("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2008. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- 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) ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author does not condone the described behavior in real life. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Kristen's collection - Directory 55