Read Novel Full Chapter 898: Hammer of Justice
Chapter 898: Hammer of Justice
Sarah was a complete mess, her sweat-slick body shuddering on top of me as she desperately tried to keep riding my thick cock buried balls-deep in her greedy little asshole. Her tits bounced wildly, nipples rock-hard, and her eyes were already rolling back when the orgasm finally broke her.
She couldn’t take it anymore. With a broken, animalistic cry, she collapsed forward onto my chest, trembling so violently her teeth were chattering. At that exact second, my cock swelled even thicker inside her ruined shithole and exploded.
Thick, scorching ropes of cum blasted straight into her guts — one, two, three, four heavy jets, then more, flooding her bowels like a firehose.
"Aaaaaaahhh! Fuuuuck! It’s too fucking hot! Your cum’s burning my asshole! Hnnngh—aaaah! It’s too much, baby, you’re pumping so much fucking cum inside me! I can feel it splashing in my stomach—aaaaahhh! Oh my god, I’m your filthy anal cumdump!"
I growled like a beast and brought my hand down hard on her jiggling ass cheek — SMACK!
"Take every drop, you dirty little anal whore!"
"AAAH! Don’t—fuck! Don’t slap me so hard—aaahhh... hnnngh!" she wailed, but her traitor asshole instantly clenched down like a vice, milking my pulsing cock even harder.
I didn’t stop. I spanked her again, harder — SMACK! SMACK! — leaving bright red handprints blooming across both cheeks.
"Shut the fuck up and squeeze that slutty shithole around my dick. Milk my balls dry, bitch!"
Sarah’s voice cracked into a high-pitched squeal. "Y-yes! I’m your anal slut! Spank me harder—aaaah! Fuck, it hurts so good! Keep filling my dirty ass—pump it deeper! Breed my fucking guts! Aaaaaahhh—there’s so much cum, I’m gonna burst!"
Her whole body convulsed as another brutal slap landed right on the same burning spot. Her asshole spasmed wildly around my shaft, sucking and rippling, pulling out the last thick spurts of my load until my balls were completely drained.
When the final pulse faded, Sarah went completely limp. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she passed out cold on my chest, drooling and whimpering in her sleep, completely fucked senseless.
I stayed buried inside her for a long moment, enjoying the way her wrecked asshole kept twitching and fluttering around my softening cock. Then, very slowly, I pulled out.
An obscene, wet squelch filled the room as my fat cockhead popped free.
Instantly, a massive flood of thick, pearly-white cum gushed out of her gaping asshole — a huge, creamy river pouring from the dark, stretched-open ring that was still perfectly molded to the exact shape of my dick.
The hole stayed wide open, winking and pulsing, refusing to close, leaking more and more of my seed in slow, nasty globs that ran down her pussy lips and soaked the sheets.
I slapped her ass one last time, lighter but possessive, watching the red handprint jiggle and more cum bubble out of her ruined shithole.
"Fuck... look at that beautiful, cum-drooling wreck. Good girl."
I finally peeled myself away from the bed around dawn. Sarah was still out cold, sprawled across the sheets like she’d been hit by a truck—legs tangled in the comforter, hair a wild halo around her flushed face, faint red handprints still visible on the curves of her ass.
The room smelled of sex, sweat, and her vanilla body lotion.
My whole body ached in the best way, but the sticky residue between my thighs reminded me I needed to get clean before the day really started.
I slipped into the bathroom, turned the shower to scalding, and stood under the spray until the hot water turned my skin pink. It felt like washing away the night’s chaos, though the faint bruises on my hips and the dull throb in my cock told a different story.
I let the steam fill my lungs and just breathed for a long minute, replaying flashes of her trembling, her broken moans, the way her asshole had clenched and milked me until I saw stars.
By the time I stepped out, the sky outside the window had shifted from deep indigo to pale gold. Morning was coming fast.
I padded barefoot to the kitchen, still damp, towel slung low on my hips. The apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of the fridge. I pulled out eggs, bacon, bread, and tomatoes—simple stuff.
Nothing fancy, but I wanted her to wake up to something warm. I scrambled the eggs fluffy, crisped the bacon just how she liked it (extra crunchy), sliced the tomatoes thin, and toasted the bread golden.
I plated two servings. Mine went on the table. Hers I covered with foil, slid into the microwave, and taped a small note to the door in my messy handwriting:
"Eat when you wake up, sleepyhead. You earned it. Coffee’s in the pot—hit brew when you’re ready. — Your Husband- Jack"
I smirked at how domestic it sounded after last night. Then I grabbed my plate, a mug of black coffee, and headed back to the bedroom.
The TV was already on low volume. I settled against the headboard, legs stretched out, eating slowly while the morning news cycled through headlines.
My eyes kept drifting to Sarah’s sleeping form beside me—chest rising and falling, one arm flung across the pillow I’d slept on. Every few minutes, I reached over and brushed a strand of hair off her face, half expecting her to stir and pull me back under the sheets.
Time slipped. The broadcast shifted.
"...and today the long-awaited testimony in the high-profile corruption case against former Detective Miguel Diaz and members of the disbanded narcotics task force will be carried live from the courthouse..."
My fork froze halfway to my mouth.
The screen cut to the packed courtroom. Cameras panned across familiar faces. There was Lorena in the front row, jaw tight, eyes locked forward.
Julie sat beside her, arms crossed, looking like she hadn’t slept in days. Yuko was two rows back, head bowed, fingers twisting in her lap. Jayden—poor kid—looked smaller than usual, shoulders hunched like he wanted to disappear.
Then the defendants were led in.
Sergio first, wrists cuffed, head down, no trace of the swagger he used to wear like armor.
The other corrupt officers followed—stone-faced, silent. Javier entered last. Even in cuffs and an orange jumpsuit, he carried himself like he still owned the room. His eyes scanned the gallery, cold and unreadable.
Diaz came in last, moving slowly on crutches, one leg dragging slightly. The cameras zoomed in on his face—pale, hollow-cheeked, the scar across his cheekbone stark under the fluorescent lights. He didn’t look up.
The judge’s voice filled the room, steady and final.
After hours of testimony, closing arguments, and procedural drone, the sentences came down as hammer blows.
Sergio and the rest of the dirty cops: twenty years each, no parole for the first fifteen.
Javier and his inner circle: life without parole.
The gallery reacted—gasps, muffled sobs, a few sharp exhales of relief.
Then Diaz.
The judge’s tone softened just a fraction.
"Considering the defendant’s permanent disability, his documented cooperation with federal authorities, and the severe injuries sustained as a direct result of his involvement in this matter, the court hereby grants a full pardon from incarceration."
"However, Mr. Diaz is terminated from all law-enforcement employment, effective immediately."