1. 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

    forehead slammed into the mirror, breaking it. Trina moved the man, the back of his head bloody from the blow of the shotgun, the front of his head bleeding from the mirror glass. She quickly washed her face and hands in the sink, running water through her long hair. “Ugh,” she grimaced, flinging half-dried cum off her hands onto the wall, washing them again. She dried herself off on a few paper towels strewn about. Semen was drying on her body, but her hands and face were clear. Blood was still trailing down her back and legs, dripping to the tiled floor. She turned to look at her bloody back in the mirror, she couldn’t tell if she needed stitches or not. The back of her tank top and panties were red. She shook her head. Trina searched the man, finding nothing, closed the bathroom door, and continued on. Sneaking down the main hallway once more, a door to her right opened, a man appeared, she swiped him across the head, grabbed him and pulled his unconscious body aside, being quiet as possible. Trina moved into the room, another man approached her; she ducked, swinging the shotgun at his knee, then against his head several times after he landed on the floor. Trina looked around this new room. There looked to be some kind of forge in the corner. It was glowing hot, lighting up the room. Trina once again saw several naked woman, beaten, tied to the wall, their backs to her. One woman struggled to stand and was crying in agony. Trina moved closer to her, observing the cause ...
    of her pain. Bloody, burnt, skin covered her ass and back. Trina leaned in, the smell of burnt flesh filling her nostrils; she saw dollar signs branded into the woman’s skin. She untied the woman’s wrists, assisting her to the floor. “Move,” the woman whispered. Trina quickly looked behind her, just in time to throw her hands up to catch a blow by a man carrying the hot branding iron used on the woman. She struggled to hold it away from her face. He was stronger than Trina. She had to slide out of the way, rolling on the floor to avoid his blows. One landed on her thigh, Trina kept rolling, moving to avoid his attacks, her leg searing in pain. She rolled back around where the shotgun was, grabbing it and using it as means to block his attack, the hot iron inches from her nose. She kicked his knee, swung her legs, tripping the man. She lunged after the hot iron. The man grabbed her ankle, pulling her away from it. He got on top of her, holding her down, pummeling at her head. Then he stopped. He fell over lifeless. The woman Trina rescued held the branding iron, struggling to stand. Trina got up, taking it from her, “Thank you,” she said. “Let’s help the others here.” They untied the other women, all of them helping each other out. Trina watched them make their way down the hall, gripping the iron. She had a new weapon, one easier to carry and swing. Anger Slightly limping, her thigh throbbing, slowly making her way down the corridor, she came to another door on her right. ...
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