Policewomen: Trina's Inferno - Sex Stories

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Policewomen: Trina's Inferno

Date: 8/11/2015, Categories: Dark Fantasy, Bondage and restriction, Cruelty, Death, Extreme, Horror, Male Domination, Murder, Non-consensual sex, Rape, Snuff, Torture, Violence, Voyeurism, Author: tw_holt, Rating: 82.4, Source: sexstories.com

anymore!” Trina tackled him, punching him over and over, her fists raining down on him. He was rolling from side-to-side, doing his best to block them. Rolling to his side, Trina still straddling him, protecting himself with his left arm, he rose up. His size and strength enabled him to fling Trina off him. He lunged at her, grabbing a handful of hair, dragging her to the ground. He was on top now, punching wildly. Blocking his assault as best she could, several powerful blows landed on her face. Her lips were busted open, she heard her nose crack and break, her left eye was nearly swollen shut. “There is no fight or die! All die!” he yelled as he relentlessly punched her. “There!” He paused, turning to his captured girlfriend. “This is what I should’ve done to you!” He grabbed Trina by the hair once more, ready to deliver the final attack. Gunshots rang out in the large room, everyone’s ears ringing. He released Trina’s hair, getting off her. “What the hell!” he yelled. One of the women from the corner was beating his associates with the shotgun, the other man had been shot several times. Trina’s gamble paid off. One of the women shot the remaining man. During this distraction, Trina crawled the overseer’s gun, grabbing it, quickly standing, pointing it at his head. “Goodbye, little bitch,” she said. He turned around, eyes widening, his last sight before a bullet entered his skull was Trina smirking and pulling the trigger. Fraud Trina collapsed to her knees, blood ... trailing down her cleavage, some dripping and landing on her white tank top. On her boring patrol route none of the elderly folks ever assaulted her, she never had to sprint and chase a crazy old man down, never had to fight or exert herself. Her nose dripping onto the concrete, her beaten and bloody face was new for her. She gathered her composure, ignored the pain, and helped one of the women untie the dead man’s girlfriend – or ex-girlfriend. She watched them put their arms around her and leave. Trina checked how many rounds were left in the nine millimeter – six. She watched the other women grab the two remaining weapons and lead the way out, hopefully to a full police force waiting outside, ready to storm the place. Trina turned left down the hall, after seeing the women disappear to the right. “They’re leaving!” she heard a man yell as a door 20 feet ahead of her opened. She was too slow; the dazed state from her fight, dulling her speed and reflexes. The man opened fire toward her. Trina slammed into a door to her left, barging into another nearly pitch black room. Landing on the floor, more pain coursed through her, taking her breath away. The low light from the hallway was obscured by a man, looking down at her, his body a silhouette. Trina raised the gun as best she could and shot him in the chest. She quickly stood, looking down to his lifeless body. She slowly turned to her right shoulder, blood was pouring out of the bullet hole. Things started moving in slow motion. ...