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Crime & Punishment
by NaughtySamantha (samanthachadborn@gmail.com)

***

I moonlight as a hostess at an illegal poker game and 
get gang-banged in jail. You should know that I'm 
neither a recovering nymphomaniac nor an amateur easy-
after-a-few-drinks-take-me-home-and-have-your-nasty-
way-with-me nymphomaniac. I'm an ardent, unabashed, 
full-fledged, let-it-all-hang-out, celebrating, 
practicing, sucking, fucking, raging, roaring, whoring 
nymphomaniac. (MMF, nc, orgy)

***

The problem with going to journalism school, buying 
only the coolest clothes and partying all the time is 
that a girl soon runs out of money.

I try waitressing at the local student bar but the 
hours are long, the pay short, the patrons more and 
more boorish as the endless nights wear on and it's 
impossible to get there on time after all the necessary 
classes and parties. So when my friend Tina the 
philosophy student who likes dogs suggests an easier 
way to pay the rent I'm ready to listen.

Tina tells me her brother Jim runs a high-stakes poker 
game in a motel suite on the edge of town. Tina is his 
hostess who keeps the clients happy and distracts them 
when Jim needs to stack the deck. Business is good, 
getting better. They're adding a table and need another 
hostess. The job is strictly evenings so I can work my 
own hours and it won't interfere with school.

While we walk together between Magazine Editing and 
Political Science classes Tina explains that hostessing 
is a great way for me to make lots of money serving 
drinks and nibbles and generally being nice to rich, 
high-stakes generous gamblers.

"How nice?"

Tina is vague. "They'll love you. With your personality 
they'll tip you to death."

"How nice?"

"You gotta wear a sexy negligee, of course. But you've 
got these great boobs... and incredible nipples. You 
can't lose. Gamblers adore big boobs and huge nipples."

"How nice?"

"Whatever they want... you know."

I'm cautious. "I don't know. Serve them food? Drink? 
That sort of thing? Sexy negligee... what's that mean? 
How sexy? How much flesh?"

Tina is evasive. "Uh huh. Serve food. Drinks. That sort 
of thing..."

"How much flesh... and what if they want more?"

Tina is puzzled. "Then you give them more, girl. For a 
journalism student you sure are dumb?"

Finally I understand. I'm righteously indignant. "You 
want me to whore?"

Tina laughs. "You got something against money?"

I'm even more indignant. "You really do think I'm a 
whore? Just because I'm a bit of a slut? Just because I 
like sex? Holy jesus, Tina, I thought you were my 
friend!"

"You can earn like..." she calculates "maybe four 
hundred dollars on a good night." She waits for the 
information to sink in. "Sometimes more. You got 
something serious against that, girl?"

"I'm your whore, honey."

***

The work's not hard. Any of the gamblers who aren't 
actually playing can take Tina or me, or both of us, to 
the bedroom for some fun and games. If they're not shy 
and don't want to get too far away from the tables — a 
lot of gamblers are superstitious about this — we're 
available for blow jobs on the couch in the game room 
where they can still keep an eye on the play.

I have to keep count of clients because Jim pays me 
fifty dollars a time and trusts me not to cheat. I do 
make four hundred dollars on a good night and, with 
tips, often a lot more, particularly when I can 
persuade a gambler that I'm his lucky charm. Gamblers 
are very superstitious. I encourage superstition. It's 
good for the economy.

Jim doesn't charge the gamblers for our services. He 
explains seriously that pussy is a legitimate business 
overhead — since these rich guys are going to lose 
money anyway they might as well get laid and be happy 
so they'll come back and lose more money and get laid 
again and be happy again. Jim believes in making people 
happy. So do I.

I don't mind the work. Jim and Tina treat me well and 
make sure the gamblers are polite and don't push 
anything too kinky. It's simple, everyday sucking and 
fucking — and occasionally hand jobs for guys nostalgic 
for high school — all of which I've enjoyed ever since 
I'm a horny little teenager.

Anyway, there's something out-of-body, distant, 
uninvolved, about whoring. You get paid lots of money 
to get men all excited — which I like doing anyway — 
then get down to the job of making them feel great. 
Which they like a lot. Not a bad deal for either side. 
And it turns out that whoring is something I'm very 
good at.

One of the best things about it is that there's no 
emotion involved, nothing that tangles a girl's belly 
and cuts into her heart. Nothing that makes her yearn 
for that commitment, that kiss, sometimes even just 
that one phone call which soars her to seventh heaven 
and way beyond.

Whoring isn't even real sex. It's getting paid for 
getting guys off. Which I've always liked to do, even 
when I'm not paid. And although I'm still young, I've 
got lots of experience at getting guys off. Up to now 
though, I'm just a world-class amateur at getting guys 
off — now I'm becoming a world-class professional.

Like any other whore I've ever met, I have two lives. 
One life earns all this of money flashing tits and ass 
in a filmy negligee, flirting outrageously and opening 
my legs and mouth for any man who wants to put his cock 
in them. But whoring isn't real life. It's not where I 
live.

Whoring is simply about power and money. Men confuse 
power with money. I don't. Men think because they can 
rent my body that they have power over me. But power 
and money aren't the same. In fact, when a man's in my 
mouth or pussy I have the power. And when he cums, by 
wonderful coincidence, I have both the power and the 
money.

I remember lush little Julie who rents her body to 
Rotarians in the hotel room above their Thursday 
meeting. She always claims she gets her biggest rush 
from the feeling of power it gives her. I remember 
Julie's words while we're walking home after school. "I 
love the power" she tells me. "I love the power because 
like... I'm in charge of all these powerful men. 
They'll do anything I want. They think they're getting 
what they want but actually it's all what I want. I 
love watching their faces when they see my body, when 
they play with my boobs... like... when I'm fucking 
them. I love the money a lot... but most of all I love 
the power. That's what it is. Like... it's the 
power..." Julie is wise beyond her tender years.

It's the other life, my student life, my personal life, 
that's my real life. The life where I win or lose, 
behave well or badly, am happy or sad. Like any really 
good looking woman, I have my pick of guys and can have 
real sex with as many guys as I want, any time I want. 
And I do. Sometimes it's emotionally meaningless when I 
know I'm just in lust, other times it's meaningful when 
I think I might be in love. The thinking I might be in 
love part, of course, is where the commitment that 
doesn't come, the kiss that isn't tried and the phone 
call that's never made reminds me that being hell-on-
wheels in bed sometimes isn't quite enough for a girl.

***

Once a month some of the cops from the local station 
drop by the game for a cut of the profits and a little 
rest and recreation. Jim counts out wads of unmarked 
bills, then Tina and I lie next to each other on the 
king-size bed and fuck and suck them, two by two, until 
they can't get it up any more.

One late evening when I'm on a break sipping a drink on 
the couch watching the game, exhausted from too many 
men, too much study and not enough sleep, one of the 
cops, the big, burly, red-faced sergeant-in-charge, 
wants me in the bedroom. I smile sweetly, tell him a 
girl needs a break occasionally. Particularly a hard-
working girl like me. Give me five minutes then let the 
games begin.

The sergeant grabs my arm. "Maybe you don't 
understand... I want it now."

"Only five minutes, honey."

"I said now." He squeezes. Hard.

"Let go my arm."

He drops my arm and slaps my face. "You want me to book 
you? Charge you with prostitution? Fucking whore!" He 
slaps me again. The gamblers don't look up from their 
cards. "See you... raise you a hundred... baby needs 
new shoes" murmurs one.

Jim gets up from a table. "Hey, sergeant... leave her 
alone. Tina will look after you instead. Just don't hit 
my girls. Never. You understand? Never!"

"Fuck you" says the sergeant. "I'll close the whole 
fucking place down if I want. Who the fuck does the 
little bitch think she is?" He slaps my face again, 
this time so hard I fall on the floor. He tries to kick 
me but I scramble away on hands and knees and he 
misses.

Jim pushes the sergeant away. "Enough... I won't put up 
with this shit... not from a cop... not from anyone." 
The two men stand face to face, glare at each other. 
The bulls are pawing the ground. The elephants fighting 
over a female. This is serious testosterone time.

Still groggy, I get up off the floor to intervene. 
"Thanks Jim... but cool it, honey. Cool it." I rub my 
cheek, try to smile at the sergeant. "If the sergeant's 
so horny, so anxious to get laid... let's get to it. 
Let's get the sergeant well and truly laid." I take his 
hand, lead him to the bedroom.

One of his colleagues sits on the side of the bed, 
uniform pants around his ankles, Tina kneels between 
his legs. Her brilliant red hair falls down over stark 
white shoulders. Her red-lipsticked mouth moves 
enthusiastically up and down on his cock.

The sergeant asks "how's it going buddy?"

The cop on the bed says "this broad could suck the 
paint off a patrol car." Tina glances up at him, grins, 
goes back to work.

"What you want, honey?" I ask the sergeant.

He grunts. "Same." He takes his pants and underwear 
off, sits down on the side of the bed, hip to hip next 
to his colleague. I get down on my knees next to Tina 
on the carpet.

I talk to the sergeant's cock, cradle his balls. "Come 
to Sam, honey... cum for Sam... cum for Sam." I take 
him in my mouth. Lined up on our knees next to each 
other like phallus-worshipping nuns, Tina and I suck 
cop cock together.

The cops cum at exactly the same time. Tina's cop 
thanks her politely. The sergeant stands up, pulls his 
pants up, leaves the bedroom without a word.

***

Sometimes Tina and I put on a girlie show when there's 
a break in the game or there aren't enough players for 
a table and the gamblers need to be amused. Jim says 
proudly that we're the only gambling joint in town 
offering this classy extra.

We don't have much to do — just suck nipples and 
pussies, finger-fuck pussies, breathe hard, squeal a 
lot and pretend to be having a wonderful time until the 
break ends or more players arrive. When we're feeling 
energetic we use Tina's double-ended rubber dildo — 
which I like a lot — and I close my eyes and fantasize 
and, if it lasts long enough, I cum.

Tina, like any good whore, doesn't believe we should 
enjoy our work. She says we're here to make the john 
happy, not ourselves. So I learn to hide my orgasm and 
make it look as if I'm putting on just another show for 
the boys. Like Tina. Sometimes it isn't easy.

Tina works very hard. When she doesn't have a john for 
a while she gets bored. And when Tina's bored she plays 
her high card, crawls under one of the tables to make 
the cock-round, pulling out cocks, sucking them until 
they cum. A few of the more superstitious gamblers push 
her away when she fumbles with them. They believe 
concentrating on anything except the cards is bad luck. 
Tina isn't offended. She understands gamblers and 
respects superstition. She just crawls to the next 
cock.

Tina, it turns out, is in love with brother Jim. She 
fucks anyone who asks, of course, but it's her brother 
she really wants. I know this because they invite me to 
their place for a meal one evening after work and I 
notice there's only one bed in the apartment. Also, 
because she tells me in a quiet moment after a few 
drinks that they've been together since she was fifteen 
and she's never loved anyone else.

Jim's cock is the only one I'm not allowed to touch. 
Which doesn't mean, of course, that I don't 
occasionally get a taste of it when Jim feels horny and 
Tina isn't around. There are certain professional 
courtesies a working girl has to observe with the boss.

I work the game three or four evenings a week. When I'm 
not working and can take time off from my studies I do 
outcalls with men I meet at the game who want more 
private and specialized attention.

Tina works every evening, sometimes until dawn and 
still gets straight As. I don't know how she does it. 
She denies it, but I suspect she's putting out for her 
professors. Good for her.

***

The hostess job lasts nearly a year. It pays a lot more 
than rent and buys some really cool clothes and music. 
And dozens of incredibly expensive Italian shoes, which 
I adore.

It ends one bitter, snowy Winter evening when Jim gets 
careless and forgets to pay off the cops or Tina and I 
get careless and don't fuck with sufficient enthusiasm. 
Who knows why good things end? Most likely, since it's 
an election year, there's political pressure to clean 
up the neighborhood. Whatever. 

Anyway, the game's raided and we're all arrested. Tina 
and I are allowed to get back into our flimsy robes — 
nothing else — before we're loaded, teeth-chattering 
and shivering, into the paddy wagon.

We're put in a cold, dank cell with two bunks. One on 
top of the other. The word goes out to cops in the area 
and for the rest of the night we fuck what seems like 
every cop in Canada. Even a couple of female cops drop 
by for quickies. Only good thing about it is that all 
this action keeps us warm in the cold cell.

At first, I go along with it, reckoning it's part of 
the price I have to pay for all that rent, music and 
clothes. And all those Italian shoes. Out of habit, I 
keep count. After servicing a dozen cops there's a 
pause and I get pissed off and call the warden and tell 
her it's enough, I want to stop. I've heard of the Blue 
Wall and the Blue Brotherhood before but this is 
ridiculous.

The warden shrugs, says there's nothing she can do. 
"They like to gang-bang whores. Gives them a kick. 
They'll stop after a while, honey. Just be patient."

I go back to work. I have my first orgasm and make a 
lot of noise when the fifteenth cop, in full uniform, 
spurts into my mouth while a plainclothes cop, still 
wearing his revolver in a shoulder holster, rams my 
pussy.

From the bunk above me, Tina is indignant. "Stop it 
Sam, honey. It's unprofessional for a working girl to 
enjoy her work. I've told you before."

I lie. "It's fake. Professional fake orgasm. You do it. 
We all do. We have to. Guys like it."

She's not convinced. "I know the difference."

"I don't mean to" I admit. "It just happens sometimes."

Tina sounds her mantra like a finicky schoolteacher. 
"You're supposed to make sure the john has a good time, 
not have a good time yourself."

Now I'm really mad. "These cops aren't clients, Tina... 
they're rapists. Rapist bastards." I have to stop 
because a cop's cock pushes into my mouth.

By my reckoning I service forty cops and have another 
three orgasms before Jim somehow raises bail and Tina 
and I stagger out of jail into the snow in borrowed 
clothes late the next afternoon.

***

The cops drop charges against Tina and me, likely out 
of professional courtesy. But they're so pissed off by 
whatever it is that makes them raid the game that they 
charge Jim with keeping a gaming house, a common bawdy 
house and living off the avails of prostitution.

Now I'm hopping mad. I tell Tina I'm going to volunteer 
as a character witness for Jim. After all, he's 
respected me, let me work my own hours and always pays 
promptly.

Tina tries to dissuade me. "Look, honey, you're really 
sweet to do this but the lawyer says it will ruin your 
reputation... and you don't want that to happen, do 
you? Think of your future, Sam."

I refuse to listen. "It's not fucking fair, Tina. The 
cops take bribes to ignore the gambling and then they 
gang-rape us. They think they can do whatever they want 
just because we're in the game. Just because we're 
whores. It's not supposed to be this way. I'm not going 
to take it."

Tina hugs me. "Ok, honey. I still don't think you 
should... but I suppose a girl's gotta do what a girl's 
gotta do. You're wonderful. I want you to be godmother 
to our first child."

I raise eyebrows. "Umm... isn't there something about 
being brother and sister that makes that umm..." I fake 
a Quιbιcoise accent. "'Ow you say in Hinglish... 
unwise?"

Tina kisses me on the cheek, hugs me again. "Didn't I 
tell you? We've made enough money so Jim can open an 
electrician's store... and we're going to get married 
and buy a German Shepherd and adopt a baby." She starts 
to cry.

I don't want to get into how a brother and sister can 
marry. And remembering Tina's way with dogs, I'm not at 
all sure dogs are a suitable subject for conversation 
when we discuss marriage. To her brother or anyone 
else. Instead I rummage in my bag, find a tissue, hand 
it to her. "That's wonderful, sweetie. Oh Tina... I'm 
so happy for you." We put arms around each other, cry 
together.

***

I put on my simplest makeup — discreet pink lipstick, 
just a touch of foundation and nothing else. It's the 
same makeup I use when one of Jim's clients pays for an 
outcall and wants me to play the innocent schoolgirl. 
Instead of pigtails or braids, I tie my hair back in a 
severe bun. I dress in my most demure and respectable 
dark suit over a starched white blouse and dark 
stockings and get to the court house late, just in time 
to be called to the stand.

As a devout atheist I refuse to swear on the bible so I 
attest instead — to tell the truth, the whole truth and 
nothing but the truth. And suddenly, as I say the words 
and look up at the judge, all-powerful up there in his 
black robe and scarlet sash, I realize I'm all alone 
facing the full majesty of the law and wish desperately 
that I'm somewhere else. Anywhere else. Even back 
there, flat on my back on the bunk in the cop shop.

I look around the courtroom. There are cops everywhere. 
I guess they've spread the word. Some of the cops are 
in plainclothes — looking exactly like cops in 
plainclothes always look which is exactly like cops in 
plainclothes — some in full police uniform. I recognize 
the cops who take the bribes and some of the cops who 
rape us in the cell. It's like a police union picnic.

The big sergeant who hits me sits in the front of the 
spectator's gallery looking like an overweight pig. He 
has medal ribbons splashed all over his uniform. He 
glares at me. Just to piss him off, I smile sweetly 
back, blow a kiss and flutter my fingers. His face gets 
even redder.

Thank god there are no reporters covering the trial. I 
should have thought of that. All I need is a newspaper 
headline "Journalism student pays tuition on her back" 
or some such smartass wording. But I guess the charges 
are pretty routine and not worth reporting.

***

This is an edited transcript of my testimony. I get it 
from the court reporter.) 

DEFENSE LAWYER: "What is your profession?"

SAM: "I'm... I'm a student at the university."

DEFENSE LAWYER: "Do you have any... err... job?

SAM: "I don't know what I should call it... hostess, 
maybe at a poker game." (Snickers in the courtroom)

DEFENSE LAWYER: "And what exactly does hostessing 
entail?"

SAM: "I suppose... being nice to men for money."

DEFENSE LAWYER: "How nice are you?"

SAM: "Very nice." (Loud laughter in court.)

JUDGE: "There will be none of this. I will not have 
spectators behaving as if we're on the comedy channel."

DEFENSE LAWYER: (Hurriedly) "Could you be more 
specific?"

SAM: "I'm available for sex whenever any of the 
gamblers wants to get his rocks off." (More loud 
laughter.)

JUDGE: "Silence in court. Silence."

DEFENSE LAWYER: "You are acquainted with the 
defendant?"

SAM: (Smiling at Jim who gives a weak grin in return) 
"I am... yes. I work for him."

DEFENSE LAWYER: "Do you have sex with men... other than 
the gamblers who come to the defendant's apartment?"

SAM: (Deliberately misunderstanding) "Yes... if you 
must know I've got boyfriends like any other girl... 
sometimes I have sex with them... there's David and 
Charlie and sometimes Sebastian and his brother... 
and... two of my professors..."

DEFENSE LAWYER: (Interrupting) "No, I mean anyone who's 
not a boyfriend? Not a gambler?"

SAM: "...and some clients I look after... 
extracurricular clients you could call them (long 
pause) and... of course... all those cops..."

DEFENSE LAWYER: (Importantly) "Let's be clear about 
this. You have sex with police officers?"

SAM: "I don't want to. It's so they won't close the 
game down. I give them freebies. Cops really, really 
like freebies... they like doughnuts, bad coffee and 
freebies." (Giggles in court).

DEFENSE LAWYER: (Hastily) "Does that happen... I mean 
sex with police officers... at the defendant's motel 
rooms? The suite he rents for the game? During your... 
err... working hours?"

SAM: "Yes... but it doesn't really interfere with 
anything. Cops don't take long to..." (Loud laughter. 
The judge hides a grin. Jim buries his face in his 
hands.)

DEFENSE LAWYER (Trying not to laugh): "Please just 
answer the questions. (He changes direction.) When the 
game is raided last month... do you recognize any of 
the police officers who conduct the raid? Are there any 
present in this court today?"

SAM: "Yes. All of them. They're the same cops who fuck 
me (Turns to judge) sorry Your Honour... get 
freebies... so Jim can keep the game going."

JUDGE: (Irritably) "Please do not use language like 
that in my court, young lady. I won't have it."

SAM: "Sorry, Your Honour. They're the same cops who 
have sexual relations with me... carnal knowledge... 
copulatory... oral... and sometimes masturbatorial... 
intercourse with me..." (Loud laughter. Judge can't 
help himself, joins in briefly. Jim takes his face out 
of his hands, glares at me.)

DEFENSE LAWYER: (Very hurriedly) "Now I'm going to ask 
you some very simple and specific questions. I remind 
you that you're under oath." (I nod) "I'm going to ask 
you exactly the same questions about the defendant in 
the dock as I'll ask you about the police. First the 
defendant. Then the police. Do you understand? The 
words in the questions for each will be exactly the 
same..."

SAM: (Smiling) "Yes. I think I understand."

DEFENSE LAWYER: "Question number one. Does the 
defendant ever force you to have sex with men?

SAM: "No. I do it of my own free will. To pay for my 
studies. It's one way. It pays well and I don't mind. 
He never forces me."

DEFENSE LAWYER: "Do the police ever force you to have 
sex with them?"

SAM: (Examining the long row of police) "If I don't 
have sex with them I'm told I'll be arrested. One of 
them... that sergeant (points)... tells me that."

DEFENSE LAWYER: (Hurriedly) "Question number two. Does 
the defendant ever threaten you... hit you?"

SAM: "Never. Not once. No... he doesn't. And he always 
treats me well. Like a lady. Not like a whore. With 
respect."

DEFENSE LAWYER: "Do the police ever threaten you... hit 
you?"

SAM: "Yes. Both. I'm threatened with arrest and the 
sergeant (points) hits and tries to kick me. Knocks me 
down. I think he enjoys it. I think he gets his 
kicks..."

JUDGE (Sternly) "Just answer the questions, young lady. 
This court isn't interested in your opinion."

SAM: "It's not opinion, Your Honour... he enjoys 
hitting and kicking me as much as me sucking him off... 
and I'm good... very good..."

JUDGE: (Very sternly) "That will be enough young 
lady... quite enough!"

DEFENSE LAWYER: (Hastily) "Question number three. Does 
the defendant always pay you... for your work?"

SAM: "Absolutely. Always. And always on time. And 
sometimes when it's been a good evening he gives me a 
bonus."

DEFENSE LAWYER: "Do the police always pay you for 
your... work?"

SAM: "No. Never. Not once."

DEFENSE LAWYER: "Question number four. When you're at 
the defendant's motel suite do men ever force 
themselves on you... try to rape you... you or the 
other girl? Does the defendant or anyone else rape 
either of you or try to rape you in the motel?"

SAM: "No. Never. Jim always respects me... and tells me 
I have the right to refuse to have sex any time I want. 
And he'll protect me."

DEFENSE LAWYER: "When you're in police custody after 
the game is raided do police officers ever force 
themselves on you... rape you?"

SAM: "Yes. Forty cops rape me. One after the other. 
Some of them women. (Points to the row of police) Some 
of the cops who rape me are sitting here in this court. 
We're naked on this hard bunk... and it's really, 
really cold... and the cell door is left open... and 
any cop who wants us can just come in and use us any 
way he wants." (Every eye in the court turns to the 
police sitting in serried ranks staring stonily ahead).

DEFENSE LAWYER: "Fifth and final question Samantha... 
why are you a character witness for the defendant here 
today?"

SAM: "Because I want this court to know who's guilty 
here. It's not Jim. He never harms anybody. He just 
tries to get along the best he can. Like I do. Like we 
all do. It's not Jim who's guilty... it's the cops 
who're guilty. They're guilty of extortion, corruption 
and rape. They hide behind their shields and guns and 
should all be charged and sent to jail and the key 
thrown away. They forget that they're here to serve us 
all... not just the rich and the powerful. Also..."

JUDGE (Firmly): "Thank you, young lady. If you don't 
mind, I'll decide who gets sent to jail. And thank you 
for your evidence. (Glances at the court clock. To the 
Defense Lawyer) Any more questions?"

DEFENSE LAWYER: "No, your honour."

JUDGE: "Court's adjourned until two pm."

***

The judge has a wonderful way with words. After lunch 
he tells Jim standing miserably in the dock in front of 
him "You, young man, are a disgrace, living off the 
proceeds of prostitution... to say nothing of 
prostituting your own sister... although she has given 
evidence that her participation is quite voluntary. But 
I don't think I've ever come across quite such a brave 
and honest witness as the young woman you are lucky 
enough to have as your character witness" He glances at 
me, back to Jim. "Without her, you'd be locked up for a 
couple of years, young man. Be warned."

He turns to me, sitting demurely in the spectator's 
gallery. "As for you, young lady, I suggest you find a 
much more respectable line of work. And good luck with 
your studies." I nod enthusiastically and smile 
demurely. He goes on. "I have taken your testimony 
about the difference in the way the accused treats you 
and the way the police treat you very, very seriously." 
He pauses, looks down at his desk, looks at me, frowns 
at the cops sitting facing him, returns to Jim standing 
in front of him. "Guilty. Two years probation. I shall, 
of course, report the allegations about the police 
behaviour to the proper authorities. Court adjourned."

I'm so happy that I consider trying to catch the judge 
outside the court room and offering him a freebie. I 
decide not to. This is no time to take chances.

None of the cops get charged with extortion or 
corruption or rape, of course. Instead, there's the 
usual internal police department investigation after 
which they're all cleared because of "insufficient 
evidence".

A couple of months later I get a postcard from Tina 
telling me Jim's opened an electrician's shop in a 
nearby town and I never hear from them again. I hope 
they get married, buy a German Shepherd for Tina, adopt 
lots and lots of lovely babies and live happily ever 
after.

END

(Crime & Punishment is chapter 58 in a 109-chapter 
autobiography "Life, Lusts and Loves of Samantha" 
detailing my fascinating times between the sheets and 
other places. My story is true, except that some of the 
facts have been changed to make it more interesting. 
You can find me at samanthachaborn@gmail.com)

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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.

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Kristen's collection - Directory 55