Corrupt Sheriff: Human Trafficking

The sheriff is up to no good. He has purchased a remote ranch and converted its horse stable stalls into a group of small apartments. He collects fillies of a human variety to reside there, at least temporarily.

This is a story of abductions, human trafficking, domination and the delights of total, unquestioning submission.

Excerpts:

As they spoke, a matronly local woman came in to pay an earlier fine.

"Help us!" pleaded Maggie. "The sheriff and his deputy are perverts!"

"Oh dear, my good woman, the whole town already knows that! We have learned to accept his wily ways. The crime rate in our area has gone down to zero since he took office. We love him here.

- - -

Can a woman who is wearing high-heeled shoes and whose ankles are bound by pantyhose, cross a room with a full cup of coffee and not spill any?"

- - -

I've converted all six stalls of my stable into small living quarters, each with a cot and a toilet. My friends keep horses, I decided to start a filly collection of my own, a human one. You will each have your own place. For now, your sole purpose in life will be pleasing your master. That is how you will each address me from now on, as Master."

- - -

"So you've never seen your girlfriend naked?"

"Not until we got arrested."

- - -

The Ranch was remote, everything outdoors so dark they couldn't even see one another, only a dim light in the bedroom window of the farmhouse as she led Megan there. The gravel stone path hurt her bare feet. She struggled to make the trek and soon they stood humbly before him as he sat naked on the bed.

- - -

"I've got some girls, some ladies. How's the market these days?"

"Which market we talkin' about? Trafficking or hooking?"

"I don't need any big one-time payment, but am wondering about some sort of profit-sharing arrangement. It's cash flow that interests me. What are the going rates these days?"

"A hundred bucks for thirty minutes, more if they're quality white girls. Multiply that by a dozen or so per day and the cash flows pretty good."

"Twelve hundred a day per girl sounds dandy."

"Yeah, well that's top line revenue. That wouldn't be going into your pocket, babycakes. There would be expenses, management fees, partnership splits. The average life of a girl in use is two years, four tops. Bring me quality merchandise and you can figure on two-fifty a day net to you per girl. For a one-time payment upfront, I could probably get you fifty grand per."

"How about body parts, kidneys and stuff?"

"Oh boyfriend, you are a wicked one now, aren't you! Now we're talkin' a whole 'nother ball game.

- - -

"You are now your friend's sex slave. You have to do whatever she says. How do you feel about that?"

"Anxious. Curious. Wondering. I'm still trying to wrap my mind around having to do whatever she says. It's sort of a turn-on."

"FBI!" the man shouted. "I'm Special Agent Jones. We have a warrant to search the premises!" They were already entering the stable.

In one lightning-like move, Sheriff Carter unlatched his holster, pulled out his service revolver, and fired a round into the corrupt police woman's forehead, killing her instantly, the power from its impact knocking over her chair.

"So much for your martial-arts skills, bitch!"

- - -

The press had been alerted and were on the scene before the police arrived. The cops rushed into the building, followed by the cameras.

"Put down the gun, mister, or we'll shoot!"

Surrounded, he surrendered.

"My wife, they took my wife. I rescued her, she's outside. Make sure she's safe. Her name is Rebekah. Our nanny is here, she's pregnant. They're going to harvest her for body parts!"

"Sure, mister. Come with us."

He resisted. They tased him. He went down.