Banker’s Big Breakout!

Nina liked to visit her father at his job in the county jail, especially when there was a famous criminal in lockup like Banker Loman.

 

(MF, nc) caution

By: Punchinello for Pulp Erotica

 

Carpenter’s Crossing, Illinois, 1938

The county jail was all abuzz for hours after they brought Banker Loman in. The biggest bust in the history of the county, they called it. Banker Loman had robbed two swanky Chicago hotels, a gas station, and an armored car that his stolen Hudson had collided with while fleeing the gas station. Then he had traded in the busted Hudson for a brand new Lincoln Zephyr at the local dealership and relieved the salesmen of their wallets to boot.

And it had all started with a woman: the wife of a hotel manager with whom he was caught in the altogether, a woman who later reported that he had the kind of animal magnetism that makes a woman swoon. He even reportedly got very friendly with a lady at the gas station he was robbing, who told the newshounds that she'd never seen such enormous..."talent" in a man for pleasing the ladies. When the hotel manager's wife sheepishly agreed with the criminal's terrific "manliness," it got more press than the rest of his exploits put together. In six short days, he had become something of a legend and folk hero thruout the great American Midwest.

But even God had rested on the seventh day.

Banker was captured after a thrilling running gun battle lasting eight seconds when a county sheriff's deputy shot out one of the Lincoln's tires and ran him into a telephone pole. To be fair, the deputy had no idea who he was; he was only trying to pull the Lincoln over for not having a license plate, but Banker made a run for it, and the lawman had a mean streak.

They hauled the criminal in with great fanfare as the men from the press expended all the flash bulbs in Carpenter's Crossing. Someone had to run to Mudleyville for more so that they could shoot pictures of Sheriff Norman Crossley making a five minute speech about law and order and explaining that "Banker" was the suspect's real name and that he had not robbed any banks as far as was known. Then they shooed the press out and got down to some serious back-slapping. No one was allowed in or out until the state police arrived.

No one, that is, except the sheriff's daughter.

Nina Crossley was a sassy, new-fangled girl who had finished high school and gone on to community college, where she'd learned shorthand dictation and other useful skills for a girl who had no intention of getting married anytime soon. She had a job as a secretary at the local telephone company and did part-time work at the jail taking down confessions and other semi-official dictation. And she was the sweetest piece of female meat most of the deputies had ever seen. Rumor had it that she was known to take rides in fast cars with boys from other towns where she wasn't known as the county sheriff's daughter.

Pert and perky Nina strode into the county jail with her stenographer's notepad and a pen jammed behind her ear and said hello to all the boys. She found her father in his office on the telephone. He was busy, so she didn't bother him. The real reason she had come was to see Banker Loman in the flesh.

"Wait," he said suddenly, pressing the telephone receiver to his belly. "Don't go anywhere, honey. We got the whole place locked down. Nobody goes in to see Banker Loman."

"Why not, daddy?" she asked.

"We're waitin' on the state troopers. They're gonna take him to Springfield to stand trial."

"Oh." She sat down in the big overstuffed leather chair next to the door. Norman Crossley went back to his phone call—the district attorney in Springfield, she gathered, and was quickly lost in the conversation. Nina played with the hem of her businesslike skirt and looked out the window. Inmates wandered around the exercise yard aimlessly, going nowhere with nowhere to go. At least they didn't have to break rocks or dig ditches like the hard-labor criminals at the state pen.

She didn't see Banker Loman; she knew she'd recognize him from the pictures in the paper. At one of the hotels he had robbed in Chicago there had been a group of press photographers covering the dedication of the Teddy Roosevelt Presidential Suite. They had taken about forty pictures of the robbery and consequently made the crook famous.

She leaned toward her father. "Where is he?" she whispered.

The sheriff covered the receiver. "Where's who?"

"Banker Loman?"

"He's not in the yard. He's in holding, number 3."

"Oh."

"No one's allowed to see him."

"Oh." Nina went back to playing with the hem of her skirt and looking out the window. Some of the inmates were handsome looking, she decided. They didn't have the hard, weary look of serious criminals. She wondered if criminals made good lovers. They lived desperate lives, wanton lives, she knew; kept company with loose women. Loose women wouldn't keep company with weak men or poor lovers, she thought; at least, she wouldn't.

Nina got up and slipped out of her father's office without disturbing him. To her surprise, there was hardly anyone around. Most of the deputies were in the jail somewhere—everyone wanted to be where the action was—but they all seemed to be shooting the bull in the station room or keeping watch over the exercise yard. After all, no one was allowed to see Banker Loman. No one was even guarding him.

Here Nina stood, all of twenty years old, intelligent and independent—she owned her own car—in the middle of the county jail housing the biggest news story in thirty years, and she was missing it completely. She wouldn't have a thing to tell her friends, let alone any of the boys in Mudleyville or Springfield.

The girl looked around and casually slipped the ring of keys off the wall above the jailer's desk. It really was an oversight that no one was keeping an eye on the prisoner. Maybe she had just better take a peek.

She unlocked the door to the holding cell room and slipped inside quickly. She locked it behind her and left the keys on the peg next to the door. The jailer didn't carry the keys into the room for fear of having them snatched by a prisoner who could then unlock the door to his own cell. Nina went quietly down the row of cells, four in all, and stayed well away from the bars of 1 and 3, since 3 is where the prisoner was. In fact, she was so far away from 1 and 3 that she brushed up against 2 and then 4.

Only she had the numbers turned around. A firm hand took hold of Nina's skirt. "Come to look me over, eh?" said a gruff voice.

Nina froze solid. She didn't say a word.

"You're a pretty one, aren't you? You got anything to say?" Nina remained silent. "What's your name honey?" he asked.

"Nina."

"Nina? Well you're a real pretty girl, Nina. Turn around so I can see you." She started to turn, but he wasn't letting go of her skirt. "Huh uh. The other way."

She turned the other way and faced him, just inches from the bars. She was a tough-looking man, handsome in a rugged sort of way, hard, and older than she'd have guessed. He was probably 40. He was strong, that was clear, and his eyes had a penetrating stare, almost mesmerizing. Nina's breath gave out a little as she looked at him and he at her. "You're as pretty as can be, Nina," Banker Loman said. "Did you come in here to talk to me?"

Nina swallowed hard. "Yes."

"Well, talk."

Nina found something strangely attractive in this hard man, something animal. She had heard the stories, seen the nudges and winks when they talked about his "manliness" and his "talent" for pleasing the ladies. It made her ashamed that her heart pounded so. She screwed up her courage and asked him, "Why did you rob those places?"

"Money, honey. I figure anybody who's got money this in this Depression is a crook. Where else did all the money go?"

"I don't know," she said, starting to tremble.

"Ask me what I was gonna do with the money," he said, showing his teeth.

"What were you going to do with it?"

"I was gonna set myself up with a liquor store and sell booze all day and all night—maybe even open a tavern. You like to go to taverns?"

"I'm only twenty."

"Twenty years old? What a cutie pie. I bet you've got some dancin' shoes. You like to dance?" She nodded. It was true. She loved to go dancing. It was the reason she went out with boys from other towns. "Yeah. I bet you dance real good. Turn around."

She turned around again, her back to the bars, and closed her eyes tight. Banker put both hands thru the bars and put them around her. "You're not gonna shout, now, are you?" he asked in a low tone.

Nina began to pant. "Is it true what they say about you—making love to a lady at the places you robbed?" she asked quietly.

"It sure is, honey; it's all true. Will you open your shirt for me?" The girl gave a little whimper and began to unbutton her blouse as she was told. She bit her lip and fumbled with the buttons, but they came undone eventually. Banker pulled it open and ran his hands inside, feeling the smooth, warm flesh of her belly. He pulled her close, smelled her hair. "Goddamn, you're pretty," he whispered "And you smell so good...."

Nina closed her eyes again and bit her lip. "Show me your titties, Nina. You ever show a boy your titties before?" She blushed: she had. She reached under her blouse and unclasped the brassiere in the back. It came loose and allowed the straps to fall off her shoulders.

Banker pulled her blouse off and wrapped his hands around her again, feeling the young, pink skin smelling softly of soap. He ran his hands up her body to her breasts and moved the cups of her brassiere out of the way. She gasped when he put his hands over her small breasts. "You like that?" he teased.

She did. She couldn't admit it, but she did. Having this rough but magnetic gunman paw her bare flesh was an incredible thrill. It sent chills all thru her. He pressed his face thru the bars and nuzzled her ear. Lightning shot thru her body right down to her toes. "You want me to stop?" he whispered.

Her head was spinning. She whimpered, "N—no."

"Take off your panties."

Dying inside, welling up with shame and fear, Nina lifted her skirt and slipped her thumbs in the waistband of her panties. She slowly pulled them down over her hips. "Oh, that's nice," Banker said. "Those are nice panties. I like that kind, all frilly like." This made the girl blush hotly. She was going to be merely the next in his long line of female conquests.

Banker ran his hands up and down her body—up her stocking-clad legs, past the garters that held them up, under her skirt and around her bare hips, higher still to her naked torso to her bare breasts and shoulders; and then all the way back down again. It was obviously getting him very excited to touch her. His breath was ragged. "They're probably gonna hang me, honey. You know that?" She didn't speak. "No one's ever gonna know about this...."

She prayed that was true. And she prayed that he would be gentle—and thoro.

He pulled her close again and whispered in her ear. "I'm gonna do it to you now." She gasped and gripped the bars behind her. They were cold on her bare back and thighs, and one in the middle slipped between her buttocks and sent a chill directly to her little pussy.

Suddenly she realized that his hands were gone, pulling out his member, no doubt. But suddenly, she was free. She could run away right now, bare breasted and lacking panties, perhaps, but free. She could have run...but she didn't.

His hands enveloped her again. His breath was hot against her ear. He moved her slightly, so that the bar was not between her legs. But now she felt another bar. His rock-hard manhood was hot and thick and pressed against her moist vulva. She felt it press into her, parting her labia and entering her pussy proper. She gasped again, hot cock sliding in, cold bars pressed against her back and bottom, and sighed heavily.

"You ever have a man inside you before, Nina?" he asked quietly.

"No. No," she lied. She had let a young man in Springfield take her out to a lake one night and make love to her. He had been clumsy and inexperienced, tho—not like the man inside her now. He moved against her slowly, surely, pulling her back against him with each stroke. The feeling of fullness in her belly was overwhelming; he was absolutely enormous.

Banker pulled her back against the bars more roughly, jamming his prick inside her to the hilt. It was a big one, jutting thru the bars and still ample enough to fill her up completely. "Unh, unh, unh," she began to moan, pulling herself back against the bars in rhythm with his thrusts.

His hand slid up her abdomen again and cupped her breast. He squeezed it gently and tugged at the nipple, thrilling her thru and thru and making her moan. Then she felt his other hand go low around her thigh. It slipped up between her legs and found the groove at her center. Incredibly to her, his hand found her stiff little button and stroked it roughly as he fucked her from behind. Lights and sirens went off in her brain. She moaned loudly and whimpered, thrusting back against him harder and faster, overcome by womanly ecstasy.

"OH! OH!" she gasped. Her orgasm was a firestorm inside her, rising from her pussy thru her small breasts right to the roots of her hair, and it went down thru her legs to her toes. She wished suddenly that she had taken off her shoes so that she could have been fucked in her stocking feet.

Then his huge cock jerked inside her, and his balls unleashed a flood of jism deep into her wet pussy. Nina gasped and grunted as Banker pulled her close and shoved his prick as deep into her as he could get it, planting his seed high into her belly. She panted and sighed as his ejaculations subsided and he slowly released her.

"Thank you, honey. That was wonderful," he said graciously.

She turned to him and stuck her tits thru the bars, turned her head so he could kiss her, and sucked his hot kiss gratefully. He cupped her bottom in both hands and kissed her mouth and chin, then bent to suckle her nipple, making her moan again. His massive prick pressed against her belly, dribbling jism on her warm skin. They parted with another kiss.

"Have you got the keys, honey?" he asked.

"No," she lied thickly. "Th—the guard has them."

He brushed it off and let her go. "That's okay, sugar. I figured as much."

"I—I'm sorry," the girl said, stooping to pick up her blouse and brassiere. She began to cry softly.

He pulled up his trousers. "No, you get your clothes on. Banker Loman will be okay; you'll see."

"Thank you," she said absently, slipping into her brassier. "Could you...?" She turned her back to him.

Banker finished stuck his hands thru the bars again and fixed the clasp on her bra. While she wiped away her tears and put her blouse back on, he stood back and admired her. "You know what I could use?" he said finally. "A potato."

Nina picked up her panties. "A potato?"

"Sure. A raw potato. I can cook it on the radiator." It wasn't turned on, but she didn't know that.

"Oh, okay. I can get a potato from the kitchen."

"Thanks, doll," he smiled broadly. "You're a real peach." She blushed and pulled up her panties, turning away modestly. He smiled. "You know, I got some letters here. I wish I had something to open them."

"Like a letter opener?" She still wasn't too steady after her thoro reaming.

"Sure!" he smiled. "A letter opener...or a butter knife...whatever."

"Okay." She pushed back her hair and fixed her smudge lipstick. "I'll come back."

 

Nina got a potato and a butter knife from the kitchen and returned quickly to the holding room. Banker was very pleased to see her and gave a big kiss for her trouble. "You're priceless, sugar," he told her.

She left quickly this time, head still reeling from her first big bang. Banker was so strong, so sure of himself, she thought; he was all man and then some—and so...so...big. She caught her breath and slipped out of the county jail without even saying goodbye to her father. Then the dam burst and she began to cry hot tears of fear and shame. What had she done? Why hadn't she run away? Why had she helped him even after he had forced himself on her? She sat in her car for a few minutes, bawling her eyes out, before driving away.

 

Banker Loman didn't say goodbye to her father either. It took him all of about five minutes to carve the raw potato into a crude pistol shape. It only had a little stub of a handle, and the trigger guard was fashioned out of a piece of wire, but it would fool anybody who didn't look to closely. He blackened it with a little grease he found under the sink and sprinkled it with dust to take off some of the shine. Then he called out for a guard.

Deputy Len Warcher was still pretty new to the job, but he knew enough not to mess with a man holding a pistol on him. He let Banker out of the holding cell quickly and gave up his pistol and keys without a struggle. Banker couldn't resist bragging to the deputy about the sweet little girl who had entertained him earlier.

"Nina? Nina Crossley? The sheriff's daughter?"

"Oh...is that who she is...?" Banker grinned. "Well, I'm much obliged to her; very much obliged. She's some kind of gal—knows a real man when she feels one, if you know what I mean...."

"Oh, Jesus; the sheriff is gonna shit," Lem correctly predicted. "Did— Did she give you a gun?"

Banker handcuffed the man to the bars and gave a hearty laugh. "No, sport; you did!" He jammed the potato down the deputy's pants and laughed all the way out of the room.

Banker Loman slipped out of the jailhouse and slid behind the wheel of a late model Mercury in the parking lot out front. He liked Mercurys, but the main reason he picked it was because it was the only one with the keys left in the ignition.

He stomped on the accelerator and spat gravel all over the jailhouse steps tearing out Carpenter's Crossing and fleeing into the Illinois summer like the bandit he was, still savoring the feel of the sheriff's daughter's tight young pussy milking his cock for all it was worth and loving every minute of it.