She Got What She Asked For

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There will be a warning on this story, but this part is big time mild, just playing with your imaginations...

She Got What She Asked For

Rachel Underwood woke. It was a gentle, natural waking as sunlight streamed into the room through the chink in the curtains. The alarm clock would have gone off twenty minutes later. She slipped into consciousness, the bedclothes rubbing pleasantly against her naked breasts as she shifted slightly.

This was a special day. She knew that from the start but it took a few seconds more for her to remember: it was her birthday. She had gone to bed twenty-one and had woken up twenty-two. Downstairs in her flat were birthday cards from mum and dad, from David, from friends and colleagues. There were also several presents that mum and dad had collected and delivered. They were wrapped up and they could wait till the evening. But there was one from David too and that she must open.

In a way it was bound to be an anticlimax, she thought. It was only two weeks since he’d proposed and she’d accepted. She looked several times a day at that ring on her finger with its sparkling stone as if it might disappear or turn out to have been in a dream.

Before she’d met David she’d have thought all this was a bit soppy. She was a tough, dedicated career woman and not a silly romantic novels type. But she was in love and her life was changing fast. It would keep on changing fast today and in the next few weeks. Today colleagues at the Station would probably have a present and some kind of practical joke prepared, or maybe just a big HAPPY BIRTHDAY RACHEL sign – inside and out of sight to the public, of course, because there were limits on the Police showing they were much like everyone else.

She got out of bed. She’d made love with David, of course, but they didn’t yet live together. It had all been a bit quick.

She did something she would never have done before meeting David. She walked across to the big mirror and looked at herself naked. He was getting a treat, wasn’t he, she thought. Large but firm breasts, a wonderfully flat stomach coming from much time in the gym and careful diet, a womanly swell of hips, long, nicely tapering legs, slim hands, long fingers – and her face, of course, not coarse, not plain – pretty, she could think that without being vain, and David had said it looked sensitive and intelligent, so it was. If “gentlemen prefer blondes”, then he wasn’t a gentleman, because he was really smitten with her girlishly short black hair and because her eyes were sky blue he sang that Galway girl song with “her hair was black and her eyes were blue” although she wasn’t Irish.

There was black hair too lower down, of course, just a little, around her girl place.

Grinning a little self-consciously, she turned and peeked over her shoulder. She still thought her bottom was rather big, but David said it was “imperial” and it was tight and taut from all that exercise. She knew men stared at it. Not so long ago that would have made her nervous and self-conscious, but now she had no problem with it. Look but do not touch – except for David, of course.

She walked lightly downstairs and went straight to David’s present, wrapped in pink and cream paper.

She found two things. One was a marvellous brooch which looked like real gold, worked intricately into fluid, curving shapes and with two small stones which must be sapphires. It looked very old.

The other was a pair of panties. They were quite small and she knew a lot of her bottom would bulge outside them, but that was all right. They were frilly-edged and the colour was a most wonderful greeny-blue, turquoise she thought. She loved them. She loved the brooch too, but police on duty weren’t allowed to wear any jewellery except wedding and engagement rings and a Sikh’s bangle. It could go in her bag, though – that wasn’t wearing it. The panties she could wear right away!

There was a little note from David:

“The brooch goes way back in our family but I didn’t have any sisters. Now it’s yours. The panties don’t go way back in our family and I look forward to seeing you in them tonight!” That was David: sort of jokey and direct together. She too was looking forward to tonight. She’d get back from her shift, unpack the other presents and then it was a meal with David and then, well, a repeat of that beautiful first time.

Ninety minutes later she was walking into the Station a bit self-consciously and yes, there were balloons and a big message and there was Niyati already wearing her police hat with a sort of yellow pom-pom on top of it. Maybe she’d been chosen as the newest and youngest officer or maybe as Rachel’s friend?

“Happy birthday!” the Indian girl cried and hugged Rachel. Then old Trevor Carpenter, Sergeant Carpenter, was handing over a gift-wrapped box and a card and the song was
“Why was she born so beautiful, why was she born at all?”. Then much laughter and cheers.

“Where’s Robbie?” she asked.

“Sick. Got the runs. Can’t have that in uniform trousers!” Niyati said before the Sergeant could answer.

“Means you’re on your own today, I’m afraid,” said Trevor Carpenter. “I’m sure you can handle whatever gets chucked at you, though.”

“Thanks, Sarge,” said Rachel, and meant it. It was nice of him to say that. She did believe he was right, though. She’d dealt with that hulking great drunk who’d pulled a knife in a pub and she’d not even used her CS gas, just her stick. She’d outrun that street robber guy and brought him down. She was still pretty new in the job after two years and a month, but she could handle herself and her body language in the street showed it.

That was one reason why she’d sort of helped Niyati. OK, she herself was pretty new, but she understood the kind of stuff an attractive young woman new to a police station would get and how to deal with it. She could be the new girl’s mentor. The other reason was that she just liked her. Anyway, Niyati was four months through her six months’ probation and was obviously going to be OK.

The day didn’t turn out how Rachel had expected. Inspector Cosgrave had a briefing to give. A teenage girl had disappeared. Hayley Love was a troubled kid, apparently, so she might have decided to slope off without telling her parents, and at her age she had the right to do that except that there was a court order on her requiring her to live at home. Her criminal career was pretty minor, the sort of stuff a lot of kids got up to and grew out of, a minor assault on another girl and one incidence of driving while uninsured and without a licence; the court order had been made after she’d harassed a girl who’d taken her boyfriend. Her parents were worried and as Hayley had self-harmed in the past, there was some concern she might not be safe. She’d her credit card and some other stuff at home. Several officers were deputed to visit likely places or to go house to house. Rachel was told to cover a rural area where Hayley’s best friend at college lived.

As the Inspector strode out and the officers filed out of the room, Damien Leahy gave Rachel a sort of asking look. She assumed he wanted to discuss something with her, so she hung back. But he didn’t speak and didn’t look at her, so she assumed he’d changed his mind or she’d misunderstood. Maybe he was sweet on her. So she headed for the door, last but one of the group, only Damien behind her. He smacked her bottom. Not a full-blooded whack, but a lot more than a pat. It stung and it was humiliating. Angry, she spun round to see Damien sniggering with a self-satisfied little smile. She could have slapped his silly, juvenile face but she chose not to. She could show him she didn’t need to. She stared coldly into his eyes and saw his smile vanish and his gaze falter.

“Don’t try that again, Damien, or I’ll bust your silly little nose,” she said. He rallied.

“When I’m sergeant I’ll put you on special duties,” he said, “very special duties.”

“I’ll be sergeant before you, Damien, unless you grow up,” she riposted. He didn’t reply, so she swept through the door.

“You won’t be a sergeant, you stuck-up fat-arsed cow,” he muttered a moment later. Rachel had sharp hearing and heard him, but ignored him. He was beneath being worth taking seriously. She headed out to the sticks.

The best friend of the missing teen was in. She said she had no idea where Hayley was and seemed genuinely worried under the teenage swagger, though Rachel had a feeling she was hiding something. That house was a mile outside the village, on a private road ending at Stannerford Farm. Rachel knew Mr Fletcher, the old man who lived there alone, was eccentric, was viewed with suspicion by some and had a very old conviction for a low-level sexual assault. He had a tendency to befriend young people, mostly young adults, but there had been no actual trouble and if anything he was at risk from some of them. She thought it just possible he’d befriended Hayley, since Hayley’s friend lived so close. Anyway, she rather liked the odd old man and found chats with him amusing and interesting. She’d go and check the farm.


NOW - What do you think is going to happen to Rachel on her birthday? Please let me know!:skull-big
 
Your writing is beautiful! If I supply ideas you like, can you please write them out? I really want to read about her being violated and humiliated in your words.

Hayley isn't the first girl in town to go missing, in fact, there's been quite a few the past several decades, and even some from nearby villages. While Mr. Fletcher was once in trouble with the law, he's gotten smarter since that one time, and avoided capture thus far by means of a special agreement he has with the higher ups in the force as well as some of the more influential town members, including her rich fiance. Mr. Fletcher's house may appear modest from outside, but there's a cavernous dungeon built below where he hides his captives and many officers and other men about town come by to use them, regularly. When Rachel arrives, the house is empty, but she hears a yell and rushes down to the basement to find Mr Fletcher, Damien, and a couple other officers having their way with Hayley. They quickly capture Rachel and now have to decide what to do with her next...
 
That's very interesting, fistingbot. Actually although I'd posted only the beginning of the story, I had a clear plan and have written enough to post part 2. However, I like your ideas and I could write them up as an alternative continuation, perhaps with names and a few other details changed. Let me know if you'd like that and I could send you installments for your comments and ideas.

Part of the reason for posting a fairly short introduction was because I could see there were various strands and clues that could lead in different directions, all to Rachel getting well and truly raped, of course!

Believe me, Rachel will be violated and humiliated!
 
Yes, yes I would like that. If this introduction is any indication, I'm sure I'll enjoy whatever you write. Perhaps we could invent other scenarios and create a choose your own adventure rape story?
 
Yes, I'd enjoy that. Always great when you find someone shares your kinks, especially on the cruel and edgy side. We can do the exchange here, but the word limit can be restricting.
 
OK, here's Part 2. This gets violent, but is still quite mild compared to what comes later.


He’d been promising himself a visit to Stannerford Farm for some time. The cranky old bastard there didn’t farm any more and didn’t even have a dog, but he’d inherited money and didn’t spend much. He hardly ever visited town so he probably kept a lot of money on the place and a plumber who’d been in there said there was silver and stuff. It was going to be dead easy. Most jobs Dane Gatliff did were easy. People were stupid or weak.

He parked his Volvo in a useful little unofficial lay-by alongside a small wood no distance from the farm. It didn’t really matter if the stupid old cunt was in or not. If he was out, there were fewer complications. In, and he could be made to give information.

He put on his thin gloves.

The front door wasn’t even locked.

He stepped inside and straightaway was in a large, cluttered room. The old bastard was in. He could hear him somewhere to the left, opening and shutting drawers. There he was. Dane rushed him and grabbed him by the throat.

“Where’s your money?” he yelled.

“Fuck off!” said the old man. Dane shook him. Suddenly the old man made a grab for something. It was a knife he’d opened a letter with. It looked sharp.

He never had a chance to use it. Dane bashed him against the wall and then against the wooden cabinet. Maybe he did it harder than he meant. Anyway, end of problem. End of stupid old cunt.

He set to looking for stuff. He knew the sort of place to look for money and soon he’d found a stash of fifties and twenties in an old vase. He took that and started picking up silver and other stuff that looked valuable but wasn’t bulky or heavy. No point looking for a flat screen TV, a laptop or a music system.

He was in the old cunt’s bedroom when the clangy old doorbell rang. He crept towards the kitchen, which he’d noted had a window looking out the front. The doorbell rang again and then whoever it was started using the knocker.

Maybe this person would go away when he got no reply. That was the best outcome. Maybe it’d be someone he could deal with easily, someone maybe with a fat wallet or a good watch. Maybe he’d have to do a runner.

He couldn’t see anything from the kitchen window, but it was big enough to get out of.

Then he heard a loud female voice, a young one:

“Mr Fletcher? Peter? Are you in? It’s PC Underwood, Rachel. Remember? It’s me. Nothing to worry about. I’m just calling to ask if you’ve seen anything of a missing teenager called Hayley Love. Can you hear me, Peter?” No doubt the old bastard was in the habit of not answering the door to unexpected visitors. Well, tough Dane Gatliff could almost certainly do a pig girl, but it was risky. They had personal alarms that communicated straight with the police station and said where they were. He put down the heavy stuff, kept the cash and slowly and quietly opened the kitchen window.

But then he heard the voice again:

“Oh my God!” She’d seen the old fucker’s body. She’d be coming in. He got out. But he landed heavily and she must have heard. There were running steps behind him. He ran. He was quick and he should be able to lose her. There was a bit of farmyard and then a hedge he could double round behind. But he didn’t get that far. He was quick but she was very quick. He could hear the fucking cunt gaining on him. She must be super-fit.

A hand grabbed his collar, but she hadn’t managed to get a proper hold on him and his jacket was loose. He swung round and hit her hard in the left tit. It was a big tit too. He felt her nipple squash back into titflesh. She let go and staggered back. He took in what she was like – white, tall, big firm tits, long legs, nice spread of hip so she had an arse you could get your teeth into, pretty face, short dark hair. It was a hot day and she wasn’t wearing her reflective yellow jacket, just the chequered hat, a crisp white blouse and uniform trousers. But she was tougher than he’d thought possible. She was coming at him again. As he lunged for her she got hold of his left wrist, but he got hold of her other nice slim wrist and squeezed. Her grip was firm too. He could feel the warmth of her hand and her long fingers. He eyeballed her and she stared back. He kicked at her shin and she got out of the way. This wasn’t going to be easy.

She looked at him with pure hatred. She knew what he’d done to the old bastard and she was determined to make him pay. But he looked at her with hatred too. Any fucking stuck-up cunt in uniform who had the nerve to try to bring him down was just asking for it and he was determined to give it to her big time. He tried to push her back. She pushed too and neither of them moved. They were well-matched in strength and anger. It seemed to go on for as long as a minute, long enough for him to realise she was alone. Then to his horror and rage he felt her getting the upper hand. He was forced back one step, two steps. He was lucky. His foot felt the remains of an old demolished wall and it gave him purchase. He used it to the full, pushing against it, staring in the fucking porker’s sky-blue eyes, seeing her realise she’d lost her advantage. But she was strong and he couldn’t push her back. Again they were locked together, straining and not moving. He summoned up every bit of anger and lust in him for one last big shove. Very, very slowly, she began to struggle to hold her position. For the first time he saw anger replaced in her face by fear. She gave way. He pushed her back one, two, three, four steps and then she summoned up some last reserves and held him. She held him for maybe ten or fifteen seconds and then he had her. She was still fighting but he was sure she was his. He was pushing her back at a fast walk now and he could see, as she couldn’t, what was coming up – a high old brick wall.

One, two, three, four, five, his eyes hungry, boring into her fearful and confused ones, and then her fat arse splatted against the wall. She hadn’t known that was about to happen and it shocked her. For a moment her grip relaxed and he was able to pull back and hammer-kick her hard in the cunt. That was good. She doubled up and her hat fell off so he was able to grab the back of her head and push it smartly down into his knee coming up. He felt and heard the crunch. He pulled her upright again and he saw her nice pretty snooty nose was a squashed red splodge and there was blood on her lips too. He threw her back, leaned back like a footballer and kicked her in the cunt again, this time with the steel tip of his boot. She doubled up and he’d seen that coming and this time she got a kick in the mouth. He held her against the wall and slapped her face hard, ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE, SIX, the last one jerking her head so much he thought it’d come off. Then he slammed her head against the wall one, two, three times, but she was still conscious so he punched her hard in the belly and slammed her head back again.

Now at last she went limp. He threw her forward so her tits and face hit concrete and mud. That was his first proper look at her nice big buttocks. Shit, what an arse! Big, round, firm, bouncy and he betted her arsecrack was as tight as a safe door. He couldn’t resist planting one foot on her arse – feeling how bouncy it was – and striking a heroic pose, the hunter with his catch. He moved his foot around a bit, squashing and distorting her arse, feeling how firm, fat and juicy it was. She was moaning a bit. He picked up her hat, took firm hold of both her pretty little ears – how helpful of her to cut her hair short so he could see them to do that – and dragged her through mud and dust back through the front door.

Approaching the door, he heard a new noise. The stupid cunt was crying.

This was going to be good.

He dumped her just inside the door to get a good look at what he’d got. One prize home-grown organic porker, a sow, oven-ready, lots of luscious juicy meat on her, especially rump and breast. That arse on her was just unbelievable. It summoned up all his darkest urges, so if he acted them out, serve her right for shoving it in his face. She could just have let him go, shouting “Stop, Police!”. Some cop cunts wore thick, rough trousers. They were sexy still, but you couldn’t see much arsecrack. This one was wearing thinner, clingy stuff that emphasised her buttocks without protecting them much. There was plenty of arsecrack on view already and on close examination he could see a VPL, right across the middle of one buttock and covering almost two thirds on the other side. Kinky! She was still sobbing and that made her cheeks quiver, which was great.

Big tits on her, though he couldn’t see much of them right now. He turned her over. Blood and mud had stained her nice crisp uniform blouse and her tits rose and fell with her breathing. Good reason not to kill her yet. Down where her cunt was he couldn’t see a camel toe, but there was a neat little bulge. So she didn’t shave her cunt. What was that joke – “What do you call a policewoman who shaves her pubes? Cunt stubble.” Had been a pretty face too before he’d messed it up. She was staring at him like a rabbit caught in headlights. Thump, squash. Not yet. Turn her over again – he couldn’t have too much of that arse. He’d better make her safe or she’d press her alarm, wherever it was. Belt, maybe. Use her own cuffs, LOL. He’d never put the cuffs on a cop and it took him a minute or so to work out how to detach them, but no time at all to lock them. Sweet, slim wrists cuffed behind her back, fingers touching her own arsecrack, pervy cunt.

What now? Drag her into the kitchen. That had a few things that could be useful. She was writhing about a bit now and groaning. Time to talk? He dropped her on the floor tits up. He took his gloves off so he could enjoy everything he felt.

“Right, that’s made you safe,” he said chattily. She stared warily at him. It was lucky he hadn’t buggered up her eyes. She’d got a black eye coming, but she could still look at him. He thought she might say something, so he waited.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked. She sounded afraid even to ask. What a fucking stupid question, he thought. He smiled kindly. His trousers weren’t very tight and the bulge of his cock wasn’t so very obvious.

“Well, you see, little girl, I’m a burglar, you’re a policewoman and you tried to catch me. That was very stupid and thoughtless of you,” he said, talking as if to a child.

“What happened to Peter...Mr Fletcher?” Shit, the stupid cunt was starting to think she might not even get raped. She was going to try to apply her training on talking unstable, dangerous people out of violent acts, the fatarsed, pin-brained cunt.

“Yeah, that was bad. He went for a knife. I hit him and he banged his head.”

“If he’s dead, you could get charged for murder for that, unless you hand yourself in and tell your side of the story,” she said. Blood was running down from her nose and mouth but she was getting quite calm. She wouldn’t be for long.

“Yeah, I suppose, but...what’s your name? I’m Terry.” He couldn’t believe how stupid the big-titted pig was. He’d beaten the shit out of her and she was smiling and trying to make friends.

“Hello, Terry. I’m Rachel. Today’s my birthday.” Her birthday! Fantastic! What a present she was going to get!

“How old are you now, Rachel?”

“Twenty-two.” A big globule of blood dropped from her nose on to the material guarding her right tit and spread on impact. “Are you going to hand yourself in, Terry?” He deliberately avoided the question. Keep her in hope. Instead he decided what he wanted to do to her would be more fun if she got revived and cleaned up a bit. In the meantime, this was something to savour: in her twenty-second birthday she was going to get raped to shit.

“I went over the top there a bit, Rachel. I’m not going to take the cuffs off you, but here’s a bottle of the old man’s whisky and then I’ll clean you up a bit.”

“Thanks, Terry,” she replied, “but I’m not allowed to drink on duty.” Prissy cunt. She’d get the fucking whisky, all right. OK. Straight on to the washing.

“Fair enough. Let’s clean you up a bit, then. Can’t have you looking all blood and mess on your birthday.” He lifted her over his shoulder, head hanging down at the back, arse boldly facing the world, her warm hip against the side of his head. He’d spotted a room that must be the shithouse and with a bit of luck it’d have a bath or a shower. Yep, a small bath. “Looking forward to an evening with the parents? Or the boyfriend?” he asked. Stupid cunt would answer because she was “trying to build a relationship” with him. She was going to get a fucking relationship, all right.

“Yes, an evening with David, he’s my fiancé. My parents rang first thing this morning and I’m seeing them tomorrow.” You think, he thought. He set her down on the floor face up.

“Nice.” Don’t say anything now that warns her, like “How does he fuck?”. “I’ll just run the bath.” Good that it was a small one. It’d fill faster to the right level.

“Er, Terry, I just really need to clean my face up. The washbasin would do fine.” OK, she wasn’t completely stupid. She was wondering why the bath. She might have caught a glimpse of the washbasin, but only a glimpse.

“Yeah, but it’s tiny. Not enough room to wash your face properly.”

“Oh, right. Thanks. Um – Terry?”

“Yeah?”

“Um, it is just to wash my face, isn’t it? I mean, a bath, well...” Her voice tailed off. He had a struggle not to laugh. The stupid cunt was worried he was planning a proper bath for her and she didn’t want him to see her naked! Oh, that was rich. Play along with it.

“Don’t worry – I’m a burglar, not a sex addict. Just clean your face up. Wouldn’t want to embarrass a lady.” Shit, was he overdoing it? Surely she couldn’t believe that was for real?

“Thanks,” she said.

“No problem. OK, that’s enough water, I think.”

“Thanks”. He hauled her up by collar and belt. When she saw how much water was in the bath she started to kick and writhe, but with her wrists cuffed it was all just extra fun for him. He loved the way her arsecheeks jerked around with the kicking.

He threw her in. There was a big splash. Her head was underwater and she was kicking desperately to try to get her airways clear. The top of her arse was just sticking out like an island in a flood and writhing around as she struggled. Her trousers were sticking into the crack and it turned to a little channel between two islands. He knew she wanted to scream but couldn’t. She’d had just a moment of panic. Now her mind was working clearly to keep her alive. She got her feet against the end of the bath and pushed. Half her face came out of the water: her mouth was still under but her nose was free and she breathed. He shoved her face under again. Shit, that writhing arse was hot. He could watch it go on like that until she snuffed it. Pity in a way – he couldn’t do that because he had more, much more, to do to her. He pulled her whole face clear and she gulped in air. He shoved it down again. Now she was trying something different. She was trying to kneel. Her knees kept slipping, but just in time she got it right. Only a very fit, lithe girl could have done that. He grabbed one ankle, pushed her in the back and down she went again. Her arse surfaced again and he shoved it down, feeling the writhing buttocks in his power. He waited till the kicks got weak. He pulled her face clear.

“Had enough?” he asked. “HAD ENOUGH, PIG?”

“Yes, yes, oh God, yes, please, no...” Stupid cunt didn’t make sense. Brains the size of a pea. Look at her – arse about three times the size of her head. What do you expect.

He dragged her out by her belt and her hair at the back. He threw her over his shoulder and was about to head back to the kitchen when he had an idea. That toilet! The seat was up and inside it was filthy with old shit around the rim. He dragged her to it. She didn’t know why and she wasn’t saying anything but the way her arse was quivering, she wasn’t happy. He put the seat down. He pulled her up, holding on to her belt with one hand, and with the other, shoved her head down the bowl. Her tits went down it too but they were big and they stuck. He gave a good hard shove and they squashed and went down. Now she started talking, so he knew her mouth wasn’t under water. Being deep down in the bowl, her voice had a funny resonant sound.

“Please, Terry, no! I want to live!” How interesting, he thought. He just said,

“My name isn’t Terry,” and gave her a good shove. He heard the gulp as her mouth went under water as she was trying to speak, but he couldn’t hold it down there, nor wanted to yet. Her belly was poised on the seat rim and her arse was stuck up high, which was how he wanted it. He began to feel her buttocks, pushing her trapped hands out of the way, pulping the soft undercheeks, squeezing, stroking, patting as she writhed pointlessly and then plunging his fingers into her arsecrack. The wet material gave way, pushing further into the crack. She writhed and kicked around his fingers and he laughed as the inner sides of her tight buttocks caressed his fingers. He felt for it and...there. Piggy arsehole. He forced his index finger way up her hole, pushing panty and trouser material with it. When he pulled out he’d left a dark, narrow tunnel like she’d been drilled or shot. He wasn’t ready to fuck it so he gobbed in it and then reached out for the old bastard’s toothpaste and brush. Surprised he still had teeth. He squeezed toothpaste into the hole and stuck the bright orange toothbrush in after it, jamming it down till the head nearly disappeared. It looked artistic. The pig cunt didn’t know what had been shoved up her arse. Laugh.

She’d stopped struggling and was just sobbing into the toilet bowl. It made beautiful music, especially with the resonant quality. Now for what he’d been planning for some time – what he wanted to do for starters with any hot cop arse. He raised his hand high and SPLACK! The fat arse flattened and splayed out like he’d run over it. Then it rebounded. Shit, it was rubbery! She must have been exercising all the fucking time to get it like that, just for him. Give it another one, even harder. Wonderful! She’d shrieked into the bowl and now she was kicking and wailing like a little kid. Serve her fucking right for trying to arrest him. Teach her a fucking lesson. The first eight whacks he spaced out well so he could give all his strength to each, but then he delivered five in quick succession. He’d always wanted to do this to a pig cunt. She wouldn’t be the first one he’d raped, but that other was a gang-bang of a stupid cow who tried to stop a fight and she did, too, because both sides joined in. This one was just his.

He looked up. A teenage girl was standing in the doorway watching him. The old bastard had lived alone, that was for sure – so who was she? A visiting grand-daughter? A cleaner? Not a good one, then. A call-girl? She was skinny but not bad-looking, sort of intense. Short blonde hair and a narrow slit of a mouth, nice little tits, distressed jeans that looked tight. She didn’t seem at all frightened, just interested.

“Is the old man dead?” she asked.

“Yeah, reckon so.”

“Did you kill him?”

“Yeah, but he pulled a knife and I hit him,” Dane replied. She seemed satisfied, or at least not inclined to argue.

“Yeah, well, ‘salright with me. Pervy old shit. He gave me somewhere to stay but on condition he could fuck me. Fucking shit at that too, he was. I’m Hayley. Is that the pig?” She was staring at the cop girl’s arse, not with amazement, but with curiosity.
 
“Yeah. I’m Terry – I mean, Dane. What do you feel about doing a pig?” He wanted to learn a bit more about her desires and intentions. At best, she’d help. At worst, he’d kill her. In between, she’d be scared but he’d be pretty sure she wouldn’t talk.

“I hate them and I hate her, the bitch. I heard her going on at the door. She wanted to take me back to my fucking parents.” Suddenly Dane realised. This was the girl the pig had been looking for! The girl hadn’t finished: “You gonna fuck her?”

“You want me to?”

“PLEASE!” For a moment she wasn’t a hard young adult but a girl wanting new shoes or an ice-cream.

“Then I will.”

“OMG, evil!” Of course he’d been going to rape the porker anyway, but this kid could be an admiring audience.

“Is that Hayley?” He’d forgotten the porker could talk. “Hayley, please RUN! This man is dangerous! Get help!”

“Stupid bitch!” said Hayley, loud enough for the policewoman to hear. She spat on the helpless arse. “Give it to her, Dane!” He roasted her arse for a few more minutes and then asked Hayley,

“Do you want a go?”

“If you’re gonna strip her, I’ll wait till then,” the girl replied. “But I’ve got a wild idea.” She hurried off to the kitchen and brought back a breadboard with a gap at one end to hold it or hang it up, enough for him to get his fingers through. “Beat the shit out of her with that,” she suggested. He tried it out, just swiping thin air, and found he could get a good grip. He had to move a bit further away, that was all. He brought it smashing down on the cop girl’s fat arse. The sound was spectacular and so was the way her arseflesh flattened and spread out. She screamed and the toilet bowl turned the sound into an eerie wail. He just let go after that. It was perhaps as well for Rachel that he was pulverising her rump and not her head. After eight whacks, though, his arm was aching.

“Time to get her trousers off, I think, “he said.

“I need a piss,” said Hayley. “No need to move Miss Piggy.” There and then, in front of the amazed Dane, she pulled down her panties, straddled Rachel’s torso and pissed on her head. The policewoman began to buck and writhe. “I think her mouth’s gone into my piss,” said Hayley.

“Only one way to make sure,” said Dane, pulling out his cock and adding his piss to the mix. The police cunt couldn’t get up because Hayley’s thighs were holding her down. “Don’t want to waste her before I’ve fucked her,” said Dane. Hayley got the idea quickly and stood up. Dane fumbled with the cop girl’s belt and then asked his new assistant for help. It turned out she was much better than him at getting a cop girl’s belt off. She looked with interest at the things still attached to it – baton and CS gas canister. She took the policewoman’s shoes off, revealing white socks, and tickled the undersides of her feet, making her legs and arse writhe comically.

“You pull her trousers down,” she said, plucking the toothbrush from her arsehole.

“My pleasure,” said Dane. And it was a pleasure too, though it wasn’t easy. The pig’s fat arse filled the trousers too well and it didn’t help that she had quite a narrow waist. It didn’t help either that it was all wet. His first attempts to tug her trouser waist over the fattest part of her rump failed. But he planted one foot on her trapped arse between her cunt and her arsehole to get good purchase, and from there he tugged hard. After all, he was a strong man, stronger than this haughty cow of a policewoman, as he’s shown when they’d struggled together.

It worked. The trousers came down in a rush and all at once her fat, round, wobbly arse was displayed to both her captors. At least, a good half of it was and the rest was inside a pair of frilly-edged panties of an unusual green-blue colour. The panties had retreated into her arsecrack as she’d been bent over, so the crack was very obvious, deep, dark, magic, magnetic. On her right buttock the line of elastic ran high, so only about a third of her arseflesh was hidden. On the left side about half bulged beyond the elastic. Down low, the panty-material narrowed and bunched into her cunt. Hayley leant over and poked the pig’s cunt. Then she pulled up the bitch’s wrists so they both had an uninterrupted view of her pantied arse.

It was blushing nicely from the thrashing she’d already got. He ran his hands over it, pinching and patting, savouring the youthful smoothness of her skin and the tight bounciness of her whole magnificent rump. His fingers touched her panties: they were sopping wet as if she’d pissed in them. It amused him to stuff them further into the crack so more beautiful plump buttock slid into view. He began to spank. The wetness of her arse meant it would sting more for her, but also for him. But now he could see the marks his hand left, red on her defenceless buttocks. He played about a bit, hitting at different angles and seeing how her arse distorted in response.

“Let me!” said Hayley. She wasn’t as strong as he was, but she was cunning. Grinning, she zeroed in on the policewoman’s sensitive undercheeks. She stroked the captive arse as if it was a dog or cat. She poked the arsecrack. She smelt it and made a face. “Let’s use the stupid bitch’s stick on her,” she suggested.

“Good idea,” said Dane. He let her go first. She flicked the stick open so it was long and narrow. First she poked one plump buttock with it. Then, with a devilish grin, she poked the policewoman’s cunt. The helpless half-human spasmed and was still. Then Hayley raised her arm high and brought the baton crashing down on piggy arse. Once she had done it, she seemed possessed, grimacing and slamming away as if she was pulverising an enemy’s head. Dane watched fascinated as the arse went purple as well as red. He wished he was an artist. Down in the toilet bowl their captive was sobbing and moaning, the sounds turned to eerie music by the bowl. Her captors could have no idea of her thoughts and would merely have been amused by them.

Rachel was struggling to deal with pain and humiliation such as she had never experienced. She knew in theory there were people this cruel and evil, but she hadn’t really believed she’d ever meet one, let alone be at the mercy of two. Could the girl be really that bad?

Rachel kept in her mind the idea that she was going to get out of this alive, that she’d be with loving David again and that she was still a conscientious policewoman, so she was trying hard to remember every helpful detail about the man. But her face hurt badly and her poor bottom hurt even more. She understood that if no rescue came, she’d be raped, and she was steeling herself for that. She would survive.

“You have a go,” said Hayley. Dane swished it around a bit to get a feel for it. He stepped back, raised his arm and let the pig have it. It was easier than with the bread-board to target different bits, her undercheeks and even her arsecrack. He crouched, lined it up carefully, swung hard and the baton went PLUCK right into her pantied crack, nearly from top to bottom, from the small of her back to her cunt and it stuck there, clutched by her tight buttocks, the panties driven even more into the crack. Hayley whooped and cheered with joy and admiration. He realised he wanted to impress this girl. That was tough on the pig cunt, but that was life. He gave her twelve good slamming whacks and stopped.

“Time to get her panties off now, I reckon,” he said.

“Yeah, too right! Dane?”

“Yeah?”

“Her panties are cool, much too cool to stick round a pig’s arse. Can I have them?”

“Of course! I’ll have to slip them off and not rip them off, then.”

“Can I take them off her?” she pleaded. Dane reckoned watching one horny girl stripping another girl was just as hot as him doing it. He agreed. Hayley smiled. She was the cat that ate the cream. She hooked her fingers neatly into the policewoman’s panty-waist, raised it about an inch and drew them slowly, lovingly down. Steadily, the whole glory of the captive pig arse was revealed. Her arsecrack clung to the panty material, but Hayley pulled steadily and the panties came out of the crack with a sound like a plaster coming off a cut. Down, down they slipped. The plump heights of the captured buttocks were bared. Their victim’s arsecrack in all its dark depth and stubborn tightness was uncovered. The turquoise wisp was down to her cunt now, but Hayley kept pulling.

The back end of the bitch’s cunt came into view. It looked pretty much like other cunts to Dane, but it was a victory and a promise. Her panties were down to her knees now and Hayley was still drawing them down.

The feet proved a bit troublesome, catching in the panty-legs, and Hayley made a pout of dissatisfaction before achieving her final victory. She held up the confiscated sodden panties as a trophy. She sniffed them, grimaced, and handed them to him. The water had not destroyed the odours. He sniffed the cop’s glorious bouquet of juicy cunt, stale fart, athlete’s sweat and wonderful, heady fear and desperation. He nodded and handed the prize back to Hayley. Apart from bitches he wanted to rape, this was Dane’s kind of girl only more so. He’d never met anyone quite like her before.

Hayley was changing panties right there and then. Or rather, changing a velvety-black thong for the policewoman’s panties. Dane got only the quickest flash of her arse, unpantied than pantied, but he’s have to say those panties looked better on the cop cunt’s fat arse than on Hayley’s pert one. Size matters. It amused him a lot, though, that the stupid cop was not only getting beaten up and spanked, would not only be raped and tortured, but was having her panties stolen by another woman, an alien cunt where hers had been. He must remember to lift other stuff off the cop – watch, cash, and he thought he’s seen a ring on her finger. Maybe a personal memento for him too – bra, ears, cunt scalp, something small and full of memories?

But her arsecrack and cunt were there asking for it and she was going to get it.

Hayley wanted to be first, though.

“Let me feel her before you fuck her,” she asked. He wasn’t going to say no to a lady.

She had slim hands, long fingers and long, sharp fingernails painted bright blue, though two or three of the nails were broken and jagged. He pushed the cop bitch’s upper back down a bit and reached between her smooth legs till he could get a grip on her cunt hairs in the V at the front and tug, bringing her cunt out for easier access. Hayley forced her fingers up the pig cunt with the confident expertise of an expert. Up, up her long fingers went, up her hand went, forcing the bitch’s cunt lips apart.

“GOT IT!” she exulted.

Her expression was passionate and intense. He could have seen it as a frown, a grimace or as fierce joy. She’d obviously got hold of the pig’s clit, but what she was doing to it he couldn’t tell – squeezing it, twisting it, sawing it with one of those broken sharp nails – could have been all three. The pig had spasmed when her cunt had been invaded, but now had the sense to stay as still as possible. He could see the tension in her, though, by the way her buttocks were clenched.

With a last tug, Hayley pulled out.

“Yours, Dane,” she said. He decided to rape her cunt before her arsehole. He was an arsehole man at heart and he’d learnt over the years to keep the best till last. Before that, though, he smelt it. They should bottle that smell. Maybe they had done – ESSENCE OF CUNT. Maybe you could get it for washing-up liquid and air freshener and toilet cleaner and arsepaper. Plus women’s scent bottles, of course.

Getting that close to her arse gave him another idea. No hurry – he’d worked out that not only was she alone, she’d been sent out to check out a lot of places in the sticks, so nobody back at the police station would be expecting her back, or even to radio back, for a long time.

He moved his face a few inches to the right and a few inches up. He opened his mouth wide, manoeuvred his lower incisors to just under her plump undercheek, and bit hard. Again she spasmed and then went still. He felt his upper and lower incisors pushing into twenty-two-year-old pig rump, in, in, in, defeating her arse’s resistance till he could feel her ballooned-up arseflesh pressing against his gums and tongue. At that point there was something in him that actually said STOP. He’d bitten woman in rough foreplay and he hadn’t broken the flesh, but this was different. He kept on pressing, a furnace-hot fire in his mind and his cock, waiting for it to happen.

It happened. Suddenly the resistance fell away and his teeth were sinking deep into raw pork. Salty, delicious, nutritious blood welled up and slipped down his throat. Still he kept pressing, his teeth sinking deeper in till he wondered if top and bottom would meet. He could bite a chunk off her arse, but he didn’t want to. That’d make it unsightly while he was fucking it. Fuck it first and deface it later. Same with her cunt. He stood up, licking his lips.

The cop cunt was wailing into the toilet bowl.

How long ago was it that she’d nearly overpowered him, that she’d been determined to arrest him and bring him in? Five minutes? Ten? Less than ten.

There was a strange sound. It took him a moment to identify it. Hayley was clapping, loud and slow.

He licked his lips. The pig tasted good. But now to rape her. She’d be expecting this after Hayley’s attack, wondering when it would come. Let her wonder. There would be no more foreplay. He freed his swollen, stiff prick and it snapped to attention. Hayley stopped clapping and stared. He was proud of the size of it, but like the man said, it was what you did with it that counted – and what he was doing with it was raping a stuck-up police cow.

He let it touch her cunt lips gently. She stiffened: she knew what it was and what was coming. He reached forward and groped inside the bowl for her tits, his groin rubbing against her plush, warm arse. He got a good grip on the tits and rammed her, hard, rough and sudden. He’d thought she might be very dry, but she wasn’t, the slut. And shit, she was tight. Her cunt was pulling and sucking at his cock whatever her mind wanted and he was ramming in, in, in.

Somewhere on a field of blood and gold a dark, triumphant destroyer was turning his weak, defeated enemy, a policewoman, to paste. Take THAT for wearing uniform! Take THAT for pretending to authority over men! Take THAT for trying to overcome and arrest me! Take THAT for your pretty face, THAT for your trusting nature, THAT for your long legs, THAT for your big tits, THAT for your round arse, THAT for your tight cunt! Take THAT for your loving parents and THAT for your boyfriend and THAT for your law! You’re mine – you’re just a piece of meat on the end of my cock! Take THAT and THAT and THAT and THAT!

When at long last he pulled out, seeing Hayley’s admiring eyes, he heard the beautiful sound of the pig bitch softly sobbing in the toilet bowl. Her underbuttocks quivered. His cum was spattered on her arse and dripping on to the toilet seat.

“She may be shit, but she is one hell of a fuck,” he told Hayley.

“All the fatarsed cow is good for,” the girl confirmed.

“I’d say more than that,” he replied. “If she isn’t being fucked, she’s a fucking nuisance – aren’t you, Miss Piggy?” He patted her rump.

“You going to fuck her up the arse?” Hayley asked.

“That had occurred to me,” he answered. “In a word – yes, but I reckon her tiny little arsehole is too small for my big cock.”

“Then widen the hole. There’s some knives in the kitchen.”

“No, she’s brought along something suitable herself, the stupid cow.” He detached the baton from her belt. “Most female officers nowadays,” he lectured, “carry extendable batons. When not extended, hanging between their cunts and their arses, the batons are short and stout and are suitable for jamming up their cunts. Extending the baton – like this – makes it long and thin and just right for shoving up her arsehole.” He calculate his angle carefully. Then, like a swordsman, he struck, forcing the baton up her arsehole.

It wasn’t a perfect strike, but he used plenty of force and it went in. He felt the slightest of resistance, which was bludgeoned aside. He hadn’t got the stick in as far as he’d hoped, which made him angry. He gripped the handle hard and shoved. It went in a bit more. The pig was screaming now, a different scream from any she’d screamed before, a note of utter fear and desperation. He shoved again and a bit more of the baton disappeared. He looked around and saw one of her sensible shoes. It would do. He picked it up and hammered the end of the baton. Bit by bit, centimetre by centimetre, it sank further in. When it finally stopped, he hammered it three more times to make sure.

Blood was seeping out of the sides of her anus.

“You’ve done it now!” said Hayley. “You’ll never get it out and you won’t be able to arsefuck her and she won’t be able to shit, so she’ll burst.” But he worked the stick around a bit in her arsehole, one way then the other. Then, like King Arthur with the sword in the stone, he tensed, used all his strength and pulled it out. There was shit and blood up it. Since her face wasn’t available, he wiped it on her arse. Then he arsefucked her. There was no resistance, but the hole was still almost too small for his cock. He had no doubt, though, that he’d get right up. Anything of her that got in the way – tough luck. Those superb buttocks on either side encouraged him. It was like breaking through a beautiful tinted glass window between stately pillars. It was like fucking a policewoman up the arse, a policewoman who’d tried to catch him. This was beyond any humiliation he’d inflicted before and she was the ideal victim, proud, fit, brave, stupid, tight, ultimately meat like all the others.

He didn’t know how long he’d been fucking her arsehole. Pulling out was like coming out of a dream. Her arse quivered before him like a shot bird.
 
Rachel sobbed softly into the piss. Pure pain fought with panic and with professional dedication, not yet beaten and fucked out of her. If she could only get out of this in one piece, she could report on the appearance and accent of the burglar and murderer, and that Hayley Love had become his accomplice. That girl was twisted for sure, but also at risk from such an animal.

She wanted this day not to have happened. She wanted to wake up again and everything would be OK. She wanted David. She wanted her mummy.

Her vulva was horribly sore. She had been raped. She had known all about rape, as a conscientious police officer – the types of men who did it, advice to women on minimising the risk, the physical and mental damage it could do to a woman – or a man; the excuses and evasions, the grey areas, best practice in caring for and interviewing alleged victims. She’d known it all except the personal experience.

Her anus and right up into her felt as if a tree was burning inside her. She’d been raped up the bottom – buggered – and it hurt horribly. But worse than the physical pain was the humiliation. Something like that happening was wrong. It shouldn’t have happened to her.

What were they going to do to her? Would this awful humiliation and pain be the end of it?

“Well, now, Piggy, thanks for the fuck,” said Dane, patting her buttock. “But we’ve just started. Lots more fun to come!”

“I want to see her face and tits now, Dane,” said Hayley.

“Makes sense,” he said, and started tugging her out. The big-titted cop girl didn’t come out easily and he had to drag her out by the cuffed wrists with Hayley helping at the ankles. They laid her tits-up on the floor.

She looked quite different from when she’d grabbed Dane. Her nose and mouth were bloody, for a start. Her blouse had been soaked first in water and then in piss, so her big nipples were showing through. Dane stood and watched the way her tits heaved with every breath. He thought it was a good reason to keep her breathing for a while. He hadn’t seen her eyes for some time either – big, blue eyes staring at him in uncomprehending horror. That would be a wonderful memory. And then there was that neat little V of curly hairs, girlish like she was a young teen showing her cunt to another girl in the school changing-rooms. Altogether a good catch.

“What a slut! Look at all that piss and cum and shit on her. You gonna bare her big tits?” Hayley asked.

“Naturally,” Dane replied. He tugged hard at the once-white blouse and popped three buttons. He ripped the whole thing open. The pig cunt had a pink bra with frilly edges. Pink! Could be a twee little girly colour, could be a political statement – MY TITS EXPRESS SOLIDARITY WITH GAY MEN. Most likely the little girly thing.

“Pink – yurgh. Naff!” Hayley commented. “Take it off!”

“Never would have thought of that,” he said. “Can you get me a sharp knife from that kitchen?” She returned with a knife that was thin and light but quite long. He tested the edge: it was sharp all right. He showed it to the pig, making sure her eyes picked it up and followed it around. He smiled broadly and made sure she’d seen that too. He played with it, making little swerves and mock stabs. Bit by bit the blade came closer to her tits and went away less. He could see horror and fear in her eyes. Then he struck. He plunged the blade between her bulging tits and sawed through the central bridge of her bra. He stood there watching the two severed pink frilly cups rise and fall with her heavy breathing. He bent and tugged one off. Hayley bared the other tit and they stood together enjoying what they’d revealed.

The cop’s tits were big, for sure. But now they were freed from her bra-cups, Dane could see how firm they were, tempered by years of exercise in the gym and maybe other vigorous pursuits, plus none of the sagging that came from suckling a baby. These tits had never been sucked for milk – maybe for fun by her boyfriend. The nipples were big and stuck out well, with nice big aureoles spreading under them. Altogether they looked delicious.

“What huge great tits! Aren’t they GROSS?” asked Hayley. Dane didn’t agree, but said,

“Not good design for a pig. Too easy to hit them.”

“She’d look better with them off.”

“Don’t try nicking them like you did with her panties. You might stick them on you but they’d go off.” She made a face.

“You’re gonna slice them off her, aren’t you, Dane? Aren’t you, pleeease?”

“Might,” he said. The pig was listening to all of this, which was sweet. “Let’s have some pleasure out of them, anyway.” He began to stroke her right tit, making the nipple harden. Then he began to pinch and squeeze. He pushed it towards her face as far as he could. Because it wasn’t floppy it resisted, so it hurt her and she wailed in pain. Hayley was having her own fun with the left pig tit. She was doing much the same, but then she smiled a special smile and Dane knew something special was coming. She drew her jagged nail hard down the side of the pig’s tit, slicing a deep red scratch. The cop’s wail was pleasant and entirely understandable, but Dane still slapped her face for the hell of it. She had to learn that he made the rules here.

He bent to her right tit, opened his mouth as wide as he could and bit it. The tit ballooned inside his mouth, so he stopped quite quickly, but he’d still left a nice neat like of dark toothmarks on her. Hayley was impressed. She did the same. As soon as she stopped the cop cunt burst out crying like a little girl.

“I’ve got an idea,” Hayley announced.

“Yeah?”

“I need her cuffs. Please!” He was surprised, but intrigued. He removed the cuffs from the pig’s wrists, though this freed her hands. She looked too weak and cowed now to be a problem, he thought. He gave the cuffs to this extraordinary girl. A moment later he could see what she intended. She was aiming to close each cuff round the base of one tit. It was difficult because the size of the policewoman’s tits and he didn’t think she’d succeed. Nice idea, though. But Hayley wasn’t a quitter. She squeezed and gritted her teeth and squeezed until one big piggy tit was cuffed. The effect was dramatic. Squeezed cruelly at its base, the generous piggy tit ballooned out beyond the cuff as if it would swell until it burst. Hayley laughed and clapped her hands. She looked at Dane for approval, saw it, made a clenched fist salute and slapped the swollen tit. It looked hilarious, thought Dane – one swollen, ballooned tit and one normal one. It couldn’t last.

The second one was slightly easier because Hayley had learnt. It too ballooned and the cop cunt groaned. She looked at her own distorted tits in horror. Dane slapped the newly-swollen tit to and fro. It was a good game.

“THE COW!” hissed Hayley. Striking with speed, she trapped one of their victim’s hands under her foot and pressed down. “She was trying to get at something on her belt,” she told him. “Maybe we shouldn’t have freed her hands.”

“No problem,” he replied. “Take your foot off it.” She did and he stamped on the cop’s hand. He felt and heard bones crunch and the cop squealed. He stamped again and stood back. Her hand was limp and she was groaning.

“Let me do her other hand,” Hayley pleaded. He was happy to agree. He thought she’d stamp on it like he’d done, but no. Smiling happily, she took the cop’s pretty little finger and bent it back till it snapped. That produced an amusing noise from the cop’s mouth. Hayley proceeded, slowly and systematically, to break every finger one by one. Then she let the ruined hand drop. The wailing from the cop was now constant.

“Shouldn’t have gone for your fucking alarm, should you, slag bitch?” Dane pointed out. She didn’t properly answer, so he slapped her face and Hayley spat on it.

Those ballooned tits were maybe the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. If you pricked one with a pin, would it go BANG? Maybe not, but there was that sharp knife. He made sure the pig could see he’d got it, see him bring it close to her tits. He smiled. He did nothing. Then he clutched her tit to keep it steady. He stabbed. It was a controlled movement, nothing like if he’d been stabbing her to get rid of her. A bit of blood spurted out a good foot or so, but not much and the tit didn’t go bang or deflate. A bit disappointing, really.

“Did you think I was going to slice your nice big tit off, piggy?” he asked the slag. Too much to expect a meaningful reply, but he could see she heard and understood his words. “What nasty, evil, cruel thoughts you have!”

“I’m evil, then,” said Hayley, but she was proud of it.

“O.K.,” said Dane. He found it hard to get a proper grip on the ludicrous great ballooned right tit, so he asked the girl to help hold it. Her long nails bit into the titflesh. As the knife moved back towards the tit, the eyes of the wailing, moaning pig were caught by it as if it was a big magnet. The knife was very sharp along the side as well as the point. The end of her tit, aureole and nipple, came off like he was slicing cheese. Blood spurted up and a bit hit his face. He held the interesting trophy up and looked at it from different angles. The wailing of the pig girl reached new intensity and then fell to a miserable snuffle. She was staring at him and at her tit end. “Never seen the end of your tit before?” he asked her. She didn’t answer. Blood ran down his wrist. That was OK.

“Can I have it?” Hayley asked. He handed it to her and she inspected it carefully. She sniffed it and handed it back. “Are you going to do her other one?” she asked, sounding awed.

“Yeah, of course,” he said. This time the cop knew for sure what was about to happen and she found her voice.

“No, no, PLEASE!” she moaned. Dane looked Hayley in the eye and they both burst out laughing. Then they cut the other tit end off. Blood spurted on to his face and Hayley’s.

He compared the two tit ends. They looked much the same, but he’d taken just a fraction more off her left tit than her right. That meant she was unbalanced now. Should he even her up? Why not ask her? He put the question to her. He didn’t get any meaningful response and he decided not to bother. Hayley inspected the second tit end. She put it down on the cop’s belly. Then, without warning, she came up close and started licking blood of Dane’s face. He did the same with hers and it ended in a long kiss.

“Let’s fuck,” she said. “We can use the pig as a rug.”

“Good idea, but not quite yet,” he replied. He’d put the other tit end alongside the one Hayley had placed on the cop’s belly, where red was spreading, but now he picked them both up.

“Now I’ve got an idea,” he said. He put one of the purplish-brown trophies in his mouth and offered the other to Hayley. She took it almost fastidiously and munched. It was chewy, Dane found, with an interesting blend of flavours. Could take off as a pub snack, he thought – Policewomen’s Tit Ends in a packet. Hayley seemed to be enjoying hers too. Suck, chew, savour; suck, chew, savour. Needed a lot of chewing to go down, but it was a pity the pig didn’t have more nipples like a real pig.

The moaning from the pig sounded stupid.

Rachel was in awful pain, from her breasts, from her fingers, from her bottom, from her most intimate places, but the mental anguish was just as bad. Up until now they’d done nothing she could not believe could be put right – but now this monster of a man had cut off the ends of her breasts. That was final. She would always be disfigured. Somewhere in her mind something was trying to persuade her that this was a terrible dream, a mistake, that it wasn’t really happening. But it was happening. It had happened and there was no going back.

But she still wanted to live. She was still a police officer and her duty was clear. It was to remember and report as much as she could about this demon the girl called Dane so he could be stopped from doing this to any other woman, and to get this twisted and troubled kid Hayley some real help. So she fought to stay alive.

Dane didn’t want her dead either. There was much more fun he and Hayley could have with her alive.

He remembered the whisky she wouldn’t drink because she was on duty. Well, she wasn’t going to refuse it now. He got the bottle.

“You’re not going to stop doing her just to get rat-arsed?” Hayley queried. It seemed she didn’t like drunks. He reassured her.

“Get Miss Piggy arranged with her cunt pointing up a bit more,” he instructed. She did it.

He opened the bottle, stuck it up the pig slut’s cunt as far as he could and tipped it up. When she began to thrash, Hayley held her still and the entire bottle went up her cunt.
“Like it, pig?” he asked. As usual, he didn’t get a sensible answer.


NOTE: At this point I'd be interested in opinions. The next post will finish this story. Should Rachel end up pleasantly dead or alive? I know there are views on either side and I can always write a different ending for those who like the story but have a minority taste.
 
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