In one world, John Dillinger escaped from the Crown Point jail with a mechanic and a fingerprint expert as hostages. Headlines buzzed about how the gangster made off in Sheriff Lillian Holley's car, how the woman sheriff supposedly went into hysterics at the news - or worse, painted her as a girl with a crush. Altered photos suggested she shared a flirting glance with the bank robber. Interviews claimed she put pink and purple ribbons on jail cells. As demands for her resignation and claims that she helped Dillinger's jailbreak grew, newspapers simply wouldn't stop laying the blame on her. Perhaps the most galling headline showed a picture of the distraught sheriff and called her "the woman he left behind."
That was not the world this Lillian Holley found herself in. In this world, Dillinger hadn't left Holley behind. Far from it. He made certain to find her in the police station, usher her out at gunpoint, and have the driver speed off with her as their sole captive.
Which was how Sheriff Lillian Holley ended up with her bare ass hanging out the window of her 1933 Ford Model 40 V8 Tudor. Wind whipping across her fat red cheeks, she stared at the barrel in her face while one of her former inmates spanked her in full view of gawking pedestrians.
"Take a look at your sheriff now!" the crook crowed.
To add insult to injury, Lillian discovered too late what Dillinger had really used to break out of jail and take her hostage: a piece of wood. Carved to look like a Colt 38, she now had it holstered deep in her asshole. Because it was hers. The man had gifted it to her for all her hard work, while he took her own police-issued gun for himself.
"Enjoying your new piece?" Dillinger asked.
"What do you think?" she bit back. Her sideways glance betrayed a hint of fear. Trapped in this cramped car, mooning the city, she had little choice but to indulge their fancies until she could make her own escape.
A note Dillinger picked up on with ease, and exploited for his fun. "I don't know. I need you to tell me how much you appreciate the present I gave you."
Lillian's gaze cast back to Dillinger. Trying to summon up some rage and dignity, she racked her brain for the sort of compliments he wanted. "The size of the barrel's a perfect fit for how tight I am, and I love how the grain feels against my skin. I couldn't have asked for a better weapon."
"Glad to hear, cause you're about to use it."
The car's tires screeched as they came to a halt. She exited on command, ass first, lingering with it high in the air as Dillinger's overeager man announced her arrival for a growing crowd.
"Ladies, gentlemen, let me present to you your very own Sheriff Lillian Holley!"
Applause and a few smacks greeted the fallen sheriff, whose cheeks jiggled before judging eyes and flashing cameras. Shamed, Lillian fixed her blouse and reached for her skirt on the floor when a motion from Dillinger warded her off. Instead, she dug her hand into her crack, fished out her concealed carry and turned.
To her horror. For they stood in front of the local bank. One of the very institutions she'd been charged to protect, she knew what it meant before Dillinger put his arm over her shoulder and added a pinch of salt to her wounded pride.
"That's right everyone, the rumors are true. Lillie helped us break out, and now she's joining us as our new gun moll."
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Lillian Holley, Gun Moll - pt 1
In one world, John Dillinger escaped from the Crown Point jail with a mechanic and a fingerprint expert as hostages. Headlines buzzed about how the gangster made off in Sheriff Lillian Holley's car, how the woman sheriff supposedly went into hysterics at the news - or worse, painted her as a girl with a crush. Altered photos suggested she shared a flirting glance with the bank robber. Interviews claimed she put pink and purple ribbons on jail cells. As demands for her resignation and claims that she helped Dillinger's jailbreak grew, newspapers simply wouldn't stop laying the blame on her. Perhaps the most galling headline showed a picture of the distraught sheriff and called her "the woman he left behind."
That was not the world this Lillian Holley found herself in. In this world, Dillinger hadn't left Holley behind. Far from it. He made certain to find her in the police station, usher her out at gunpoint, and have the driver speed off with her as their sole captive.
Which was how Sheriff Lillian Holley ended up with her bare ass hanging out the window of her 1933 Ford Model 40 V8 Tudor. Wind whipping across her fat red cheeks, she stared at the barrel in her face while one of her former inmates spanked her in full view of gawking pedestrians.
"Take a look at your sheriff now!" the crook crowed.
To add insult to injury, Lillian discovered too late what Dillinger had really used to break out of jail and take her hostage: a piece of wood. Carved to look like a Colt 38, she now had it holstered deep in her asshole. Because it was hers. The man had gifted it to her for all her hard work, while he took her own police-issued gun for himself.
"Enjoying your new piece?" Dillinger asked.
"What do you think?" she bit back. Her sideways glance betrayed a hint of fear. Trapped in this cramped car, mooning the city, she had little choice but to indulge their fancies until she could make her own escape.
A note Dillinger picked up on with ease, and exploited for his fun. "I don't know. I need you to tell me how much you appreciate the present I gave you."
Lillian's gaze cast back to Dillinger. Trying to summon up some rage and dignity, she racked her brain for the sort of compliments he wanted. "The size of the barrel's a perfect fit for how tight I am, and I love how the grain feels against my skin. I couldn't have asked for a better weapon."
"Glad to hear, cause you're about to use it."
The car's tires screeched as they came to a halt. She exited on command, ass first, lingering with it high in the air as Dillinger's overeager man announced her arrival for a growing crowd.
"Ladies, gentlemen, let me present to you your very own Sheriff Lillian Holley!"
Applause and a few smacks greeted the fallen sheriff, whose cheeks jiggled before judging eyes and flashing cameras. Shamed, Lillian fixed her blouse and reached for her skirt on the floor when a motion from Dillinger warded her off. Instead, she dug her hand into her crack, fished out her concealed carry and turned.
To her horror. For they stood in front of the local bank. One of the very institutions she'd been charged to protect, she knew what it meant before Dillinger put his arm over her shoulder and added a pinch of salt to her wounded pride.
"That's right everyone, the rumors are true. Lillie helped us break out, and now she's joining us as our new gun moll."