Both of them lay there for a long time before going to sleep.
CHAPTER FOUR
Cindy lay back and enjoyed the delicious sensations as Monique sucked softly on her hot pussy. Monique was a good little slave, the best that Cindy and Hank had ever had. Slowly Hank pulled Monique up by the hips and ran his enormous cock against the entrance of her cunt. Monique moaned and braced herself on the sofa, waiting far the moment he would ram his fucker into her cunt.
Monique was a tiny girl, only just over five feet tall and built petite to match. Her face was pretty and looked vulnerable, with big dark eyes above a wide red mouth. Her tits were small and thrusting, her waist slim and her ass was tight and rounded above shapely legs. She was a teenager and, when dressed as Cindy and Hank wanted, she frequently looked like a child.
Cindy actually didn't look that much older, and was ten years younger than Hank anyway. She was a blonde, with a foxy face, blue eyes and a mouth that promised lewd delights. Her tits were larger than Monique's, but stood out as proudly from her soft white body.
Cindy's pussy mound gently fucked at Monique's face, and her long legs held the young girl in place as she gave quiet instructions as to how Monique should use her tongue and lips on her clit.
Hank paused to admire the girl's ass. His cock tip probed slowly into the hair-fringed fuck hole and Monique gasped, sucked her mouth tighter to Cindy's cunt and moaned with delight as Hank slowly fucked all the way into her tight pussy.
Hank was a huge man, well over six feet tall, darkly handsome, with a massive chest, strong thighs and a colossal cock. More than one of the slaves he and Cindy had broken in had wept at the sight of his horse cock and pleaded she couldn't take it all. His cock was a foot long and very thick, so they were bound to be scared, but all of them had taken his cock, every way he told them to. The alternative was severe, indeed.
But Monique had been a good girl that day and didn't need to be punished, in strong contrast to the day she met them.
She had escaped from reform school, unable to take the cruelty of the staff and the loneliness of the life there. She was determined not to go back, and fate led her to the bar Hank ran in the sleazy area of town, a bar frequented by a variety of people, all of them dangerous to a young escapee who couldn't go to the police for help.
Monique was worldly wise to an extent, but she was weak underneath – and Hank spotted that the moment she came into the bar, blinking in the dim light after the sun outside. She went to the bar and asked for a drink, hoping they wouldn't ask her age or demand some identification. A large, but friendly looking man served her at once and slowly walked down the bar to the phone, where he nodded pleasantly to some of his other customers and made a call. Monique reveled in her new freedom. She ordered another drink, and she grinned at the several husky men sitting around watching the ball game.
The alcohol started to go to her head. She was feeling better and better and didn't notice the police car pulling up outside the bar. She wondered at her cleverness, even as the burly cop came in through the door and the nice bartender converged on her with him.
"Let's see some ID, Miss," said the cop, leaning over the bar and looking her straight in the face.
Fear swept over Monique. She was trapped.
"Er… er… yes, officer," she said hurriedly as she dug into her bag. "I think I must have left it at home."
"Serious offense, Miss," said the cop. "Drinking under age. You could get this owner here a big fine and the loss of his license for that." He leaned over the bar farther and reached in his pocket for his book.
All the coolness that Monique had vanished in that moment. She burst into tears.
"Please don't send me back," she sobbed. "And where would 'back' be?" asked the cop, his voice sounding almost friendly but his gaze as steely as ever.
"Packard School," Monique sobbed.
"And why wouldn't you want to go back to such a nice place?" the cop went on.
"I won't go back, I won't!"
"Well," said the cop, "I think we had better discuss this in the back room young lady."
Almost roughly, he took her by the arm, the bartender raised the section of the bar and they all went through, then down a corridor smelling of stale beer, to a small room with beer kegs along one wall, a stove and a table and chairs.
It was dark, dark as her room at the school, and only a cobweb-covered window let in any light at all from high on one wall. The bartender switched the light on and a bare bulb swung from the cord as he let it go.
"Well now, young lady," said the cop, sitting down slowly in one of the chairs. "What's your name?"
"Monique," she said, standing in fear, her arms crossed in front of her body, holding desperately onto the bag with her few possessions in it.
"Well now," the cop said, easing back in the chair and staring openly at her. "You can call me Tom, and this is Hank, the owner of the bar where you just broke the law."
Monique broke into fresh tears. "Please don't send me back, please! I'll do anything, anything if you don't send me back. And I promise I won't come in here again."
She sobbed louder, hoping that would make them sorry for her.
"Well now," said the cop, leaning his chair back. "I think we can find another way to solve this problem."
"Oh yes, oh yes, anything," said Monique, unwittingly sealing her fate.
"I want to make it really clear to you that you don't drink in bars," said the cop, a note of menace in his voice.
Monique just stood and sniffled. She couldn't understand exactly what he was getting at, but, having gone through reform school, she was sure it was going to be something nasty.
"We have our own way of punishing little girls who break the law," said the cop, swinging his chair back upright and getting up. "It's your choice little girl – that, or down to the precinct."
Monique just kept crying slowly and nodded her head.
"So you think we should punish you for what you've done?" asked the cop, his voice as hard as his face now.
Monique choked back tears and nodded again.
"Good," said the cop. "Now drop that bag of yours."
Monique dropped her bag on the floor and looked up, stifling a scream. The cop was slowly sliding a thick leather belt out of the waistband of his pants, and Monique didn't have to be told what it was for.
"Oh, please," she whispered, but he ignored her plea and wrapped the buckle end around his right hand, leaving over three feet of black leather hanging.
"Take your panties off," the cop said.
The two men watched with glee as Monique reached under her short shirt and slid her panties slowly down her legs and stepped out of them.
"Show us your legs," said the cop suddenly.
"Oh please," whispered Monique.
"Show us your legs," said Hank, moving around until he was in front of the terrified girl.
Monique saw the belt slowly swinging in the cop's hand. Saw the look of lust on both their faces. She knew now roughly what she was in for, and yet still, that was better than facing going back to the reform school. Very slowly, she reached down and lifted the hem of her skirt, showing them her young firm and shapely legs, all the way to the blonde patch of pussy hair between her thighs.
Both the men whistled in appreciation.
"Hey," said Hank, "this chick's got a pair on her."
"Speaking of pairs," snapped the cap, "open your shirt, show us your tits."
All the effects of the alcohol had gone now. Monique's mouth was dry as she pulled at the top button of her shirt, doing as she was told until her shirt was open to the waistband of her skirt. At a sign from the cop, she pulled it out and let it hang open. Now only her small uplift bra was between them and her tits. Monique unclipped her bra, pulling it around her arms and out of her shirt, dropping the lacy bra to the dirty floor.