Juicy Lucy Klintt Ch 01

"How ya doin' back there?"

How was she doing? The question was as dumb as everything else that had happened to her so far this evening.

She was half naked; she was freezing. Goose bumps covered her skin as she sat there in the cold back seat of the patrol car. The smoke from the cigarette she was holding in the corner of her mouth was curling upwards into her eyes and making them tear. Her hands were handcuffed behind her, and she didn't know what to do with the burning cigarette, spit it from between her lips and mash it out on the floor? That would only piss the cops off.

The cop, the one who had just asked her how she was doing, was busy staring into the rear view mirror. What was he doing? He was trying to see into the crack between the parted knees of her legs. Such things Lucy understood.

So she spread her knees another couple of inches. Give 'em what they want --- that was her motto.

She looked out through the side window of the car. Where in the hell was she anyway? What city was this? A frigid layer of snow glazed the empty downtown streets an icy blue. Not Denver. Chicago? Indianapolis, Buffalo? Oh yeah, Cleveland. Cleveland, Ohio, that was where she was.

A movement from the front seat caught her eye. The cop was swiveling his fat body around, the better to look at her. The fold of flesh at the back of his neck squeezed out over his collar.

Oh shit, she thought; here it comes. She could see it in his pig eyes. The question. Why was it, it was always a cop who asked the question?

"Tell me, Miss Klintt, my buddy here was wonderin'," he was pointing to the other cop, the one who was driving, "Did you really fuck a dog?"

It was always their buddy who wanted to know.

"Ask my lawyer," she said. She ground the cigarette out on the floor of the car.

Lucy Klintt, 'Juicy Lucy' to her fans around the country, again looked out the window at the cold and empty streets of Cleveland. Cleveland, Ohio. She uncrossed her legs and closed her knees together. She didn't owe the fucking cop anything.

Lucy Klintt thought about her life.

Shit, she thought.

The trip had been screwed up from its very beginning. First Peter Plowman had taken off in New Orleans. Then that fucker in Miami had stiffed her, and Steve had given her all kinds of shit as if it had been her fault that the check had bounced.

This trip was all Steve's idea anyhow. He had made the bookings. He'd booked her into those sleaze joints. He had booked her here into Cleveland.

Her career was slowing down. Money wasn't coming in liked it used to. Personal appearances were what she needed. All the rock stars did it although she wasn't no rock star. Shit, even book writers did it. And she wasn't no writer. They made personal appearances when they wanted to sell records, peddle their books. That was what she needed to do if she wanted to sell her movies. So Steve told her. And Steve knew what was best for her.

So far, as far as she was concerned, the trip, sorry, 'The Tour,' was one big mess. Maybe Steve was unloading some more videos. Maybe he was setting up some R-rated soft porn movie like he had hinted. But she didn't know for sure. What she did know was that there had been precious little publicity, and the crowds that had come out to see her had not been exactly overwhelming. Maybe she was getting too old for this racket. Maybe? Maybe wasn't the word. She was thirty-one years old. She went to the gym three times a week. Hard ass, ribbed abs, taut tits. But, twelve years into the game, she was too old. Shit.

And now she was arrested.

She doubted that her replacement bodyguard, Dick Righteous, had called Steve. Good old Dick. Wasn't smart enough to lace up his shoes. Only thing he was good at was at raising a hard on. Anything more complicated, making a long distance phone call, for instance, was beyond his meager capabilities. She would have to make the call to Steve in Los Angeles herself, She'd make the call after they booked her.

"Hey, officer?"

He didn't answer.

"Hey, Officer Hammond," she resurrected his name from the back of her brain where she kept her memory, "When do I get to make a telephone call? I do get to make a phone call, don't I?"

"Yeah, you get to make a telephone call." He sounded as if he regretted the fact. "You'll get your chance after we get finished booking you."

It had to be around 12:30 by now, Lucy thought. They had stopped the show, raided it just a few minutes after she had started her performance. That had been an hour ago, roughly. It had been sort of funny for the first few minutes after the raid had started. The geeks in the crowd had started scurrying this way and that, scared that their wives or, better, their boyfriends would find out where they had been ---watching Juicy Lucy Klintt. Oh yeah. Those ass holes had really been scared. Hey, but it wasn't ever them that caught the shitty end of the stick when it was over (no pun intended). No, that was her job.

And now she was going to have to call Steve in L.A. Steve was going to be pissed. He would do what he did when he got pissed. He would scream. Then he would blame her. Then he would curse. Then, maybe he would listen to what she had to say. She wished she had some other way of getting help. But she didn't. She hoped Steve would be there to take her call. It was 9:30 back home. He would probably be at the studio.

So Lucy relaxed in the back of the patrol car for the rest of the trip to the station house. She kept her legs tightly crossed.

**********

RICHARD ROTH, on the phone, couldn't believe that this was happening. The dispatcher couldn't be as incompetent as she was acting. "Where is the sergeant on duty?" he repeated.

"Who is this?"

He was going to lose it. He was going to lose it. "I already told you who this is." Richard counted to ten. "This is Richard Roth. I'm calling from the County prosecutor's office."

"You don't have to scream," said the voice on the other end of the phone.

Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten Richard counted quickly to himself. "I am NOT screaming," he said,

"Well you were."

He fought to keep his voice even. "Look, all I would like to know is where the Duty Sergeant is."

"And I told you. I don't know."

"Look, goddamit..."

"If you persist in using profanity, I am authorized to terminate this conversation."

"Do you know who you are talking to?"

"Who or to whom I am talking is of no consequence. Under terms of my employment, I am authorized to end any conversation in which profanity continues after the party on the other end has been notified that the conversation will be ended unless he or she discontinues the use of said profanity."

"I am Richard Roth; I am an attorney on the public prosecutor's staff," Richard Roth was saying, speaking very slowly when the phone call was suddenly cut off.

**********

Lucy Klintt sat on the hard bench at the police station. She was waiting to be booked, but, although there seemed to be a lot of activity going on around her, no one seemed to be in a hurry to do anything about dealing with her situation one way or an other. So she just sat there. She tried to think but didn't know what to think about.

Lucy hadn't ever developed much of a philosophy. In her line of work, you didn't really need philosophy. Her column, "Lucy's Philosophical Musings," in Uckfay, The Magazine for the Connoisseur, didn't deal in what most people would call philosophy. And, besides, it wasn't Lucy, it was Steve who wrote the column.

But, if she had been forced to put words to it, and if she had had the words to use, she would have had to describe her philosophy as being derived from the school founded by Zeno of Citium in Athens, Greece, circa 200 B.C. So, without those words to describe it, she would have said, if she had thought about it, that her philosophy was: "There ain't much, and most of what little there is is already taken. So, hang on to what you got and try to get a little of what you don't got. Worry about tomorrow, tomorrow, Today will take care of itself...... probably....."

Lucy did not think much of Cleveland right now. It sure wasn't doing much for her philosophy, and it was cold. The streets were empty. The cops were downright hostile. Today was not taking care of itself, worse, it was already tomorrow.

As soon as she talked to Steve and he arranged bail for her, she knew what she was going to do. Take off. Get out of Dodge. Scram. Go somewhere where it was warm. South America maybe. San Miguel De Feunto.

Steve better be in when she finally got to make her call.

***********

"Where've you been?" The dispatcher asked sergeant Thurman, "That fuckhead Roth from the prosecutor's office has been trying to get a hold of you for a half hour now. I don't think I can continue putting him off."

"Can't a man get a few minute's sleep around here? " The sergeant shuffled over to the coffee machine, "The coffee looks like shit."

"Wait till you taste it."

"What did Roth want?"

"I don't know he didn't say."

"This coffee tastes like shit."

The dispatcher didn't say any thing.

"Lucy Klint," said Sergeant Thurman. "It's gotta be Lucy Klintt. Cameron told me about it when I came on duty. She get here yet?"

"Yeah. Lucy Klintt. Bum called in. Bum Hammond. He called from downstairs. They're getting ready to book her. What's the big deal. Who's Lucy Klintt?"

"You never heard of Lucy Klintt? Juicy Lucy? Really?"

"Really."

"She's a porn star. She was the one that got caught foolin' around with the president of San Miquel De Feugo. Major Porn star."

"I got it. She's the one sued the Senator that time."

"Yeah. He was runnin' for the senate."

"So why's Roth got his pants on fire about her?"

"Who knows? That dickhead thinks arresting her will put him on the front page of the paper."

The switchboard light began flashing. "It's gotta be Roth. I'll stay on the line."

"This is Richard Roth again. We seemed to have been cut off. Is the sergeant there.?"

The dispatcher nodded. Thurman picked up. "Hello, this is sergeant Thurman."

"I've been trying to get hold of you for a half hour now. Where you been?"

"I been right here."

"Never mind. Has Lucy Klintt been booked yet?"

"Not yet. I spoke to the arresting officer not more than..." the sergeant looked over to the dispatcher. She held up both hands and spread her fingers open and shut two times. "About twenty minutes ago." The dispatcher held up a sheaf of papers. "They're real busy downstairs right now. They'll be booking her soon."

Roth was silent for a moment. "Any reporters there?"

Thurman looked over at the dispatcher. "No, none here. No call either."

"I better get in. Just in case she needs to be interrogated. In case reporters are there."

**********

Richard Roth checked the knot of his tie. He slipped into his overcoat. But before he left, he had hesitated long enough, he called Charles Keatering. "Mr. Keatering, sir. Richard Roth here. Lucy Klintt is at the jail. She was arrested a little while ago."

***********

"Why am I surrounded by incompetents?" Charles Keatering muttered to himself. "Why wasn't I informed of this earlier?"

"Well, anyway, she's in jail," he thought. She was bad. She needed to be punished.

Keatering's breathing quickened. It had taken a lot of work, but, finally, she was here in Cleveland. She would be desperate. He, Charles Keatering, would take care of her. She was a filthy slut. Charles Keatering would deal with her.

He fired up the keyboard and began typing. In the next room, the servers ran quietly, selected a file, and began to display it.

At his desk, Charles Keatering watched as the forty inch monitor lit up. The system worked perfectly. It should have. He had paid enough to install it.

There she was, on the screen. She was being escorted by two male jailers. They were big men, big and black. She was such a slut. She was wearing one of those white prison suits with black stripes, and you could see her tits spilling out over the tight top. Slut! Her large obscenely curved ass was outlined underneath the tight prison skirt. The prison skirt was as tight against the skin of her ass and the flesh of her thighs as wallpaper was to a wall. She wasn't wearing panties. You could see her slit when she bent over. Charles Keatering frowned. She was a dirty whore! He despised her.

Titles appeared: "The Prisoner Degraded," An EEROTIC FILMS CINEMA Special, directed by Steve Lamonte, starring Lucy Klintt.

On the screen, Lucy was being pushed into a cell where three large women prisoners waited. "She's all yours, girls," one of the prison guards said. The guards then left the room.

There she was, thought Keatering. Oh she looked so scared, so sweet. So angelic. Look at her!

Soon she would be naked, her tits sucked, her cunt and ass invaded. Soon she would be sucking their cunts. And she would be looooving it.

Keatering, of course, had seen this movie before. He had carefully watched all of that slut's movies. Oh yes, Keatering knew her, all about her. She was such a whore, loving it as the other convicts slammed those large dildos into her gaping cunt. Keatering knew: Yes, soon she would be screaming. Begging for more cunt to suck, more big dildos to fuck her sopping wet, smelly cunt. She was a tramp. Dirty. Disgusting.

Charles Keatering felt an erection begin to stir in the recess of his pants as, on the screen, Lucy Klintt dropped to her knees in front of a smiling big titted blonde prisoner. Keatering wondered what was happening to Lucy Klintt now, here in Cleveland in the Cleveland jail.

"Look," Keatering shouted to himself. She had her nose buried in the blond's hairy cunt. Her tongue was licking the blond's wet and swollen cunt lips. Her nose was pushing against the blond's clit. It must be smelly dank there where Lucy had her nose. That big blond must have been leaking her hot cunt juice onto Lucy's tongue and into her mouth. Keatering was sure that the leaking cunt juice had the tangy taste of piss. He was sure it reeked of cunt smell. And look at that disgusting bitch, she had a finger in her own cunt as she continued to run her tongue over the prisoner's. She was enjoying it!

He hated Lucy Klintt. She was a whore.

He couldn't let that filth on the screen defile him any more.

A tinge of what seemed to him to be the actual smell from the screen leaked into his room, filling the air around him. He couldn't allow it to foul the four-thousand-three-hundred dollar Bijon suit he was wearing.

He took his jacket off and hung it up in the closet behind his desk, all the while watching her ugly actions on the screen. She was disgusting!

He loosened the belt around his waist. He began to take off his pants. He couldn't allow what she was doing on the screen to sully his clothing. He hung his pants up. She was on her knees now and look, see how her tongue buried itself in the big boobed woman's cunt.

And now another of the prisoners was behind Lucy, and that prisoner was fucking Lucy's cunt with a big, fat, black strap-on dildo. Lucy's knees were spread wide and you could see the hanging lips of her slutty cunt below the slit of her ass.. By now Keatering had taken off his tie and his shirt and put them up on a hanger in the closet. Except for his shoes and socks, he was naked. He looked down. His prick stood out from his body. It was hard and it was stiff. It was all her fault. Look at what she was making him do. He grabbed his tumescent cock into the curved palm of his hand and began a gentle, pulling motion of his cock.

Keatering continued to stare at the screen. He continued to mutter imprecations at the events ensuing there. He hated that scummy bitch!

Charles Keatering moved the cursor to the bottom of the screen and raised the volume on the speakers. This was it! Coming up was the most disgusting part of the entire movie. He had to pay attention , He needed to watch carefully to remind himself just how horrible a slut she was. He hated this. He felt his cock grow harder. It was her fault!

On the screen, three male deputies, large well-muscled Black men, appeared. "Okay,." one of the men said as he opened the cell door and pulled Lucy to her feet. "You gals done a good job getting this new prisoner warmed up. We are going to get ours from her now."

Lucy smiled that wicked smile of hers. She was more than a disgusting whore. She reached down to touch the bulging cocks outlined against the groin area of the two guards on either side of her. Their pricks were so big pressing against the fabric of their uniform pants. Lucy smiled. Keatering sneered at Lucy's smile. She was smiling at the thought that those big black cocks would be entering her sweet cunt soon.

Charles Keatering continued to stare at the screen. It was horrible.

The guards and Lucy were now in a different room, a kind of an office.

Lucy was naked and she was laying spread out on top of a desk, her head hanging down off one end of the table, her ass at the edge of the other side. The jailers stood around here. One had his very big cock deep in her mouth. One of the guards had his prick buried in her cunt. Another guard was next to the guard with the prick in Lucy's cunt, but this guard had his prick in her ass. The fourth guard had his huge cock held tightly by Lucy in the fist of her hand. They were all pumping away and Keatering could hear Lucy's voice shouting through the cock gagging her mouth, "Yes.....Haaaargh. yes, more, Mrghhhghhh...yes...more." Over and over she shouted her pleasure as the men periodically stopped, exchanged positions and continued to plow their stiff staffs into her holes.

Keatering screamed as, suddenly, cum exploded from his own cock into the palm of his hand and then upwards onto his stomach and chest.

Oh, he hated Lucy Klintt whose depraved antics on the screen tormented Charles Keatering's psyche, making him think impure thoughts and commit vile acts. He hated it. He looked at his hand, at the cum on his stomach. His precious life fluid.

"Yes," he thought, "she will be made to suffer.

**********

This is the end of part one.

In the next chapter of this story, the reader will be introduced to Steve Lamonte and Allison Gordon. One word to the reader: Part 2 will be submitted to this site as soon as at least 50 readers register a vote. Voting takes no more than 10 seconds. Writing a novel takes much effort and the only pay this author receives or requires is a vote, positive or negative does not matter. If you wish to read what happens next, VOTE.