"You can do what you want when it's your turn."
Cobra slid the panties down and tossed them aside among other dusty stale articles of women's apparel lying on the gritty floor then bunted her thighs apart. He unzipped his pants and thumbed his cock out. She gave a wounded cry. He jerked open the front of her sleeveless blouse, buttons popping, then pushed up her bra.
She wailed with animal ferocity as he cupped her tits, thumb nails denting hard into the soft pink nipples. He was strong and held her in check as if she were a child. Cupping her ass he lifted her off the floor as he strained to force in the knotted head of his cock. She was dry. Tight. Her blue eyes froze on him as he spit on his hand and rubbed it over the purple veined organ. He pressed against her again. Slowly she spread. She clenched her teeth as she felt the width and length of him; squeezed her eyes shut; twisted her body beneath him, sliding and kicking her spiked heels against the floor, the soles making a scrapping rasping sound like sandpaper. Her face red from struggling. Sweat beaded, trickling down into her hair. She arched her back, bucking against him, her struggles only intensifying his eager thrusts. The weight of his fat body, slamming against her, forced air from her lungs as if she were a bellows. Guttural whines puffed her cheeks. He began moving in and out more easily. Suddenly he grew rigid. He groaned, then exploded with short quick thrusts and collapsed on top of her. After a moment he rose up and shook his dick off on her belly then stood up. She lay on the floor looking up, her eyes hot, her breasts rising and falling rapidly. Naked to their gaze.
"Tight."
He walked outside and lit a cigarette leaving the two Mexicans with her. A lone car swished by on the Interstate. The naked desert shimmered in the heat. A bird made a black dart overhead. When he finished his cigarette, he strolled back inside. She was totally naked now. Santana's switchblade lay on the floor next to the mattress. She was sandwiched between them. Santana on top fucking her in the ass. Jorge beneath. The rest of her clothes had joined the scrap pile scattered on the floor. She no longer struggled. There was heavy breathing, grunts, the sound of flesh against flesh. Her blonde hair hung down curtaining her head. Jorge had his hands on the sides of her face kissing her hungrily. Cobra could imagine her slack mouth and greased cunt accepting his wet thrusts.
He walked back outside and opened the door of the Honda. Her purse lay on the passenger seat. He opened it, saw the cell phone and took it out. He dropped it on the concrete and crushed it with his heel.
After awhile Santana came out buttoning his shirt a toothy grin on his brown face. "To think we get paid for this, bato."
"Is Jorge about done?"
"Aw, you know that fucker, man. He go on forever. He like his pussy." He lit a cigarette and stood with his hands on his narrow hips looking out over the desert.
"Well, he's gonna have to rush it. I wanna get an ice cold beer and something to eat. Get out of this fucking heat."
Santana nodded. "Manana." He got in the van and left.
The sun moved imperceptibly across the sky. Half an hour dragged by before Jorge came out, a shorter man than Santana and pudgy. He nodded, got in the Honda and drove off. Cobra tossed his cigarette and went back inside. She was sitting up, strands of long blonde hair hung down to her nipples. Pink lipstick smeared her cheek. Her body was wet with sweat. The greasers had taken her wedding ring, watch and gold necklace. He lifted her up, walked her out to the patrol car, and put her in back.
Sheriff Jane Kitten sat at her desk, pointed boots propped up, clicking a ballpoint pen against her smooth, white teeth while studying a crossword puzzle. Long red fingernails tapped the folded magazine. Piercing blue eyes moved over the columns. Red lips smiled faintly. Beneath a gray Stetson, tilted low on her forehead, long black hair was fixed in a ponytail. Custom fitted jeans and a long-sleeved western shirt, with small brown and white checks, cleaved to her perfect five-foot-seven figure. On her hip was a pearl-handled .357 revolver.
Her Smart Phone buzzed on the desk. She picked it up.
"Got another one for you," Cobra said. "Prime this time. Blonde, blue eyes."
"Okay. Bring her round back. I'll be here."
She dropped her feet off the desk and slid back in the swivel chair, got up and opened the office door. Gladys, the dispatcher, was playing poker on her computer. She went to the right, down a corridor, opened a steel door with a key, passed two empty cells and opened another steel door marked EXIT.
Outside was a brick walled alleyway on both sides. A green dumpster hid the exit door from the view of anyone passing across where the alley met Loomis Ave. An anonymous graffiti artist had spray painted in bold letters on a section of wall, SATAN RULES. Underneath was a well executed picture of a leering, demonic creature.
Soon Cobra's patrol car turn into the alley. He stopped at the exit door and got out.
"You're gonna love this 'n, Jane." He pulled the naked blonde out. "Whadahyah think of that?" He squeezed a tit.
"This man and two Mexicans raped me." Anne tried to jerk free, but he was too strong.
"Shut your slut mouth, bitch." Cobra shook her.
"Bring her inside."
She opened the cell nearest the exit, and Cobra took off the cuffs and shoved her in.
"She's gonna bring a pretty penny, huh?" Cobra said.
"We'll see." Kitten said, matter of factly. Then with a tone of dismissal, "I'll get back to you."
Cobra fumed as he drove off. He didn't like being kept in the dark. He had no idea who the higher ups were that Kitten was dealing with, and that being the case, he only had her word on how much she was getting for the women he brought her--and, damn it, he was taking all the risk. Yeah... but he grinned. Even he had to admit there wasn't much risk with the county sheriff protecting him. He headed for Nell's Bar & Grill for a cold one. Hell, even if she was short changing him, the easy money was still good and so was the free pussy.
Anne sat on the thin bare mattress that rested on a steel slab jutting from the wall. There was nothing in the cell to cover her nakedness. Only the bunk and a steel toilet-sink combo. It was hard to form her thoughts. Only a few hours ago she existed in a world that made sense. Now nothing did. What was it the man Cobra had said? She'll 'bring a pretty penny.' Are they going to...sell me?
Her eyes darted to the steel door that suddenly opened. The pretty sheriff, the one Cobra called Jane, came in. She unlocked the cell door and tossed a pair of padded cuffs on the mattress. "Put one around your wrist and the other around one of the bars."
When Anne had done so, Jane sat down on the mattress next to her. She placed the palm of her hand on her cheek. The hand was soft and warm. Anne smelled a flowery scent. Jane moved the hand down the side of her neck squeezing softly with tantalizing, almost hypnotic, repetition.
"You're very lovely." She placed both hands on her breasts and flicked the pink nipples with her nails until they became rigid. She slowly circled the breasts with her palms, pressing, massaging, making the shapely mounds swell. The slightest touch was making Anne tingle with guilty anticipation. She wanted to resist, felt she must, but couldn't. She closed her eyes and when she opened them Jane was naked pressing her red lips to hers. She didn't resist, couldn't have even if she wanted to. She'd never been kissed sexually by a woman before. It was like nothing she could have imagined. She felt the wet tip of the woman's tongue pressing insistently at her lips. She parted them allowing her full access. She grew heady. Her senses spun out of control. She felt warm soft breasts pressed against hers.
Hands gently reclined her on the bunk. The tongue worked within her mouth dominating her, smothering her with unrelenting eagerness. Hands wandered over her nakedness. Warm palms circled her belly giving rise to needs she had to have fulfilled. Then she was jolted. She cried out in lustful agony. Fingers prodded her swollen cunt sending myriad electric shocks racing through her tormented flesh. She arched her back forcing her hips up against a hand now wet with her juices. Fingers probed her, building an unquenchable fire. Long nails traced erotic outlines about her clit driving her wild. Every touch sent shudders of ecstasy rampaging through her. Her heart raced madly beating against her chest. She panted, gasping for breath. Crying. Begging. Whimpering. Moaning uncontrollably. Then there was a pleasure almost inconceivable, she felt the woman's tongue, her lips, her mouth probing, kissing, sucking at the cleft beneath her belly. The teeth nipping, tugging, biting. Hands cupping her breasts. Fingers kneading sparks of desire from nipples hard as pebbles. Sensations rocked her body building in intensity, more than she could endure. Her body shook as waves of delicious release exploded from some deep central source racking her with convulsions that, after what seemed an eternity, subsided, leaving her incapable of thought or motion. When she became aware of her surrounding again, the beautiful sheriff was gone.
Kitten looked at her watch again. It had been three hours since she'd called Fetcher Murdoch. She didn't like holding merchandise any longer than necessary, and she was anxious to get the haggling over that she knew was coming. The blonde was, as Cobra said, prime cut. She should bring top dollar. And she was going to make damn sure she did. She was about to make another call when Murdoch came in the front door.
"In the office."
