John Friday: Raped wild wife

"You love it, don't you? You want my prick rammed in as far as it will go!"

"Yyyeeesss," she hissed through teeth clenched in shock. "Oooooh, yes! Fuck me! Rape me! Fill my aching cunt!"

He squeezed her lush tits so hard that the nipples bulged. Her thick red tit-nubs sprouted from a broad ring of nubby flesh. He sucked on one then the other with wolfish glee, all the time ramming and twisting into her pussy with his massive cock.

Bill loved the frenzied motions of torment that rose from the depths of her cunt. Slithering pulses ran up and down his giant cock shaft. Her pussy was gripping and sucking like it wanted to swallow his cock balls and all.

"Grungh! Hhaaahhh! Huuummmpht!" Veronica grunted. She arched, lifting the weight off her cuffed wrists, grunting from the strain.

"You've got the hottest pussy on this whole block!" Bill told her. "I hate to think of it being wasted on a fucking cop!"

"Don't talk about him!"

The thought of what she was doing still sickened her. But she could not have stopped then even if that was within her power. Even if her hands were free and she held Grant's gun, she'd have still begged him to fuck her and spread her furry pussy wide to receive his monster cock.

Bill gave a fierce grunt and felt his body stiffen with the tension of extreme delight. A second later, his cock gave a twitching throb, and it began to fire.

"Yes!" Veronica wailed. "Ooooh, I can feel your hot jism going in! More! More! Uuuunnngh! Fuck me full of your greasy slime!"

Her whole body jerked each time a searing spurt of cum sank in. She screamed until the intensity of her climax reached its peak. Then she could make no sound at all. After an anguished moment of shivering silence, her entire body went slack. She fell back limp and gasping.

When Bill Chapman left the house, Veronica cried. She felt sick because of what she'd done, mostly because she enjoyed it so much…

The faded gold leaf on the glass panel of the door said: VICE, but part of the E had flaked away so that it looked more like VICF.

Grant Dunlap felt the same when he walked in – flaked away. His partner for the last six months had transferred to the Day Watch, Traffic Division. He had told Grant the change would improve his home life. But Grant could not imagine a guy wanting to spend his time writing parking tickets.

The lieutenant in-charge of the squad greeted him. "Glad you came in early. Your new partner is here."

"Where?" Grant looked around the room and only saw a woman. Probably a whore that one of the guys had busted.

"Over there." The lieutenant motioned with a nod of his head and braced for the explosion he was certain would follow.

"That fucking bitch? She's supposed to be my partner? You're teaming me with a God damned cunt!"

"Ssshhh, not so loud. This came down from the top. More of that Affirmative Action crap. Some bitch sued, she won, and now we're supposed to make them all into street cops."

Grant chuckled bitterly. "I'd like to make that one – but not into a cop."

She was a pretty little thing, barely five feet tall with short, silvery-blonde hair that curled around her doll-like face. In her mid-twenties, Grant guessed. A trim, compact figure! Not lush and ripe like Veronica's, but nice. It was a body that seemed to radiate vitality. Or maybe it was tension.

Grant wondered if her pussy was as tight as the set of her jaw. It probably was and as cold as her green-eyed glare. She knew they were talking about her, and she'd heard enough to know she didn't like what they were saying. Neither did she like the huge bull of a man she supposed would be her new partner.

He had a cold, withering stare and a scowl set firmly in his face. Otherwise, he was quite good-looking. Really handsome if you liked them rough. She tried to smile, but his hostile, unflinching gaze made it hard.

"She can't weigh more than a hundred pounds sopping wet. What the hell good will she be to me if something really shitty goes down?"

"Her pistol score is three points higher than yours."

"Good. She can shoot holes in fucking paper targets. What will she do against some big fucker who's shooting back?"

"Let's hope you never find out. Come on, I'll introduce you."

"Hhhuuummmph!"

"This is Grant Dunlap," the lieutenant said. "He's one of my best men. Grant, this is Samantha Ballard."

"Call me Sam," she said in a sweet voice.

"I've read her file," the lieutenant said, trying to break the chill. "She's alert, intelligent, inquisitive… everything a good cop should be."

"Except a man," Grant said.

She smiled and spoke in the same sweet voice as before. "Fuck you!"

That did it. Grant's rough face split with a grin. "Maybe we'll get along after all. Come on, let's hit the bricks and see how little you know."

When their unmarked car rolled out of the police garage, Samantha turned to study the somber, sullen expression on her new partner's face. "Why so gloomy?" she said.

He answered without turning. "You'd probably be one hell of a good partner in bed… but in a fucking police car, I can't see where you're gonna be worth shit."

"What makes you think I'm good in bed? You've hardly looked at me since we got in the car."

"I've seen enough."

Her fingers toyed with the top button of her blouse. "When we go off duty, would you like to see more?"

Grant chuckled wryly. "Hell, I don't even feel like fucking my wife any more."

"Hhhmmn? Why not? I'd think a big strong man like you would be horny all the time."

"I was until I started working vice and living with all the shit that goes on."

"Why don't you transfer?"

Another bitter sneer. "Because all the slots in Robbery-Homicide and the Burglary Detail are being kept open for little bitches like you… fresh out of cooking school."

"Goddamnit! I went to the Police Academy just like you did. And four years of college before that!"

"Oh, good. When you have to wrestle with three-hundred pound drunk, you can hit him with your degree."

"I also have a black belt in judo." Grant was unimpressed. He'd seen too many street fighters wipe the sidewalks with supposed experts in the martial arts.

"Look, you son of a bitch! You don't have to like me, but you might at least be polite."

"Sure. I was going to say, let's fuck. Now I'll say, let's fuck… please."

"Are you serious?"

"Dead serious."

"When?" Her voice quivered.

"Right now. We aren't officially on duty for over an hour."

"Wh-where?" The way he was looking at her now, Samantha thought he might want to fuck her right there in the front seat of the squad car.

"I know a place. A motel. The son of a bitch that owns it owes me a favor."

"I thought working vice made you lose interest."

"Maybe you can change my mind about that."

"I hope to change your mind about a lot of things… and a nice warm bed would be a great place to start."

He laughed, really laughed, for the first time in months. "It'll be a warm bed all right. It's a Hot Sheet motel we're going to."

"A what?"

"A place where the rooms are priced by the hour. Mr. and Mrs. Jones go there a lot. So do the Smiths."

"Oooh, I see."

"They've got closed circuit color TV and show fuck movies night and day."

"I'd rather fuck than watch it on TV."

"So would I. Hit the reds."

"Do what?"

"Turn on the fucking red lights. They're hidden behind the grille. Switch is there." He pointed, stepped down on the gas and powered into a skidding left turn that sent her sliding into him.

The man behind the motel desk smiled, but did not look entirely pleased when Grant walked into the office. "Dunlap, what brings you?"

"Relax. I don't have a warrant this time. I've got a woman in the car."