Free Hell In High Heels --- A Jane Delacroix erotic novel: Sex, Sin, and Slaughter in Southern California by Vixen Wade

a devil. I can't get into specifics of what's going on behind the scenes in Washington, but the turf battle has split the State Department down the middle. One side is going with McNamara the other with Hoover." Makin looked hard into Gleason's eyes. "Who do you think is going to win?"
                   "That monomaniacal fruitcake Hoover never loses a turf battle," Gleason turned his head and spat. He was disgusted. Turf battles between the Secretary of Defense and the head of the FBI.
                   "Then you need to be on our side when this thing shakes loose."
                   "Doesn't matter," Gleason pointed out. "I'm never going to get confirmation on Sten's release in time to make a difference to Jane."
                   "Nothing that's going to happen is going to happen on the books," Dawson said. "You're only going to get permission after this is over and done. But you're an LAPD Captain; who do you want on your side, a bunch of DIA spooks or the FBI?"
                   "I let Sten go, I stall the paperwork 'til I hear from you and this helps me how...?"
                   "And the Federal Bureau of Information drops all civil rights violation investigations into the conduct of a certain precinct run by a certain Captain during the Watts riots."
                   Gleason stood still and silent for a long, long moment. Hot wind, the precursors to the Santa Anna's, blew through palm fronds above their heads. The sounds of traffic suddenly became louder. They could hear a jukebox in Joey’s playing Sympathy for the Devil by the Stones.
                   Captain Gleason turned to Clark. "Get Sten the hell out of my car and let's go get a beer."
                   "The FBI appreciates your service," Makins said.
                   Dawson looked over at Sten and winked.
     
     
                  Blood ran down the back of Jane's legs in scarlet rivulets. Her backside burned from the abuse. She been hit very few times, because a few times was all it took. Boupha dropped the cane to the floor with a rattle at a nod from Hun Sen.
    Time to put my big girl panties on, she thought. Whatever these assholes have got, I can take it. Then she added to herself, Hurry, David.
                  She looked up at Sen. Her body came alive with the drug and aphrodisiac adrenaline had become for her. She surged with endorphins from the caning.
                  “Excellent,” Sen told his bodyguard. “Give her what she wants.” He looked down at her and smiled. “I did pay you for the whole night, right?”
                  “Extra cock, extra charge,” she told him. He frowned.
                  She heard Boupha’s zipper come down. He pushed up behind her and she felt a fist-sized cockhead nuzzle in against her pussy. She closed her eyes as the shaft pushed in, fat and hard and warm, letting her body take it.
                  Her nerves, already brought to a fever pitch of heightened awareness by the caning, surged with pleasure. The sensations counter-balanced and were accentuated by the ache in her flesh from the rough treatment.
                  Boupha reached down with his paw-like hands and grabbed her waist. Half way in and his dick was too fat to fully fit. Blood rushed into her lips and clitoris, swelling them. She grunted behind the gag and Sen grinned again, watching her getting fucked.
                  She felt the rough wood of the table beneath her as she slid back and forth across the desk top. At her ankles and wrists the restraints held her snug. The jerking, back and forth motion of Boupha’s assault, pushed her tits into the hard material of the table, and her nipples throbbed under the intense stimulation.
    Between her legs, her body’s natural lubricant flooded in and she moaned behind the gag. Behind her,