A month on the streets hadn't been kind to Brooke Jenkins or her body. Without a bath, shower, or so much as a light drizzle of rain, the filth under her nails had spread up her arms and legs, across her torso and to her neck and face. Wiping away some of that dirt would have revealed the dry cum splotches underneath, but an observant onlooker would have noticed that wasn't a bit of gray in her long, greasy, tangled hair. The lack of makeup was apparent on her shiny forehead, but the bags under her eyes from her former life remained as dark as ever.
For anyone else, Brooke's sorry state would have brought sympathy and aid, but the road that led her here quashed those thoughts.
Her former life as San Francisco's District Attorney brought scandal after scandal. It started a week in, when the mayor appointed her interim. That day, she swiftly fired 15 attorneys and multiple advisors from her predecessor. A month-long whirlwind of policies allowed for prosecuting minors as adults and barring drug dealers from trial in community courts. Misconduct complaints shortly followed, from taking under the table deals and "leaking" a rap sheet to get her former boss recalled, to ignoring ethics rules when arguing against a defense attorney. Her constant obstruction in police oversight and treahts toward protesters may have been what led to her getting struck from the Bar and fired from her job, but a single statement from those days sealed her current fate.
"The recourse is obviously outside the criminal justice system. They have to be made to be uncomfortable is the truth of the matter," Broke said of the city's homeless. "We cannot make it comfortable for them to pitch a tent on our sidewalks and stay."
Nobody could mistake the conditions of Brooke Jenkins' new life as anything but. As a skinny waif of a woman, she managed to slip herself under the very same bars of a wooden bench she had inaugurated just a year ago to keep the homeless from using it. Hours on her feet had worn her out, making this spot a pleasant reprieve before she went out dumpster diving again.
It's not like she could pitch a tent in the encampments, after getting tossed out of each and every one on sight. Her own personal limbo left her clothes in tatters, with her small tits hanging out of her loose shirt and pressing against the bench boards. Wide holes had formed all over her stressed jeans.
Two of which were getting wider, when some hands reached in and started pulling on them.
"Hey! What are you doing?" she shouted.
They didn't answer, nor could she see them, craning her neck down and finding her vision blocked by the bar near her head. She squirmed within the bars that had become her own little prison as she felt the first thwack.
"OW!" she cried as she cheeks jiggled, the one part of her still holding some weight. "Stop it!"
"That's what my little bro said before you sent him off for 5-10."
Another smack, then another, and another, her assailant's palm stopping just long enough between smacks for her to feel some release before it came hammering down. Though she couldn't look back, she knew from the rising heat and oppressive sting that her butt had grown redder and puffier by the tenth blow. Like a petulant child, she took her spanking because her own poor choice of bed made her a perfect target.
"Hey, h-HOW ab-OUT showing some MERCY?"
"Why? You didn't give any to anyone else."
With her law background and 10 years in the courts, Brooke might - MIGHT - have found a way to argue out of it if another man hadn't taken off one of her socks, stuffed it in her mouth and tied it into place with her other. The sweaty, dirty stench rubbed into her tongue and wafted into her nose, reminding her of her place in ways not achieved by other means. Zip ties, those highly affordable and convenient stand-ins for cuffs, trapped her wrists to the torso bar to ensure she stayed. Just when she thought the worst had passed, they introduced something very thick and very rough to the one place she least desired.
Her whine muffled into her sock gag as they jammed the stick in her ass. Without lube, the bark rubbed harshly and made her hole flinch. Dread came over her when she heard tape and paper rustle, but then... nothing. Minutes passed without a touch or a whisper, and it took that long to realize the men had left her there. Relief gave way to fear when her situation dawned on her.
She was tied to a bench, in an abandoned park, as the sun set. All signs pointed to a very rough night here.
Until she saw two more men, in uniforms, with badges! She never expected to be so pleased by the arrival of cops, but for once, her past actions as district attorney would pay off. The boys in blue always helped their own. Always. Shielding them from the law before her ouster would get their help and support, prove the merits of ramping up their patrols and giving them more freedom to act.
Or so she thought, until they turned off their cameras.
"Holy shit," one of them said. "It's really her."
"Should we get her out?"
"No fuckin way. I've got a better idea of what to do with her though."
Her ears perked up when she heard his zipper. Then the second. Despite knowing what came next, if she could see what they saw, her pitiful sight would feel all the worse with the altered version of her campaign slogan hung up on the bench by the two men before.
Safety? Reform? Just Ass.
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Brooke Jenkins, Just Ass
A month on the streets hadn't been kind to Brooke Jenkins or her body. Without a bath, shower, or so much as a light drizzle of rain, the filth under her nails had spread up her arms and legs, across her torso and to her neck and face. Wiping away some of that dirt would have revealed the dry cum splotches underneath, but an observant onlooker would have noticed that wasn't a bit of gray in her long, greasy, tangled hair. The lack of makeup was apparent on her shiny forehead, but the bags under her eyes from her former life remained as dark as ever.
For anyone else, Brooke's sorry state would have brought sympathy and aid, but the road that led her here quashed those thoughts.
Her former life as San Francisco's District Attorney brought scandal after scandal. It started a week in, when the mayor appointed her interim. That day, she swiftly fired 15 attorneys and multiple advisors from her predecessor. A month-long whirlwind of policies allowed for prosecuting minors as adults and barring drug dealers from trial in community courts. Misconduct complaints shortly followed, from taking under the table deals and "leaking" a rap sheet to get her former boss recalled, to ignoring ethics rules when arguing against a defense attorney. Her constant obstruction in police oversight and treahts toward protesters may have been what led to her getting struck from the Bar and fired from her job, but a single statement from those days sealed her current fate.
"The recourse is obviously outside the criminal justice system. They have to be made to be uncomfortable is the truth of the matter," Broke said of the city's homeless. "We cannot make it comfortable for them to pitch a tent on our sidewalks and stay."
Nobody could mistake the conditions of Brooke Jenkins' new life as anything but. As a skinny waif of a woman, she managed to slip herself under the very same bars of a wooden bench she had inaugurated just a year ago to keep the homeless from using it. Hours on her feet had worn her out, making this spot a pleasant reprieve before she went out dumpster diving again.
It's not like she could pitch a tent in the encampments, after getting tossed out of each and every one on sight. Her own personal limbo left her clothes in tatters, with her small tits hanging out of her loose shirt and pressing against the bench boards. Wide holes had formed all over her stressed jeans.
Two of which were getting wider, when some hands reached in and started pulling on them.
"Hey! What are you doing?" she shouted.
They didn't answer, nor could she see them, craning her neck down and finding her vision blocked by the bar near her head. She squirmed within the bars that had become her own little prison as she felt the first thwack.
"OW!" she cried as she cheeks jiggled, the one part of her still holding some weight. "Stop it!"
"That's what my little bro said before you sent him off for 5-10."
Another smack, then another, and another, her assailant's palm stopping just long enough between smacks for her to feel some release before it came hammering down. Though she couldn't look back, she knew from the rising heat and oppressive sting that her butt had grown redder and puffier by the tenth blow. Like a petulant child, she took her spanking because her own poor choice of bed made her a perfect target.
"Hey, h-HOW ab-OUT showing some MERCY?"
"Why? You didn't give any to anyone else."
With her law background and 10 years in the courts, Brooke might - MIGHT - have found a way to argue out of it if another man hadn't taken off one of her socks, stuffed it in her mouth and tied it into place with her other. The sweaty, dirty stench rubbed into her tongue and wafted into her nose, reminding her of her place in ways not achieved by other means. Zip ties, those highly affordable and convenient stand-ins for cuffs, trapped her wrists to the torso bar to ensure she stayed. Just when she thought the worst had passed, they introduced something very thick and very rough to the one place she least desired.
Her whine muffled into her sock gag as they jammed the stick in her ass. Without lube, the bark rubbed harshly and made her hole flinch. Dread came over her when she heard tape and paper rustle, but then... nothing. Minutes passed without a touch or a whisper, and it took that long to realize the men had left her there. Relief gave way to fear when her situation dawned on her.
She was tied to a bench, in an abandoned park, as the sun set. All signs pointed to a very rough night here.
Until she saw two more men, in uniforms, with badges! She never expected to be so pleased by the arrival of cops, but for once, her past actions as district attorney would pay off. The boys in blue always helped their own. Always. Shielding them from the law before her ouster would get their help and support, prove the merits of ramping up their patrols and giving them more freedom to act.
Or so she thought, until they turned off their cameras.
"Holy shit," one of them said. "It's really her."
"Should we get her out?"
"No fuckin way. I've got a better idea of what to do with her though."
Her ears perked up when she heard his zipper. Then the second. Despite knowing what came next, if she could see what they saw, her pitiful sight would feel all the worse with the altered version of her campaign slogan hung up on the bench by the two men before.
Safety? Reform? Just Ass.