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Well Beth, I’ve done it again. I just couldn’t help myself this time. I had to sneak this file home from work. You may have remembered my previous letter to you about me sneaking crime files home and getting off on them while I read the stories of their ordeals and looked at the pics while I masturbated to them. I know, I must be pretty twisted.
Last Friday this particular crime file came across my desk and something in the folder caught my eye. I made sure no one else was nearby and I opened it. What I saw sent erotic shivers through me and almost made me orgasm in my seat. I quickly closed it and told myself to leave it alone, but the picture that I saw kept flashing into my mind and my pussy was soon soaked. I knew I couldn’t resist this file.
I stayed late to work a little overtime and waited until the other employees had left for the day. I grabbed the file and shoved it deep into my briefcase and headed to my car. My heart was pounding a mile a minute along with the deep throbbing in my pussy. I thought for sure the security guard was going to bust me just from the sheer look of heightened anxiety on my face. As I passed him, he didn’t even look up from his desk. I said, “Good Night,” and hurried out the door. When I got into my car, I had to remind myself to breathe. I looked over at my briefcase and rubbed my hot mound through my dress pants knowing that soon I would have the most incredible orgasm.
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I thought about what lie hidden in that file on the drive home. What horrible pictures would I lay my eyes on? My pussy quivered at the thought. I arrived home to find myself alone. My husband, Steve had not arrived home from work yet. I threw down my briefcase and played the message on the answering machine. Steve had called to let me know he was going to have a few beers at the bar downtown before he headed home and that he would call me when he was on his way. Smiling, I knew I had the perfect opportunity to look through the file.
I quickly stripped out of my office clothes and threw on my bathrobe and made myself a special hot chocolate; made with Bailey’s Irish Cream and Kaluha. I sat in my big chair and pulled the extremely thick file out of my briefcase onto my lap. My pussy was pounding so incredibly hard. I slid my hand down to my clit and gave it a firm rub. My sweet hot juices were flowing and I hadn’t even opened it yet. Carefully I opened the crime file and was greeted with the same picture I had seen earlier at work. My hand moved quicker, speeding up the urgent need for me to orgasm. It had been so long since I snuck home the last file. I looked into the faces of the two women staring back at me. Their fear pierced right through me and before I could break from their stare, my body arched and I groaned as my urgent much needed deep orgasm rocked through my pussy. I slid my fingers into my hot hole slowly, feeling my juices coat my fingers, my clit pulsated as I probed. “Oh my god, that was so intense!” I moaned. The phone then rang. It was Steve informing me that he was going to be home in ten minutes. Shit, so much for me reading any further into the file. I quickly shoved the file back into my briefcase and hid it under our bed. When Steve arrived home he was greeted with a very hungry wife. He took me to bed and gave me the much desired and craved pounding I needed.
The next morning Steve had to meet one of his buddies to help renovate their basement. Thank God it was Saturday. He got up early, showered and kissed me good bye telling me he would be home near dinner and that maybe we could have a repeat of last night. I smiled wickedly and told him that was a deal. I waved out the window as he backed the car out of the driveway and made sure once again he was completely out of sight to make sure it was safe enough to take out my file.
I sat down and pulled out the thick bundle and opened it. I quickly flipped over the front picture before it had a chance to affect me. The story involved two murders. In 1986 Paul Thompson bought a run down two story frame house at auction for $15,000. The home had been put up for sale by the elderly sister of the home owner, Konrad Schultze. Schultze had been taken to a nursing home a year earlier after his neighbors complained about him walking around naked and confused outside. Schultze was 65 years old at the time. He had come to the United States at the age of 25 in the late 1940's. He was mechanical engineer who had served in Hitler's army during WWII. Schultze had been married in the early 50s but no one knew what had happened to his wife or if they ever had any children. When Schultze was declared incompetent in 1985, his only known relative, his sister Veronica who lived in Chicago, got control of his assets which was his run down home and its contents. She had the home sold at auction and never went to see it or her brother. I was now hooked into the story; I had to read on.
Paul Thompson bought the home with the intention of fixing it up and reselling it. The home was a mess but physically sound. A little painting and updating and he could quickly double his investment. The home was full of a number of fine furnishing and collectibles which was an unexpected bonus. Paul and his wife spent several days going through the home and cataloging the contents. Paul eventually came across an old dusty trunk in the attic. The trunk contained a number of articles including items used in bondage and torture. Thick leather restraints, gags, leather hoods, metal shackles, whips, bloody pliers, a metal speculum, an old style rubber enema bottle, a soldering iron, and more. The trunk contained an old mason jar that contained 60 human teeth. Many of which had large chunks of dried tissue attached to them. My heart raced faster, imagining what Schultze had done with these items. My nipples were rock hard as my hand rubbed my clit a little harder.
Also contained in the trunk was an old spiral notebook that turned out to be Konrad Schultze's torture journal. There was also a Polaroid camera and two cigar boxes that contained over 100 disturbing Polaroid pictures. The first journal entry was dated April 28, 1969. The journal had been written in German but had been painstakingly translated to English by detectives in 1986. The journal detailed the month's long ordeal of two young women. According to the journal Konrad befriended the girls during a trip to Minneapolis. It turned out they were street prostitutes. He took them back to his hotel and fucked them both over and over during his week stay. Before he left to go back home, he offered the girls free room and board in exchange for sex if they came home with him. If only they had known they would never be seen or heard from again and that it was the beginning of the end.
They agreed to his offer and returned home with him. Once he got them home, he enslaved both girls in his basement. He stripped them naked and kept them in the cold damp basement. In his journal he referred to them as “The Bitches.” I was suddenly interrupted by the phone and almost dropped the file. A stack of photos fell out of the file onto the floor and I was in shock at the torture the two women had endured. In several photos they were chained and gagged to a wall. It showed the girls were beaten and starved; their gags removed only once a day to allow them to eat and drink. They were forced to urinate and defecate on the floor. Konrad would then hose them off before dragging them to a bunk bed in the corner and force them to have sex. In a lot of the early pictures, the girls were performing sex acts on each other, giving each other enemas, or penetrating each other with a variety of unusual objects. At this point looking at the pictures, my pussy exploded is a huge orgasm leaving me breathless. I couldn’t help imagine what it would have felt like to be one of the girls and have one of the strange objects shoved into me fucking me to orgasm. I let my imagination run imagining how it felt to have my pussy stretched by an odd object, the pain and the fear they must have felt and my body erupted in a powerful orgasm.
I had to take a break from the file. I put it away and slipped into a bath and prepared myself for my hubby for later that evening. I wicked thought came to mind and hoped he would go along with my idea. I ran downstairs to the basement and found some ropes and found an area that would be perfect. I made a small noose at the end of each rope and threw it over the exposed beam and tied them securely. I looked through his tool boxes and found an object that I felt might work. It was similar to one of the objects I had seen in the photos. My heart raced and my juices ran down my thighs as I prepared for the scene. Steve called and said he’d be home in twenty minutes. I ran into our bedroom and pulled out a medium butt plug and headed to the basement. I placed the butt plug next to my husband’s hammer and placed a gag into my mouth. I then stripped naked and tossed my clothes to the floor and slipped the nooses around my wrists and pulled tight leaving me feeling very exposed and vulnerable. I heard Steve come home and knew he found the note I left him to come find me in the basement. I could feel my cunt juices trickling down my thighs, my nipples rock hard and my breathing heavy.
Steve followed my instructions and kept quiet as he slowly walked down the steps. My heart pounded so hard I felt dizzy. He gripped hold of my hair and yanked it back and said, “I’m going to fuck you til you scream for mercy bitch.” His hand then smacked my ass painfully hard, causing me to yelp. He then blindfolded me and kissed me hard, grabbing my pussy in his hand and pulling it. I groaned as his touch was electrifying. He then proceeded to slap my tits, squeezing them, twisting my nipples until I cried out. Then he moved around me and began to slap my ass. Each blow left my ass jiggling and on fire. His hand moved between my thighs to my pussy and scooped up my creamy juices and smoothed it onto my asshole. He then brutally shoved the ass plug deep into my ass. My body arched as I screamed with the pain. He then grabbed the hammer and began to assault my cunt with the handle. Orgasm after orgasm rocked my body until I hung limp. He unfastened me from the binds and pulled me into his arms, “Is that what you needed baby?” I nodded, too weak to speak. He took be back upstairs to our bed and after some rest; we fucked the rest of the night.
The next day, Sunday, Steve returned to his buddy’s place to continue the renovations. I tried as hard as I could to keep the file in my briefcase, especially after the night we had last night, but I just couldn’t stop myself. I told myself that I would not touch myself if I was going to continue reading. I thought that was something I could do. I was wrong.
I pulled out the file and curled up onto the sofa and began reading where I left off the day before. The treatments get more and more severe and cruel; the girls are covered with sores, cuts and burns. I could see in the photos they became emaciated and were losing all facial expressions. He kept them in the dark most of the time; they soon became pale and their eyes become very sensitive to the flash of the camera. He must have had one of the girls take the Polaroid’s while he tortured and raped the other girl. Once again, I found my hand had travelled into my panties rubbing my clit. What the hell is wrong with me, I questioned.
The more I read the faster and harder I masturbated. I had to put the file down so I could make myself cum hard. A photo of one of the girls fisting the other lay open in the file. I imagined it was my cunt she was fisting as I shoved as many fingers as I could into my pussy. Within moments I cried out as my body rocked in a might orgasm. Several moments went by before I could remove my hand from my pussy once the contractions subsided. I picked up the file again and went onto read.
The final journal entry says simply, "The Bitches Are Gone.” The final Polaroid’s were of two military style duffel bags assumed to contain the bodies of the girls. Evidence of an old dungeon was found in the basement of the house. Police attempted to interrogate Konrad in the nursing home but he was in a state of Dementia. Despite hundreds of man hours of detective work, the police were never able to identify the girls in the pictures or locate their bodies. The case remains unsolved.
I slammed the file shut, and murmured to myself, “I’ve got to stop this! I’m going to get caught.” I don’t understand yet why I have this need to read these crime files. But I am afraid I can’t stop. The intensity of my orgasms is like nothing I ever experienced. I know I can’t stop, I just can’t help myself. I need more.
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My Naughty Extreme Stories 
