squirm and shudder, his cock once more began to rise. The truth was, he'd jammed the gun up her snatch as much to stall for time as to torment her. He felt ashamed that he couldn't get his rod stiff again immediately, knowing younger men could and did for the blonde.
She was whimpering and smearing cunt-honey over his gun now, churning her naked ass with rapid bliss. The Chief was fully erect once more. Quickly, he pulled away the gun and grabbed a ripe ass-cheek in each hand, kneeling behind her. He banged the crimson knob of his dick urgently, missing her little puckered anus the first time. When Karen realized her asshole was going to be ravaged this time, she eagerly thrust the tawny mounds out further.
A moment later Whittaker slammed into her hot ass and Karen cried out with depraved joy and gripped his throbbing prick fiercely in her gorged ass-crack.
"Yesssss!" she hissed, weaving her buttocks with lust. "Ah, I love it this way! Harder, Chief, deeper, unnnnnngh!"
He didn't need any urging. The feel of her steaming asshole writhing madly on his rod, the lush silky flesh of her cheeks beneath his harsh fingers, her helpless cries of pain and pleasure all fired to make him fuck her savagely.
He'd finally found Karen's superiority over his wife, Sally. Karen's mouth, as eager and torrid as it was, couldn't compete with Sally's expert lips and tongue. Her pussy, as wild and juicy and fiery as it was, was no match for Sally's electrifying, silken cunt. But her succulent tight asshole was something else.
"Christ, you hot bitch, your ass is-mmmmf! A fireball!" he grunted, stroking savagely deep in her tender anus. With each powerful forward slam of his rod, she emitted a sharp little cry and ground her ass-cheeks against his bushy crotch. She loved the blazing mass of stiff flesh punishing her narrow crack, reaching, it seemed, to the very pit of her belly, fusing a strange climax that only pain could trigger. And the thrill was more intense since he'd whipped her naked cheeks brutally with his thick belt, making them more tender and sensitive and eager.
He was erupting in her boiling bowels now, spattering his jism deep to sting and obscenely thrill her tortured asshole. Karen came with him, grinding her buttocks passionately to his crotch, squeezing his molten flood from his spurting prick with furious spasms of her anal muscles.
When he slipped out with a loud sigh, she continued weaving and jerking her ass. This was the part she loved best, feeling the sticky cream trickle in her bowels, a wet glowing that radiated to every inch of her trembling hot flesh.
The Chief realized he'd had it, with a silent curse. Staring at her tawny ripe flesh, her curved bare ass which still made its obscene begging motions, he tried valiantly to feel that sharp tingle in his cock, but it was useless.
He dressed quickly, the grim-eyed cop once more. Karen turned over on her back and watched him from the carpet with gleaming eyes. She was still aroused, yearning for more action, but it was clear this session was over with. And it wasn't just screwing itself she wanted, she craved the Chief's rough hands and brutal hardon ripping deep inside her, wanted to recapture that humble sex-slave feeling he'd sparked in her. The belt had stung terribly on her bare ass, but it had excited her furiously.
She was beginning to yearn for punishment in her sex.
He wiped her pussy-juice off his gun with a kleenex, shooting her a look of scorn as though she'd soiled his sacred scepter with her hot come.
"When will I see you again?" Karen asked in a whisper. It was something she rarely said to any man, except her husband. Once she had strenuous sex with a man, she went onto the next one without a backward glance. He became nothing more tha a brief comment in her thick diary.
But this Gestapo creature, with his hard eyes, his vicious hands and cock, and his thrilling belt, was excitingly different. On the mechanical end, he was no match for her virile husband or most other younger men. But he could humble her with a mere look of disdain, make her feel weak and groveling just by stroking his thick belt, a promise of pain she was quickly learning to hunger for.
"Maybe tomorrow," he said, bored. "Be here on your lunch hour."
Naked, she followed him to the apartment door where she rubbed her burning pussy feverishly to his holstered gun.
"Just a hot little tramp," he sneered down at her. His fingers found her ass and pinched cruelly. Tears came to Karen's eyes and she shivered wildly. Somehow the silken raw flesh of her plump ass had become super-sensitive to pain and the eerie desire to be whipped again seethed in her blood. None of the men she knew, least of all her own husband, would understand that. But the icy-eyed Chief did. He had what she needed, and he knew it too.
"I'll be waiting," the blonde panted, her eyelids fluttering as he harshly squeezed her swollen tits in his fingers.
"Don't hold your breath," he retorted and then was gone.
Karen called the bank and told them she'd had an attack of indigestion and wouldn't return to work that day. Then she got her diary from the locked box in the closet and lay naked on her belly on the carpet. She studied the previous entry, beneath the date. It was only three days before: Simons, Carl P., 28, bank guard. C plus.
Fucked him in his van during lunch hour. Poor bastard almost died of gratitude, ate my pussy frantically, came three times, once up my ass. Nice guy, but not worth another shot. Cock average. Then she wrote:
Whittaker, Kurt, about 40, Chief of Police, B plus. Forced me to blow him, whipped my ass with his belt, raped me with his gun, came in my ass-and I loved it all! Can't wait for the next time! He's a real bastard, just what I need. Ass-whipping turns me on tremendously! Will try to get Johnny into swapping very soon. Hear there's a lot of punishment-sex in those circles. Want to make it with a girl soon, too, just for the hell of it! Still hot and ready, dammit.
Satisfied, the blonde started to lock up the diary again and then paused, her heart hammering with excitement. If Johnny found the shocking diary, he'd know everything. He might walk out on her. But then again he might just turn on to the swapping idea and they'd be in for some terrific swinging ties. A very risky gamble, she thought.
As small and conservative as Ocean City was, there simply had to be swappers here. Hell, there were swappers everywhere in California. Once you broke into the circle and moved in that secret society, they seemed to crawl out of the woodwork, or so she'd been told by a guy she'd made recently who wanted Karen to swing with his wife. She'd been intrigued, but not enough at the time to do more than make vague promises. Now she wondered.
She decided on a half-hearted gamble, leaving the whole thing up to fate. She placed the diary beneath some panties in her dresser drawer. As far as she knew, Johnny never went into her drawer, but there it lay in case the urge ever struck him. That way, it was out of her hands. She'd have the thrill and suspense of waiting to see what happened, hoping, fearing, yearning, always aware that the diary could be found at any time.
Beneath the silly surface reasoning of her mind, Karen knew exactly what she was doing. Her husband would probably never snoop in her dresser drawer. But another woman or a girl would, eagerly, curious about the stud's young wife. As far as Karen knew, Johnny didn't bring girls back here, but she couldn't be certain. After all, if she could screw the Chief of Police up here, how did she know what Johnny was doing while she was at work?
For all she knew, Johnny was screwing the Police Chief's stunning wife all the while Karen was being ravaged in the ass by the Police Chief!
The silly thought made her laugh out loud. Karen drew a hot bath and lay back in the tub, obscenely caressing her pussy-lips. She'd get some nylon cord and buy a whip this afternoon. A black shiny whip was much more exciting than a leather belt, and she knew she'd tremble with feverish lust once she was tied down and completely helpless.
The transformation in the young nymphomaniac's life from raw, urgent sex to violent and bizarre new kicks was already beginning, triggered by the Police Chief's brutal passion.
And the sexy, eager blonde's secret desire to be tied down and teased and savagely raped would be fulfilled with shattering fury sooner than she could possibly realize....