Rose Robbery [Simplified Chinese]

Chapter 1
Midnight Flower Robbery "...Sheriff Trent..." the patrol car's police radio crackled to life. County Sheriff Paul Trent was patrolling
a . It was nearly midnight, and all was quiet. This highway was quite
remote, and like the small town ahead, it was deserted even in broad daylight. Long-distance travelers crossing state and county lines mostly
chose the interstate highway that hugged the coastline, from Florida through Alabama and Mississippi to
New Orleans. Aside from locals, few people used this road. "Speak," the sheriff said, picking up the receiver. When he recognized Ward Price's voice, his
heart skipped a beat. Ward and his brother Sam ran a gas station a few miles away.
When the Price brothers called Trent on the police channel, it meant only one thing: fresh merchandise had arrived. "An ugly guy, driving a blue station wagon, heading east," Price's voice was dry and
expressionless. They always used simple code words; police channels weren't always safe, so it was always
best to be cautious. Price said "a guy," which meant a girl. "Ugly" meant very
beautiful . "Blue station wagon"? That was a red sports car. "Roger that, thanks." After working together like this a dozen times, their coordination was seamless.
The younger brother, Sam, stayed at the gas station to watch the business, while the older brother, Ward, would arrive in ten minutes in a tow truck heading east
to pick up the car. Trant backed the police car behind the roadside bushes and waited for the target to appear. When the sports car sped by, Trant immediately recognized it as traveling at least eighty miles per hour, while the
speed limit here was only fifty-five miles per hour. He drove onto the highway, siren on, and sped off to catch up with the girl. A mile later, the girl stopped at the side of the road. The county sheriff nodded slightly; it was an expensive
Mercedes sports car with Florida license plates. Jackson's underground factory must have paid at least
twenty-five thousand dollars for it. He walked towards the sports car, shining his flashlight on the blonde woman inside. "Miss, do you know why I stopped you?" The girl was truly beautiful, a red and yellow ribbon holding back her thick blonde hair. Trant
stood by the car door, able to see the front of her yellow low-cut halter dress. Her breasts were full and firm,
the thin fabric pushing up high, the nipples clearly visible. The skirt only reached halfway up her thighs, and those
thighs were among the most beautiful he had ever seen. "That's because you can't find anything else to do besides harassing ordinary people!" the stylishly dressed beauty
said angrily. She added impatiently, "Give me that damn ticket, I need to get going." Trant was almost enraged by the girl's rudeness. However, only almost; his voice remained calm.
"Please show me your driver's license and license plate." "Damn it!" the girl muttered, turning to rummage through the toolbox for the license plate. Trant
quickly scanned the car. Good, no car phone. He was always careful not to approach
girls with car phones. If she had just made a call, the FBI could easily pinpoint her location and
wouldn't rest until they'd turned the area upside down. Trant had worked for the FBI for twenty years, and before retiring, he accepted the governor's invitation to become the county sheriff
. He knew how federal agents investigated cases; he was a true expert. "Here you go." She slammed her driver's license and car registration to him. "Miss, almost done." With that, Trant walked back to the police car. The name on the driver's license was Bethany
Albert , twenty-five years old, residing in Tallahassee, the capital of Florida. However, the Mercedes belonged to a
man living in Tampa. Trant waited a full two minutes before returning to the sports car. "Miss, please get out of the car." His voice was deep and commanding. "What the hell?" The girl was both surprised and annoyed. "Get out now!" As the girl reluctantly got out of the car, her skirt billowed up, revealing the garter belt on her thigh. After the stunning woman
steadied herself in her three-inch heels, she turned around, intending to hurl another sarcastic remark at the officer, when he suddenly
shouted "Turn around! Hands on the car! Legs apart!" For the first time, a hint of surprise and confusion appeared in the blonde woman's eyes. However, she obediently
complied. Standing behind her, in the bright headlights of the police car, Trant gave himself two or three seconds to admire
the beautiful curves of the girl's back. The halter dress was impeccably tailored, highlighting her curves without being garishly revealing
. A rounded bottom, straight thighs, a slender waist. Trant's experienced eye found almost no
excess fat. Even more perfect than he had imagined. He suddenly shoved the girl against the hood. "Where the hell did you get this car, you filthy woman!" His hands swiftly and professionally slid over her
body . As he expected, this stunningly beautiful woman, beneath her expensive silk dress, seemed to be wearing nothing but
a garter belt and stockings. Her smooth, supple waist appeared to be
devoid of even the thinnest thong. No, perhaps she was. But whether she was or not was irrelevant to Trant. He grinned maliciously, asking himself, "Why don't these sexy kittens wear underwear these days?" "Let me go!" she screamed, "It's illegal, you filthy—" "Shut up! You bitch!" His tone was cruel. He grabbed one of the girl's hands, twisted it behind her back, and
handcuffed it. Then the other hand. The cold handcuffs extinguished the beauty's anger. She obediently led
to the police car. Trant shoved her violently towards the car. The unsuspecting girl screamed, her soft, full
breasts slamming against the hard car door. Trant pressed the girl against the car with one hand, while skillfully opening the door with the other. He was a seasoned
veteran cop who effortlessly shoved the terrified girl into the back seat and slammed
the door shut. The police car turned west. When he encountered Price in his tow truck, the county sheriff flashed his
headlights. It was a sign that everything was going well. Price would load the Mercedes onto the tow truck. Before dawn, the Mercedes
would be taken to an underground factory in Jackson, either modified and sold on the black market, or dismantled for parts
. In short, once everything was done, the car would be gone from the face of the earth. Trant drove through several dark country roads and finally arrived at Hans's Farm. All the way, he
ignored now-recovered beauty's questions, threats, screams, and curses. Pretty girls always thought they had some special privileges, that they could throw tantrums and
boss everyone around. Trant had seen too many girls like that. He knew how to teach pretty girls a lesson. How to make them
regret every single wrong word they uttered for the rest of their lives. Moreover, he thoroughly enjoyed watching the once arrogant and beautiful woman kneel at
his feet, weeping her heart out. This was a dilapidated farm; the Hanz family had long since moved away, leaving only the name behind.
Now , the only permanent resident was Tom Webber, a burly black man in his fifties with a goofy face
and a large beer belly. Tom looked after the house and received the fresh "goods" delivered by the county sheriff. He had
been to the police station a few times for petty theft. Two years ago, he killed someone in a drunk driving accident. This case fell into Trent's hands.
A handle. To avoid going to jail, Tom had to obediently follow Trant's orders. However, the old black man quickly grew to like this lucrative job with not much work. What truly
made him comfortable were the extra benefits of looking after the "goods." Those were benefits that were enough to drive anyone
crazy . "Where are we? What, what's going on?" The girl, her hands cuffed behind her back
, squirmed and screamed uneasily in the back seat, oblivious to the fact that her skirt was already brushing against her thighs. This dark, desolate
place had truly terrified her. "Shut your stinking mouth, bitch!" Trant admired the beautiful woman's bare
buttocks in the rearview mirror. When Trant got out of the car, the old black man, Tom, was already waiting at the door, and he greeted him obsequiously. "You've got another one, Mr. Trant?" "That's right, Tom. I think you'll like this chick. Great figure, but her mouth is too foul, and she doesn't know how to
respect police officers. She needs to be taught a lesson." The old black man grinned knowingly. "No problem, sir, no problem." "I'll help you, Tom. Let her know some things can't be said carelessly." "That's great, boss." ************ At 2 a.m. Eastern Time, Federal Agent Clarice Starling was still working overtime in her office.
Starling belonged to the Behavioral Science Division of FBI headquarters, in charge of serial murder cases. Two years ago,
while she was still training at the FBI training camp, she became famous for solving the "Buffalo Bill" case on her own. There were rumors that
Hollywood was lobbying the upper echelons of the FBI, hoping to get authorization to make the case into a movie. However, Starling didn't care about Hollywood at all. Of course, it wasn't that she was without ambition or
indifferent to fame, but she knew she could never become a movie star. As a young woman who
came from and had endured countless hardships, she always believed that success could only be achieved through her own efforts. Even though she was often
flattered by men for her beauty, Starling was very self-aware: she had seen truly beautiful and sexy women, and
compared , she was just not ugly. "So, I'm not just a pretty face," Clarice would always say with a touch of
pride . In reality, the unexpected success of the "Buffalo Bill" case
brought immense pressure to her work after officially joining the FBI. Agents who worked with her for the first time usually looked like they'd swallowed a fly, thinking, "Oh,
isn't that the silly girl who was on People magazine and only knows how to get lucky?" She always had to put in much more effort to prove to others that she was not only a competent federal agent, but
also superior to most. Women don't necessarily solve cases entirely based on intuition. She was actually more adept at meticulous, deductive
reasoning. Moreover, she had a frighteningly high work ethic, capable of working for three or four days straight without sleep. After Starling successfully participated in several more major cases, the head of headquarters began to appreciate
her like her superior, Jack Crawford. Her colleagues gradually began to see her as one of the three or four rising
star agents. This made Starling secretly quite proud a few times. However, she always immediately set herself
higher goals, and with them, greater pressure. Now, all her attention was focused on the case at hand: a
series of rape-murders in Southern Arkansas and Northern Mississippi. Three victims had been discovered within two months. The methods were almost identical. All three women
had been brutally raped, the perpetrator's semen was found in each of them, and they had all been shot three times:
one in each breast, and the perpetrator had inserted the gun barrel into their vaginas before firing. Starling had a bad feeling that if the FBI didn't catch the perpetrator immediately, new
victims would appear. Her task was to uncover the perpetrator's psychological traits from the details of the crimes as early as possible. A
brilliant told her that in such serial crimes, every detail was meticulously planned
to satisfy a specific psychological need of the perpetrator. She firmly believed this would be the key to solving the case. That psychiatrist was, in fact, also a perpetrator she had been tracking. However, most of her colleagues
had long since given up hope on the case. Hannibal Lecter, a psychiatrist, is a brilliant
but morally and legally bankrupt criminal. After helping Starling solve the "Buffalo Bill" case, the Doctor
cleverly escaped from police custody, even dismembering two of his officers. That was two years ago. Every two months, the Doctor sends her a postcard. The FBI checks
fingerprints, analyzes papers, tracks postmarks—they try everything, but to no avail. Starling knows he's mocking her, flaunting his superhuman intelligence and the police's incompetence. These postcards
unsettle her. She shudders when she recalls her meetings with him in prison. Lecter
's sharp gaze keeps appearing in her dreams, revealing a twisted intelligence behind it. He seems to know
everything about her. Even more unsettling, the Doctor also seems interested in everything about her, and seems to have automatically acted as
her protector from the very beginning. Starling would never forget the mentally ill man living next door to the doctor who, as she was
leaving after her first interview with the doctor, splattered fresh semen all over her face. For a second or two, she didn't realize what had happened. She instinctively touched her face,
her fingers sticky and slippery. It wasn't until the substance seeped into her mouth, tasting salty and metallic on her tongue, that she realized it was fresh
semen. She had just swallowed
the semen ! The taste of semen seemed to linger on her face and in her mouth all the way home. As soon as she left the hospital, she burst into tears in the parking lot
. Back home, she washed her face ten times and brushed her teeth twenty times. Then she spent the entire night
figuring out how to castrate that mentally ill man herself, even though he was the first
man in the world to shove semen into her mouth upon first meeting her. To Starling's even greater surprise, the doctor immediately avenged her. That very night, the poor mentally ill man was
persuaded by the doctor to swallow his tongue and commit suicide. This kind of retaliation
horrified Starling . She still couldn't understand what the Doctor's interests were, or why he had chosen her. Was it her
intelligence? Her stubborn personality? Or simply because she was the only young woman who had visited him in prison?
The latter possibility was quickly ruled out, because the Doctor was not the kind of person who thought with his lower body. He was a wise
man. Perhaps he had seen through some qualities in Starling that even she herself hadn't realized. Starling sighed softly and closed the thick file. That's enough for today; it 's time to go
home and rest. ********** ...
A stunningly beautiful woman, disheveled, lay prone across a leather-covered wooden tub. Her legs were
spread wide, her ankles secured to either end of the tub, and her hands were stretched straight and bound to a frame extending from the other side. The tub was
at least half a person's height, with a section hollowed out at the top. With the girl lying on it, her breasts could hang down, allowing her to reach out...
He could catch her. A U-shaped wooden frame was firmly wedged under the girl's chin, forcing her to face forward. The countless large and small gold stars that had been drawn out by the belt gradually disappeared. When the beautiful woman opened her eyes
again , the figure of the county sheriff filled her tear-blurred vision. Trant sat three feet in front of her
in a chair, leisurely smoking. "I'll ask you one more time, bitch, who the hell gave you this Mercedes?" This time the girl didn't dare to be reckless. Last time she refused to answer, and was then severely whipped by Tom. "Ho, Howard, it's Howard Stannis's car," her trembling voice was tinged with
despair . "Ha," Trant said, "the registration is his. And the diamond ring on your hand was given to you by him too?" "Yes... we're engaged." "I see," Trant said, "tell me, what does he do? Where did he get the money?" "Why should I—" Her protest was interrupted by her own scream, as Tom lashed her again. This time, Trant gestured
for Tom to continue smoking. He smoked, quietly watching the girl struggle painfully on the bondage rack. Her
sundress was already low-cut, and with her lying face down on the tub, her whole body trembled with pain, her disheveled clothes barely
concealing her full breasts swaying back and forth. Her slender hands struggled wildly within the sturdy leather straps, her nails already
white. Trant loved everything he saw. This girl was incredibly sexy. "Stop, ah—please, stop hitting her." Trant raised a hand, temporarily halting his torture of the girl. "You need to tell me some stories about Mr. Stannis." "Ah, ah, he's probably retired," she said, her voice still trembling, struggling to breathe. After several "hints" from
Trant , the girl finally told him everything he wanted to know. Her fiancé
was around fifty, had made a fortune on Wall Street, divorced, and moved to the resort town of Tampa to enjoy life. Trant also learned that he
had forced her to sign a prenuptial agreement, greatly limiting her options in the event of a divorce. Humph, shrewd businessman. The beautiful woman's father was dead, and her mother lived in Maryland, relying on her husband's insurance money. Trant needed this
information. He needed to be prepared should anyone start looking for the girl. However, he doubted that Beth
's shrewd fiancé would report her disappearance to the police. He and the police would both believe that Beth had run into a gigolo in New Orleans
, or that she had sold the car for money. Knowing everything he needed, Trant nodded to Tom to get started. Amid the girl's terrified screams,
the black man began to undress her. Old Tom was an experienced man; with a small knife, he calmly cut open
each garment , stripping them off and throwing them on the ground. In reality, it wasn't difficult at all; including the stockings, the girl was only wearing four pieces: an expensive
sundress, garter belts around her waist, and two pairs of stockings. Tom skillfully cut the two straps of the girl's dress, then,
against the smooth skin of her bare back, he ripped a large gash in the tight-fitting dress, and then tore off the torn
fabric . The girl let out a mournful cry as her tattered skirt was pulled off her chest, exposing her full breasts,
which helplessly swayed in alluring waves. Her smooth, flat back, perfectly shaped buttocks, and delicate pink labia made even the experienced
black man, Tom, grin widely. This sexy kitten was showing off on the highway without a bra or panties!
However, he also thought that such a good figure was even better without a bra. Before getting this job, Tom had never seen a completely naked white girl, let alone stripped her naked and forced to do
whatever he wanted with her. This was Trent and his twelfth prey. Stripping this incredibly sexy blonde
beauty had already made Tom's enormous penis as hard as a rock. The beautiful woman screamed and struggled, trying to break free. But her hands and feet were tightly bound in the leather handcuffs of the restraint frame,
and she desperately gave up resisting, sobbing sadly and resigning herself to fate. She didn't know what she was going through, or
whether they would let her live after they had vented their lust on her. All she knew was that she
had never regretted being so beautiful. "The best one so far, Sheriff," Tom said, looking at the naked
girl before him with satisfaction. This girl, whose figure and appearance were almost perfect, lay helplessly before him, powerless against
the inevitable humiliation. "She's worth fifty thousand, maybe more," Thurt said, completely agreeing with his actions. The two lustful men, their eyes fixed on the tearful, naked girl, began to
undress. When the girl saw Thurt's penis throbbing in front of her face, she couldn't help but cry again. The
penis was at least eleven inches long, with bulging muscles and thick, engorged veins, making it look even more ferocious and terrifying. While the beautiful woman's eyes were filled with tears, Thurt pinched her nose and shoved a rubber ring into her mouth.
There was a brace on both the upper and lower jaws, and this special rubber ring stretched the girl's jaw to its limit. Saliva
involuntarily dripped out, and the beautiful woman opened her mouth wide in sorrow, watching the man walk up to her with his erect penis. The angry
glans head aimed at the rubber ring and pressed against it.

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Rose Robbery [Simplified Chinese]

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