Chapter 3
The Chief himself came to escort me to my cell. Jack's uncle, Roy Dean.
I suppose he was in his forties, but it was hard to tell. Not that he appeared to be young-he was just so mean-looking I was willing to let him be any age he wanted to be.
After his warning knock, Miss Hatfield and I had scrambled for our clothes. Still, our most frantic efforts found us only half-dressed by the time he opened the door and strode menacingly into the room.
At well over six feet, he glared down at us like we were both fresh dog turds. Looking over, I saw that Miss Hatfield seemed as intimidated as I was.
"Get out of here, Maisie," he snarled her first name.
Dutifully, she marched forward. His authority over her was complete.
When she was halfway out the door, without warning, Chief Dean whirled around and kicked her in the butt. Since he was wearing pointed-toe cowboy boots it must have hurt like hell, but Maisie Hatfield uttered no sound.
"Goddamn dyke," he sneered. Then he flattened his heel against her rump and pushed her out the door. When she was gone, he flicked his toe and slammed it shut.
Suddenly I was locked in a room with the meanest looking man I'd ever seen. And nothing about his behavior so far had convinced me that his appearance was deceiving.
"Let's you and me get one thing straight, little lady," he hissed in my face. "There's only one boss around here, and that's me. I am the law."
Then he slapped me in the face. Believe me, it hurt. His fingers were like steel bars.
"You please me," he continued, as I wobbled to keep my feet, "and maybe you can get to first base in this town. Otherwise, you're dead."
He slapped me again. This time with the other hand. He was an ambidextrous sadist.
My reeling senses left me no alternative but to fall to the floor. I landed there in a heap.
"Oh, no, you don't," he barked. Reaching down, he grabbed me by the shoulders and yanked me to my feet. I felt like my clavicle was broken.
Flinging me like a toy, he hurtled me toward the door. I remembered he'd closed it when I smashed into it. Now my nose seemed shattered as well.
He was right behind me before I could mercifully collapse. Gouging his knee into the small of my back, he forced me to remain upright.
"Now let's go to the slams, little lady," he burned his words into my nearby ear. "Something tells me that after our little talk you're going to be a model prisoner."
Reaching around me, he turned the knob and re-opened the door. Then he put his boot to my ass and kicked me through it just as he had done to Maisie Hatfield.
With my tits hanging out I was marshaled through an office and down a long corridor. Everybody we passed ogled my bare breasts. I'd never felt so cheap.
Then, after an electronic door was opened, I was shoved into a cellblock. It seemed awfully modern for an out-of-the-way burg like Gila Flats.
"Federal money built this," the Chief seemed to read my mind.
God, I hoped clairvoyance wasn't part of his power.
"Your government wants you to be locked up in maximum security," he went on. "The country is tired of law breakers."
By this time the Chief had hustled me down a narrow passageway between two rows of formidable looking cells. Each of them contained one or two wretched looking souls, except one overcrowded with several female inmates.
Well, I thought, at least I'll have company.
However, it was not to be. At the end of the aisle we took a sharp right turn and were abruptly in an unoccupied area. A single open cell lay ahead of us, different from the others. Not only was it empty, but it had no bars. It had apparently been sound-proofed from the padding on the walls and ceiling.
"What's this?" I blurted, thinking of the third degree, solitary confinement, and bread and water.
"Quarantine," the Chief snapped officiously. "All new prisoners have to be isolated for twenty-four hours to make sure they don't have any communicable diseases. Your government doesn't want the pus from any VD epidemic messing up the nice, shiny cells it paid for with the taxpayers' money."
Then he shoved me inside. Another door was closed, sealing me off from the outside world. The heavily dropping lock on this one sounded like a death sentence.
Back, back, he kept pushing me, flattening his hand between my exposed breasts. Finally I dropped onto a cot that was bolted to the rear wall.
"Over on your belly," Chief Dean ordered in a way that could not be ignored by any rational human being. I obediently did as I was told.
When I was prone, he grabbed my ankles and pried my legs apart. Then, before I realized it, he was tying my feet to either side of the cot.
I started to say something, but a fist in my mouth stopped that. Seeming to sense just when I was going to speak, he'd casually looped his right fist forward and bashed the words back down my throat.
My mouth was bleeding. A couple of teeth felt like they were chipped. I'd learned my lesson. When he finished tying down my legs, and started on my wrists, I quelled any visible response out of stark fear.
When I was securely bound, Dean grabbed what clothes I had on in a bunch at my waist and ripped them from my body. I was naked with one yank.
Then I heard the whine of a descending zipper. Glancing covertly over my shoulder I saw the Chief of Police extracting his thick cock from his open fly.
It was as big as the rest of him and rock hard.
With my eye still on him, I watched the Chief lovingly stroke his rigid tool. When a smile crossed his face in appreciation of his own hard-on, it was the first emotion I'd seen him show.
"What are you looking at?" he caught me peeking.
"Your, your cock," I stammering admitted, instinctively using the vernacular.
"Have you ever seen a bigger one."
"I-I don't think so."
"You know what I'm going to do with it?"
"No," I gasped. But it was a lie-I was sure I did.
"I'm going to fuck you in the ass with it," he informed me through the smile that had become a cruel leer.
It was no surprise. He might as well have told me that five came between four and six.
Once the obvious had been verbally confirmed, Dean went to the rear of the cot on which I was imprisoned and knelt between my splayed legs. Then his fingers plunged into the crack of my ass and brutally pulled my cheeks apart.
Right away I could feel my anus throbbing. The instant the air hit it, the blood came rushing to its capillaries and made it turgid. My ass was suddenly so hot and pulsing it truly felt like a sex organ.
"I can hardly tell your asshole from your pussy," he showed he could laugh. "But I'm sure I'll know if I'm in the right place once I've got my cock inside you."
That said, he introduced the knotted head of his prick into the gaping cleavage of my butt. Finding my anus right away, it began forcing its rounded bulk against the sensitive outer ridges.
I expected penetration to be devastatingly swift. However, to my surprise, after the initial nudge of his cock against my rectal-hole there was no plowing insertion.
"You've got to beg for it," he cleared up the mystery. "I want to hear you beg for my cock in your ass. I want to hear you tell me how bad you want me to fuck you in the butt."
I knew I could reasonably expect the swish of his gun from his holster, then the hammer cocking, if I didn't comply. It was a question of what was worse-the possibility of being blown away for "assaulting a police officer" or the certainty of being brutally corn-holed. As degrading as it was, the latter sounded healthier.
"Fuck me in the ass," I gave in, surprising myself with how good an actress I was. "I want your big, hard cock in my tight ass."
"Very good," he evaluated my performance. "With this kind of attitude I'm sure the court will show leniency when my brother hears your case."
If I'd had any previous doubt I was doing the right thing, now I was positive I had to let him ass-fuck me. The way this town was sewed up with nepotism, I needed all the approval I could get.
So, it was on my own that I resumed pleading with him even more fervently to bugger me. And considering my desperate urge to survive Gila Flats, this time it was debatable if I was acting.
"I want to feel your cock inside my ass," I told him. "Big and hard-fucking me to the hilt."
"I'll fuck your ass until you shit," he promised me and then made his move.
His prick was like a bludgeon as it battered its way inside my hole. The tightness of the orifice may have delayed insertion, but there was no way it could stop it.
Once the head was inside, I decided to help matters by lifting my hips as much as I could with my arms and legs bound. However high I went, it widened my asshole enough for several inches of Dean's thick shaft to shoot in at once.
"Oooooh, that's it," I moaned. "Now you're really starting to fuck me, fuck me in the ass."
Could I hear myself? What in the world was I talking about?
I sounded like an old pro at this. But the truth was that I had never been fucked in the ass by anyone in my life. Not even my husband had tested that hole with his cock.
Respectable, middle-class people didn't go in for such perversions. They weren't decent.
Yet, here I was, wiggling my can and begging for more. Screaming, "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!" as Chief Dean laid inch after inch of pipe up my keyster.
"Yeah, I can tell you ain't actin', baby," his voice became rough with guttural slang. The crudity of his grammar, however, did not detract from the truth of his statement.
He was absolutely right. My hip-twitching fucking movements were all natural.
And so was the crack in my shrieking voice as I pleaded with him to, "Fuck me harder, harder! Bury your cock in my ass to the balls!"
There was no doubt about it. I was out on the limb of the sexual experience of my life.
"Am I hurting you?" he grunted, as he screwed in another inch.
"Yes!" I cried. "It hurts so good-so damn good!"
"Good," he gave me another brownie-point. "I like my woman to be in pain. Makes me feel like more of a man."
I couldn't argue. Any man whose cock could put a woman through what I was going through had to be a blue-ribbon stud.
And there was no longer any pretending that I didn't love getting it from him. Loved getting my tight asshole fucked by his hard, thick prick.
"Get in my ass all the way," I gasped. "I want to feel your balls between my cheeks. I want you to get the head of your cock in my shit."
Yes, my shit. My hot, gurgling shit. Suddenly, as the crown of the Chiefs prick approached my spasming colon, it seemed a thrillingly erotic substance.
Then, with a mighty thrust, he was in me to the hilt. My ass was filled with as much hard-on as he had to offer.
"Make me shit!" I urgently begged, wiggling my rump to increase the chafing friction in my bowels. "Fuck me until I crap all over myself!"
Of course, what I'd done was to fulfill his earlier prophecy about what he was going to do to me. It should have been the most degrading experience of my life-instead I was thrilled to please him.
As he began jack-hammering me with his hilted tool, I closed my eyes and dreamed of shit. Hot shit, lapping in chocolate waves. It wasn't disgusting in my mind, but my own kind of anal cum. Within seconds I'd be spewing it.
When I bit my lip I realized an orgasm was starting. An anal orgasm. The first one I'd ever had in my life.
The reaction my climactic beginnings triggered was automatic. Like a bellows, my lower intestine collapsed. Abruptly squeezed into a lump, my shit cannon-balled out my asshole.
Now the anal orgasm was a roller coaster.
Even Chief Dean's sturdy cock couldn't withstand the momentum of my excretion. It came shooting out of my rectum, instantly followed by an explosion of crap.
I looked around in time to see the Chief splattered with brown flecks of my gruel. However, even with the mess, it was still possible to see his shit-eating grin. I was still on the right track.
The second his prick flew from my ass, Dean's hand went to work. A few strokes later and his cock was spewing a fountain of snowy white cum to join my dirty brown crap.
I could feel the two kinds of goo washing over my rump and the backs of my legs. Then, when Dean's spurting stopped, I could feel his huge hand sliding over my thighs and snagging a generous specimen of the unique emulsion.
"Taste it, baby," he directed, walking around to my front and thrusting his sloppy hand in my face like Jimmy Cagney with a grapefruit. "I know you're gonna love it."
I was still coming, so I assumed he was right. Eagerly I lapped away.
However, to my dismay, it didn't take long to realize that shit was shit. And I was eating it.
In a twisting mental lurch my euphoria turned to repulsion. My senses, tingling from orgasm, suddenly burnt out. My stomach contracted into a cold, hard ball.
"What's the matter, little lady," he picked up on my distaste, "too good for your own shit?"
I felt so terrible. So rotten. Even dirtier on the inside than I was on the outside.
My exhilarating climax had degenerated into utter shame. I wished I could apologize to the whole world.
"Please, please," I gagged. "I don't know what came over me. What made me behave this way."
"I did, baby," he closed the book on the matter. "Just like everything else that means diddly-shit in this town."
Then he kicked me in the jaw and left me lying there unconscious.