Chapter 2: Evidence of Depravity

Three months had ripped by since that first twisted fuckin’ moment with Martin, each day a goddamn plummet into nastier, filthier depths, a desperate escape from the soul-crushin’ grind of bein’ Lubbock’s sheriff. After brutal shifts at the office—chasin’ down leads on Laura Simmons’ assault, four months cold, still no murder charge, grillin’ lowlife pieces of shit who sneered at my badge, and dodgin’ questions from brass about why I hadn’t nabbed Rico Vargas yet—I’d drag my ass home to the ranch, body achin’ and mind torn. Laura’s broken voice still echoed from those crime scene tapes, her plea for justice a weight I couldn’t shake, yet every dead end on Rico Vargas’ trail pushed me closer to the edge. I’d throw together some half-assed Tex-Mex in the cramped kitchen, and collapse on the worn-out couch with Martin for our sick little ritual, needin’ to drown the guilt in somethin’ raw and wrong, even as I wondered—how far could I push this fucked-up game before it cost me every last shred of my badge, my boy, my goddamn soul?

That night, the lock clicked as I stormed into the kitchen, badge still weighin’ down my belt, the burden of the law and my own warped fuckin’ desires crushin’ me after a brutal day. I’d spent hours hunched over grainy security footage at the station, spottin’ a partial tattoo on a suspect that might link to Rico Vargas, Laura’s piece-of-shit attacker, but the lead was thinner than a whore’s patience, and the frustration chewed at my fuckin’ guts. Martin was slumped over homework at the dining table—our rule was no porn till the books were done, a pathetic stab at normalcy in our fucked-to-hell world. He finished quick, but as he glanced up, I caught a flicker of somethin’ beyond the hunger in his eyes—maybe a wish for somethin’ simpler, a mom who wasn’t always lost to cases or this darkness. “You good, sugar?” I muttered, voice rough but softer than usual, testin’ the waters. He shrugged, barely meetin’ my gaze, “Yeah, just ... school’s dumb. Wish we could just talk sometimes, y’know?” His words stung, a reminder of the kid I’d left behind too many nights, but the pull was stronger, and his eyes burned with that familiar need as he watched me change in the next room, slippin’ out of my uniform into a skimpy-ass tank top and tiny shorts, tits barely held in, nipples pokin’ through like fuckin’ bullets, no panties underneath, the cool air hittin’ my bare, shaved pussy, lips already slick and swollen with anticipation as I felt his stare drillin’ into me like a cock ready to pound. I strutted over slow, hips swayin’ like a goddamn stripper, lettin’ the shorts ride up to flash the bottom curve of my ass, the fabric diggin’ into my crotch to outline my wet slit for his greedy eyes. I leaned down close, breath hot on his cheek, a lingerin’ tease of lips near his, way too fuckin’ close for a mother, makin’ him quiver as my hand brushed his shoulder, teasin’ the edge of somethin’ more while I smirked filthy, my tits damn near in his face, nipples beggin’ to be sucked.

“Brought a tape,” I purred, my voice thick with dirty fuckin’ promise, holdin’ up the unmarked VHS I’d lifted from a deputy’s desk—a potential lead on an underground porn ring tied to Rico Vargas’ crew, though I kept that shit from Martin. I needed to check if it held clues, but the excuse to watch with him was too goddamn temptin’, my cunt already throbbin’ at the thought of his eyes on me while we soaked in some nasty-ass filth together. “Wanna watch before dinner, sugar? Get that young dick rock-fuckin’-hard with Mommy sittin’ right here, pussy wet for ya?” I teased, lettin’ my tongue trace my lower lip, eyes locked on his, darin’ him to say no as I leaned closer, my breath hot on his neck, tank slippin’ to show more cleavage, the scent of my arousal hittin’ the air.

He nodded fast as fuck, almost frantic, his breath hitchin’ hard, eyes dartin’ to my tits strainin’ against the tank, then down to the shorts ridin’ up my ass, barely coverin’ my pussy lips, a damp spot already formin’ from my drippin’ snatch. We sank onto the couch, him leanin’ back, me curled up with legs tucked under at first, then slowly stretchin’ ‘em out to drape across his lap, my bare feet grazin’ his thigh, toes teasin’ closer to the growin’ bulge in his jeans, feelin’ the heat through the denim as I shifted, lettin’ my tank slip higher, barin’ the edge of my dark, hard nipples. The living room dimmed with the settin’ sun, shadows dancin’ over us as I let my foot press light against his cock, feelin’ it jump under the pressure, a slow grind makin’ him bite his lip, tryin’ not to moan like a little bitch. I leaned in closer, shoulder brushin’ his, my tit pressin’ against his arm, nipple scrapin’ through the fabric, my breath hot on his ear as I whispered, “Bet your prick’s already leakin’ for me, ain’t it? Wanna see how wet Mommy gets watchin’ this filth with you?” My hand slid to his thigh, fingers splayin’ wide, inchin’ up slow, grazin’ just shy of his bulge, feelin’ the heat radiatin’ off his hard dick as he squirmed, a choked gasp escapin’ his throat. “What’s on it?” he asked, voice thick as fuck, gaze roamin’ my body like a predator, hands twitchin’ to grab me but too scared to move without my green light, oblivious to the darker purpose behind the tape, his eyes lockin’ on the damp spot growin’ on my shorts as I shifted again, spreadin’ my legs wider, darin’ him to stare, to want.

“Dunno. Snatched it from a desk at the office,” I teased, lettin’ him picture the gritty station full of hard-ass deputies, my foot now pressin’ harder on his cock, rubbin’ slow circles over the bulge, feelin’ it throb hot under the denim, a wet spot formin’ from his precum seepin’ through as he bit back a whimper, face flushin’ red. But my mind was half on the case—could this tape reveal a face, a location, anythin’ to nail Rico Vargas? I shoved the thought down, focusin’ on the heat buildin’ between us, my pussy fuckin’ weepin’ now, wettin’ the shorts so bad the fabric clung to my slit, showin’ every detail of my swollen clit and parted lips. The TV flickered with erotic previews, some bitch gettin’ her tits mauled while a fat cock slammed her cunt, balls slappin’ her ass, cum drippin’ down her thighs, then static. “Fuck, what a letdown,” Martin groaned, shiftin’ closer, his thigh pressin’ firm against mine, heat radiatin’ off him, his hard-on blatant as fuck under the jeans, tentin’ the fabric like a goddamn pole.

“Hold on, might be more,” I said, eyes glued to the screen as the static cleared, revealin’ an amateur vid—Zoe, a deputy from work, in a short skirt and tee, no underwear, her glistenin’ cunt on full fuckin’ display as she sat in a chair, legs spread wide as hell, Zoe, maybe coerced, maybe cravin’ filth, finger-fucked her wet pussy hard, knuckles deep, lost in her own pleasure, moanin’ like a goddamn whore as she pinched her hard nipples through the shirt, makin’ ‘em poke out like bullets. My breath caught, not just from shock but recognition—Martin knew her; she’d dropped her son Peter off at school events. Zoe was younger than me, single, with a troublemaker kid, and now here she was, strippin’ on tape, finger-fuckin’ her wet pussy hard, knuckles deep, lost in her own pleasure, moanin’ like a goddamn whore as she pinched her hard nipples through the shirt, makin’ ‘em poke out like bullets. But my sheriff’s instinct kicked in—was this tied to Rico Vargas’ network? Was Zoe compromised, or just a fuckin’ idiot? “Goddamn!” we both laughed, the absurdity and arousal hittin’ like a brick, though my mind raced with implications. On screen, Zoe teased, “Should I take off my shirt?” then did, her toned body bared, firm tits bouncin’ free, nipples stiff and dark as she spread her cunt wider, showin’ the pink, drippin’ inside, fingers plungin’ in deep with wet, sloppy sounds, makin’ her hips buck as she moaned louder, “Fuck, I’m gonna cum!” My tank had ridden up higher now, exposin’ my own tits completely, nipples stiff in the cool air, a bead of sweat rollin’ down between ‘em as I shifted, lettin’ my shorts dig tighter into my crotch, the damp fabric damn near transparent, clingin’ to my pussy lips for Martin’s starin’ eyes. His breath was ragged as fuck, hands fidgetin’ as he leaned closer, gaze dartin’ between me and the screen, his cock strainin’ so hard I could see the outline of the head through his jeans, a wet spot spreadin’ from his precum. “Mommy got carried away,” I chuckled, not pullin’ it down, lettin’ him feast on the sight of my bare tits and soaked shorts, testin’ the boundary as my foot ground harder on his bulge, makin’ him whimper soft, “Like what you see, sugar? Wanna peek at how drenched I am for this filth?”

“M-o-o-o-m,” he pleaded, voice thick with need, a desperate fuckin’ whine, his hands shakin’ as they hovered near his lap, wantin’ to touch but too scared to cross that line without my say-so, his eyes locked on the damp spot growin’ on my shorts, then up to my tits, hunger burnin’ in ‘em. “Wanna see more of me?” I taunted, lust heavy as fuck in my tone, my pussy achin’ to be touched, clit beggin’ for his fingers, his goddamn tongue, as I shifted, pullin’ my shorts down just enough to bare my pussy fully, legs spreadin’ wide, showin’ him my glistenin’ slit, lips parted, clit swollen and red, juices drippin’ onto the couch as I teased a finger along my fold, spreadin’ the wetness for him to see, “Look at this sloppy cunt, sugar, all fuckin’ soaked for you. Wanna taste it like that kid did to his mom?” Then the camera shifted—Peter’s young legs appeared as he approached his mother, his tongue lappin’ at her cunt, slurpin’ her juices loud, buryin’ his face in her wet snatch before the vid cut back to generic clips, the taboo shock hittin’ us like a fuckin’ sledgehammer. My gut twisted, knowin’ Peter—Zoe’s kid, a quiet boy I’d seen at station picnics, always clingin’ to her side. Had she dragged him into this, just like I was with Martin? “Turn it off!” I yelped, lungin’ for the remote, heart poundin’—not just from shock, but fear. If this tape was part of Rico Vargas’ ring, it could drag Zoe into my investigation, maybe blow us both wide open. Martin pinned me down, his body hard against mine, erection pressin’ into my stomach through his jeans, hot and fuckin’ insistent, a steel rod burnin’ through the fabric as he held my wrists, breath pantin’ on my neck, precum soakin’ through to wet my bare skin as I squirmed under him, my pussy gushin’ despite myself, clit throbbin’ harder with every grind of his cock against me. “Did you like watchin’ Aunt Zoe?” I rasped, voice husky as fuck, tryin’ to regain control, my hips shiftin’ deliberate to rub my wet, bare cunt against his thigh, feelin’ the rough denim scrape my sensitive lips, makin’ me moan low as I spread my legs wider under him, temptin’ more.