The police station buzzed around me; the practiced fingers of desk cops pounding away at keyboards, the arrguments of disagreeing factions, and the lame excuses of the soon-to-be-jailed. It was a Friday night, and it looked like the authorities had been busy arresting perps since daybreak.
Nearby, a pair of muscular frat boys sat handcuffed to different chairs. I couldn't tell if they were fastened there to keep them from falling over in their alcoholice stupor, or if the shackles were there to keep them from tearing each other apart. One of them had dried blood caking his upper lip, while the other's face was discolored from various bruises. Several times, whatever they were going on about got so heated that they lunged at each other, but the best they could do was bash their heads together a couple of times before the police separate them. Mindless brutes.
Another pair of adolescent males sat across from me, looking like they'd just been put through the rinse cycle. What was it with men and crime? A quick look around at the people being processed came up all male. As far as I could see, I was the only woman there and I wasn't under arrest.
The two scared teen boys had been brought in on drug charges and were waiting for their parents to pick them up. I'd overheard as much when the duty officer had sat them down across from me five minutes ago. She then gave me a patronizing, "The detectives will be with you shortly." Bitch. If they were going to be with me "shortly" they'd have already called me in and not wasted more of my precious time.
I sat in the entrance to the police station, glaring at the two cohorts. They hid from me behind their dirty long hair and studied the scuffed floor between us, as if it would tell them what excuse they should give their parents for getting busted for possession. Maybe this would scare them straight, but from the looks of their sloppy dress and brain-cell deficient aura, they were already human flotsam, lost garbage in society's ocean with no chance to make a positive impact on anyone.
Was I the only one not being arrested? Oh the irony. For the first time in five years that I go home at what most people would consider a normal time, to get a little needed me-time, and I witness some scumbag guy breaking into my neighbor's house. Would that actually qualify as irony or would it just be happenstance? Whichever it was, I wasn't happy about it. Because it landed me here, sitting around waiting to ID the loser, yet another male.
Why did the police need me to come identify the man I'd caught breaking into my neighbor's place tonight? Couldn't it have waited till daytime? Scratch that. Daytime would mean I'd miss even more valuable work time, so night was definitely better. Better still, couldn't they have just brought some mug shots to my office? That would have at least spared me the grief of being in such proximity to the town's riffraff.
I was sure my surroundings couldn't get any worse when a police officer in a bad brown suit brought the whore in. She strode in like she'd done nothing wrong, even thought her attire should have been excuse enough. The officer dropped her off at the desk clerk's station and headed back to the chief's office. She stood there smacking gum and twisting a tendril of her platinum hair with a red fingernail. Despite the lack of support from her loose fitting halter top, her artificially large breasts floated in front of her like they'd never learned the concept of gravity. I doubted the girl herself had either.
Her heels provided neither form nor function. They were too cheap to have any sort of style and were too comically high to be of any use, other than highlighting her legs. The skirt she wore was just as bad, if not worse. It looked like she'd crudely chopped up a decent denim skirt to show off the beginnings of the curve of her posterior. How could she have the nerve to wear something like that in public?
She leaned forward against the counter and part of her left nipple slipped out of her shirt. There were children here! Sure, they were delinquents, but they still didn't need to look at something like her.
The whore―there was no doubt in my mind that she was one―turned and looked at me. Either she had heterochromia or one of her blue contacts had fallen out and she hadn't bothered to take the other one out. Her one brown eye and one bright blue eye disturbed me.
And why the fuck was that stuck-up bitch looking at me like that for? Fucking cow.
I smacked my gum around some more and looked down. One of my nips was completely out. "Oops," I giggled and pulled my top back over it. God damn pigs. I wasn't even doing tricks yet and they brung me in. Just cause I got a little carried away on stage didn't mean they fucking had to go and haul me in.
I glanced around at the other poor sobs that the bacon had taken in. Two hot and fuckable frat boys were going at it in the back. My pussy moistened. What I wouldn't do to get my little cunt around one of their shafts. There was nothing like being fucked by a guy who'd just been in a fight. He'd be so full of adrenaline and junk. So rough. So hot.
In the entrance, aside from the bitch looking at me as if she couldn't make up her mind whether or not she wanted to lick my vag or run away, two puppy dog hippie boys sat staring at the floor. I could smell the pot coming off them when I'd passed them. Poor babies. I'm not normally into hippies, but I'd give them a pity fuck. From the looks of them, they could be virgins. My damn cunny got wetter. I loved cherry popping.
That was one of my favorite tricks to pull. I loved it when guys set me up with their newbie friends. Those guys didn't have dumb-ass ideas of "lovemaking". I got to teach them how to fuck women like the whores we are.
God, I needed to get out of there. I was so fucking horny I thought I was going to burst. If I could leave soon, I could still have time to get a lay in before I had to get back on stage. I slammed my hand on the counter. "You assholes gonna let me go or what? I'm supposed to be back on stage in half an hour."
Glancing around, my gaze settled back on the fucking prude who'd been lusting over my nip-slip. She sat so prim and proper in her knee length denim skirt and white blouse. Her legs were crossed at her ankles and the top foot waved her Gucci pump back and forth like she couldn't wait to get out of here. If she was going to buy expensive shit like that, she should at least get a pair with a fucking heel on it. Bitch might as well have been wearing sneakers.
She had her arms folded under her tiny tits. Such a shame. As loaded as she looked, she could have afforded some huge jugs to be shoved in there. Her gaze shifted up to me and once again, her one blue eye and one brown eye creeped me the fuck out.
My heart raced. What had just happened? I'd been her. I'd been the whore. I couldn't remember being me when I was her, but I remembered them both vividly now. Everything that I'd worked so hard for my entire life-my education, my career, my morality-all of it had been replaced by the desire and need for sex. Good and evil had been warped into fuckable and non-fuckable. The experience left me in a cold sweat. My skin tingled, not just from the terror of being her, but from the excitement as well.
The best things in life are things you work for, or so I had always believed. My life was filled with pleasure. The pleasure of knowing I was a good person. The pleasure of seeing my university diploma on the wall. The pleasure of a glass of wine with some friends. I was content with my life.
What a crock of shit. The best thing in life is being easy. That's what I'd believed in. No, that's what [i]she[/i] believed in. That life had been filled with intense bursts of pleasure. Supernovas of wanton sex and rampant drug use. All the pleasure derived from ignoring society's rules and embracing its ills. If I wasn't happy, it sure did feel good. Fuck! Life was great.
No! She was infecting my mind. The whore was doing something to me. I had to leave. I had to get out of there. But I couldn't; they'd brought me in on charges of prostitution ... no they'd brought her in on charges of prostitution. I was here on my own free will. Wasn't I? I couldn't remember why I was there. I no longer cared.
I stood up and burst out of the precinct's doors. My feet carried me as I fled from my nightmare: the whore with the witch eyes.
I should have run back to my apartment. I should have run to a friend's house. I should have run somewhere with a place in mind, instead of just running. Running. I ran from her. I ran from everything she represented. I just ran and listened to the plodding of my shoes hitting the pavement.
Then I thought of her witch eyes.
My heels clacked to a slow as I came up to the strip joint. My ankles hurt from running in such high heels all the way from home. Sweat pasted my halter to my fake tits and my hair was fucked. Why the hell did I run to work when I should have taken a god damn cab? My dancing was really going to suck.
I checked the clock on my cell, 9:58. Only two minutes. Shit, I'd never be on time, not with all the make up and hair repair I had to do. Fuckfuckfuckfuck. That fuck-fest I'd had last night had gone on way too late. But fuck all if I could have stopped it. Hell, I thought those guys could have gone longer, fucking shame they couldn't.
I yawned. Fuck if I could remember when I had gone to sleep, but I'd only woken up an hour ago, then like a 'tard, I fucking ran to work; one of the other bitches could cover my first dance. I needed to get myself fixed up. More than that, I needed a cock in me somewhere. I really wish those guys had fucking gone longer.
.... There is more of this story ...