Mark Carver - Ravaged music teacher

But as Julie brooded over the lusty young blonde, she recalled meeting Sylvia's parents once at a choir practice. Sylvia's mother, Julie vaguely remembered, was a sexy but hard-looking woman. She couldn't remember her father too clearly, but there was something unusual about him.

Then Julie remembered, and her fingers shook as she drove.

He wore a uniform.

Sylvia's father was a cop. In fact, she'd heard it rumored that he was the meanest cop in town.

Julie smiled dryly. She'd come to this small, peaceful town so she could get a grip on herself, learn to control her wanton sex urges. She'd done fine, just fine.

So far she'd caught a girl smoking, blackmailed her into pulling down her panties, spanked her hot, naked ass, fingerfucked her, sucked her asshole, eaten her luscious little pussy, had a frenzied session of sixty-nine with her, and promised the girl a wanton encore before the week was out.

To cap the day off, she planned to savagely suck and fuck a boy who was also one of her students.

And the girl's father was the meanest cop in town.

Julie parked her car with a sigh. At least she wouldn't die of boredom in this hick town. The lush brunette unlocked the door to her apartment. If Julie Mason had the faintest idea that before this violent week was out, she would be tied down on her bed and teased, whipped, brutally raped, humiliated, and would almost lose her mind from obscene fury, she would have packed her things that night and run like hell.

Instead, she took a long hot bath and prepared her silken body for delicious, wanton sex. When the shit hit the fan, it would be a hurricane…

The meanest cop in town cruised slowly past the house, only his parking lights on. The upstairs bedroom light was on, but the rest of the house was dark.

Good, thought Buzz. One more time around the block, just to make sure. He eased the Dodge Dart around the corner, his eyes scanning both sides of the street.

Buzz Watkins wore a crew cut, the only one in town. No one, however, ever made fun of his short, cropped hair. One look at his steel-blue eyes and thin mouth, and you politely kept your mouth shut, if you knew what was good for you.

He lit a cigarette as he cruised the peaceful street. With only one light on in the house, in the bedroom, it meant her husband was out of town. It meant he was going to get some hot, wild pussy tonight, young and juicy and squealing with delight. It meant his good ole cock wouldn't have to pump away at his own wife's weary pussy, Buzz thought with satisfaction.

He thought he saw something in the shadows behind a tree. He eased up on the gas pedal, his steely eyes alert. His hand brushed his holstered.357 magnum. It would knock a fucking elephant off its lumbering feet at twenty yards. They claimed this was a quiet, peaceful town, but Buzz knew better.

There were hippie-pinko-commie-virgin-fucking bastards in this town. No one really believed him, least of all the chief. But Buzz knew it. Those cocksuckers were lurking everywhere, smoking dope and sniffing glue and raping innocent girls, girls like his darling daughter, Sylvia. She was the apple of his piercing eye, little Sylvia was. A good girl – not like her whoring mother.

Buzz parked the Dodge half a block from the house. He finished his cigarette slowly. There was nothing behind the tree. It was so quiet you could hear a mouse pissing on a lawn. He picked up the mike on the dash and quietly called in his lunch break. The crackling police radio acknowledged his call. He glanced at his watch. It was exactly eight p.m.

The ruggedly muscled cop got out of the car and strolled toward the house, his eyes darting everywhere. His cock felt like a throbbing piece of molten lead in his tight pants. Shit, he was so horny tonight he wouldn't need his magnum to knock over an elephant at twenty yards. He could use his cock.

His muscles rippled smoothly in his uniform. Buzz Watkins did not fuck around when it came to physical fitness. He did three hundred push-ups a day, and a minimum of one hundred sit-ups. He worked out with sweating grunts every morning in his basement. At thirty-eight, he was in superb physical condition. The way he felt tonight, he could screw an assembly line of feverish girls, and go through the line twice without panting for breath.

At the door of the house, Buzz rang the bell.

He listened intently. Footsteps coming down the stairs. The door swung open.

"Come on in, Buzz," she smiled.

He nodded grimly and slipped inside the house. Buzz never smiled. His left cheek twitched when he felt like smiling, which was rarely.

The dark-haired girl offered him a drink, but he scowled at this. "Hey, you know I never drink on duty," he said. "I only got an hour, Linda. Let's haul ass."

The girl nodded eagerly. Buzz followed her up to the bedroom, his eyes raking over her curved ass through her robe. She was twenty-two. Her husband was a salesman who was out of town about half the time.

Linda was a pretty girl, in a cheap, flashy way. She wore too much makeup, and she dyed her hair jet-black, and she swung her ass with comic exaggeration when she walked. Linda was not a bright girl. There were some people, especially her neighbors, who thought she was downright stupid.

But she was sexier than a cherry on a hot cross bun.

Buzz Watkins never thought about whether Linda was bright or not. He had his own problems in that area. She was his kind of girl – quick to obey, passionate in the sack, constantly afraid of him. Buzz liked that. She knew her place in this neurotic, fucked-up world, unlike a lot of trashy girls with too much education.

In the bedroom Linda turned to him, panting softly. She slipped out of her robe, revealing a lush, naked figure. Buzz's hard-on began to seep jism in his drawers. She had especially nice tits, even though they were on the heavy side. Someday they'd sag and be pendulous, but right now they were luscious and creamy, perfect for a wild tit-fuck.

"Aren't you gonna give me a kiss?" she said.

"Yeah, after you give me one on my hot prick," Buzz chuckled, beginning to strip. He did not believe in affection, regarding it as a sign of weakness. Most women feared Buzz Watkins from the start. Some, like Linda, feared him but felt a powerful attraction to him, a deep sexual attraction.

Naked, it was easy to see why. He had a massive, powerful body, with huge shoulders and narrow hips. His prick was immensely long and thick, crimson with lust. He looked like a Neanderthal man with a crew cut, his wife once jokingly told him. He backhanded her across the room for that, and she never said it again.

The kind of girl who felt attracted to Buzz Watkins was almost always not very bright, sexy in a glaring, hotly curved way, and used to being dominated completely by men.

Linda was one of these. Buzz reminded her of her father, who'd violently taken her cherry when she was a teenager. She didn't like her father, but Linda was not sharp enough to see the similarities between her father and Buzz. To her simple mind, Buzz was a real man – tough, ruggedly handsome in his blue cop's uniform, a decision-maker. Linda did not like to make decisions. When Buzz had first fucked her a month ago, he didn't politely ask, or make romantic overtures. He just harshly told her to undress and he climbed on her like a pile driver.

"Kiss it," he commanded now, standing naked. Eagerly, Linda got on her knees and grasped his boiling hard-on in her fist. She licked up the giant drop of jism seeping from his knob. With whimpers of excitement, the young housewife began sucking his long prick.

Linda hadn't been laid for four nights now, and for her this was a terribly long time. A passionate girl, she did everything and anything Buzz commanded. If the strapping cop told her to get on all fours and bark like a dog while he ravaged her tender ass, she would do it without hesitation.