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Old 09-05-2013, 02:26 PM   #1
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Default The Decoy

Decoy Duck, Tethered Goat, Pig-sticking - all these and more in this story of the hunt for a rapist! First just a taster to set the scene and get those taste-buds working:


“O.K., troops?” The assembled officers knew that although Chief Inspector Glendenning’s voice rose at the end as if asking a question, he was not asking them anything. He was saying, “Shut up and listen”.

Subject: the Tonford Heath rapist.” He paused for effect. “Catching the Tonford Heath rapist. Sylvie?”

A Glendenning briefing was traditional. A briefing by Inspector Sylvie Mackay, though, was likely to involve a powerpoint. Unlike most, though, she never seemed to start her powerpoint presentations by struggling to get the laptop working. Curvy but stern-faced, the blonde high-riser stared at the officers waiting on her word.

“This is the picture: five rapes and at least one attempted rape over nine months, the first two in Kelverley Park which of course is in Mason Street’s manor. Then the perpetrator moved on to Tonford Heath and committed two attacks on the Heath, one in a garden abutting the Heath and one in the car-park of a closed-down pub two miles away but on a road leading to the Heath. The CI will fill you in on the measures we’ve already taken. I’m here to analyse the information given by the victims on the attacker, his modus operandi, locations and characteristics of the victims.

Last things first – the victims. The youngest was eighteen and the oldest thirty-one. All female, of course, good-looking, fit and all alone at the time of the attack unless you count the dog. Five of the victims were white and the sixth called herself ‘dual heritage’ – African Caribbean mother and white Canadian father, skin fairly pale. Two genuine blondes, one bottle blonde, one brunette and two dark-haired including the mixed heritage one.” The display was showing photos of the victims and rearranging them into groups. “Now I don’t claim to be an expert on what men find a turn-on in women...” (there was a hint of a laugh somewhere)...”but four of them had large breasts and none of them were what you could call flat-chested. None of them were flat-bottomed either.” At that point somewhere there definitely was a snigger, but a little disturbance in the audience showed others disapproved and the sniggerer was Dave Crompton or Gary Brown. “My analysis shows no particular trends by height, colour of clothes or anything else.

As for the attacker, it’s definite that he’s an IC3 male, tall, well-built and strong. Estimates of his age vary from a lower extreme of nineteen to a higher extreme of twenty-nine, so much the same age range as his victims. Most thought he was in his mid-twenties. One victim thought he had an East Anglian accent, but most thought London, maybe West London. No hint of African or Caribbean. Some remarked on his wide face and large eyes – also not much neck. This is the photofit.” Even the two Black officers thought it looked pretty much like the average white person’s idea of a young Black man, unless that idea included dreadlocks.

Now – location. As you know, Tonford Heath has woodland, lots of paths and lots of bushes. It’s well used but rarely crowded. It seems that the rapist has fixed on it as an ideal location after Kelverley Park became too hot for him. It’s likely that the two incidents outside the Heath were opportunistic. He keeps coming back to the Heath. We’ve examined reports of other sexual attacks within a fifty mile radius and it’s my judgement that he’s not operating anywhere else. Times vary, but four of the six incidents (including the Kelverley Park ones) occurred in the two hours before dusk. No pattern about the days chosen. Cathy?”

The tall young redhead smiled nervously.
“Could that mean he works daytime including some weekends, but has evenings off?” she asked.
“Unlikely, since dusk has varied during the period by, oh, five hours? In any case, profiling is not today’s job. Now – modus operandi. He has ambushed one, but mostly he’s walking around, face partly obscured, for example by a rain hood. He asks the victim something – the time, the way to one of the entrances, whether she’s seen a small white dog – and then grabs her and drags her out of sight. He hits her two or three times, more to intimidate than to do serious injury. He sometimes gags her with masking tape, sometimes not, and then rapes her, whether she struggles or not. He hasn’t used a knife and he doesn’t threaten them to stop them resisting, so it’s likely he enjoys defeating their struggles. However, on the one occasion his attempt failed because he was interrupted by three male joggers, he showed them what appeared to be a knife to keep them back before he legged it. Rape is always both vaginal and anal. In two cases it was also oral, probably when he can confident the victim was intimidated. Finally if they’re still moving he secures their ankles with the tape, spits on them and leaves without a word. Sir?”

Glendenning took over again.

After the first two attacks, Mason Street flooded the area and did stop and search on anyone who roughly fitted the description. They did find one suspect, a strongly-built young IC3 male, carrying masking tape, but he turned out to be a jobbing plumber and moreover he’d been in Greece at the time of the first attack. Since they were stopping dozens of IC3s, they got warned they were damaging community relations, so they just stepped up patrols. Seems our friend decided to move on. If we’re too obvious, he’ll move on from Tonford Heath too. I’d rather we caught him. So this is what we’re going to do.” Attention sharpened. Here it came.

“Instead of clumping around stopping every young male IC3, or even hiding behind bushes with our arses sticking out as an invitation to shirtlifters, we’re going to put out decoys,” he announced. This had most effect on the young female officers, who looked excited or frightened. “Naturally this is an occasion when we can discriminate on grounds of sex, age and physical attributes. No flat-chested fiftyish blokes.” Most of the officers laughed. “The following are detailed to decoy duty...” At this point the hush was dramatic.

“...Sergeant Waller, DC Appleyard, PC De la Rue, DC Frampton, PC Lindsay, PC Pope, PC White, PC Wisniewski. We’re timetabling coverage for four evenings and on each occasion we’ll have six decoys out and two resting. Lindsay and White rest on day 1, Waller and Wisniewski on day 2, De la Rue and Pope on day 3 and I trust you can work out who gets a rest on day 4. Clear so far?” No-one spoke.

“Dress is up to you, but make yourselves attractive, right? Short skirts, tight jeans, tight top with no bra, that sort of stuff, you know the routine.” Again, this had mixed reactions among the women – but the men seemed to approve. “You’ll all be issued with silent alarms which will sound in our operations centre and we’ll be able to pinpoint your position as soon as the alarm sounds. We’ll have uniformed officers in the scout hut, behind the cafe and in vehicles at all five entry points. All we expect from you decoys is to walk about alone or maybe jog a bit and then walk, to look preoccupied (I-pod, phone, whatever), to look sexy and to stay alert. Above all, don’t sound the alarm on suspicion. Wait till the bastard attacks you. Struggle then, and if you can subdue him, wonderful, but remember he’s strong and although he doesn’t like to use a knife, he probably does carry one. Inspector Mackay and I will be in charge of the operation. Sergeant Patterson, PC Wilkins and PC Rees will be the nerve-centre, waiting for alarms, tracking and transmitting messages.” He went on to other details, times, locations and arrangements for start and finish.

Cathy Lindsay exchanged raised-eyebrows glances and nervous smiles with Julie De la Rue.

“Well – we’re both tiger bait!” she said.

“Yeah. Is it fun, or what? No, it’s a job to do professionally. Actually, he called us decoys, but tiger bait is nearer. Decoy ducks lure real ducks down to join them, not to pounce on them. We’re tethered goats for the tiger – or the pussycat!” Julie looked determined.

“It’s a bit scary, I admit, but it’s an honour. I almost hope he does go for me so I can get him,” Cathy said. “What about you?”

“He won’t go for me. He wants white stuff. I know that kind of guy. He probably thought that coffee-with-milk coloured girl was more or less white,” Julie stated. Cathy could see her point, but could also see why Glendenning had selected her Black friend. Her breasts were downright extravagant and if she hadn’t been blessed or cursed with big, protuberant buttocks, she’d have tended to fall over frontwards.

“Well, um, you might have some attractions for him,” Cathy said diplomatically.

“Big tits, big bum, you mean?” her friend replied. Cathy did not respond, except to say,

“Anyway, I’m probably too willowy for him.”

“Don’t count on it! I wouldn’t call you willowy, just leggy and athletic.” Cathy smiled.

“Actually, I hope you’re right. We’ve got to catch this monster and stop him harming other women. I’m really excited I might have the chance to do it. It’d be an honour.”

“Just remember it’s a team effort and don’t forget your alarm, Cathy.”

“We’ll sort him, won’t we, Jules?” The two young women play-punched and high-fived.

Except for their youth and fitness, they could not have looked more different, and yet they both knew they had a lot in common. Both had stayed on into higher education. Both had artistic interests. Both had pretty liberal opinions for the police. Both were handworking and intelligent. Both hated men who used their physical strength and ruthlessness to dominate women. It was not surprising that they were the best of friends.

Inspector Sylvie Mackay left the meeting confident that their plan was well-devised and much more likely to succeed than Mason Street’s clumsy tactics. Of course, nothing could ensure success, but she was sure if they failed to catch the offender, it would not be their fault.

There was just one thing that worried her a bit, in fact made her feel slightly guilty. Being only 29, with a fine figure and blonde hair, she would have qualified easily to be one of the decoys. Although the serious risks to each one of the decoys were quite small, it was entirely possible one might get hurt in a struggle, and of course, there was the underlying fear of the man succeeding in a serious sexual assault, though an actual rape was surely out of the question. She was asking other women to put themselves on the line. She would be happier if she was taking the same risk herself. But a senior officer had to take decisions coolly and rationally, and she had concluded she was more use to the operation standing ready at its nerve centre than walking around on a fairly small chance that she might be accosted. But it gave her a very real, almost motherly identification with the brave young officers who were putting their bodies on the line.

PC Darren Wilkins walked away alone, thinking hard. That snooty bitch Cathy Lindsay was among the decoys! The ideas of some big buck nigger grabbing her and raping her all holes made him want some private time. It would be only fair after she’d turned down his invitation, prissy cunt. Unfortunately, the chances of the villain picking on her were small and if he did, she’d use her alarm and the boys and girls would come running. But then would they? He was the technical guy in charge of the alarms. He had to check them and deal with any problems. Patterson was supposed to be in charge, but he was a complacent, lazy old git who would happily leave the work to Wilkins. Sandra Rees was brighter and more hardworking, but she was very new and would do what she was told, even if all she got was a gofer role. The wonderful, exciting idea was growing in Darren’s brain and transmitting excitement to his stiffening cock. He could fix that cunt Lindsay’s alarm so it didn’t work. He already had an idea of how he could do it and make it look like an unpredictable mechanical failure. It was still unlikely the rapist would actually pick on her, but if he did...FUCKING HELL! What a revenge! Even if the stupid bitch never knew her alarm had been a dud – what a revenge!
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Old 09-09-2013, 02:38 AM   #2
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(And now what you probably guessed, happens...but there'll be more to come...)

The next day was the only one of the three when both Cathy and Julie were acting as decoys. They wished one another luck: each saw in the other excitement and determination. Cathy had chosen a short, pleated tartan skirt to show off her long, lithe legs and a buttoned white top: she could leave a couple of buttons undone on this warm, muggy evening without looking too obviously tarty. Julie was presenting herself in tight blue jeans and a tight white top which showed no skin but also showed that her massive breasts were innocent of a bra.

“Julie, you look really sexy!” Cathy giggled.

“And what do you look, posh white woman?” Julie riposted. Then they became serious and clasped one another’s shoulders. There was work to be done.


As always, Jerome Hammond had prepared carefully, checking his equipment like a commando and driving by each of the entry points to the Heath to make sure there was no kind of problem. It was all fine and he felt good about this night. It was too warm to wear a rain-hood, but the bush-hat helped hide his features as did the phone he held close to his face, talking into it though it was not on. He wasn’t even the only big Black guy alone on the Heath, he noted with satisfaction, and he soon saw cunt. Or azz, rather, as she was waddling her huge azz across an open grassed area in front of him.

As he followed her and gained on her, though, he confirmed to himself what he had already suspected: she was Black. He did fancy raping that big, bouncy, wobbly azz, but he was more fiercely drawn to white cunt. He decided to let big-azz waddle on for a while and see if he could get him white azz instead. If he couldn’t, he could go looking for the sister and take her if he found her.

He walked on a bit and decided to hide in some bushes, from which he could look out without being seen. It was close to two paths and especially promising as one of the paths crossed a stream by a small bridge nearby, forcing anyone on that path to come close. A fat male jogger passed and then two kids with a dog. He waited a few more minutes with nothing happening. Then he saw her.

She was tall, white, and moved like an athlete. She was walking, almost dancing, down the path listening to music on her earphones. She was beautiful, and totally oblivious to what was waiting for her. She had long, red hair.

Jerome had never fucked a redhead, not by way of rape or otherwise. It was definitely an experience he wanted to chalk up, and it seemed to him now that a friendly fate was drawing the redheaded cunt right into his clutches. She just kept on coming; and he could now see that she was singing under her breath to the music.

He stepped out, walking steadily as if he’d just come down another path.

“Er...excuse me, madam,” he said, putting on a slight foreign accent, maybe French, “I’m supposed to be meeting someone at the Stephen Street entrance. Do you possibly know where that is?” She smiled, took out her earphones and apologised prettily for having to ask him to repeat his question. She was a real gift! But his alert senses did pick up that behind the smile, she was somewhat wary. Well, she’d heard girls had got themselves raped on the Heath. It hadn’t stopped her coming out alone there, though, the slut. She gave him directions and inevitably had to turn away from him a bit to point. He grabbed her by the unbuttoned top of her white blouse and pulled her into a good, meaty punch to her neat, pretty mouth. He felt lips squash and teeth crunch. He wasn’t always that rough, but this babe was really making him hot, and hot for him meant angry. She groaned. He hit her again, with force again, but this time a flat-handed swipe which knocked her head sideways. Just a big slap to show her who was boss.

“Don’t trouble me, slag, and you won’t get hurt much more!” he said, and dragged her behind the bushes.

He did not notice that as he dragged her, those slim fingers felt for her belt and pressed something.

Cathy was in pain – and shock, despite all her preparation. The bastard had hurt her and he was horribly big and strong. But she was triumphant because the others were going to get him and by doing her duty, she’d got him caught. He didn’t know it, but he was history.

He threw her down, ripping her blouse right from her tits, showing a pretty white bra with translucent bits. One muscular hand pressed round her slim neck as if he was thinking of strangling her while the other lunged between her tits and gripped the central bridge of her bra. He pulled it straight off her lovely, plump, firm, sweet-nippled white tits, pulled it until something snapped and twanged and he could toss it away.

Cathy realised it would take a minute or so for her colleagues to race to her rescue and they probably wouldn’t want to make a lot of noise doing so in case the rapist took fright too early and escaped. The speed with which her breasts had been bared scared her. Her face hurt but she was going to have to fight the bastard as hard as she could – not that she was reluctant to do that. She didn’t want to actually get raped.

“Nice tits, white trash!” the man sneered. She scratched his left hand, hard and deep, with her right. He screamed. She aimed her knee at the huge bulge in his jeans, but he’d jerked back when scratched and she merely slightly winded him in the belly. Still, he was shocked and the initiative was with her as she tried to rise to...

He buried his huge right fist in her belly. She fell back.

“CUNT!” he yelled, stamping on her right hand. The pain was awful, but she knew her colleagues were about to burst upon him. He was going to get retribution for all the pain he was causing her, all the pain he’d imposed on other women.

Jerome was angry with her. No woman had dared scratch him before. Who did this prissy white cunt think she was? He’d teach her respect. She was wearing a short, pleated tartan skirt, almost like a mini-kilt. He pulled it up and got a look at his target. She had pale blue panties, plain except for a thin white border, and tight over a nice little bush. He approved: thongs were too tarty, as were black panties. With the hand he hadn’t stamped on, she tried to pull her skirt down again, so he picked on one of her fingers and pulled it back. She let go of her skirt pretty quick and he left it at that. He loved that moment when the cunt realised he was so much stronger, if she fought on, she’d just get hurt worse and still get fucked anyway. Still, it might be best to rip her fucking come-on skirt so it couldn’t drop down and spoil his fun. He tore it apart and with one more tug he had it ripped right from hem to waist. He pulled the two ends out from over her cunt and let them flop to the ground. Her little pink belt had popped open and he threw it aside. He could just see the slightest sweet little crease in her panties where her cunt began. Things like that mattered to him: he wasn’t a wham, bang, thank you ma’am type. He was a wham, enjoy all the subtleties of tits and panties and wriggles and appeals for mercy, bam, take that, slut type.

“Let’s have a look at your nice white azz,” he said to her quite quietly, almost politely. He gripped the top of one arm and the side of her panty-waist and flipped her over. The ease with which he did this underlined how strong he was, how much stronger than her.

Fuck, what an azz she had on her! Plump, round, white, not sagging at all but quivering softly to her fearful, heavy breathing. Both white cheeks bulged out of the protecting panties, but comically, after her struggles the left one was nearly three-quarters free and bare, while the right one was nearly three-quarters covered. He just had to take a photo of that before he ripped them off. But first she deserved a spanking for fighting him, for scratching him, for being white and for having a cunt.

Cathy was now very bewildered and frightened. Why hadn’t the others come? Surely they should have got here by now. There was only one possible explanation – they hadn’t received the signal from the alarm. Maybe it wasn’t working – but maybe she hadn’t pressed it hard enough. Where was her belt now? She could just see it to her side. Thankfully, it was to her left side and she could reach for it with her unbroken hand. Could she do that without the rapist noticing? He was holding her down but not doing anything else for the moment, so his attention was almost certain to be caught by any unexplained movement on her part. So she’d better wait till he was distracted.

SPLAT! The sudden, sharp, stinging pain seared her bottom. He’d spanked her! She didn’t recall that he’d done that to any of his other victims. No, she wasn’t a victim and she wasn’t going to be. SPLAT! The part of her buttocks under her panties stung almost as much as the bare part, but the direct contact of his big, muscular, sweaty hand on her bare cheeks sent a more powerful message of his mastery of her. SPLAT-SPLAT-SPLAT! She tried to stay silent, but she was shrieking. She remembered the alarm. Now was the time to try to press it again. She writhed as if in reaction to the pain and contrived to thrash her arms so the left was stretched out and her hand touched her belt. She had to feel for the alarm button, though.

His massive hand grabbed her slim wrist. He squeezed – and squeezed harder. He just did not stop squeezing still harder and she was forced to cry out. He looked into her eyes for the first time since he’d grabbed her. She saw anger, hunger, power, determination. He was going to crush her wrist-bones if he didn’t stop.

“Please...” she began.

“What’s this on your belt, darling?” he asked slowly, almost lovingly. He eased his grip somewhat.

“On my belt? What...what...” she said. He tightened his grip again.

“Don’t fuck with me, white cunt!” he said, pulling her head up until any more would have snapped her neck and leaning over to leer into her face. “This thing on your belt you were trying to get at – interesting little gizmo, isn’t it? Do you know – I think it looks like some kind of alarm. Only it doesn’t look like your average girly alarm, does it? You wouldn’t be a cop sent out to trap me, would you, darling? ANSWER ME – FAST!”

He got a kind of answer, for she burst into tears. He loved the bitches crying, especially before he’d raped them. It showed they knew they were overpowered, defeated, mastered.

“FAST!” he repeated.

“Oh, God, please...” she began. He gave her nice red hair a little tug upwards to remind her to stick to the subject. “Oh, God, yes, I’m a police officer and yes, I’m a decoy.” The words rushed out. “That thing is an alarm, you’re right, and I pressed it as soon as you attacked me and my colleagues will be here any moment.”

“BITCH!” He slammed her face into the ground. Unluckily for her that bit of ground was not soft grass, but hard, bare dirt. When he jerked her head up again her face was decorated with bits of grit, tiny twigs, two cigarette stubs and a used condom. He pushed it down again and ground it in. “Well, then, darling, I’d just better get a move on with raping you!” he drawled.

He was dubious right away about those Feds she said were coming. If she’d pressed the alarm right away as she claimed, surely they’d have been on the scene by now. Maybe she’d lied and she hadn’t managed to press the alarm – and maybe she’d pressed it and for some reason it hadn’t worked.

Anyway, get on with fucking the bitch. He hooked his finger in her panty-waist, dead central so he felt it slip into the beginning of her piggy arsecrack, and pulled them right up so he could see the whole of her nice, tight arsecrack. The effect was comical but short-lived. He quickly moved his other hand across and ripped the pathetic panties from top to bottom, tugging them out from under her with contemptuous ease. He sniffed their delicious bouquet of cunt and pocketed them for a trophy to add to the others.

What had he got here, then? An absolutely delicious azz. It was plump, round, firm, white and quivering beautifully as she sobbed. He took a handful from the undercheek up and squeezed hard. He felt her tense in response, so he squeezed harder. He let go and slammed his big, strong hand so hard into her piggy cheek that it flattened like a squashed fly before rebounding just in time to take his second swat. She squealed in between the convulsive sobs.
Get on with it. He pulled her arsecheeks wide apart so he could study her tight little shithole. Lower, a few strands of red hair came into view and a hint of her piggy cunt. He’d take her up the azz first. She probably wasn’t a cunt virgin, but he strongly suspected she was an azzhole virgin and he was going to take that away from her. Pity she hadn’t been in uniform, because then he could have opened up her hole with her own baton. Never mind – he’d use a finger instead. He stuck his index finger in, encountered resistance and kept pressing. Her ring gave way as he knew it would and he shoved his finger as far up her as he could.

When he pulled it out he saw that it was smeared with pigshit. He wiped it clean on her face. Then he mounted her.

Although he had already brushed aside her ring, he still did not find it easy. Her arsehole was just too small for his massive cock, but he was not a man to be defeated by a little thing like that. He just kept pressing till in it went. She was beautifully tight and her weak, pointless struggles delighted him. His belly pressing against her bouncy arsecheeks, he rammed her in a powerful rhythm till her hole overfilled with his cum. When he finally pulled out there was blood as well as cum up his triumphant cock. He wiped it on her torn skirt. Then he turned her over. The tightly-curled red bush was almost as pretty as her cunt, he thought. He hooked his fingers in the hair and tugged hard. The hairs resisted and only a few came out in his fingers. He tugged harder and got a good handful. He held it up to her face.

“Eat, pig!” he ordered, “Or I’ll fucking pop you off!” Either she believed him, or she was totally crushed and subjugated. She opened her mouth and swallowed.

There were definitely no Feds coming, so she’d lied about using the alarm or it hadn’t worked. Nonetheless, it might include some kind of homing device and if it was working, it was best not to leave it where the bitch might get at it. He ripped it from her belt and threw it into the stream, where the current carried it away.

Now for her cunt. He fucking wasn’t going to be hurried the first time he raped a pig. He shoved two fingers up her, feeling her writhe and shoving harder in response. She was gripping him tight, the little whore. He moved his fingers around and was satisfied that she was getting juicy. He pulled them out and sniffed them like some people sniff a rose. He was getting firm reminders from his cock and he wouldn’t frustrate his old friend any more.

Her cunt looked pretty small to take his big black cock, but he’d shoved it in her arsehole so he didn’t doubt he could get it up her cunt. She did wail when he shoved it in, so he assumed he’d hurt her, which was cool. She was tight, she was wet and she was everything he’d ever wanted to fuck. He held on to her nice squashy tits as he rammed her with such power that she seemed to be just a toy stuck round his cock. He got the idea his cock was going all the way up to her little piggy brain and fucking her there.

He was not far wrong. He was indeed fucking her brain and it would never be the same again. All her beliefs, all her self-image, all her self-confidence, all her professionalism were being crushed like grapes beneath the relentless pounding of his massive weapon. He had mastered her.

Despite her loathing for him, despite her despair, she felt something welling up in her...no, she must not! She couldn’t stop it. She cried out. He hooted in triumph.

Like any good predator, Jerome did not let himself get so taken up by the kill as to forget to look out for danger. Just after that hoot he checked for any approaching cops, but there was neither sight nor sound of them.
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Old 09-09-2013, 07:07 PM   #3
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Yes! great story so far! Bring on that big black chick's ass! Can even take a bite? lol
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Old 09-10-2013, 02:45 AM   #4
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Will do, cracker, I'm arranging it! Her sense of duty and her affection for her redhead friend will prove fatal, lol!
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Old 09-12-2013, 08:30 AM   #5
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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.
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Old 09-23-2013, 02:06 PM   #6
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A white cop cunt had come running out of an alley and seen him jumping in. She stood in the road speaking into her radio. It was pretty obvious what to do. He fired the ignition and drove hard at her. She wasn’t entirely stupid: she stopped her radio chatter and sprang on to the pavement. But his blood was up, he was angry at the fucking Feds for trying to catch him and if he let her alone, she might get his van’s number from the rear. He had to slow down to drive on to the pavement, or he might well burst a tyre. She hadn’t expected the van to mount the pavement. She saw him coming and froze, beautiful fear in her face. He hit her hard enough to throw her up on to the bonnet and her nice big azz flattened against the windscreen. He braked hard and she rolled off a bit to the side. He put his foot down and felt two thuds. The second was from coming back off the pavement.

He couldn’t resist braking again so he could look back at her. To his surprise she wasn’t just lying there like a squashed rabbit only with different ears. She was trying to get up. Her azz was up in the air and he had to admit it looked cool. He also saw something he hadn’t noticed before in the heat of the moment. Her shoulder-markings said she was an Inspector. Raping an inspector was something he couldn’t let pass. He’d never forgive himself. So he didn’t drive off and he didn’t reverse to finish her off. He jumped out, grabbed her by her collar and her blonde hair, dragged her to the back of the van and loaded her in. She was dazed and didn’t resist much, but otherwise she looked in surprisingly good shape. She’d been lucky – or not. As he dumped her she made a move one arm. He stamped on her hand and hit her in the mouth. The blood from that was the only blood he could see, but he’d have to give the van a good clean-out. He needed to hurry, but he reckoned it was worth cuffing her wrists with her own cuffs. Then he was on his way with the most valuable cargo he’d ever carried.

One police car with siren sounding and light flashing hurried in the opposite direction a minute later, but no-one followed him.

Some way on, he pulled into a parking space, parking carefully and showing no signs of urgency. Like a good citizen, he’d stopped before using his phone. No point getting nicked for something unconnected to rape, especially with two pigs in the back.

The female voice on the other end sounded amused and indulgent.

“Sweetheart, I’m a bit tied up at the moment, or rather he is. Still, you’re ringing me at work so it must be important, yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve got two pigs in the back of the van.”

“Are they searching it?” she misunderstood. “No, shit, you mean you’ve taken two of them – two bitches? You never took your work home before, not your special work.” He picked up the unstated question.

“The fuckers were after me, setting a trap with decoys. Only something went wrong for them, ha ha, what a shame. I got away and picked up two of them when they tried to stop me.” He could tell her the whole story later including about the redhead he’d already raped.

“UN-BE-LEEEEVABLE!” she cheered. “Two of them tried to stop you and you got them both?”

“’Sright,” he confirmed, trying to sound matter-of-fact, as if he raped and kidnapped multiple policewomen every week. “When’ll you be back home?”

“Couple of hours, maybe a bit less. Fuck, I’m looking forward to seeing them. Can I play with them?”

“Yeah, ‘course you can, lovebird. Bring your equipment. Bye.”

“Fantasies, fantasies!” she said to the waiting middle-aged white man whose flabby body was strung up facing the wall, wearing nothing but old-fashioned women’s suspender belt and stockings. “My boyfriend. Ideas for a role-play.” His eyes responded but his mouth could not because of the ball gag.

A banging started at the back of the van. He went round and found the inspector cunt had rolled to one side and was thumping her cuffed fists against the metal. He gave her a good kick up her uniformed arse and forced her legs back until he could tape her ankles to her neck. She looked good, like some kind of fantasy picture on the net. He tapped his foot lightly against her cunt to make his point and left her. There was no more banging as he drove on.

The house wasn’t that big, but it had a small garage to the side of the front door. It was just big enough for the van and it meant he could open the garage door on remote and drive right in, so there was no risk of anyone seeing what he was unloading. The garage had a connecting door with the house.

He moved the inspector first and he could have believed she was just a big sex doll. The Black cunt was different. He’d trussed her up at the mouth, wrists and ankles, but she’d woken up and her eyes spelt not fear, but hatred. He was quite surprised at this. She was going to be interesting. So she got the message, he didn’t lift her over his shoulder this time, but picked her up by the ankles and carried her that way, letting her head bump against everything in its way. He threw her on top of the inspector in the dining-room. He could move them later, but for now this room had the advantages of having some space, having a table and not having windows to the outside. He could take them up to a bedroom or down to the cellar later when Elise had come back.

He’d met Elise when he’d been on holiday in France and had gone to an interesting night-club. She’d been performing. Her parents had been from Mali in the old French African empire – mostly Black African, but a bit of Arab had got in somehow. Something in Jerome – a hint of power and ruthlessness, maybe, or maybe his politeness, attentiveness and attention to detail – had attracted her. She’d already been earning most of her money from being a dom, but she’d heard Englishmen were into “The English disease” and the Scots had caught it too, so when things got serious with Jerome, she was willing to uproot. He had a decent job, but she brought in much more money than he did.

They’d often discussed rape fantasies and when he’d started doing it for real, she’d known from the start though he hadn’t actually told her until he brought her a ring from one of his victims. Now from time to time he brought her gifts from them, a camera maybe or some nice panties. They saw themselves as fellow predators.

Now he had two piggies trussed up in the house and about an hour in which to prepare them for Elise. He didn’t want her to miss anything exciting, so he wouldn’t do much to them for the time being. But he could at least strip them. No, she hated the pigs and she’d be disappointed to miss the uniformed cunt getting stripped. So that left the Black cunt with the gigantic tits and azz.

He stood over them, turning over the Black one so they could both look up and see his face. He wasn’t hiding it and they’d both know what that meant. He ripped the tape off their mouths. The Black one took advantage of that right away.

“What have you done to my friend?” she demanded. “Is she...” SPPLACK! He reckoned he’d never slapped a bitch so hard before. It stopped the haughty cunt in her tracks.

“YOU SPEAK POLITE TO ME, PIG BITCH! SAY PLEASE!” he ordered. She looked frightened now, but still determined.

“Please – the officer who wasn’t responding is my special friend. Please tell me if she’s all right,” she managed.

“She white, tall, red hair, long legs, round azz?”

“Erm...yes.”

“Yeah, I fucked her azz and cunt and I carved her a bit. Why?”

“You carved her?”

“Yeah, She your lezzie lover?”

“NO! We’re just, I mean, friends and colleagues. Did you really carve her?”

“Yeah, but only a cool little picture on the azz. Nothing to what I’m gonna do to you and your Inspector cunt, Miss Coconut.” She showed that anger.

“I’m NOT a coconut!” He slapped her, almost casually, as if to point out he could hit her hard whenever he liked.

“You’re whatever I say you are, coconut bitch!” he told her. Fighting the pain and the blood and struggling to make words, she asked:

“You didn’t kill her?” He smiled.

“Nah, she was still breathing. I want her to remember me, especially in her dreams!”

“Leave her alone! You won’t get away with this!” It was another voice – the white inspector cunt. He hammered his fist into her mouth and shut her up, leaving blood on her nice crisp uniform shirt.

“Oh, dear me, I’ve annoyed the Inspector!” he gloated. “That is seeeerious! She’s coming to get me!” He paused. “So I’m not gonna get away with this am I, pig? Like your operation was gonna catch me? Were you in charge of it?”

She stared at him with hatred, gulped, and replied:

“I was second in command.” They were both disappointed. As soon as she’d spoken she wished she hadn’t replied to him at all. He would much rather his captive had been in charge of the attempt to catch him.

“You’re not in command of anything now, darling. I command you,” he told her. “I’m not gonna strip you now because my girlfriend’s coming back and she HATES pigs. I want her to see you in uniform before we take it off. You do look HEEELARIOUS doubled up like that with your piggy azz stuck out. Is it comfortable?”

“No, it’s not,” Sylvie Mackay responded.

“Tough,” said Jerome. “Now this big-titted Black pig is one of yours, yeah? She was under your command and it’s because of you she’s gonna be my slave and get raped and a whole, whole lot more? IS THAT RIGHT, INSPECTOR PIGGY?”

She didn’t reply immediately, so he clenched his fist and stared at her left eye. She got the message.

“She is under my command and she was following instructions over on Tonford Heath,” she replied.

“So she’s here because of what you did?”

“Yes.” He smiled broadly.

“So it’s fair enough that I make you watch everything we do to her, yeah?” She didn’t reply but this time he wasn’t bothered. “Right, let’s get Miss Coconut ready for the fun,” he said. He did the whole thing slowly with exaggerated gestures as if it was ballet. Off came her trainers, but he left on her bright yellow and black socks.

He paused.

“Oh, sorry girls, we haven’t been introduced. I’m the Tonford Rapist, right? I haven’t even found out your names. Let’s look.” He found the Inspector’s ID easily, but had to search longer for Julie’s. When he’d got them both, he held them up like some kind of announcer.

“Let me introduce the white pig, EEEEENSPECTOR Sylvie Mackay – we’re gonna inspect her very closely soon – and coconut pig CUNTstable Julie De la Rue. Foreign name, innit, Julie? Exotic, like some name on a card in a phone box in Soho. Are you a whore, Julie?”

Julie just shook her head, so he took hold of her ear and twisted it till she shrieked.

“Answer me, pig!” he ordered.

“No, I’m not a whore!” she wailed. He let go.

“Oh, but you are, darling, and I’m gonna prove it to you,” he told her. He took the neck of her white top in both hands, tensed for a moment, and ripped it from her big, black tits.

He’d seen that she had huge tits, but it was still a dramatic moment. What could he call them? Enormous, bulging, juicy, inviting – and now, wobbling and moving in and out prettily with her deep breaths.

“Miss Piggy, you have one hell of a pair of big, black jugs!” he told her, fondling and patting them. “How often do men get their hands on them?”

“You pervert!” the Inspector hissed. This time he didn’t punch her, but just gripped her ear and twisted it, slowly, lovingly, more and more until she screamed.

“I could tear this pretty little piggy ear right off, white trash,” he pointed out. “Shall I?” He listened with a smile to the reply,

“NO, PLEASE, NO, DON’T!” and let go. She didn’t interfere again.

Jerome turned to his other captive.

“I ASKED YOU HOW OFTEN MEN GET THEIR HANDS ON YOUR MASSIVE JUGS, PIG. YOU HAVEN’T ANSWERED!” he hectored. Then, much more quietly, he added. “Here’s my knife. It’s very, very sharp. How many jugs do you want to keep?”

“Both, both, two please!” she replied in a panic. “And only one man touches them, my boyfriend!”

“Got a boyfriend, have you? Oh, yeah. Just noticed. A nice ring. That platinum?”

“Gold.”

“That’s an engagement ring, innit? So, you’re engaged to your boyfriend. How nice. Is he black?” There was a slight pause and a dropping of her gaze before she replied,

“Yes. He is.” Jerome’s understanding of practical psychology was good.

“You’re lying, cop cunt!” he hissed. He drew the knife lightly down the side of her breast, leaving a thin red line. “He’s white, innit?”

He was surprised at the cop cunt’s reaction. She burst into tears. He waited a bit, slapped her and asked again.

“Yes, he’s white,” she admitted. “Why shouldn...Oh.” He’d grabbed her other tit and the knife was poised.

“Your fucking ancestors were slaves who opened their legs to white masters,” he pointed out. “You’re still doing the same, fucking coconut. And for what? I bet he’s got a miserable little cock.” He pulled out his own magnificent version. “Is it this big? IS IT, PIG?” She stared at his cock like a rabbit caught in headlights and burst out crying again. A slight motion with his knife stopped her.

“No, it’s not. It’s not that big,” she answered.

“You pathetic show-off! What do you think’s so sp...” the Inspector began, speaking for the first time in a while. He slapped her hard enough that he wouldn’t have been surprised to see her head fall off and she shut up. You had to train them – and some of them learnt quicker than others.

“Time to see your azz and cunt, Miss Piggy,” Jerome said conversationally to the Black captive, lumping her over tit down. That was easier said than done, as he struggled to get her tight jeans down over her massive arse and hips. Still, he was strong, something ripped and suddenly the jeans slipped down, revealing her massive buttocks. Or almost revealing, because she was wearing panties, and moreover, to his amazement they covered the entire arse. They were an unusual colour, a warm amber, but without any decoration. There was a price for the amazing coverage: they were skin-tight. He knew people used the term “skin-tight” almost routinely – jeans were never just tight, but skin-tight – but the pig’s amber panties really were skin-tight, like a second skin, and taut as a drum over her arsecrack. It was some cool sight, one he immortalised with his smartphone. He reconsidered. He’d meant to strip the pig naked for Elise to enjoy, but now he thought she’d like to see just what he was seeing now. He’d leave them on for now.

“Shit, where did you get those panties, Pig?” he asked. “The elephant house at the zoo?” She didn’t answer, so he smacked her great fat buttock twice, hard. The vast overflow of juicy pork was constrained by those tight panties, but still it recoiled, deformed and bounced back each time. He loved her scream, but knew he should reserve the rest of her screaming for Elise.

While he waited he could lift both their watches, their money and anything else worth taking. The Black bitch had a really cool watch which looked new. He tried to pull her ring off but couldn’t budge it. The white bitch had a ring with a diamond and he pulled that off her. She protested, as if she had some right to the thing, but all he had to do to shut her up was smile close in her face and spit in it. She got the message.

He counted their banknotes and estimated the coins. From three pigs he’d collected over £110! This business was profitable.

It hurt Julie horribly that this devil was taking her nice watch, which Tony had given her for her birthday only two days ago. He was going to rape her, that was for sure, and he was humiliating her all he could. He’d not been bothered about showing his face, so he might even mean to kill her. But she must hang on to some vestige of decency. She kept Tony’s smiling face in her mind. She would do that whatever this bastard did to her.

Sylvie Mackay lay and fought with her conflicting emotions. She was scared – and she felt a senior officer ought not to be so scared. She was going to be raped and very likely killed if no rescue came. But she was most hurt because she had been responsible, under Glendenning, for this operation and it had gone so horribly wrong, with awful consequences for Cathy Lindsay and probably worse for poor Julie De la Rue. The perverted, sadistic bastard had pummelled her into submission so she dared not intervene on Julie’s side again, but she still felt responsible for her.

One other thing began to disturb her. She wanted a pee.

Jerome heard the front door go. Elise was back early. Now things could really get going.

Meanwhile, PC Sandra Rees was sobbing in a dark room. She had been sobbing for a long time. As soon as she’d been left alone in the store-room with Darren Wilkins, she’d known what to expect. He hadn’t finished with her. He was stronger than her. Sergeant Patterson wouldn’t believe her if she complained. So when Darren ordered her on to her knees, pulled out his cock and told her to take it in her mouth, she obeyed. She hated it, and hated it all the more for his noisy enjoyment. She felt defiled. He said she was a slut and he was right.

Then someone had opened the door. A grim Sergeant Patterson had ordered Darren out.

“Right, lassie – you were supposed to contact all the officers on decoy duty and you failed to contact PC Lindsay on time. As a result she was cruelly assaulted, beaten and raped.” He stressed the last word, the rolling Scottish R making it sound worse. “That is dereliction of duty and besides that, you assaulted a fellow officer and a superior, namely me. Yir career is at an end.” He let it sink in. “There’s only one way you can save yourself, and that’s if I decide not to report the assault. Now why should I do that?”

She walked over to him, knelt and unzipped his flies.
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Old 10-03-2013, 05:20 PM   #7
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Can't wait for you to post the next part of this great story!
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Old 10-04-2013, 05:17 AM   #8
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Thanks, curious. I'm working on it!
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Old 10-12-2013, 02:03 PM   #9
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Jerome and his two captives heard light steps. The door opened and a tall, stern-faced Black woman, dressed in a lightweight coat over black leather and carrying a black bag, stood taking in the scene. She took two steps forward and stopped to get a good look at the captives. Nobody spoke. She locked eyes with Jerome.

“Shit, big man, you are one hell of a Great Black Hunter!” she said. Stepping forward, she stood over Inspector Sylvie Mackay. “A fucking inspector! What a catch! Hi, blondie – looking forward to big black cock? What’s wrong – swallowed your tongue?”

“She only talks shit,” Jerome informed her. “I left her in uniform so’s you could strip her.”

“Oh, you MARVEL!” cried Elise, hugging and kissing him. “But now – what HAVE we got here? A Black piggy with GIGANTIC tits and arse! There’s enough pork there to feed all the poor kids in England! And you’ve left her huge panties on for me to take off!”

“Thought you’d like that,” said Jerome proudly, filled with warm feelings at having so pleased his girl. “Do you want to strip her first, or the white bitch?”

Elise considered this.

“Looks like the white pig has had it easy so far,” she said. “Let’s strip her and then she can watch us having fun with her house nigger. But sweetie...”

“Yeah?”

“I want to fight her first.” Somehow Jerome was not surprised. He merely nodded and started releasing the white cunt from her bonds. “You can let her have her stick, but not her CS gas,” Elise specified. He followed her wishes and also uncuffed her. The Inspector was lying on her back, robbed of her CS canister and her radio, but otherwise fully equipped to do her duty as a police officer.

“I hit her with the van,” Jerome explained to his girlfriend, “so she may have a broken bone or two.” Elise frowned.

“I want to crush her in a fair fight. If she’s got broken bones it’ll be too easy,” she said. “I know – YOU, PIG, STAND UP!” Sylvie Mackay had no wish to obey orders from this pair, but she could hardly object to standing up. She realised she’d have no chance of besting both of them in a struggle, but once she was on her feet, she could make a run for it. Maybe she glanced slightly towards the door. Maybe Jerome was wise to others’ low cunning. He stood squarely in front of the door that led to the house’s front door.

The Inspector had stood up. She looked somewhat groggy and moved stiffly, but there was no obvious sign of pain. Jerome put her chequered hat on her head.

“She looks OK,” Elise said. “Did they train you in unarmed combat, pig?”

“Yes!” said Sylvie, drawing and extending her baton in one fluid movement. Without warning, she rushed the Black girl. Elise smiled and kicked her in the stomach. The movement was so fast that neither Jerome nor Julie saw it properly. The Inspector doubled up, dropping her baton, so Elise hammer-kicked her in the tits. She stumbled back and her plump arse splatted against the wall. Elise walked very slowly towards her victim, smiling, eyes gleaming. She picked up the baton. She stood in front of the shocked, cowed officer and moved the baton around so her frightened eyes followed it. She brought it low and viciously slammed it into her enemy’s tits from below. With a cry of pain, the officer crumpled to the floor, her hat falling off. Elise grabbed her by the hair and hauled her out to the middle of the room. As she was dragged, a dark patch spread around the tops of her trousers.

“The filthy slut!” said Elise. “She’s pissed herself!” She threw the inspector’s shoes off and ripped her shirt open, revealing a pale blue bra and tits of an unusual shape, not unlike bombs or airships. She planted one foot on her victim’s stomach and pulled out the bra by the bridge till it ripped. She threw it away with contempt. The Inspector was moaning. Elise spat in her face and grasped both her tits, forcing each outwards as far as it would go. The defeated woman screamed but Elise just kept pushing and smiling. When she finally let go, the tits returned to their proper position and Elise bit one.

The Inspector’s scream was dramatic. Jerome wasn’t sure whether his girl was aiming just to hurt or to feed – but when her head came up, the official tit was still complete, though decorated with blue-black toothmarks.

“One thing about white cunts – they mark better,” Jerome commented.

“They’ve been selectively bred for thrashing,” Elise agreed. She undid and slid out the Inspector’s belt and opened her trousers, revealing yellow panties with black polka dots.

“Don’t forget her shoes. You can’t get her trousers off otherwise,” Jerome advised. So the sensible shoes came off, revealing salmon-coloured socks. Elise paused to tickle under the Inspector’s feet, making her writhe. Then she took hold of the waist of her trousers and tugged them down to her knees.

“Looks like Miss Senior Piggy doesn’t shave,” Elise observed. “Quite a bush there.” She poked at the place in question. “Eurgh! It’s sopping wet with her piss!” she complained. Pulling a face, she returned to getting her victim’s trousers right off. Jerome looked away for a moment to see how the Black pig was taking all this. There were tears in her eyes. This amused him.

Elise dragged the Inspector’s wet yellow panties down to her knees, paused like a householder deciding just where to put a new ornament, and left them there.

“Yes, a big, thick bush,” she said to Jerome. “But it’s wet and stinky. It won’t be any fun to fuck her like that. We could wash it and dry it with the hair-dryer or...” Jerome could see she was itching to suggest something else.

“Or?” he prompted.

“Or shave it and make her eat the stuff. Which’ll it be? We could toss a coin.”

“Nah, I go for shaving it, only not with my electric razor, with my knife,” he replied. “You like that idea, Pig?”

“No,” said the Inspector weakly.

“Good – that’s decided then,” he said. “We’ll shave it. You want to shave her, sweetie?”

“YES, PLEASE!” said Elise, taking the small, sharp knife from him. “You just hold her still.”

“Oh, I don’t think Miss Piggy’ll move,” Jerome replied, “or she’d get cut, wouldn’t you, white trash?” He stared into Sylvie’s shocked, bewildered, fearful eyes. For all her rank, this one was soft, he thought, a natural sub. Elise smiled as she scrubbed out her victim’s curly fair pubic hair, making a neat pile of it. She picked it up carefully and held it to her victim’s face.

“Eat!” she ordered. There was a brief pause. Then the Inspector’s mouth opened and Elise stuffed her hair in it. “Swallow!” she barked. The Inspector swallowed, coughed, and began to cry buckets. Elise looked at her with contempt and triumph. She positioned the knife, grinned at Jerome, and nicked the white woman’s mound of Venus, bringing out a tiny amount of blood. The sound this produced, halfway from a scream to a wail, made both captors laugh.

“You got your equipment?” Jerome asked his woman. She grinned and they locked eyes, understanding much without words. Elise brought her bag and laid out the contents: a bullwhip, a riding switch, two canes (one heavier and knobblier than the other), a choice of ball gags, a black hood, nipple clamps in three different colours, two different paddles, a hairbrush, two different kinds of strap and a choice of four different dildos. Jerome understood that she wanted him to choose. He wrenched round the white police cunt’s head so she could see the selection.

“Just the thick cane and the hairbrush this time, I think,” said Jerome judiciously, sounding like a dentist asking the nurse for a particular drill or filling. “You ever been caned or spanked before, Pig?”

“N...no,” she replied.

“Do you want to fuck her now, or wait till we’ve got the Black one ready?” Elise asked her man. He considered.

“I’ve got a whole load of stuff in mind for the coconut, so I might as well fuck the white slut now,” he replied. “Inspector! Get on your hands and knees with your azz sticking out!” The Inspector hesitated. “MOVE IT, BITCH!” he yelled. She got on her hands and knees and tentatively stuck her plump, pear-shaped white arse out. “LEGS APART!” he ordered. She moved her legs further apart, letting him see her cunt.

“This one was real easy,” Elise commented. “I think she’s a natural sub.” Jerome was staring at the display – one cunt and one neat little star of an arsehole. Which one to plug first? Why not be really considerate and ask the pig?

“Now I’m gonna rape you, white slag. I’m gonna fuck you up your cunt and your azz. Which one first? It’s up to you – AND I WANT AN ANSWER, BITCH!” he said. He didn’t get an answer quickly, something that he put right by holding the knife close to her face. Then she answered, but not in the way he wanted.

“Please, not up my backside, please...”

“SHUDDUP!” he yelled. She was silent. “I AM gonna fuck your fat piggy azz, get yourself used to that. I ASKED YOU WHICH FIRST – AZZ OR CUNT?”

“Cunt, please,” she answered.

“She’s asking you to fuck her up her cunt,” Elise commented.

“Yeah,” he replied. “OK, bitch – take a good look at what I’m gonna shove up you.” He held his massive, ramrod-stiff cock close to her face. She looked suitably impressed: in fact, she looked like a rabbit staring at death approaching in the form of a stoat. He jammed it in her face just below one blue eye and shot a load over her stupid piggy face. One blue eye continued to stare at him: the other was bunged up. Moving slowly and deliberately, he prowled round to the back of her and bent to sniff first arsehole and then cunt.

“Smelly bitch, aren’t you?” he said. Then he seized both her buttocks, pulled them apart and rammed her. That got a reaction, a sort of groan, a weak sound. She wasn’t as tight as the decoy cunt had been, but he wasn’t complaining. All the way he was remembering that she was a fucking inspector, someone who’d helped plan the attempt to catch him, someone who bossed around men and women under her command. Now she commanded nothing, not even her own body. SMASH went her authority. SMASH went her feminism. SMASH went her proud opposition to fine, manly rapists. SMASH went her once-well-guarded cunt. Her whole body was jerking with every smash.

“GIVE IT TO THE BITCH! GIVE IT TO HER! YEAH, YEAH, YEAH!” cried Elise.

“YOU LIKE THIS, PIG BITCH?” Jerome asked her, still pumping his seed into her conquered body. Her answer wasn’t very coherent:

“Um...yes...oooh...oh, God...yes...”.

“YES, MASTER!” he insisted.

“Yes, oooh, master, aargh!” she replied. The cum spurted and dribbled out of her lips, down her legs and on to the floor. He pulled out, smacked her plump, white buttock hard, twice, and asked Elise to hand him her baton. He examined it and smiled. He showed it to Sylvie.

“Whaddya carry this for, pig?” he asked. She knew better than not to reply.

“It’s for self-defence against violence,” she said.

“Did you a lot of good, didn’t it?”

“It isn’t meant for use against a van,” she replied. “Aaaaaaaoooow!”Elise had stepped forward smartly and kicked her up the cunt with her shiny leather boot.

“Show respect, pig!” Elise insisted.

“Sorry!” the Inspector moaned. “Sorry, yes, you were too quick for me.”

“Tell us you’re no good at this police job!” Elise ordered.

“I’m no good at this police job.”

“Tell us you’re just a useless slab of white pork.”

“I’m...(there was a short delay while the Inspector’s sobs got the upper hand)...just a useless slab of white pork.”

“Say ‘I want a stick up my arse’.”

“I want a stick up my arse.”

“I’m a kind-hearted sort. You’ll have what you want,” said Jerome. He examined the Inspector’s baton as if he’d never seen one before. He knew it could be snapped open so it extended. He decided to extend it. He had difficulty believing the thing wasn’t meant as a rough sex aid. He shoved it firmly up Inspector Sylvie Mackay’s arsehole. She moaned and tried to crawl away but Elise held her firm.

“Can’t you push it further?” Elise asked him. He tried hard and pushed it further. The Inspector wailed with pain. For the first time in a while, they thought to look at the Black pig. She was crying.

“Sweetie, I want to have very special fun with her,” Elise wheedled. Jerome grinned.
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Old 11-07-2013, 03:39 PM   #10
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Default The Decoy

“Me too – fucking coconut. She deserves all she’s gonna get. You hear that, Miss Piggy Coconut? Hey, that’s what PC stands for, Piggy Coconut, yeah? Julie just stared at him, wet-eyed. “You saw what we done to your boss cunt. Did you look up to her, Miss Piggy Big Tits?” he asked.

“Yes, I looked – look – up to her,” she replied.

“Don’t you think she gave in easy? Look, she’s our slave now,” he taunted. He suspected the Black pig was made of tougher stuff than the inspector and he hoped he was right, because it would be more fun breaking her down – but he knew she wouldn’t want to admit to being disappointed in her boss.

“Can I do absolutely whatever I like with her?” Elise asked her man.

“Yeah, just as long as you leave something for me to fuck,” he replied. They both enjoyed the scared, helpless look on their captive’s face.

“I want to hang her up,” said Elise.

“Fine,” said Jerome. “Better just secure the white cunt first, though.” In fact he reckoned the Inspector was so thoroughly enslaved that she wouldn’t even try to escape, but there was no reason to risk it. Elise had a black leather collar and thick metal chain in her equipment and soon the Inspector was chained to a door handle.

“I’ve changed my mind,” said Elise. “Can you free her up, sweetie – no tape and that? Great. Now let’s give her a chance to get away. Would you like that, Miss Coconut? WOULD YOU LIKE THAT?”

“Yes,” said Julie.

“Then RUN! Jerome stood between Julie and the door they’d come in by, so she ran for the other door. She found herself in a sort of corridor. Down one way, towards the house’s front door as she thought, she saw a side door open. She couldn’t see a back door at the other end, but a flight of wooden steps rose right in front of her. Maybe it was possible to jump from an upstairs window on to something that would break her fall, or maybe she could shout for help.

Jerome and Elise arrived at the foot of the steps to see a huge amber-pantied arse wobbling its way up them. The sight was too attractive for them to hurry in pursuit. Elise threw her keys at it and struck it smartly in the middle of the right buttock. Jerome threw a pound coin very hard and it disappeared in her arsecrack. She screamed. They ran in pursuit. They were both made for quicker progress than their quarry, but she had a head start and made the top of the steps. She was faced by a landing and four closed doors. She headed for the nearest and almost grasped its handle, but Jerome brought her down with a rugby tackle and was left with his face buried in her arse. It smelt good. He was happy that he’d get to know it more closely. Elise planted one foot on Julie’s back, ground it in and posed in triumph. She saw that the black pig’s huge tits were being squashed and planted her foot higher, directly opposite the tits. She pressed down as hard as she could. Jerome slapped the giant, quivering arse smartly. Elise jammed her foot down one last time and came over to the arse, which she bit hungrily. Two sharp teeth cut through the thin panty-material. The pig squealed.

“Tastes good,” said Elise, “but pork isn’t very good for you, is it? Too fatty, they say? Perhaps we hang her now?”

“Suits me,” said Jerome.

He thought about where they could find something the Black Fed could be hung from, bearing in mind she was heavy, and decided it’d have to be the bathroom or the garage. He decided on the bathroom: after all, if they hung her over the bath and she bled, the problem was easily solved. He wasn’t quite sure Elise just meant to string the pig up and not to hang her by the neck, but with Elise, you could never be sure. Elise cuffed her hands behind her back with the inspector’s cuffs and they dragged her up the stairs, not worrying about her head, tits or thighs bumping as they went. After all, she was well-padded and she had a thick head or she wouldn’t be a cop.

They dumped her contemptuously on the bathroom floor. Pipes ran across the ceiling and Jerome was pretty sure they’d take the strain. They wouldn’t be able to hang her very high, but that was fine if they wanted to get at her tits and arse while she hung there.

“I want the chain AND the rope,” Elise said. Jerome stood on a stool as Elise took rope and chain from her bag. A short length of rough, hairy rope went round Julie’s neck and Elise tied the end to the chain. Jerome attached the other end of the chain to a pipe, dragging Julie upright so that she had to stand on tiptoe to avoid pressure on her neck. She watched in fear and confusion as Jerome approached with a long length of thinner, smoother rope, almost cord rather than rope. He was staring at her titties and she didn’t like his expression. Grabbing one tit roughly, he looped the rope round it and drew a noose tight at the base of her tit. Soon Julie was suspended not by her neck but by one tit, which was being pulled up to point at the ceiling. The noose tightened, making the tit balloon out. The cord was now looped around the pipes and the far end was held by Elise. Jerome joined her.

They were pulling the rope. Their combined strength lifted Julie higher, pulling her breast away from her body. It was no longer like a balloon but shaped more like a club. She began to scream. Elise secured the rope around a bath-tap. Two feet hung and jerked two inches above the floor of the bath.

“How long before it comes off, do you think?” Elise asked her man. He took his time thinking.

“Couple of minutes, maybe five? Dunno. Let’s see,” he replied.

“NO, PLEASE, NO, LET ME DOWN, PLEASE...” Julie cried. “OH, NO, WAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

“I think I’d like to hear that again,” said Elise. “Sweetie, do you feel the same?”

“Yeah,” said Jerome. Elise took a couple of packets of some powder and a big towel and placed them under Julie’s feet so she could just take her weight on the balls of her feet.

“That better, piggy?” she asked.

“Oh, God, yes, it’s better, but I can’t keep this up, my feet are hurting more and more, I’ll...” Julie babbled. Smiling devilishly, Elise began to tickle the underside of her feet. An extraordinary mixture of screams and giggles followed. Julie kicked – and the supports collapsed, jerking the noose far tighter around her bloated tit. Elise waited ten seconds before putting the supports back.

“Let’s get her boss up to see the fun,” she suggested. “Bring my black bag up, sweetie.”Jerome left and came back pulling the inspector by the chain. She looked horrified by what was being done to her subordinate, but she was helpless and cowed. Jerome decided the time had come to get rid of those amber panties. He took them by the waistband from behind and ripped them right down to her cunt. With one more tug they were converted to a dirty cloth and wafted down off the policewoman’s body.

“Shit!” said Jerome. The full glory of the Fed’s arse had unfolded before him. It had looked vast in those amber panties, but they had trapped it and held it in. Now it bulged out unrestricted. The funny thing was, this chick seemed basically quite fit. The only other arses that size he’d seen had been on fat, overweight waddling women. She was shivering and that made the huge buttocks wobble and quiver like a landslip about to happen. She had an arsecrack like the Grand Canyon. He jammed his hand in it, between the tight, warm, sweaty buttocks, and she screamed.

“Shit, pig, that azzcrack is so deep your whitey boyfriend must go in it with a rope-ladder and crampons,” he jeered. “No way can his cock get through to your smelly piggy azzhole!” He pulled his hand out and smacked one giant buttock hard. The vast, wobbly mass flattened, the captive animal screamed and one foot slipped off the supports.

The scream was magic. He smacked her again and the other foot slipped off.

“Oh, dear, this thing’s tit’s coming off,” said Elise. “Do we want that?” Jerome took his time to reply while the screaming went on.

“Nah, not yet,” he said. “Let’s take her down. You want that, Miss Piggy?”

“AAAAAAAAIAAAA...yes please, please....IAAAAAA...” Julie responded.

“Couldn’t quite hear that. You mind repeating that, constable?”

“AAAAAAAAAAH! Pleasetakemedown! Help!”

“Right. Now let’s see – how do we do that?” he mused. He loved the mixture of screaming and burbling coming from the pig, but it looked like her tit was going to go any time now. He had his knife, so he cut the cord. She collapsed in a quivering, ungainly heap in the bath, gasping, moaning and sobbing, her vast buttocks wobbling like a giant jelly.

“What a mess!” said Elise contemptuously. “What did you use this thing for, Inspector – a mattress? A small arms target? A doorstop? Manure? I WANT AN ANSWER, YOU INSOLENT WHITE PIG!”

“She’s a uniformed constable and a good, dedicated one!” the Inspector replied. Jerome slapped the side of her head hard.

“I want a proper answer, not that shit!” he shouted. She’s a fucking useless big lump of pork, isn’t she?” He stared into the Inspector’s eyes and she could not hold his gaze.

“Yes,” she said.

“Let’s get the fat bitch out of the bath. The bedroom will do,” said Elise. She helped Jerome load Julie on to his broad shoulder and pulled the Inspector along behind. “The dressing-table, not the bed, I think,” she said. Jerome dumped the policewoman tit down on to the solid dressing-table. She lay there like a beached whale, quivering but not resisting as they pushed pillows under her belly and arranged her so her legs were dangling down, her arse was thrown up high and her neck and waist were tightly roped in place. Jerome lightly smacked one huge buttock. He pushed it sideways, making the vast crevasse of her arsecrack yawn wide. Elise giggled. She laid a choice of implements on the bed: a long, vicious whip, three canes of varying thickness, two decorated paddles, a black leather strap and a large wooden spoon. “Do you want to choose?” she asked Jerome. He picked up each object and examined it, knowing the fat Black pig was watching.

“I reckon we could use all of them, except maybe only one of the canes,” he replied at length. “And one of those paddles.”

Julie was trying desperately to keep that smiling face of her beloved Tony in her mind through all the pain and humiliation and the threat of death; but it was getting harder and harder. Sometimes his smile seemed to be crudely painted on, like a child’s bad artwork. She’d gathered that these two half-mad sadists meant to beat her with various implements, and she supposed it couldn’t be as bad as being raped, but this bastard was going to do that to her in his own time. If only he’d get it over with.

“I’ll give you a lesson,” Elise said to her man, staring at the vast, quivering, wobbly target. “You can start with the sharp stuff – canes and whips – but most people start with the things that make her arse go SPLAT and then when it’s warmed up and sore go it for the kill with a cane or whip. That’s what we’ll do.” She picked up the wooden spoon. She held it close to Julie’s face and demanded,

“Hey, pig - what’s this for?” Julie knew that not replying meant extra punishment.

“For cooking, for stirring stuff,” she replied.

“WRONG!” Elise crowed. “It’s for smacking your big fat piggy arse! Just like this!” She began to whack the huge, wobbly mass with the spoon, hooting with excited laughter. Jerome cheered and clapped. He could see just why Elise had made this strange choice: being beaten up with a wooden spoon was massively humiliating, ridiculous and painful at the same time. The giant arse was flattening and distorting one way and another, rebounding and wobbling, under the assault. From the thing attached to the arse came a weird mixture of sobs, shrieks and wails, with even a few simple words like “Help!” and “No!”. Elise danced around the target, darting in for yet another cunning shot, giving particular attention to the thing’s undercheeks.

After Jerome turned down a chance to use the spoon himself, she exchanged it for a wooden paddle. It was leaf-shaped, intricately decorated on one side, but plain on the other, and had a narrow slat in the middle. She stroked it, kissed it and raised it high. Down on the fat black policewoman arse it slammed with such a crack that two bottles on the bedside table wobbled. Julie’s scream continued long after her arse had rebounded. Elise locked eyes with Jerome and delivered another cruel blow. The fat pig’s arse was flattening more with the paddle than the spoon, and Jerome noticed with fascination that each time it struck, a bit of fatty rump squeezed up through the slat. Elise gave her eight and made to hand the paddle to him. He took it.

It felt good in his hand. The handle featured several small rings that made a good grip easier. As for the target, wasn’t there something about a barn door? But a barn door was flat. He raised his arm as high as he could, and he was a big, long-limbed man. The paddle came sizzling down and pulverised a wide area of plump buttock. The wretched traitor, the fat pig, was wailing, shrieking and snivelling beyond his wildest dreams, and all at his command. SPLAT! Serve the slut right! WHAM! Who’s laying down the law now? Elise’s eyes were gleaming: she seemed impressed. He made sure he covered every square inch of the giant target. It didn’t mark like a white one, but it was getting darker. It was a bit like tenderising a steak, he thought, a real big one at that. He recalled there were other implements still to use on it, and handed the paddle back to Elise.

“Maybe using the strap is a bit de trop,” said Elise. “Not on her derriere, anyway. It’d go well on her tits, though. Watch.” Julie’s giant tits were partly squashed under the weight of the rest of her, but they were far too big, bouncy and firm to disappear entirely. There was quite enough for Elise to target. There was nothing quite like one woman torturing another one’s tits, thought Jerome. Elise certainly seemed to be enjoying it, but the cop cunt was shrieking and wailing so much she might explode. Elise stopped. “The cane before the whip, I think,” she said. She selected the medium cane and flexed it in front of Julie’s face. Then she slashed Julie across the face with it, leaving a red weal across her cheek. “Oh dear, I’ve caned your face,” she hammed. “I’m afraid it’s a very easy mistake to make because your face looks very much like your arse.” The only reply she got was sobbing and wailing. She positioned herself behind the huge, gently quivering arse and stared hungrily at it. She raised her arm, smiled, and cut into the massive target.

Jerome saw the thin cane bury itself in piggy arseflesh. “Like a knife through butter,” he thought, and there was something exciting about the very thought. The pig screamed, the cane withdrew and the arseflesh bounced invitingly back. A red line formed across the buttock.

Julie’s bottom was already a burning mass of pain, but now a fiercer pain cut in like a sharp sword. She did not think she could stand much more. She tried to think of Tony, but Tony was leering, his eyes gleaming, a bulge in his trousers. The sword sliced in again.

“It’s easier to see on a white one, but even on this thing you can see if I make pretty patterns,” Elise told her man. “Look – I lay the cane across that line and we have a cross!” She illustrated the point by slicing a big cross on each of Julie’s buttocks. “Where the cane cuts into the line made by an earlier stroke, it hurts EX-QUIS-ITE-LY,” she explained. Then the most obvious target is the fat, blubbery bits in the middle of the arse, but you can hurt her more if you strike higher or lower. See, the top bit has very little padding.” She struck and the policewoman screamed. “On the other hand, this bit down her just around her cunt is wobbly and well-padded but VERY sensitive. We in the trade call them undercheeks or underbuttocks. They’re very pinchable.” She pinched the sore and throbbing flesh. “Hit them and you should be able to get the biggest scream of all from her.” She gave Jerome a little affectionate joke punch and sliced the cane into Julie’s undercheeks. The scream was truly impressive. “You try,” she suggested.

Jerome was in a wonderful dream, slashing and cutting at the giant wobbling, quivering, flinching, rebounding black buttocks of the pig. The swish of the cane, the crack and soft crushing sound of the impact, the wails and screams of the pig, the red weals with which he was magically decorating her arse, seemed wilder, more noble, sexier than any drug high. She was his to slice. The redder he made her, the more she sobbed. And this thing had once been a police officer set on catching him and putting him in prison!

Finally he had had enough. He stopped, but the policewoman kept on sobbing and quivering.

“Now for the whip,” said Elise. “I think our fat piggy would like to have a good look at it.” The fat piggy even stopped sobbing to stare at the evil instrument. The handle was jet black and as thick as the thin end of a baseball bat. From it snaked a long, sinuous, waxy projection, also black. At the end were three tight little knots, spaced about three inches apart. “I’m going to use this on your big, fat arse, piggy,” said Elise.

“Nooo, please!” said Piggy.

“She wants it, sweetie – she said please!” Jerome commented.

“She’ll get it!” said Elise. She knew just how far to position herself behind her target. She was an expert – but she wouldn’t have had to be an expert to hit that massive target. “It’s just about raw meat now, that thing, so this is going to hurt her out of this world!” Elise continued chattily.

She was quite muscular, Jerome thought, as she drew her arm back to strike. It was kind of a moving target, because the pig was quietly sobbing and this made her buttocks quiver, but Elise was going to land her cut where she wanted.

The whip zipped through the air and cracked on one huge buttock. The arse convulsed and the pig let out a full-throated scream. He hadn’t imagined it: a few flecks of blood had spat out from it. Now Elise was preparing for her second shot. He’d thought it would be on the other buttock, but instead, brilliant girl, she hit the precise same place so it burst into raw red. He’d remember that scream for the rest of his life. He’d get off on it dreaming in the night. Now Elise cut into the other buttock. A couple of strokes later, she asked Jerome if he wanted a go. He turned it down because he couldn’t imagine his untrained arm doing nearly as well. He just wanted to watch Elise flay the fat coconut pig. She gave the big, wobbly arse eighteen cuts, the last two snaking right into the arsecrack. Now the great lump was as red as it was blackish-brown and the thing attached to it was making a constant, confused, animal groaning mumble.

They let her lie and quiver and moan for a minute. Then Jerome grabbed her frizzy hair and hauled her off the bed, throwing her down in an untidy, groaning, wobbly lump on the floor. He jerked her head round so she was staring up at him.

“Look at her!” he sneered. “This fat bit of shit was out to arrest me and put me in prison. Can you believe it? OK, coconut, I want to hear you admit what you are. Admit you’re a fat, useless cow.”

“I’m a fat useless cow,” Julie mumbled in between sobs and snuffles.

“Admit you’re a pig and go OINK, OINK.”

“Oh, God. Oink. I mean, yes, I’m a pig. Oink, oink.”

“You know what pigs are good for, don’t you, fatarse?” Elise prompted. She didn’t immediately reply, so Elise cracked the whip. The pig burst out crying, but she was struggling to speak and finally she achieved it:

“Pigs are for eating.”

“She says pigs are for eating,” Jerome observed to Elise. “Didn’t know that, did we?”

“Admit you’re a coconut,” Elise told their victim. The reply was another burst of sobbing – and then,

“I’m a coconut.” Julie felt utterly humiliated. She couldn’t handle the awful pain in her bottom, she’d been forced to say horrible things, her most private parts were on display and she knew she was about to be raped by the rapist she’d been trying to catch. She tried thinking of Tony, but the Tony who came to her mind was leering and cheering the torture.

During all this, the Inspector had remained silent, just watching. She looked horrified but too frightened to say anything. Now Jerome turned to her.

“Not much fucking good, your subordinate, is she?” he asked. “She’s a coconut and a useless cow and a pig good for nothing but pork. And her tits are so big she’d have to drive a car from the back seat.” The Inspector just stared at him, too scared to say anything. “This one can’t even talk,” he said. “OK – time to fuck the coconut, yeah?”

“Yeah,” said Jerome. Too right it was time. Inside that vast, deep, dark crack he knew there was a neat little piggy arsehole. Below it he could already see nice juicy cunt-lips peeking out. Pigs weren’t just for eating.

“Remember I’ve got a knife, pig?” he said softly. “Spread your legs and keep them spread – or I’ll carve a nice juicy steak right out of your fat black azz!” To his delight, she obeyed. Now he’d be able to get at her arsehole as well as her cunt easier. He knelt. “Here it comes, Piggy!” he said, but it was his fingers he shoved roughly up her cunt. Shit, she was wet, and tight, too. American rednecks fucked pigs, didn’t they? Maybe they had a point. He shoved his fingers up as far as he could, enjoying her moans. Elise was yelling at him to go for it. Right, he would.

He grabbed hold of her fat piggy thighs and felt them give. They were slippery with sweat and a bit of blood. Her cunt, her arsehole and her sweaty fear mingled in one delicious bouquet. He rammed into her, shoving on, on, till he’d buried his massive cock. It was just in time. He gave her all he had.

Julie had known what was coming, but it was still a shock. It was so big, so stiff. It felt like the bastard was splitting her apart. She imagined two half-Julies rolling apart and the rapist still pumping. She hated him. She would not be mastered by him, not in her soul. But something horrible, something that should be wonderful, was happening.

Jerome knew what the bitch’s wail meant, but there was something of despair in it too.

“Sounds as if she likes you!” Elise said.

“I’ll see if she likes me up her azz,” Jerome replied. “Maybe I should lubricate it.” When Elise brought him Extra Virgin Olive Oil, he laughed. “She’s no fucking extra virgin,” he said. But he jammed the bottle up Julie’s arsehole and half-emptied it. Then he rammed it, right between those massive buttocks, and shit, it was tight. The cry this time was simply of pain. He was squashing those giant heaps with each thrust, forcing the meat outwards, but still it bounced back and still the pig sobbed and wobbled. It was a long time before he pulled out, wiping the smears of shit off his cock on to her face.

“So what do we do with her now – her and the Inspector cow?” Elise asked.


(This is, of course, a work of pure fantasy. The author does not condone actions like those portrayed, especially those about to happen...)
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Old 11-08-2013, 03:21 AM   #11
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loving it thanks
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Old 11-11-2013, 05:57 AM   #12
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Thanks, Gerald. That's praise from a master!
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Old 12-15-2013, 11:02 AM   #13
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“Take them back to the bathroom,” Jerome said. Elise had no idea what lay behind this, but happily helped by dragging the Inspector by the hair while Jerome dealt with the much heavier Black pig. “I want their hands tied behind their backs, both of them,” he said when they’d arrived. “We’ll put them both in the bath for the time being. Now I’ve got to get something.” He left and Elise amused herself arranging the two pigs so Julie was sitting on her boss’s face. That could have been fatal for the Inspector. Julie’s efforts to get her rump off her superior merely embedded the older woman’s face deeper between the vast, dusky buttocks, while the Inspector’s squirms, jerks and kicks had little effect. Worse, the frightened and confused Julie farted. But Elise knew Jerome would be displeased if he came back and found one of his captives dead – he’d want at the very least to watch her dying – so she tugged the white pig clear. Jerome came back with more beer and packets of dried apricots, figs and prunes. He tore the packets open and dragged the Inspector up to a kneeling position. “Eat – fast!” he ordered.

She ate. Elise had no idea what he was up to, but she amused herself rubbing the stiff bath-brush up and down the fat Black pig’s huge flayed arse. It was very effective in removing more skin. Jerome watched the Inspector eat all the dried fruit. He motioned Elise to share a beer. They lounged around doing nothing much, watching the cowed policewomen too hurt and afraid to do anything except what they were ordered to do. The black one looked up at them with an unspoken question which they ignored.

Jerome looked at his watch.

“That should do,” he said. “Help me drag the fat coconut bitch to the toilet.”

“I don’t need to go,” Julie whimpered, but Jerome just chuckled. He didn’t want to sit her on the toilet. With Elise helping, he shoved her head down the bowl, face looking up and body angled away from the cistern. Elise had hold of both her ankles and was making sure her legs were both stretched out straight and well apart. This allowed Elise to stare straight up her cunt. Jerome left Julie’s head and dragged the Inspector over.

“Please – get her out. I need to, er, evacuate my bowels!” the Inspector pleaded.

“Miss Prissy White Piggy needs to evacuate her BOW-WELLS!” Jerome taunted while Elise giggled. “She don’t shit like normal people. Maybe her shit’s white too!”

“Please!” the Inspector cried.

“You want to shit, then talk shit, bitch!” Jerome told her. “Say you want to shit!”

“I...want...to......shit,” the Inspector quavered.

“Of course you can, darling,” said Jerome. “Just straddle that toilet bowl and let fly. Here – I’ll help you.”

“But...” she protested. That was all she could manage before Jerome pulled her over the bowl and pushed her shoulders down so she was squatting over Julie’s face. She let fly. In the moment of letting go she heard an indistinct voice, Julie’s voice, saying “No, please, no, please...” but it was too late. A stream of loose shit hit Robbie’s face, some of it going in her open mouth as she pleaded. She shut her yes just in time but could feel shit sealing the eyelids. The Inspector could do nothing but finish her shit. Jerome dumped her in the bath and returned to the toilet.

“I need a piss,” he said loudly. He pissed on the pig’s face, aiming especially at her eyes and mouth, but washing most of the shit off.

“So do I!” said Elise. As the pig spluttered, they changed places. Elise lowered her trousers, squatted and pissed on the pig. She got up and stared at the spluttering, snivelling, shit-smeared, piss-soaked object that had been a policewoman’s face. She took a photo with the flash.

They dragged the wretched thing out and threw her in the bath, where they cleaned her up with cold tap-water.

“Sweetie, there’s one more thing I’d like to do to her,” said Elise, snuggling up to her man.

“Yeah? What?” Elise went to her bag and pulled out a monster dildo. It was roughly in the shape of an erect penis, but bright red and with little spines towards the end. Behind the bulging balls were plastic straps. She stripped, lower half only, and fastened the strap-on to herself.

“Over the bath will do,” she said. Soon Julie was bent over the side of the bath, her vast rump presented, her head low in the bath. As Elise stared hungrily at the official arse and the well-used cunt, Jerome put the plug in the plughole and ran the cold tap. Elise rammed the dildo between Julie’s lips, mimicking manly thrusts. Julie’s mouth and nose went below the water-line. She writhed around, trying to find air to breathe, and managed to take a quick gasp. Then Jerome forced her neck down again – and all the time there was more water. The pig was desperately trying to save herself from drowning while Elise fucked her. It was so much better than if she was keeping still, Elise thought. It would be hurting her more, which was good.

Jerome was a good judge of when the pig would die. Just in time, he pulled her head up so she could gasp in air. Then he turned the tap off – but plunged her head down in the water again. Elise went on thrusting. After all, she was a strong woman, and with the strap-on there was no problem of running dry. A second time Jerome allowed the pig to live when a moment more would have killed her. After the third, Elise was finished. Jerome pulled the spluttering, sobbing, quivering lump of pork out of the bath and dragged her towards the bedroom, while Elise took charge of the Inspector.

“We can’t let them go now – they’ve seen too much,” she said. “Have you got any ideas what to do with them?”

“Maybe some,” he replied, “but I’ve never taken them home before, so this is a new situation. I get the impression you’ve got a suggestion.” The black pig and the white one were both listening.

“I know a bunch of guys from back home, living in London,” she started. “They run black girls into Europe and make good money out of them. They tried to run me when I turned up here, but I spoke to a couple of my regular clients. One was a police inspector and the other a very rich guy who could get people to do any job for enough money. They sorted these guys out between them. One of them was put in prison, one of them was found in the Thames and the others got the message. So instead I did some business with them on my terms. Now they’re not only running black cunt into England, France and Germany, they’re running white cunt into Africa. Not many, but the money is big. A police inspector, a young one with good tits and arse and a cunt in usable condition – that would be very big money indeed, and plenty of it for us, my sweet. Do you like the idea?”

“Too right I do,” he said. “What about the coconut slag?”

“They won’t have any use for her. No market in Africa for black imported ones – there’s too many locals. They couldn’t use her in Europe because it’d be too risky. No, in money terms, she’s worthless.”

“So what do we do with her?”

“Whatever you like, sweetie.”

“Could use her azzcrack as a flower-pot, or a holder for some of my tools?”

“Or a letter-rack?”

“Nah – letters’d disappear in it.” Elise was silent for a moment, considering.

“English people have pets. We could keep her as a pet – and fuck her too, of course,” she suggested.

“We’d have to feed her,” Jerome pointed out.

“Dogfood,” said Elise.

In a dusty, African small town, the sun rose to its full, oppressive height. Thousands of flies sought shade or food. Many, drawn by interesting smells, settled on a figure in the middle of the market clearing. The figure twitched, but the flies ignored the twitches. They crawled over the fine breasts, the face, the belly, the buttocks. They investigated the arsecrack, the cunt and the mouth. Inspector Sylvie Mackay could keep them out of her mouth but not the other places. She was naked except for her chequered uniform police hat. She was tied around the waist to a wooden post. Her ankles and wrists were tied to posts on either side but further forward, so her legs and arms were spread. A thick, studded leather collar enclosed her neck and its chain was fixed to the post. The sun beat down on her. She sweated and the sweat attracted the flies.

Children came to stare at her. Nervously at first, they poked and sniffed at her breasts, bottom and cunt. The boys inspected mysterious parts closely while the girls tickled her and giggled.

Men and women came to stare at her – the women with contempt, the men with interest. They too poked and prodded, and examined her cunt with particular attention to detail, but this was business, not play, even if bulges and gleaming eyes did show pleasure. Two men did not come to her, but sat on wooden crates at a distance and watched, lazy-eyed, their sub-machine guns across their laps. One was a thin youth and the other older and plumper. Men came to them from the white woman and there were brief conversations. The men left looking disappointed or resigned. Then a fat man came. Fat oozed over the back of the collar of his pinstripe Western suit which he wore open-necked with a bright red shirt.

Ignoring the guards, he waddled up to the captive. He squeezed her breasts, stared in her eyes, grunting when she fled eye contact, and prodded her belly. He stumped round the back, opened her buttocks and stared into the crack. He sniffed and frowned. He stumped round the front and stuck a finger up her cunt. After a while he withdrew it and sniffed. He stared at the captive again, noting her still downcast eyes. He waddled over to the guards and spoke briefly with them. He drew out gaudy banknotes and counted a large number into their hands. They stood up and bowed slightly. Slave Sylvie Mackay had a new master.

Sandra Rees lay on her prison bunk and sobbed. After the terrible events that day on Tonford Heath, Sergeant Patterson had made clear to her that she would have to continue to co-operate if he was to protect her from misconduct charges. This meant regularly submitting to his clumsy lechery. He came to assume her vulva, her bottom hole and her mouth were his. That naturally led to him lending her to his close business associate, a local criminal chief. He’d enjoyed her and taken videos that would finish her in the police if they got out. That mattered, because she was still trying hard to be a good, conscientious officer. But the villain had seen profit in her. He’d ordered her out on the streets and blackmailed her with the videos. So she’d done what he wanted. In a way it wasn’t so bad, as not all the clients were as arrogant and repulsive as the criminal boss or as rough and stupid as Sergeant Patterson.

But then she’d been caught. A punter had turned out to be a new DC she hadn’t recognised. He, though, recognised her. Moonlighting as a prostitute constituted misconduct in public office, a criminal offence. Her efforts to smear Sergeant Patterson and the newly-promoted Sergeant Wilkins made a very bad impression. Police officers who find themselves prisoners in jail have a very hard time and she was no exception. But the big, butch female prisoners didn’t just want to bully her. They wanted their fingers up her cunt, followed by the stolen pepper and salt dispensers, and her lips on whatever they chose. She soon gave up trying to say no.

Jerome and Elise had enjoyed having a pet for a while. Dogfood cost more than they’d realised, but Julie could be fed on discarded scraps too and she only needed a little help to use the toilet. They even trained her to carry things around the house and to work as a footstall. Jerome wasn’t in the least worried that she might run away, as he’d chopped both her feet off.

After a while, though, they grew tired of her. She did cost a fair bit to keep, she needed attention and she just didn’t have the liveliness and character of the best pets. Maybe a guinea-pig would be better. Jerome had abandoned Tonford Heath but was continuing his career in other suitable locations, and he was not short of cunts and arseholes. So Elise’s news was welcome.

“That gang I dealt with have contacted me again,” she told her man. “They’ve got unusual clients. A bunch of far-right guys in the West Midlands are having some special guests, white supremacists from Mississippi and Alabama. It’s a kind of business meeting but they mean to have a good time, drink, music, barbecue, shooting contest. They wanted to order a black girl, preferably not the usual country girl forced into prostitution but someone who’d had some authority. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Will they mind no feet?” asked Jerome.

“The gang guys are checking that out, but they seemed to think no.”

“What price?” asked Jerome.

Soon after the deal was made. But Jerome insisted on one condition. When they’d finished with the pig, there was one thing of hers he wanted returned.


JUST ONE MORE EPISODE TO COME!
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Old 01-15-2014, 11:48 AM   #14
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One day Elise had a new client, younger than most. He was obviously fascinated by her services, but not sure which options to take.

“OK – tell me your fantasies and I’ll find something to suit you,” said Elise.

“Bondage,” he said, “with a lot of violence and rape.” He looked up, but Elise was simply waiting for him to carry on. She’d heard all that many times before. “If a woman turns me down, she deserves to get raped,” he added. She nodded. “I done that to a bitch once,” he confided. He looked worried, but Elise reassured him.

“Darren,” she said, “whatever you tell me in here stays here, OK? If you’ve raped someone, that’s fine by me.” He hadn’t told the full truth to anyone and this frustrated him, for he felt proud of his clever trick and delighted with what it had brought on that prissy cunt Cathy Lindsay. He told the whole story. It seemed to be going down well: the Black whore with the funny French accent was impressed.

“This happened where, Darren?” she asked.

“Tonford Heath. Why?”

“No charge for today. There is someone I’d like you to meet.”

Cathy Lindsay recovered slowly from the physical and mental effects of her brutal rape. She did not recover at all from the disappearance of her best friend Julie, and the realisation that Julie had probably been rushing to save her when she had met her fate did not help. Massive efforts by the police had failed to find any sign of the fate of either PC De la Rue or Inspector Mackay and they were generally assumed to be dead.

Unlike Sandra Rees, Cathy had received full support from the police service. She was still a serving constable, just on long-term sick-leave. She received counselling and responded well so she was now ready to return to work. Even more vital to her recovery than her counsellor was her older sister, a junior hospital doctor.

It was the last evening before Cathy went back to work at the police station and her sister Chrissie was with her. The two sisters looked very similar, except Chrissie was a little more generously-breasted and her hair was dark brown, almost black, instead of red.

“I don’t know what I’d have done without you, Chrissie,” Cathy said. “I couldn’t have made it. You’ve been a marvel.” Chrissie smiled.

“Cathy, sweet, I’ve only done what any sister should. You’d have done at least as much for me, I know. Now just think about how well YOU’VE done and how proud everyone at the station and in the family is of you,” she replied.

“I can hardly believe that tomorrow’s the day,” Cathy confided.

“Cathy, you’ll do just fine!” her sister assured her. The doorbell rang and Chrissie did not seem surprised. She got up and returned with Cathy’s counsellor, Ihita Krishnamurthy, who carried a brightly-wrapped bottle-shaped present. The Indian girl was pretty and curvy but short-haired and almost mannish in clothes, though her snug blue jeans emphasised a very womanly arse. After a few friendly words all round, the women set themselves to a co-operative task – making the celebration meal.

In time the meal was ready and Ihita’s fine Merlot stood opened and ready to be enjoyed. The doorbell ringing this time was a slight surprise. Ihita was nearest the door and, assuming some other guest had arrived, hurried off to let them in. The footsteps of two or three people approached.

Jerome Hammond threw the limp body of Ihita on the ground in front of the sisters. Behind him stood Darren Wilkins and Elise, who carried a large bag. Their eyes gleamed and Darren was grinning.

“Didn’t think you’d meet me again, darling, did you?” Jerome leered, staring out Cathy. “Has your sister got a cunt like yours?”

“Hello, Cathy. Meet the man who fixed your alarm that day,” said Darren.

“Who’s the Paki?” Elise asked, kicking the unconscious Ihita in the arse. For a moment the two sisters simply stared at them. Then Chrissie’s gaze slid towards a mobile phone sitting on a shelf. She ran for it and she was fast, but Darren Wilkins was closer. He tripped her and she fell headlong. He stamped on her long, outstretched fingers and kicked her in the ribs. Cathy was at him in a flash and doubled him up with a punch to the kidneys. A slicing kick from Elise to the back of her ankle brought her down screaming. Darren spat on her and went back to kicking Chrissie.

Elise had a knee in the small of Cathy’s back and a hand grasping her collar. Jerome rolled Ihita over and squeezed one tit experimentally before telling Darren,

“Leave off kicking the cunt. Damage her too much and she’ll be no fun. Her market value will go down, too.” Darren’s expression was sour, but he stopped.

“You’re all mad!” Chrissie protested. Darren kicked her again, once, harder.

“That one was allowed,” said Jerome. “Teach her to speak when it’s not wanted. Hear that, bitch? HEAR IT?” Chrissie groaned and mumbled something. “SAY IT CLEARLY, YOU STUPID CUNT!” Jerome demanded.

“I heard it. Please!” said the Doctor.

“Please leave her ARGHMP!” her sister added, stopping when Elise slammed her stupidly talking face on the floor.

Ihita groaned and shifted slightly. Jerome noticed such things. Panther-like, he stepped lightly across to her and cuffed her wrists behind her back with the cuffs he’d taken from that white inspector bitch, He’d known they’d come in useful. He set her on her back. took a good grip on her pretty short black hair and jerked her head up till he could look into her frightened, confused eyes.

“So who are you, slag sister?” he demanded. It was hurting, but she made an effort to answer clearly and calmly.

“My name is Ihita Krishnamurthy and I’m a qualified counsellor. I’ve been helping the woman whose life you tried to ruin,” she said.

“Which one was that?” Jerome asked. “Not this slag here? She enjoyed it, darling. Well, well – I’ve never had a counsellor before. Do you specialise in rape?”

“Yes,” Ihita confirmed.

“What a coincidence – so do I!” he laughed. “I’ve been making business for you. But that means, you shitty little bitch, that you’ve been making money off my hard work and the risks I take. You’ve really got it coming to you.” He jerked her head further, stopping just before he might have snapped her neck. “Now I’m leaving you to stew while we prepare the other two slags.”

He stepped across to Chrissie and helped Darren with her. Between them they stripped her down to panties and bra. Cathy tried to interfere, pleading:

“Please leave my sister alone! She’s only here because she was helping me!” But Elise slapped her and told her,

“Stupid slut! Your sister helping you is a good reason for giving it to her!” Jerome added,

“Besides, she’s got an azz and a cunt.”

“And tits!” Darren announced, having just ripped the doctor’s frilly white bra off. He took a handful of tit and squeezed. As the doctor screamed, he squeezed harder.

“See!” Elise said to Cathy, “what your stupid sister’s getting is all down to you! If you hadn’t got yourself raped and then made such a fuss about it, she wouldn’t have been round here.” Jerome stared at Chrissie’s plump, round arse in its fun panties, big red polka dots on white, at the slivers of arsecheek escaping on either side and at the enticing little crack in the middle.

“Leave this one’s panties on for the time being and strip the other two – the slag I had last time first,” he instructed. So Cathy too was stripped down to plain white bra and panties. This time it was Jerome who ripped her bra-strap apart and roughly tugged the two cups off. “Looks like you’ve put on a bit of weight since I raped you last, white slag,” he commented. “No problem with me – some people pay by weight of meat. You haven’t asked about your black coconut girlfriend, by the way. She was gold-dust – all that lovely pork, an azz the size of a bus!”

“What did you do to her?” Cathy wailed; but Jerome and Elise just laughed and made lip-smacking noises.

“Now the Paki?” Darren asked. Ihita was unwise enough to wriggle and kick, so Elise pulled her head up while Jerome slammed his fist into her face and felt the nose crunch. After that she was quite co-operative. She had one of the tightest arses he’d ever seen, Jerome thought, and that cream and gold thong was enough to drive a man mad. Her bra was in matching cream with gold trim. Who would have thought it, Jerome wondered to himself – a sexy slut when you got down far enough. All of a sudden the cunt started wailing and sobbing, and he hadn’t even beaten her properly yet. Elise looked at her with utter contempt and Darren’s gurgling laugh sounded.

“I want to bare the tits on this one!” Elise announced. Grinning, Jerome and Darren made way for her. “Sexy underwear! Deceitful little bitch!” Elise spat at her victim. She planted her foot on the girl’s smooth brown back and tugged at the bra-strap. She just kept pulling it up until it snapped. She wrenched the two cups off the dusky tits, pulled the girl’s head up and strapped her tits with the strap of her own bra. “Thought you could help rape victims hold their heads high again, did you, slut?” Elise continued. “You should be grateful to us. We’re giving you direct personal experience of the subject. Just a pity you won’t be able to use it where you’re going.”

Darren had been exploring.

“These chairs give me an idea,” he said to Jerome. They whispered together: Elise was curious.

“Right – clear the shit off the table but don’t muck up the food because we’re eating it,” said Jerome. “Leave the table-cloth on. Good. Now bring on the cunts.”

Soon three lithe female bodies were lying arse-up across Cathy’s best tablecloth – Cathy in the middle, Chrissie to her right and Ihita to her left. Their upper bodies were all angled down to meet three wooden chairs and their heads forced through the gap between back support and seat. This had been hard work in each case and it was lucky that the cross-pieces bent a little. The three women breathed heavily; their presented buttocks quivered and their legs twitched.

“You want the stuff from the bag now?” Elise asked her man. He nodded. Darren looked excited as two canes, a whip and a studded paddle came out. Unlike Jerome and Elise, he was unused to seeing defenceless female arses laid out for inspection and punishment, and it was giving him the biggest hard-on imaginable. Two very similar plump white arses stared back at him, but their panties were interestingly different. Cathy, the bitch who’d turned him down, was wearing plain white panties that almost covered her whole arse. They were tight, though, so the material over the arsecrack was a little flat area between the curving heights, like a bridge. Her sister was wearing white too, but with big red polka dots, a real slag outfit, especially as bits of arsecheek bulged outside the elastic on both sides and her panties had ridden up into the crack all the way from her arsehole to her cunt. As for the Paki slut, she was really asking for it. That warm brown arse, looking nicely roasted already, with that cream and gold thong disappearing up the crack but twitching as she sobbed and snuffled! He couldn’t agree more with Jerome: cunts who provided a shoulder for raped cunts to cry on deserved to get it themselves.

“You’re the expert,” Jerome said to Elise. She said nothing but nodded and took a good hold on the paddle. It was quite small, but with a long and carefully-crafted handle. It was covered in black leather, but twelve silver studs poked out, all cone-shaped, so pointed but not pointed enough to cut skin. She lined up Doctor Chrissie Lindsay’s carefully-tended arse and let fly. The paddle slammed into a juicy buttock with a loud SPLAT and flattened it. The Doctor screamed, the paddle withdrew and the arseflesh rebounded. The creamy flesh had taken on a delicate blush. Elise smiled hungrily and slammed the paddle in again, this time right across the deep, tight crack. Jerome was enjoying the exhibition, but Darren was entranced. Chrissie was not enjoying it, and thrashed around as much as she could with her head stuck, dislodging a plate and a pepper-pot. After two more whacks Elise paused.

“It’s not often I have three female arses set out all in one,” she said. “I fancy taking full advantage of it. One cane – out of the two; one whip; one paddle. Three of us to use them. The paddle needs the most strength, so – Jerome, here. On the whole the whip needs more skill and less brute strength than the cane, so, Darren, here’s the thicker cane. The whip’s mine. Each of us gives one of these sluts four strokes and then moves on, so each one of them gets four of everything. We should have music to go with this.” She hadn’t meant that seriously, but Darren went searching and soon came back with Cathy’s last birthday present of a new music system, plus some CDs.

“Crap,” he announced. “Mozart and that, plus a bunch of naff no-hopers.” But Elise wanted to see.

“Mozart would go well with it,” she said, “so full of joy! But Happy Christmas is better – so appropriate.” So that was what was playing as Cathy, Chrissie and Ihita were beaten. Elise, in charge, made sure no two arses got smashed at the same time, so there was an interesting sequence of splats and screams, thwacks and screams and the zip and cut of the whip. All three victims kicked and rolled about a bit, but they could not go far because their heads were trapped. After a while it became interesting for the three visitors to compare the three beautiful displays before them. The brown arse marked less well than the other two, so Elise gave it a few extra to compensate. All three victims were sobbing and wailing, so the two do-gooders, Elise thought, were sharing Cathy’s pain as they were supposed to.

Jerome enjoyed seeing how an incredible amount of arseflesh flattened under the paddle, how the whole shape of the bitch’s arse changed out of all recognition. It was a bit like working with clay, something he had done for a while as a hobby. Only the clay didn’t insist on going back to the original shape.

Darren was getting the hang of using the cane. He loved the sound it made in the air, the sound it made on impact and the angry red marks it made. After a bit he experimented with caning their thighs instead and then he poked the cane up Cathy’s arsecrack. It was lucky that the Black slag had given him the thicker, stiffer cane, because it poked well and didn’t bend. On the second poke he got it right up the bitch’s arsehole so he could let go of it and it just stuck up like a flag.

“You starting to regret dissing me, bitch?” he asked her. He liked talking black. She didn’t reply, so he shoved the flagpole in a bit further.

“Yes, yes, Darren, I’m SORRY!” Cathy cried.

“If you’d just opened your legs for me, you wouldn’t have got your alarm done, you wouldn’t have got raped then and you wouldn’t be getting raped now,” he pointed out. “So it’s all your own stupid fault. And then there’s that black friend of yours with the huge tits and the fat, wobbly arse. What’s happened to her?”

“I DON’T KNOW!” Cathy wailed.

“You don’t know! Well, whatever happened to her was all your fault because if you hadn’t mucked around with me, we’d all have zeroed in on the rapist. Now you’re going to get what you deserve.” Cathy’s only response was sobbing.

“Darren, could you help me?” Elise asked politely. “Jerome too – thanks. I want this slut’s legs held apart.” Ihita was nicely splayed so her buttocks parted and her cunt peeped out invitingly. “Excellent!” Elise purred – and Jerome knew from the hungry, lustful look on her face that something special was coming. Just before she did it, he guessed what.

Elise raised the whip and brought it down hard and with immaculate aim right into the rape counsellor’s arsecrack. The woman screamed and bucked so much she lifted the chair off the ground for a second. Elise frowned and landed the second one on her cunt lips. As Jerome and Darren cheered, she repeated the trick three times more.

“Now, girls, you’re gonna get raped,” Jerome announced. “This one’s had it before. The brown one knows all about it in theory and from books, so THIS one (he poked Chrissie’s arse) is the real beginner. Enjoy!

“Start with the beginner, then,” said Elise. She went round the front of their victim , straddled her, sitting on the chair and her neck, and gripped her plump breasts. Darren looked at Jerome, but Jerome returned the look and made an offering hand gesture.

“You go first,” he said.

“Thanks, mate,” said Darren. Better check it out first, he thought, shoving his fingers into the inviting gap. He sensed resistance and so pushed harder, stuffing them as far up as he could. The bitch was pretty dry, but she squirmed, which made the sides move around his fingers. He pushed harder and she whimpered. Then to his surprise she spoke:

“Please don’t do that! I’m a doctor and I know it could do serious damage!”

“Could it? Good!” he said. But he couldn’t push up any further, so he pulled out, sniffed his fingers and offered them to Jerome.

“Beats wine or roses any day, mate!” said Jerome. “Now fuck her – her sister dissed you, remember.”

Darren didn’t need encouragement – in fact, he couldn’t have waited much longer. He’d have liked to have something to hold on to while taking this cunt from the rear, but Elise was already gripping her tits and her hair and shoulders were out of reach. So he just placed his palms on Chrissie’s back and pressed down while his cock pushed in between her lips. She was dry, which made him angry, so he was rough. He pushed her back down in rhythm with his thrusts. That meant her moans came in short bursts. He might have arsefucked her too but he wanted to make sure he had plenty for that bitch Cathy. He pulled out and gave her arse one last good smack. Jerome was giving the fucking of her life to Ihita, shaking her like a rag doll on the end of his cock, and Elise was moving on to Cathy, a giant pink strap-on in her hand. He’d help her and taunt the bitch who had started all this.

He crouched behind the chair where Cathy’s head was trapped and leered into her face.

“Hello, bitch – you’re really going to enjoy this!” he sneered. She just stared back at him with tears in her big eyes. “I wish you could see the whacking great juicy dildo that’s going to get shoved up your cunt!” he added.

“Darren – no, please!” she pleaded. He laughed, spat in one of her eyes and slapped her. He knew exactly when the dildo had been forced in by the sudden jerk and the way her expression changed. He drank her desperation and humiliation like wine. Elise was a strong woman and in no hurry.

But when she finished Jerome was still fucking the Indian girl to a pulp. Unlike Chrissie she was wet, in a way, because tears were dripping down her face at the front and her bush was drowned in a puddle of cum.

At last Jerome pulled out.

“Can’t stand fucking do-gooders,” he said to Darren. “Look at the fucking slut now – not so proud, yeah?

“Too right, mate,” Darren replied. “Fucking interfering bitch!” The rape counsellor was slumped like a dead fish on the table and she still had two to go.

There was no doubt for Darren what the highlight was. That snooty, cold bitch Cathy Lindsay had turned her nose up at him and now he was going to get what he’d wanted from the start, only better because he was raping the slag. He was going to fuck the shit out of her, arse and cunt. He could start by showing her what she was going to get.

“That was just a dildo in you, bitch,” he told her. “Now look at what you turned your nose up at and what you’re going to get up your cunt and arsehole.” In fact his cock, even at maximum size, didn’t compare to Jerome’s, but it was still enough to make Cathy stare with horror in her big eyes. That in turn was too much for Darren and he shot off a sticky stream into her face, sticking shut both eyes. Time to get round the back of her and give it to her where it mattered. He saw the pig Jerome had carved into her arse and laughed. That was her, all right. He got going.

Shit, this was the fuck of fucks, the one he’d been dreaming about, then promising himself. She wasn’t as tight now as he’d have liked, but shit, drilling her was sweet anyway. He got her pulling and wet despite herself and knew she’d be humiliated. Her body was answering to him and not to her pea-sized brain. He was flattening her arsecheeks with each stroke and soon she’d be getting it up the arse too.

Elise had squatted down and was biting Ihita’s tits. The rape counsellor was screaming and wailing in one long mindless stream.

When both men had fucked all three victims, cunt and arse, and Elise had used the strapon wherever she wanted, the rape was over. The three adventurers could dump the victims trussed up in a corner and put those bits of the meal they’d been about to eat that needed re-heating in the microwave. It was a good meal and although Darren didn’t normally think much to wine, he enjoyed it because he’d taken it from Cathy. The sluts could wait.

A white van drove away from the scene, keeping within the speed limits and courteously letting another driver out from a side-street. Trussed up in the back were a hospital doctor, a rape counsellor and a police officer on sick-leave. None of them would ever return to their jobs.

Cathy and Chrissie were sold through the same route as Sylvie Mackay, to stand naked like her in an African market; it amused their owners to display them together, so each could see the other’s humiliation, but they were sold separately. Cathy was bought for a brutal warlord who regularly beat her for the amusement of the troops and Chrissie for a fat chief whose particular kink was sitting on her face until she was on the point of suffocation. Ihana was not as attractive to the African market, but she did get snapped up by a neo-Viking with a big farm in the far north of Sweden and a taste for unusual reindeer. For all three, their new careers were active but quite short.

And PC Julie De la Rue? The far-right gathering did indeed return what Jerome had demanded.

He and Elise had a special room, once the spare bedroom, decorated for special sex. Mounted on the wall, months later, was a fine, polished wooden shield such as might have held a stag’s head in a stately house. Such things were not uncommon in Jerome’s paid work as a taxidermist. Mounted on the shield was a rather large head. It was not a stag or a boar, but a human female, black, with a high forehead, frizzy-haired, thick-lipped, broad-nosed. The big, wide open glass eyes were brown. The mouth was open as if in a scream, showing white teeth in excellent condition.

Jerome often looked at it and remembered every moment from when he’d first spied her huge, gyrating arse, through the instant of realising she was a pig and punching her in the belly, through beating her, fucking her and finally the loving, triumphant work of mounting his trophy.


THE END
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