Chapter 2
When I came to, we were speeding down the highway bisecting the desert. I was in the back seat of the Gila Flats police cruiser, staring straight ahead into the steel mesh separating the prisoner from the arresting officers. When I tried to unsuccessfully move my arms out of the uncomfortable position in which they were tangled, I realized I was hand-cuffed.
I could hear Jack and Charlie in the front. They were talking about me.
"Boy, her cunt was really tight," Charlie was telling Jack.
"As tight as that teenage runaway we plugged last week in the gulch?"
"Tighter. If I'd closed my eyes, I'd have thought I was fucking an asshole instead of a pussy."
"Hmmm," Jack mused. "Maybe when we get her back in town and booked, I'll have to draw some guard duty and see for myself. Tight pussies are hard to come by."
With this callous discussion of my body, it was no wonder I looked down at it. For the first time I noticed I was no longer nude, having been sloppily clothed during my unconsciousness. With my garments filthy from being thrown to the ground, I looked like a vagrant. I despaired that anyone in Gila Flats would believe anything I told them.
It looked like a long ordeal was ahead of me.
All of a sudden my attention was diverted from myself by the violently tipping car. When I looked out the window the whirring landscape told me we were taking a corner on two wheels. As we came out of it, Charlie gunned the engine like a hot-rodder and we sped perpendicular to the highway.
Gila Flats was about eight miles down the two-lane road. At the police car's rate of speed we were there in about five minutes. When Charlie slammed on the brakes in front of the jail, I felt like I'd just completed a roller coaster ride.
They pulled me out of the car, drawing then-guns to prod me into the building. As we proceeded up the steps a small crowd gathered.
Apparently hanging around the jail was a popular form of recreation in Gila Flats.
"Hey, Jackie, whatcha got there?" and old man called from a toothless mouth.
"No comment," the cop answered tersely. But he was smiling.
"You shouldn't talk to your Grandpa that way," Charlie chided.
"Hell, if I tell Gramps police business I'll have to tell all the rest of my relatives," Jack said. "And that's half the town. And the other half are related to you."
My heart sank, as we cleared the top step. I had no reason to believe they were exaggerating. I could never get a fair hearing in this town; nor, if it came to it, a fair trial.
And it turned out to be even worse than I expected. The Chief of Police was Jack's uncle. He was also the mayor-the only authority in town. His name was Roy Dean.
Apparently half the town were Deans. According to the equation that meant the other half were Hatfields, Charlie's last name. The matron who was assigned to process me after I'd been booked for suspicion of car theft was named Miss Hatfield.
"Listen," she said once we were alone, "did my brother's boy, Charlie, do anything funny to you? He's always been a wild one."
"No," I lied. Needless to say, under the circumstances I didn't trust her as far as I could throw her.
And that wouldn't have been very far. She was a big woman, even though she didn't seem to have an ounce of fat on her. The kind men called an Amazon. I guessed she was at least six feet tall and much stronger than most men I had known.
"Do you mind if we don't talk," I said, realizing how uncomfortable I felt with her.
"But I like to talk," she informed me. "People arrested on the highway are the only new faces we get in town outside of the Comstock."
Since she pinched my arm with a firm grip when she said it, I presumed I had no alternative but to comply with her wishes. Independence got you no place in Gila Flats. I guessed I'd find out what the Comstock was later.
"What would you like to talk about, Miss Hatfield?" I gave in.
"Are you married?" she asked. At the same time she began to unbutton my blouse.
"What are you doing?" I blurted incredulously.
"Just a simple skin-search," she replied in a bored voice. "Routine for all prisoners. Believe me you won't even notice it if we keep talking."
"Okay," I yielded again, as her fingers loosened my top button. "Yes, I am married. Very happily."
"Kids?" she smiled, undoing more buttons.
"Yes, two. A girl twelve and a boy eleven."
I was surprised at how easily I answered. Despite my apprehension she was putting me at ease. It didn't even bother me when my blouse came fully open.
"You have nice breasts," Miss Hatfield said with obvious sincerity.
I looked down and saw them hanging nakedly. When they'd dressed me, the cops had thought my bra was too much trouble.
"Thank you," I answered, pleased with a compliment after all the hassle I'd been through. A woman always likes to be praised by another woman about her figure.
"Did you breast-feed your children?" Miss Hatfield asked, peering closely at my nipples. Under her gaze they seemed to stiffen.
"No," I replied. "It wasn't as popular then as it is now."
"I thought so," she said. "That's why they're still so pink-like a young girl's. The baby's sucking makes them eventually turn brown."
She seemed so interested in my family that I thought it natural to ask if she had ever been married. The conversation made me feel relatively comfortable because it seemed more like one I would have with an old acquaintance in the aisle of a supermarket rather than with a matron skin-searching me in a jail.
She laughed at my question. "No," she said, "I've never been married. Never even considered it."
"But you seem so interested in children," I noted, as she began tinkering with the waist of my skirt.
"I am," she stated. "But I loathe where they come from."
"You mean men?"
"I don't mean the stork," she chuckled good-naturedly, undoing the top of my skirt.
"But here you are working with them," I pointed out. "You must be the only woman in the jail."
"Not the only one," she softly reminded me. "You're here, too."
"I-I was talking about on the job," I stammered, nervous from the suggestiveness in her voice.
"Working with men isn't the same as going to bed with them," she said tersely.
When she was finished speaking, my skirt slid down my hips. When the air hit my crotch I realized that my panties had been forgotten as well as my bra. Except for the open-hanging blouse, I was totally naked.
After she lifted the blouse from my shoulders, Miss Hatfield stepped back and surveyed my bare body. Repeatedly her eyes shifted back and forth between my breasts and my cunt.
It was clear she was pleased by what she saw. She was smacking her lips.
I didn't know how to react to her obvious lust. The only person I was used to having look at my nudity this way was my husband.
"You turn me on," she blatantly informed me of what I already knew.
Then she started to move toward me. There was no place to go because my back was against a wall.
When she began running her fingers around my nipples, I had to freeze and take it.
"Your nipples are getting hard," she observed after several seconds' stimulation. "Have you ever had a woman play with them before?"
"No," I admitted.
"Another woman knows just where to touch," she crooned, vigorously rubbing the miniature spikes of tactile flesh. "I'll bet I've already made your pussy wet just by playing with your tits for a minute. Let's see."
Both of us looked down at my pubic triangle together. Even with my legs closed, it was easy to see my cunt was dripping wet.
"I told you," she said, dropping one of her hands from my breasts so she could feel my pussy.
I shivered as she wiggled her fingers between my thighs. Then I tingled when she worked them inside my twat.
"Another woman's even better in the pussy than at the breasts," she leaned forward and whispered hotly in my ear. After her lips had skidded across my cheek, she kissed me.
It was a deep soul-kiss. In an instant her tongue was down my throat, joining her hand at my breasts and the fingers in my cunt as erotic stimulators.
Miss Hatfield had so much height and weight on me that the intensity of her kiss bent me over backward. As I arched my spine, my legs automatically opened, sending her fingers past the second knuckle in my box. The increased penetration was loud and wet.
After awhile, I was bent backward so far that I had to throw down my arms to prop myself up. But it was a shaky arrangement at best, and I wasn't helped by the breath-stopping endlessness of Miss Hatfield's passionate soul-kiss. My lungs were burning and my head spinning from lack of oxygen.
Giving into gravity at last, I withdrew the support of my aching arms and let myself fall. As I landed on the floor, Miss Hatfield was on top of me all the way. I felt like a recovered fumble.
Now her mouth pulled away from mine. As I gasped for air, she ran her lips down to my chest and began sucking my tits. Between my legs, she was just starting to really finger-fuck me.
Even after I had time to catch my breath I was still panting. My lungs may have been sated, but my libido was just beginning to hungrily growl.
"Mmmmmm, you're so hot," Miss Hatfield murmured from the hillocks of my bosom. "You really want it bad, don't you? You really want another woman to make love to you."
For an instant I felt like I was an onlooker. It was as though I were watching all of this happen while hovering from the ceiling.
As a spectator, I was shocked that somebody could think a respectable woman like myself would welcome lesbian advances. It was like the matron was talking to somebody else.
However, it was my head that automatically nodded when she asked me if I wanted to suck her pussy. Definitely my voice moaning, "Please, let me eat you. I'm hungry for your cunt."
Smiling with pleasure at my response, Miss Hatfield got to her knees and efficiently peeled her uniform from her massive form. Contrary to the usual occurrence, she looked bigger out of her clothes than in them.
Her tits were enormous. Yet they were as firm as boulders. The thick, erect nipples were even pinker than my own.
Even though she was kneeling, I could see that her large body was perfectly proportioned. She was the giant economy-size woman. Had she not been a lesbian, one man wouldn't have been enough for her.
"Show me your cunt," I shamelessly begged. "Spread your legs in my face."
She came over to me and did just that. Sitting down on the floor, she opened her knees and made my mouth water.
Miss Hatfield's pussy was just like the rest of her-big and spectacular. It looked like it could take a telephone pole.
Thick black hair curled everywhere, but still I could see her labia. Pussy lips that thick and red were impossible to conceal.
And so was her clitoris. It seemed as fat as the last joint on a thumb, pulsating in purple turgidity at the apex of her snatch.
Of course her snatch was dripping. Foaming is a better word.
However, the whole story of Miss Hatfield's twat was not told visually. My nostrils flared as I took an intoxicating whiff of pussy scent. It was like an aphrodisiac.
"Come on and eat me," she beckoned from her Buddha-like position.
Like a hungry puppy, I scrambled toward the fresh meat. Finally, when my head was buried in her crotch, Miss Hatfield compressed her thighs so I couldn't change my mind.
If I'd had any intention of doing so, it was quickly forgotten when I got my first taste of pussy. Not just Miss Hat field-but my first taste of anybody's pussy.
It seemed hard to believe, but I'd gone all these years with a cunt between my legs without even knowing what one tasted like. As I lapped up Miss Hatfield's goo, for the first time I realized that pussy juice was like the nectar of tropical fruit. I couldn't help but wonder if my own twat tasted this sweet.
It was clear I was soon going to have an expert opinion. For now Miss Hatfield was tipping over on her side, taking my head with her in a kind of rigid fetal position. When she was all the way over she reached for my waist and pulled the bottom half of my naked body toward the top half of hers. I knew enough about sex to realize this was a sixty-nine.
"I'm going to eat your pussy while you're eating mine," she confirmed my judgment.
I couldn't wait. I was so anxious to have her like it.
She dove right in. Right away I could feel her tongue tracing my labial contours and getting acquainted with my clit. Then she dipped the tip inside the pot and pulled out a glob of my honey.
"Mmmmm," she smacked her lips after sampling my liquid charms, "your cunt is even sweeter than I thought it would be."
I helplessly brimmed with pride. No compliment given to me by any man, even my husband, had ever made me feel like such a total woman. I'd never had sex where I'd felt so in tune with my partner as I did with this other female.
Like an experienced lesbian, I began deeply tongue-fucking Miss Hatfield's magnificent twat. In my uncontrollable passion it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.
Her cunt was wonderfully deep. I could easily slip my tongue entirely inside and still wiggle it. However, despite the space, there was a sense of tightness. I was sure she could really turn it on when she wanted to.
I found out that I was right when the tip of my tongue pressed some magic button in the infinity of her fuck-hole. Her muscles lurched with sudden contraction, closing the powerful walls of her pussy like a steel trap.
Suddenly my tongue felt like it was being torn out of my mouth. Miss Hatfield's snatch was as strong as it was juicy.
It was instinctive that I would respond in kind. There was no way I could allow my tongue to be sucked bloodless by the matron's leeching twat without returning the favor.
Whipping my vaginal sphincters into play, I closed down between my legs. My cunt was transformed into a combination vacuum cleaner and meat grinder. I pulled her tongue so far into my crack that her teeth were grinding against my pussy lips.
Each of us squeezing our box to the ultimate, we went at it hot and heavy without relaxation. Only when we both started to come at once did we slow down the rhythm and the pressure.
In climax we became more gentle with each other. As our pussies loosened their grips and became soft and sloppy in our mouths, we gently caressed one another. The sixty-nine changed from a hard one to a soft one as we languished in the sensory velvet of prolonged orgasm.
I was so aglow from the tingling that I might as well have been tangled with my lover in satin sheets on a water bed. It hardly seemed as though it was all taking place on the dirty floor of a small-town jail.
The knock on the door broke the spell, though. After that, I wisped up fast.