Reporting for duty that afternoon, Hazelton police officers Kerrie McCord and Jenna Russert learned to their dismay that they had been pulled from their regular uptown beat and reassigned to patrol a sizeable tract of newly annexed land on the city's eastern periphery. No explanation was given. They quickly discovered there was nothing to patrol other than little-traveled side roads, barren fields, and derelict farmhouses. It was the law enforcement equivalent of Siberian exile.
Kerrie and Jen rightly concluded this was retaliation for turning in a group of fellow officers who had falsified their time sheets in order to collect overtime payouts for hours they did not actually work. Four officers were facing termination and criminal prosecution; seven others were looking at lengthy suspensions. Jenna and Kerrie were now despised by the Hazelton PD's all-male Old Guard, but then doing the right thing is seldom the easy thing.
Midway through their excruciatingly boring shift, Jenna and Kerrie stopped to investigate a late model black van seemingly abandoned on a lonely stretch of two-lane asphalt. Attempting to notify Dispatch, they soon discovered that they were beyond radio range. Jen and Kerrie left their cruiser anyway, only to be ambushed by two masked men wielding semi-automatic pistols. The policewomen were swiftly relieved of their service weapons and then ordered to strip naked at gunpoint. "We are gonna teach you bitches what happens when you rat out other cops," vowed one of their captors.
Taken captive on a lonesome highway by masked gunmen, Police Officers Jenna Russert and Kerrie McCord were commanded to disrobe. When they hesitated to obey, the gunman in the ski mask calmly raised his .40 Glock pistol and fired a single round over their heads. The percussive krak! of the gunshot echoed across the empty landscape.
"Get outta your clothes, bitches!" barked Ski Mask. "That includes bras and panties!"
"Racks like those are too nice to cover up," agreed his accomplice.
Kerrie and Jenna shed their uniforms and peeled out of their undergarments in sullen silence. Their captors grinned behind their masks at the delicious sight of the policewomen standing naked and utterly humiliated in the middle of the road.
Fright Mask snagged Jenna and Kerrie's department issue handcuffs from their discarded gun belts. "Both of you turn around," he said. "Hands behind your backs, palm to palm; you know the drill. We'd like to see what you cunts look like locked up in your own cuffs!"
Stripped to the skin, wrists cinched behind their backs in double locked handcuffs (their own), captive police officers Jen Russert and Kerrie McCord were powerless to resist as rough hands pawed their ripe breasts and intrusive fingers penetrated their exposed pussies. The gunman in the fright mask, doubtless a disgraced ex-cop, stuffed Kerrie's panties into her mouth before sealing the crude but effective gag in place with a swatch of duct tape. Jenna was silenced in like manner, both girls mewling hopelessly while their naked bodies were being toyed with.
The gunman in the ski mask answered a call on a handheld police radio that strictly speaking he had no right to be in possession of. "That was Dean," he reported. "How much longer does he need to divert southbound traffic for us?"
"Soon as these bitches are loaded in the van," responded his cohort. Jenna and Kerrie traded stunned looks, whimpering in anguish as they realized that active-duty officers were aiding and abetting the gunmen. They had no time to ponder the implications before being shoved inside the van's payload bay and forced to sit on the bare steel floor.
The man in the ski mask slid behind the wheel, waiting impatiently while his fright-masked partner placed a parcel no larger than a hymnal under the dash of Kerrie and Jenna's abandoned police cruiser. Fright Mask vaulted into the van's passenger seat, pulling the door closed behind him. Ski Mask punched the accelerator. As he drove away, a muffled explosion blew out the cruiser's windows and instantly transformed the vehicle into a raging inferno on wheels.
"Thermite bomb," Ski Mask called over his shoulder. "That ought to fry the hard drive in your trunk and any dashcam footage. All they'll be able to locate in terms of evidence is your uniforms and a burned-out wreck, not a single fucking clue as to what became of you. In case it isn't screamingly obvious, you two are going to disappear for good--but not until we use you as fuck toys."
( To Be Continued )
