Sandra Romain and Annie Cruz

Annie Cruz works the curb like she owns it. Sandra Romain cruises up in a black-and-blue uniform and a crooked smile that says badge or no badge, she runs the block. A quick nod, a cash flash, and Annie slides into the cruiser. No small talk. Sandra drives straight to the basement that reeked of mildew and old motor oil. Down there the air is damp, the light is bare. Annie is stripped fast. Sandra snaps cuffs on her wrists, bolts them to a chain overhead. She yanks until Annie’s boots leave the floor, then flips her. Head down, ankles lashed to a pipe, she hangs open, ass and cunt exposed to the cold concrete. Sandra stuffs a fat red ball between Annie’s teeth and buckles it tight. Drool starts immediately. The cop walks a slow circle, slapping a thick leather strap against her palm. First strike lands across Annie’s ass. Red blooms. Another. Annie jerks but stays quiet behind the gag. The hits keep coming until her skin shines. Sandra switches to a flogger, welts crossing welts, then drops the toy and works gloved fingers into Annie’s ass. Two. Three. Slow at first, then rough, pumping past the resistance until the hole loosens and takes the whole fist in slick, nasty strokes. When Annie’s thighs start to shake, Sandra swaps fist for steel. A thick plug stretches her wide, clicks into place. Next comes the wand—pressed hard against her clit, switched on high. Annie thrashes upside down, wrists yanking at steel, spit pouring around the gag. The orgasm hits like a current, fierce and sudden, squirting down her belly and dripping off her tits onto the floor. Sandra doesn’t stop the wand. She keeps it there until Annie’s second climax rips through her, rawer than the first. Bound, gagged, dripping, Annie hangs and shudders while Sandra lights a cigarette, smoke curling up into the single bulb. The cop’s low laugh echoes off cinderblock. She’s nowhere near done.