Heather Brown - Raped policewoman

I slipped into a tight sweater, the swell of my braless tits poking provocatively through the loose, revealing weave, my protruding crimson nipples startlingly apparent. I put on an ultra-mini buckskin skirt with no panties underneath, my cunt lurking just above the hem.

I did look pretty sexy. I got my purse and started to run out the door when I realized that I had forgotten something.

"My service revolver," I said aloud. But then I realized that I could do nothing about it, as I had had to turn it in when I was suspended from duty.

"What'll I protect myself with?" I asked aloud, as it occurred to me how in such a short time I had become so dependent on a cop's playthings, the crutches they all used.

"God, I really was getting more like them all the time," I admitted when I realized how I was behaving. "Gun or not, I've still got something none of those cocksuckers at the 69th precinct would think of using – my brain."

So, unarmed, I left for Coolidge Park, certain that if it came down to it, I could defend myself with the judo I had picked up during police training.

The night was another bitch. It had been one of the worst winters ever – rain one day, wind the next, fog, snow on other days – but always cold. Tonight it was fog, a thick mattress of it covering the city. And the area around the 69th precinct was worse than any place else, almost as though a slum was entitled to nothing but the worst of everything, even including lousy weather.

It even seemed colder than anywhere else as I got off the bus in front of Coolidge Park, looking with some trepidation at its menacing exterior through the gloomy fog. The place hadn't been tended for years and had overgrown into startling proportions, shaggy plants, uncut grass, and wind-blown trees filled the misty night sky like portentous shadows of doom. Obviously, anybody entering the park was doing so at his or her own risk. A sign warned trespassers to keep out, and some jokester had drawn a leering skull and crossbones under the official warning along with the scrawled words, "Death City, USA".

The rapist had struck here three times before. One reason, I guessed, was that he was smart enough to know it was a relatively safe place for him because the cops are scared to death of places like this.

Well, I couldn't fool around out here in the street forever. Some cop driving by might think I was a stray hooker and run me in. I could just see them giving me a skin search at the station after they brought me in. Arrrggh, I almost puked from the thought of it as I walked briskly into the park, the prospect of facing a crazed rapist more appealing than thinking about the cops at the 69th precinct.

Within a few steps I was swallowed into the bowels of the park, the shadowy limbs of the overgrown foliage seeming to envelop me with their gloomy expanse, completely obliterating whatever light was shining from the moon, struggling to be seen through the fog.

The plant life had overgrown parts of the crumbling walk, frequently blocking my way and brushing wetly against me, the leaves sopping with moisture from the damp fog that swirled in the cold night air. After a couple of collisions with sopping, low-hanging branches, my sweater was drenched, clinging skintight to my body, my tits heaving and shivering from the damp cold.

I stumbled forward, trying to throw off the effects of the evil night, gritting my teeth and ploughing through. Then I was forced to stop as the vegetation had become so dense it looked like I needed a machete to hack my way through it.

There had to be some other way to get through, I reasoned, people walked across this park all the time. The trick was to find it in this soupy fog, which was growing thicker by the minute.

I groped one way and then another looking for a way out of my bind, but all my hands struck was wet foliage, the impact of my flailing arms spraying the air with added dew. Then, suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something that didn't seem to be green, something white, a building of some kind. I walked toward it, hoping it wasn't the fog playing tricks on me, finally figuring out what it was only when my nose was practically pressing against it.

"The old park restroom," I said, shuddering at what it must be like inside after all these years, but anxious to get out of the wet cold for at least a moment's respite so I could get my bearings.

I found the gaping hole that used to be the door, which had long since been removed, rotting boards crisscrossing the crumbling opening, with enough of them broken and knocked away so that anyone could get in who wanted to.

The stench of boozy vomit and urine almost choked me as I crouched under a board and slipped inside. I couldn't see anything yet because of the total darkness, but my nose could tell me that the place was a total shambles. From the look of the knocked-away boards over the entrance, other people used this place, and God only knew who they were and for what.

It was a fairly big building, having housed adjacent men's and women's bathrooms with maybe ten toilets in each. Long ago somebody had drilled holes in the partitioning wall so people could look at each other piss and take a dump.

Suddenly it occurred to me as I looked across the room at the holes that they were all I could see. I wondered what the reason for that was, considering that the room on the other side of the wall presumably ought to be as dark as this one.

Unless, of course, there was a light in there and I was not alone in the building.

I walked to the wall and stood on a toilet and peered through one of the holes. There was a candle in the other room, flickering and erratic. It was stuck in the top of an old whiskey bottle, burning on the floor.

Somebody must be in there. I needed a better view of what was going on. I got off my perch and went to another toilet with a hole by it which would give me a different view. And then, just before I mounted my new platform and stuck my eye to the hole, I heard a distinct moaning waft through the thin wall, and I sensed that whatever I was going to be looking at was going to be highly private.

The moaning came from a young girl, probably not over 11 or 12. She was totally nude, the soft mounds of her budding tits making a nubile suggestion of impending womanhood, and the pink mound of her young cunt totally hairless except for a small wisp of light curly hair at the top. She was moaning because her mouth was filled with an erect prick that was buried so deep it was gagging her.

The man she was sucking was nude from the waist down, his muscular legs and tight ass tensing as he drove his stiff prick into the girl's distended mouth, exhorting her as he thrust, "Suck harder, harder, you little cunt, stuff it in your fucking little throat."

Her response to his ultimatum was to accelerate her sucking, her lips and tongue slurping over his massive tool. Even in the dim light I could see her eyes bulge as she forced herself to swallow his cock beyond all reasonable limits.

Her slightly flared hips undulated slowly as she sucked the big prick, her arm dropping downward so she could finger the exposed petals of her nubile cunt. In an instant two of her fingers were inside her pussy, the fingerfucking motion of her hand faintly squishing as she penetrated the inside of her young cunt. Her moaning continued unabated, the huge cock filling her mouth and her fingers reaming out her pussy.

As I watched, I didn't know whether I was disgusted or turned on. Socially, it was perverted. But on a personal basis, it was an absolute turn-on. I could feel my pussy glowing, the juices seeping through my quivering cunt lips and drenching my panty-less crotch and thighs with sticky fluid.

A spark of tension knotted in my belly, only serving to press against my touchy cunt, arousing me even more despite my disgust at the depraved spectacle I was watching.