Taken Policewoman: Rape Erotica E-Book

Ian Muller

• Herausgeber: Palimpsest Publishing
• Kategorie: Erotik
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

Excerpt:

"My God, you freak!" I blurted as an insight suddenly hit me. "That's why you rape women when you could get anybody you wanted with no trouble with a cock like yours. You hate all women because no matter how big and how hard you get it up, you still can't come. So you're going to get even with them by raping them, by blowing their minds with that monster prick, by stuffing in their pussies and asses and getting them all turned on in spite of themselves, and then punishing them by not coming. You won't be satisfied until you've humiliated every woman in the world."

Leseprobe

Taken Policewoman

Ian Muller

Copyright © 2017

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER ONE

As I sat in the kitchen nursing a cup of discount instant coffee that tasted like boiled eucalyptus leaves, I asked myself for the thousandth time why I was putting myself through this shit. Here I was, a 25-year-old woman with a degree in sociology and an IQ of 184, keeping the hours of a night watchman.

You probably think I'm a dog, a regular bow-wow. Well, forget it. Everybody who's seen me says I'm attractive and I have to admit it's true myself: the bulges I see in men's trousers when I walk by don't lie. I have long lustrous raven hair, high pointed tits as firm as marble, long sinewy legs that love to wrap themselves around things, what everybody says is a terrific looking ass, and a cunt framed by a luxuriant growth of silky black pussy hair that can fuck all night. Right now, if I had a normal job, I'd be getting off work and undoubtedly some great looking stud would be taking me out for drinks and dinner and later we'd hit the sack at my place or his and his hot steaming prick would be pumping up my throbbing pussy.

So what was I doing sitting in a drafty kitchen in a ratty bathrobe choking down a cup of lukewarm instant mud waiting to go drag my ass around the crummiest parts of the city with a bunch of people who loathed everything about me that theoretically made me attractive and in general hated my guts?

To prove something, I guess. Despite the advice of almost all my friends, I went ahead and joined the police force and became a policewoman.

After I got out of college three years ago, I was ready to conquer the world. I had so many plans and dreams and was ambitious to realize my objectives and make something of myself. But all that got me was a series of job interviews where they asked me how fast I could type and a lot of ogling looks. I probably could have capitalized on the latter and fucked and sucked my way toward prosperity, but I like to feel that I've got some integrity and am the kind of girl who screws for fun. Somehow, the idea of sucking off some old fart's shriveled up cock or letting some overweight businessman practically crush me while he sticks his puny prick in me turns me off. I like my men strong, willing, and ready to go all night to satisfy me, and I like to pick them. I don't want them picking me like I was some dumb little cunt in a whorehouse without enough brains to do anything but live by her pussy.

Well, anyway, what my stubbornness got me was a succession of jobs, each one worse than the last because I had terrible references from being too independent and invariably telling my boss what he could do to himself - which got me fired. When the newspaper carried an article indicating the police department had to start hiring women for regular line duty, I decided to apply for a job. If I was qualified, they'd have to hire me, and I was sure I could pass any test they gave me and do as well as or better than any man.

None of my friends like cops, and my favorite professor from college - with whom I'd kept in close touch-surprised me when she told me my friends called them "pigs". "Melanie," Professor Higgins said, "there's not one element of what you were taught 'should be' in your courses here at the university that you will find working with the police."

"Then you think I shouldn't apply," I replied.

"Let me put it this way," she said. "Although you won't find one thing that you were taught 'should be,' you'll find plenty of what you were taught 'should not be'."

"Meaning?" I asked, puzzled.

"Meaning, that if you want to look at it that way, it's a challenge. You'd be going up against the exact opposite of what you were taught and what I presume you believe in."

Professor Higgins had been my only woman professor of any consequence. In addition to teaching me in the classroom she was my faculty advisor, and had remained my friend after graduation. I respected her opinion the most, but she seemed to be giving me conflicting messages.

"You're telling me it's going to be awful, but that I should do it anyway. What kind of advice is that?"

"It's the only realistic advice one intelligent woman can give another," she said. "Women, historically, have been oppressed, but now some doors are being opened to them. Not all the way, but far enough to get inside if you want. But at this stage of the game, it's not going to be easy. No matter what you do, you'll have to fight all the way, but at least if you pick something where the cards are all out on the table, you'll know what you're up against."

"Like the police force?"

"Like the police force."

"First, when you called them pigs, I thought you were suggesting I run away from it like everybody else has. Now, you seem to be saying the opposite. Are you telling me to join?"

"You know me well enough, Melanie, that I would never tell you to do anything. You have a fine mind of your own, and I expect you to use it. You have no trouble getting the most out of your body, now it's time to do the same for your brain."

It was certainly clear what she meant by her last remark, for if anybody should have known about the capacity of my body to excel, it was Professor Higgins. From the moment I met her, I knew she was a remarkable woman, and my respect for her soon turned into sexual attraction, so confident and radiant was she. She was in her late thirties, a tall and graceful woman with an attractive body. She was a no-nonsense kind of person and didn't beat around the bush, which is something I've always admired. One afternoon we were in her office and she said, without blinking an eyelash, "Melanie, I'd like to make love to you," and I answered "yes" without hesitation. We embraced right there in her office, her mouth quickly finding its way to my sopping cunt as I sat in the chair with my spread legs propped up on her desk while she ate me from below. After that, we had gotten together once or twice a month, a delicious addition for me with all my activities and sexual liaisons.

One of the things I liked about Professor Higgins, in addition to her beautiful cunt, was that she wasn't possessive and didn't hold our sexual attraction over my head.

When our conversation about joining the police force ended, I realized that if I had as much potential and intelligence as she seemed to think, I wouldn't run away from the challenge the opportunity presented. She wasn't telling me to become a policewoman, but was encouraging me to utilize my God-given talents in a tough world that didn't give anybody anything for nothing.

"I'm going to apply," I announced.

"It'll be rough," she said, then smiled. "But you'll show them."

I was so elated by her confidence that I jumped from my chair into her arms, kissing her fully on the lips, my tongue darting hotly into her mouth. I could feel her knee gently shove into my crotch as we soul kissed, my panties becoming utterly drenched with a rush of frothing pussy juice that creamed out of the boiling recesses of my cunt.

We were in her office at the college, just like the first time we had made love, and she was prepared for me, as always. I found she was not wearing panties. Her cunt was unsheathed and waiting droolingly for me as it always was when she was expecting one of my visits. With trembling pleasure, my fingers slid stickily along the pulsing flesh of her hairless cunt lips, and I entered her pussy with a probing, anxious finger, sending it all the way inside her throbbing cervix as her pelvis undulated wildly from my fingerfucking.

When we made love in her office it was always on top of her desk, an oversized mahogany antique shined to a mirror gloss. You could see yourself in the reflection, and as we threw ourselves on it, our skirts bunching up at our waists and our faces buried between each other's thighs, I glanced over and felt my heart thump and my cunt clench even tighter at the image of my mouth kissing her turgid pussy lips and my tongue hungrily lapping away at her stiff, oversized clit.

I was on top with my cunt looming over her face, my legs straddling her mouth so her experienced tongue could expertly lash and tickle the folds of my aroused pussy. Slowly I lowered myself onto her until my cunt completely buried her face and I could feel her eating me, her teeth, tongue and lips producing the most maddening combination of suction and friction against my pussy imaginable.

My tongue was like a corkscrew in her fantastic, shaved cunt, exploring every inch of skin, darting from her bloated, erect clit, down the slick cleft formed by her pulsating pussy lips, and then into the sticky inner depths of her fucking canal, shooting my tongue inside the frothing slit like a hard cock, my nostrils filled with her sweet, musky scent At last, we started coming simultaneously. I thought her rock-hard thighs were going to choke me as she crushed them against my face, now totally buried in the yawning, creaming gash of her throbbing cunt. Meanwhile, I was doing the same thing to her from the top, my thighs seizing her face and forcing her mouth so far between my legs that her lips were enveloped by my hungry cunt, drawing her into my ravenous pussy toward a shuddering climax. We felt an orgasmic burst of energy that seemed to come from our bodies as if they were one. The waves of pounding fury inundated our bodies until we were reduced to quivering panting wrecks on top of her desk. The pussy juice and saliva that we had whipped into a creamy froth drooled from our spent cunts as we collapsed, totally exhausted from our shuddering orgasm.

CHAPTER TWO

I was working the night shift out of the 69th precinct. It was located in a rough neighborhood, a slum noted for its lawlessness. After I had worked there a couple of weeks, I realized the police contributed to the lawlessness as much as anybody. Most of them were on the take, and a lot of them took advantage of the multitude of prostitutes.

At first I had been shocked by some of the things I saw, but in a very short time I grew accustomed to things that only shortly before I would have been appalled at. But I adopted an attitude of live and let live, primarily because I was having enough trouble gaining acceptance as a woman on the force without being a bluenose too. So, I started growing into a habit of looking the other way, hoping, I suppose, that the others would be more likely to accept my presence. Some of the things I saw continued to inwardly shock the hell out of me, but I just trained myself not to show it. Of course, the longer I did, the less they shocked me.

I walked into the station and the first person I saw was Desk Sergeant Moon, a big, red-faced man, whose head resembled his name. His face was so red that it looked like it was on fire and the busted veins fingered him as a heavy boozer. In fact, I quickly learned that that was why Sergeant Moon was assigned to the desk instead of being on patrol - he was frequently half-juiced while on duty and they didn't want him screwing up things on the street. Even though everyone knew what a misfit he was, he still got more respect than I did, because I was a woman, and everybody laughed when he referred to me as Dickless Tracy behind my back.

Of course, hypocrite that he was, he gave me a big hello when I walked into the station. His greeting was a thick, practically slobbering one, indicating to me that he was in the cups. I walked past him, making little attempt to conceal my disdain for him, giving him only the most perfunctory hello. I almost jumped out of my skin in outrage when I heard him smirk behind my back with reference to my unfriendliness, making no attempt to conceal his voice, "Ol' Dickless must be on the rag this week. Usually she can't keep her hands offa me."

Incredible, just incredible, I thought. But what was even more incredible was that his voice was loud enough for everyone else in the immediate vicinity to hear and they all laughed at his tasteless remark, including a prisoner handcuffed to a waterpipe.  

"What're you laughing at, you scum?" I said to the prisoner.

When he started stammering, all of my frustration welled up inside me and I impulsively kicked him in the groin. He doubled over, instinctively trying to grab his nuts, but his hands were shackled and the cuffs gouged into his wrists and he shrieked in pain.

Well, I was safe there. You could do anything short of killing a prisoner at the station and you wouldn't get in any trouble since the only witnesses were cops. But I still felt uncomfortable about what I had done because I realized that it was the same thing one of the other cops would have done.

The big news in the station that night, as it had increasingly been lately, was that there was a rapist at work in the area. Not that any of the cops gave a shit about any of the women in the neighborhood being raped - they usually laughed and made dirty jokes whenever the report of the latest rape was read. There was concern now because the papers had gotten hold of the story and built it up, and the public had become scared, thinking, because of the papers' scare tactics, that there was a mad rapist terrorizing the whole city.

I felt I could make a real contribution toward capturing the rapist, and was willing to act as a decoy victim, and as we fell into ranks for our assignments I waited expectantly. As it turned out, as usual, I was passed over for anything of importance and assigned to a patrol car with a crew-cut cop named Reinhart who looked like a Nazi soldier. We were to go driving around looking for prostitutes to harass. Reinhart was being assigned to this chicken-shit duty because he had just come off a suspension for beating up suspects who later turned out to have done nothing.

When we got to the patrol car, I opened the door and slid in behind the wheel, thinking I'd take the first turn driving.

"Hey, girlie, whaddaya think you're doing?" Reinhart growled.

"What's it look like I'm doing?"

"What it looks like you're doing, I don't like," he said, approaching the door and leaning his fat florid face against the opened window.