[Ambush-predator]

Our lovely WPC has had it quite easy up to now, but that's about to change inside 53, Nightingale Avenue!

For Derek there was something quite unreal about being let into Number 53 Nightingale Avenue. Raping a policewoman, yeah OK, carrying her into a house in a cricket bag, happens, but being invited into a posh house by a posh lady, now that was stretching credulity a bit. Inside the house continued to stretch his credulity. It reeked of money and – for Derek hadn’t always been down and out – of taste.

They dragged the bag upstairs, not worrying about the thuds and bumps. Veronica opened a door into a plush bedroom and they dumped the bag into the deep pile of a cream-coloured rug. There was a slight movement inside. Veronica unzipped the bag and stared at their catch. Her big brown eyes stared back in fear and lack of understanding.

“What a disgusting mess this sluttish young woman has got herself into! No pride or decency, these people. And the smell! Disgusting. My husband does occasionally take his work home, but not like this. We’d better clean her up. Oh, and Derek – would you mind terribly taking a nice hot shower yourself?” Veronica said. Derek was all in favour of a nice hot shower, not for the cleaning but for the sensation of the pressurised hot water on his skin, but if the pig was getting a clean, he wanted to watch at least. Veronica readily agreed. She grabbed hold of a hank of the policewoman’s long black hair and motioned Derek to do the same. Between them they dragged their catch over the rug tits down, on to fashionably bare floorboards, her tits squashing and bumping, and into a plush bathroom where Veronica ran the golden, gleaming cold tap into the large tub while Derek removed the gag and helpfully pulled the baton out of her arsehole.

Veronica was satisfied the bath was full enough. She yanked her victim’s head up by her once-beautiful hair and asked Derek to take her by the ankles. Together they lifted her over the rim of the bath, dropped her in with a splash arse first and rolled her over. She screamed at the impact of the ice-cold water. She screamed again as they flipped her over, her tits frozen , her mouth descending towards the water. Mouth and nose went under. Almost helpless because of her cuffed wrists, she jerked her head up to get her airways above water. Veronica laughed and pushed her head down again, holding it down remorselessly as her victim thrashed around and kicked pathetically. Derek stared. Was the posh woman going to drown the fucking cop? If so, he wanted to see it all. The way her arsecheeks were quivering and wobbling and pushing up and down as she kicked was magic. Veronica yanked up the cop’s head again. She gasped in air and then gulped water as her head was forced down again. Her whole body was shivering now, which made her arse more delicious than ever. Twice more Veronica let her breathe and forced her down. Then up – and down, and she stayed down. Veronica, her eyes alight, held her below water while her kicks became first more desperate and then weaker.

Kapila was simply trying to stay alive. Despite all the terrible things that had been done to her, she still wanted to live. The horrible woman was pushing her down to make her think she was going to drown and then pulling her up so she didn’t – but at any time the witch might decided just to hold her down and enjoy watching the death-throes. Then she did just that. This was it. Kapila had a feeling that there ought to be something right you did when you were dying, but she couldn’t think of it and her body was still vainly trying to stay alive. The world went red. She was slipping...and then gasping. The woman hadn’t drowned her after all.

“Nice one!” said the tramp’s voice. “The cunt really thought she was going to get it then.”

Derek couldn’t quite decide whether it would have been more fun watching the cop cunt die or letting her live and doing more stuff to her. Either would suit him. Looked like she was going to live for a bit. Veronica dragged the pig out of the bath by her hair, the cop spluttering and squealing.

“The shower unit is over there, Derek. Oh, and I’ll put out a pair of Martin’s old gardening trousers. You’re much the same height and they’re rather baggy so they should do. I won’t do anything much to this wretched slut until you’re back with us,” Veronica said as she dragged her victim along the floor by her hair.

“I do know what a shower unit looks like,” Derek replied. “Thanks.” Actually it took a while to work out the settings, but the hot water running down his naked body was bliss. He actually felt regret about putting his dirty clothes, except for the change of trousers, back on to his now clean body.

Veronica had been as good as her word. She was waiting for him in the middle of the rug, one foot planted on the cop’s wet arse and her hands behind her back, girlishly concealing something. Aware of Derek’s eyes, she shifted her foot so it no longer stood on the heights of the brown cop’s arse across the arsecrack, but pushed between the buttocks until it was more in her arse than on it.

“I think this thing’s peasant haunches need more attention,” she said. Slowly, milking the drama, she drew out what she had been hiding. It was a cane, a long, knobbly, slightly drooping one. Derek’s eyes widened. He’d seen a lot of mags with caning and a few videos, but he’d never seen it in the flesh. “Do you mind if I do this, Derek?” Veronica asked. “Frankly, I’m itching to give it to the wretched slut.” Derek didn’t mind at all. “Martin has a few little kinks,” she continued, “but this beautiful old implement hardly gets used unless he’s brought in someone suitable for his boss. This thing is suitable. Look at her fat hindquarters!”

Derek’s brain was sozzled by heavy drinking but he was not lacking in intelligence. For the second time he’d picked up suggestions that Veronica’s husband brought in girls by way of work. He’d walked into a very odd set-up and he could be a bit worried, but right now the main thing was the porker’s arse. When Veronica asked him to help drag the copper to a big, old-fashioned armchair, he was happy to oblige. There was a bit of a gap between the seat and the back and you could see it was deep.

“Push her head in there, Derek, would you?” Veronica requested. He was surprised how easy it was – a good shove, a few extra pushes which bloodied her nose and the porker’s whole head had vanished down the gap leaving her arse stuck up and her long legs twitching. Veronica brought three cushions and slid them under her belly, pushing her arse up even more. She opened a drawer and produced some rope which they used to tie Kapila’s ankles to furniture on either side, keeping her legs wide apart. “That will do,” said Veronica. Like hell it would, thought Derek, staring at the long, helpless legs, the plush warm brown arse with the marks of his belt and the newly-fucked cunt peeping out. It was definitely better that the cunt was still alive because as she breathed her arse moved just a bit.

“Now, Derek, I consider myself something of an expert at this,” Veronica said. “So I’ll give you a demonstration. Watch and learn. CAN YOU HEAR ME, YOU WRETCHED LITTLE BUSYBODY? ANSWER!” Suddenly she jabbed the end of the cane up the policewoman’s cunt. A shriek followed. “So she can make herself heard with her head down there!” Veronica commented. “ANSWER!”

“Oh, God! Yes, I can,” came a wavering voice.

“Good. Now, you jumped-up immigrant jobsworth...”

“I’m NOT an immigrant!” Kapila interrupted. Veronica looked furious.

“Yes you are, you snivelling little slut – and by the time I’ve finished with you, you’ll admit it!” she declared.

“Yeah, teach the cunt!” Derek growled. Veronica did not reply, but smiled. She tapped the cane lightly on the heights of her victim’s right buttock.

“Hello, PC Ex-virgin! This is a cane. I’m going to have tremendous fun using it on you. Here goes!” Derek saw the policewoman’s buttocks clench in anticipation. She waited – and waited. He could see, but Miss Piggy couldn’t, that Veronica was standing at ease with a sadistic smile, piling on the anticipation. Finally with a wink at Derek, she raised her arm high, paused like a Stuka about to bomb its target, and suddenly struck. He heard the swish and the SPLACK of contact on the heights of her damp right cheek, followed by an anguished scream. Despite the clenching, there was enough buttery plumpness to the official arsecheek to allow the cane to bite into it before it rebounded, displaying a fierce red line. Veronica’s arm rose again. The second strike was just above the first and neatly in parallel. The third, just below, bracketed the first. After seven hits the policewoman’s right buttock was marked in deep red as if she had sat on a hot grill. The policewoman was sobbing, which made her arse bobble and quiver deliciously.

Veronica moved across a single step and Derek knew just what that meant. It was the left buttock’s turn. She was indeed an expert and he was a keen learner. Of course it took seven cuts to complete the decoration. Now would she stop – let him have a go even? She smiled at him.

“Can you hear me, you wretched little object?” she demanded. “Well?” It took the policewoman a while to answer because she couldn’t stop her sobs, but the answer was “Yes”.

“Do you admit you’re an immigrant busybody and a worthless slut?” Veronica asked. The sobs actually stopped.

“NO! I won’t!” the cop girl replied and started sobbing again.

“Oh, dear – what a pity,” said Veronica, smiling.

The pig’s legs being pulled wide apart meant that her arsecheeks were pulled apart too, more towards her cunt than her back. Derek could see where Veronica was looking. He could see she’d need precision. She raised her arm. SPLACK! The cane struck right into the piggy arsecrack. The desperate wail was a fantastic turn-on, rising and falling and fighting with sobs. Veronica waited for all the noise to stop except for a low moaning and struck in again. Magic! But Veronica hadn’t finished. She eyeballed him and smiled. She turned back to her prey. He tried to work out what she was staring at hungrily. It could be...couldn’t be...yes, it was surely Miss Prissy Paki’s cunt!

“Would you mind tipping up the chair a little to give me a better angle?” Veronica asked him. No, he didn’t mind at all. SPLUCK! Bullseye! And that screeching wail from the pig! It sounded like a real pig being butchered! Of course Veronica waited till the thing had quietened down a bit before she gave her another in the same place. She’d drawn blood – but her expression was one of fierce joy and she didn’t stop till she’d delivered six right up the official cunt.

“Derek, would you like to try?” she asked. He would, all right. She handed him the cane almost like it was some religious ritual. He stared at the pig’s arse and wondered where to hit it. He tried one diagonally across the stripes on her right buttock and it worked pretty well: she screamed and her buttock now looked a bit like a five-barred gate, except it had seven bars. Now the cunt was probably expecting him to do the same to the left, so instead he changed the angle a bit and gave her another on the right – before doing the left anyway. He was getting the hang of this. Maybe a few on her smooth brown thighs would look good. They got four each and she was wailing beautifully. Just one more. SPLUCK! Right into her piggy cunt. She was left moaning and sobbing. Every now and then she remembered something and she produced a kind of scream, but no-one was caning her now.

“Do you admit now you’re an immigrant and a meddling busybody and a slut and a whore?” Veronica demanded. “If you don’t, we’ll carry on!” There was only a moment’s delay.

“Please stop this or I’ll die! Yes, I’m an immigrant! I’m a busybody and an, um, slut and a whore! Please stop!” their capture burbled.

“Good,” said Veronica, slapping the girl’s roasting arse.

“No self-respect, no restraint, no resilience, these people!” she commented.

“Derek,” she said, with a coquettish sidelong glance, “have you ever seen a woman rape a woman?” Well, he’d seen that sort of stuff in pictures but not for real until now.

“No,” he said, “but I’m always open to new experiences.” This won an appraising look from Veronica.

“Some vulgar persons might use what is called a ‘dildo’, Derek,” she explained. “Fingers are much better.” She pushed her long-nailed fingers into Kapila’s cunt. The policewoman’s mouth opened and shut; her eyes widened and narrowed; but she made no noise beyond a slight whimper. “The slut’s enjoying it!” Veronica told her new friend. “Now if I can find...AHA!” The policewoman moaned. “What a whore! All cunt and no brains, these people,” Veronica remarked, pulling out. “I think her tits need some treatment. Don’t you, my little brownie? Something for your titties?” Kapila stared at her tormentor but said nothing. Veronica rolled her over. “Tabula rasa, these are,” she said. “You wouldn’t know what that means. A blank sheet. I can write what I like – like this!”

She drew one long nail down the side of Kapila’s breast, breaking the skin and leaving a long, red line. She smiled a secret smile at Derek.

“Derek, dear – what would you like me to write on her?” He gave this careful thought.

“PIG SLUT,” he said.

“On both her titties?”

“On one. Write what you like on the other.” She thought.

“What was on her shoulder – some numbers? Here: 638. It’s so if she gets lost and someone finds her, she can be returned, like tagging a dog. So we’ll put that on.” Carefully, she scratched the words PIG SLUT on one brown tit, stared at the result, smiled with satisfaction and wrote a 6, a 3 and an 8 on the other. The policewoman wailed and screamed. Derek Brodie was getting to like Veronica Hartington better and better.

Then the policewoman said something that amused them both. She’d started to cry like a little girl, and when the sobs eased off a for a moment, she said,

“I want my mummy and daddy”. Derek guffawed and Veronica joined him.

“I want my mummy and daddy!” she mimicked. “Derek, are we sure this wretched thing is over eighteen? It’s illegal to rape them if they’re not, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed.

“Well, darling,” said Veronica, pinching brown tit, “if you just tell us where your mummy and daddy live, I’m sure we can bring them in. Is your mummy a good fuck?”

“She really is a randy little slut,” she confided. “She’s quite wet.” Derek nodded wisely because he couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Dennis,” Veronica said, “how about a fuck? We can use this wretched slut as an extra rug.” Dennis thought this was a good idea. They opened the policewoman’s legs wide and trapped her feet beneath a couple of chairs so Veronica could rest the small of her back against the plush brown arse. Slowly, teasingly, Veronica stripped, throwing her clothes on their victim’s head. Derek tended to prefer young ones, not that he’d had the chance for some time before that day, but Veronica was posh and that turned him on. She was also clever and passionate. He lay back on the policewoman and Veronica humped up and down on his lamp-post hard cock. He could just hear the gasps and groans of the Paki pig squashed under them fighting for breath. He ought to have been exhausted by what he’d put into her, but Veronica was bringing out reserves he’d thought he’d long lost. She was gasping with pleasure and she was wet all right.

He did not hear the sound of a car crunching to a halt on the gravelled driveway. But Veronica did.

“That must be Martin,” she said, springing up. “Don’t worry. I’ll explain. Stay here and make sure Miss Piggy doesn’t escape.” There wasn’t much chance of that and Derek wasn’t at all sure he didn’t have to worry about Veronica’s husband arriving, but he did what he was told. Veronica disappeared.

The Volvo was at rest. Four doors opened, almost in unison. Four men got out, not in unison. The driver was the first, a trim, balding white man in striped tie and dark grey business suit. A couple of seconds later a neat young Japanese man in a dark suit followed from a back seat, carrying a briefcase and a laptop case slung round his shoulder. He looked at the large house and smiled, waiting respectfully for the third figure to emerge from the front passenger seat, a middle-aged Japanese man well-dressed but just a little portly, his face impassive and carrying a briefcase only.

At last the fourth door opened. For a while nothing happened. Then a fat, heavy-faced white man in his fifties very slowly escaped from the car. He wore a white suit and a colourful tie. His features were possibly Jewish, but certainly those of a man used to being obeyed. The younger white man helped him out.

By now Veronica was watching from an upstairs window. She opened the window and called out to this younger man,

“Hello, darling! I’ve been a bit busy but I’ll be down in a jiffy!” Martin Hartington raised his hand in acknowledgement. The Japanese both smiled and looked polite. The fat man was lumbering towards the door.