[Ambush-predator]

Back in the operations centre, Sergeant Patterson had grown tired of hanging around watching PCs Wilkins and Rees at work, since nothing after all was happening and he couldn’t actually have a sleep or a smoke. He’d gone off to “check all was well with the CCTV cameras”. Darren Wilkins had his doubts.

The only thing that frustrated Darren was that in the unlikely event that the rapist actually did grab that prissy bitch Cathy Lindsay, he himself, the genius who’d set her up and without whose technical expertise and daring the rapist would have failed, wouldn’t know anything about it till much later. He amused himself watching Sandra Rees, who was a hot little piece and not as snooty as Lindsay. There had been no silent alarms to respond to, but all the decoys had mobile phones which were on, and it had been agreed for their protection that Sandra would call each one a couple of times to check they were OK. She had just started on this.

She sat in a little alcove at a computer and a phone, bent somewhat forward so Darren could cop a good look at her pert arse in its tight uniform trousers. She was new, of course, still with the doggy keenness of the new recruit, and she was taking her simple task very seriously indeed. It occurred to Darren that with old Patterson out of the way, this gave him an opportunity. Sandra would be far too dedicated to her vital task to interrupt it, whatever was going on. Moreover, unlike that cow Lindsay, who had threatened to report him, he suspected this little bit wasn’t the telling sort. After all, if she reported sexual harassment and couldn’t prove it, she’d be a joke around the station and word would go round that she’d asked for it and then chickened out. He looked at her black hair cut short above her slim neck. He looked at her tight, round little arse stuck out in her uniform trousers. He leaned forward and started stroking the back of her neck. Immediately she stiffened, but it’s hard to stay stiff and tense while someone who knows about such things is stroking and tickling you.

“Darren – LAY OFF!” she said. “This is important. I’ve got to check...NO, DARREN, PLEASE DON’T!” He had left her neck and was loosening her belt.

“SHUT UP!” he said firmly. The belt was nice and loose now and she was still leaning forward a bit, staring at the screen and with the phone in one hand, so now dead centre at the base of her back there was an inviting little gap. Looking down it, he could see just the tiniest beginning of her arsecrack and a bit of her pink frilly panties. It was enough space to shove his hand down. She stiffened again and there was a pathetic little noise like “Oh!” but no more than that because she was in the middle of a call to one of the decoys and she had a set script to follow,

“Hi, Vicky – OK if I’m half an hour later tonight?” to which the decoy would reply,

“Yeah, sure. See you!” or if she sensed some danger, “Yeah – make it an hour late.”

Darren tweaked out the top of her panties with one hand and slid the other underneath them, into that delicious, warm, tight arsecrack. She screamed, totally confusing Sergeant Waller, the decoy she was speaking too. To the Sergeant she said “Sorry”. To Darren she said nothing for the moment as his hand burrowed deeper and felt itself clutched by her firm buttocks. He pushed until he could feel her neat little arsehole. At that point, having finished the call to the Sergeant, she found her voice to speak to him.

“Please, Darren, no, please, what I’m doing is really.....OOOOOH....important and if I can’t get on with it someone man OHMYGOD!” she said. She had made the very stupid mistake of trying to avoid his hand by squirming and leaning further forward, so much that Darren had gained the totally unexpected opportunity of shoving two fingers up her cunt. “Ooh,” she added, and was still and silent. Darren found it beautifully tight and wet as well. He pushed as far as he could and then could not resists going for the ultimate prize. With his other hand he took firm hold of her slim neck and pressed it down so her neat little tits squashed into the keyboard. He pulled out his fingers, sniffed them, laughed, and drew out her sweet little panties by the waist until the elastic snapped and they were nothing more than a pathetic tiny rag. With that hand, clumsily and slower than he wanted, he unzipped his flies and pulled out his stiff cock. The angle was awkward, but by pushing her neck down a bit more he managed it. She whimpered as he shoved it roughly in.

“Fuck,” thought Darren, “she’s tight!” With every wham she was forced forward, crushing her tits on the keyboard and producing all sorts of messages on the screen. She continued to whimper pitifully. After one glorious final rush, he pulled out, wiped his cock on the wreck of her panties and went off to clean up.

As soon as he’d left the room, Sandra started sobbing, little jerky snuffles which she tried to suppress. Still sobbing, her arse still on view and Darren’s cum oozing out of the crack, she resumed her duties, calling PC Cathy Lindsay, whom she should have called some minutes earlier.

There was no reply.

Jerome had finished fucking the white pigmeat. He felt good. He wiped his cock on her skirt and looked down on her. There wasn’t much left, really – just a limp rag with a cunt and an arsehole, just about breathing, eyes glazed, filled with his conquering seed, sticky with cum front and back.

He could kill her, but he’d rather leave her to remember what he’d done to her. There were just three things left to do. He checked out her little bag and found money – about thirty pounds, not much, but useful, so he took it. Her watch was nice so he took that too. It could be a present. He also found something else that made him smile. On her police I.D., that thing like a wallet they flashed, there was her smiling face and a name – Catherine Lindsay. He held the smiling picture up to her face. Her weak eyes connected with it.

“That was you, pig bitch,” he said. “I made THIS into THAT.” He pocketed it as a trophy along with her panties.

The he took out his knife. It was more of a scalpel than a street-fighter’s knife, something taken from his work, small but extremely sharp. He kept it in a spectacles-case and though he’d been stopped and searched by police twice when carrying it, they’d never thought to open the case. Now he had it out and was staring at Cathy, making sure she saw it. He’d never used it on a cunt before, but she was a pig. He considered carving a message on her forehead – FUCK ME, perhaps, or PIG SLUT. No, that would spoil her for any other hot guy who wanted to rape her. No, he should do something much more subtle.

He turned her over. She was limp and didn’t resist: just as well for her. On her glowing, once-white, now scarlet-centred arse, on the left cheek, he carefully inscribed a little piggy with a corkscrew tail. She flinched and her cheek spasmed, so he slapped the side of her head, not hard, just to send a message. On her right buttock he drew an anatomically-accurate erect penis pointing at the little piggy’s rump. He admired his artwork. Her phone rang.

He thought of stamping on it or throwing it into the stream. Instead he shoved it up her cunt until it couldn’t be seen at all. It was still ringing and vibrating. One more thing. He aimed his cock and pissed in her face. She shut her eyes, so he kicked her. That made her open her eyes and her mouth and she got it in both. He pissed on her hair and on her tits. The phone had stopped ringing. He laughed. The proud, prissy white pig cunt was lying in a pool of his own acrid piss like a bit of wet toilet paper dropped outside the bowl. He spat in her face and left. He didn’t hurry. Even if the Feds were alerted, he’d give himself away running or even walking fast. So he strolled.

Sandra tried Cathy’s number again but there was no answer. There was an ALL ALERT button and she was about to press it and tell everyone Cathy was in danger when a gruff Scots voice boomed out behind her:

“Whit the heill has been goin’ on here?” Sergeant Patterson had returned. He was staring at PC Sandra Rees’ bare, semen-smeared hindquarters. She turned round.

“Sir, there’s an emergency...”

“I bet there was an emergency! You an’ someone else couldna wait, could you, despite the importance of the role you were entrusted wi’?”

“But sir,” she protested, “Cathy’s phone...”

“I’ll deal wi’ Cathy’s phone. Now off wi’ you! I’ll see you when the operation’s over. In the meantime, you’re suspended!” he proclaimed.

The full horror of the situation hit Sandra. Cathy Lindsay was very likely in deep trouble and if she obeyed the sergeant, the alarm would not be given. If she ignored him and hit the button, she would still have to speak several words. She tried it. She hit the alarm button.

“Atten...” She got no further as Patterson grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her back with her chair.

“I said OFF WI’ YOU! NOW!” he roared. There was only one thing to do. She rose, pushed the chair aside with one hand and kicked the sergeant in the shin. He yelled with pain as she lunged forward and got out the rest of the message:

“PC LINDSAY NOT RESPONDING. ALL OFFICERS GO!”

“Sarge, I saw that!” cried Darren, returning from the washroom where he had been longer than he’d expected. But Patterson had already grabbed Sandra Rees by the collar and hauled her upright, causing her opened trousers and wrecked panties to drop to her ankles.

“Take her off, Wilkins, put her in the storeroom and keep her under surveillance while I sort this emairgency,” the sergeant told him. He was happy to obey. But Patterson’s slow mind had experienced a thought. “It wasna you playing games wi’ her, was it?” he asked.

“Sarge, I’ve done nothing improper with her,” he replied, truthfully in his opinion, “but when I felt a bit sick and was leaving for the washroom, PC Blandford was just coming in and I saw him start chatting with her.” Probably nothing would stick on Blandford, the happy-clappy, preachy, self-righteous git, but the suspicion would do him no good.

All fight had gone from her now she had done her duty. Darren pushed her to the storeroom, shut the door and locked it.

“Looks like we’ll be together a while,” he said, grinning.

As soon as Inspector Sylvie Mackay could see everyone was reacting to the alarm, she knew she had to get out there. Her guilt about not risking herself as a decoy came back. A nice young girl, a good copper, had willingly risked her body and God knew what had happened to her. She, Sylvie Mackay, must be out with the action doing her bit. Let Glendenning do the commanding from a distance.

Julie De la Rue heard the message with horror. Cathy, Cathy of all people, was not responding. It might just be a technical fault, but the alternative was horrible to consider. They’d have a fix on her in a minute unless her phone had been turned off, but their routes had been pre-planned and Julie knew roughly where Cathy would have been walking. If she was in trouble, Julie wanted to save her. She began to run.

Walking steadily behind a line of bushes, Jerome heard shouts and a siren far off. That must mean the Feds knew something. Then he saw something surprising and interesting - the big-titted sister he’d considered earlier as prey. She had a desperate expression and she was running as fast as her big tits and azz allowed towards where he’d left that pig. There was only one possible explanation. The cunt was a pig. She was a Black traitor who had joined the Feds.

He stepped out in front of her just as she passed a lone tree. There was just a second in which her eyes met his and she recognised who he was. Then his fist tore deep into her belly. He gripped her neck and slammed her head against the tree trunk three times. She went limp after the second, so the third was to make sure and for fun. He knew now where to look for the alarm and tore it off her before lifting her over his shoulder. Being traditional in these things, he made sure her head hung down at the back and her big bouncy arse stuck up at the front, nestling against his neck and cheek. He could feel her breathing. That was good. If he’d killed her he’d have felt cheated, not only of a top-class fuck (you could fuck a dead one but it wasn’t the same) but also of taking her stage by stage through complete humiliation and enslavement. He slapped her fat cheek once, by way of saying “I own you now.”

Now he should run.

The Feds would be covering the exits by now, but he’d researched several alternatives. One of these was very near. The garden fence of a house backing on to the heath was easily climbed. The garden was quite large and on the other side, only an old, rickety and weak fence would stand between him and the quiet street where his van was parked. He reached the fence, threw the Black Fed over it to land with a satisfying thud like a sack of potatoes and clambered over after her. He dragged her across the garden to the weak section of fence and kicked a hole in it.

Two kids on bikes saw him, but no Feds and no adults who might do their civic duty.

The white van was pointing away from the heath already for a quick escape. He loaded the Black Fed in the back, taped her mouth, wrists and ankles, jumped in the front and saw fate.