A Breaking In
by Wolvering

This is a story about a country which has been determined to avoid the gun culture, to the extent of hardly any of its police having guns, on the reasonable grounds that in firefights between cops and robbers, innocent bystanders often got shot and that if all cops had guns more criminals would carry them and use them. It had worked pretty well for a long time. But finally under the pressure of the failure of the “War on Drugs” and an influx of cheap Eastern European firearms, the policy was failing. Many of the criminals had guns and were happy to use them. The police stuck to not carrying them except for a few experts, but it couldn’t last much longer. The government did not allow capital punishment for any crime, but the criminals dealt out capital punishment on cops and rivals alike.

1...

PC Suriya Sethi, walking briskly in the December night cold, looked both ways, crossed the road and headed with steady step down the quiet street dominated by small offices. The buildings here were old, brick-built and solid, mostly three stories high but narrow. It was a quiet backwater with little to attract the thief or the thug and she had only varied her beat by way of a short cut to the Nag’s Head pub where there was sometimes trouble in late evening.

Suriya was a young woman of good family, excellent education and a fine, carefully-tended body. After she had left university with outstanding results, her parents had been bewildered when she had chosen the police as a career, but they were reconciled by the stunning sight of their beautiful daughter in her uniform, by her passionate protestations that she was doing it to help people, and by the confident belief that she would rise to the very top and become famous.

Two thirds of the way down the street, Suriya’s sharp eyes picked up something unusual. A second floor office window was wide open. It was unlikely someone had opened it during the day and forgotten it, the weather being cold. Moreover, behind the window she could see a slight, steady glow which to her trained if inexperienced eye could only mean that a light was on in another, adjacent room.

Suriya thought for a moment. If she suspected a break-in she was supposed to call for support. But nothing seemed to be broken and no burglar alarm had gone off. She was barely half-way through her six month probation as a police officer and her great keenness had occasioned some sarcastic remarks from battle-hardened veterans and some of her own contemporaries. She was too nice a girl to suspect the latter might be jealous.

She might be mistaken and nothing might be wrong. She was also proud of her outstanding physical fitness and knew from training she could overpower strong men. She decided to go alone. After all, if they didn’t trust her they wouldn’t have sent her on her beat alone, she thought, though she did realise a temporary shortage of officers was a factor too.

There was a drainpipe close to the window and the brickwork of the wall was old and uneven. For an athletic young woman like her scrambling up to the window was easy enough. How much harder it would have been, she thought, in the old days when policewomen had to wear tight skirts instead of these less constricting- if still tight – trousers she wore. She arrived at the window and encountered a problem. It was not a very big window, and now she was close to it she could see it was not fully open: it seemed to have jammed half-open. As she had to hang on and take care not to fall, she was not well-placed to force it right open, and in any case she did not want to make a noise. Having failed to open it wider, she set about squeezing through it. It was a tight fit indeed and the later stage was made more difficult by the size of Suriya’s bottom.

For a dreadful moment she thought she was stuck there, top half leaning into the dark room, legs and hindquarters sticking out. It was at this point that Randy McCormick, a drug dealer and amateur photographer on his way to the Nag’s Head, saw the magnificent, huge, blue-uniformed rump sticking out of the window, illuminated by a nearby street light. He stopped a moment, deep in thoughts Suriya would not have liked, and his cock, swelling impressively, made desperate attempts to get to her. He set the flash on his camera and took a treasured photo. He did consider climbing up after her and cutting her trousers down the middle with his knife before taking the stupid pig from the rear, and as he was tooled up and had no love for the pigs, he also considered, just for fun, putting a bullet up her cunt, something that would not be difficult in her present position; but just as he had decided, on a whim and because her arse and cunt were there, to shoot her, the massive orbs wriggled, squirmed and contorted. She was gone.

Suriya’s hands encountered rough carpet in the darkened room. Moments later she was standing, looking at the pale sliver of light escaping round the edges of a door opposite. There seemed to be no-one in the room where she stood. Very carefully, she crept towards the light but then stopped. She could hear sounds on the other side – but only slight sounds, a barely perceptible grating noise, a clunk, a tap. Was she going to burst in to confront a rat or a cat? This uncertainty was one reason why she did not even now call up support – but the other was that in police college she had been far the best female recruit in the arts of overpowering and subduing suspects.

The brave young officer prepared herself mentally, felt for and grasped the door handle, and burst into the room shouting “POLICE!”

Inside was a large young Black man crouching by a safe and a huge, mean-faced older Black man right in front of her, facing her. He punched her hard in the stomach and everything went blank.


Bruno and me had been commissioned to do this job. I’m the educated one. Look at that word “commissioned”. The guy they called the Uncle had asked us to break into this woman’s office, get the safe open and bring back some DVDs he thought would be there. He didn’t let on why he wanted them, just said there would be “interesting information” on them. As we couldn’t tell which DVDs had the stuff, he told us to take any DVDs or CDs in the safe. Ignore any outside or we’d be loaded down with music or with blanks.

I’m the technical one. I disabled the burglar alarm – nice word, “disabled” – and it was my job to open the safe. Bruno – it’s not his real name but we call him that because he was a boxer and looks a bit like Frank Bruno but bigger and a lot meaner, was there as backup, like persuading anyone that thought about interfering not to.

When the porker came in (I like that name “porker” which I read somewhere , some political group was calling them porkers, it sounds like you could stick them and take a few slices off their arses for frying) it was Bruno who was nearer to her. She was yelling “POLICE!” which was stupid as we hadn’t ordered a strippogram. She was some kind of Paki. Bruno tapped her in the belly, neat like. When Bruno taps someone they go down and stay down. Her hat fell off. She had long glossy black hair, but done up in a bun like they do so someone can’t grab it so easily. She also had a big, superfirm round arse to die for, only we wouldn’t need to die for it. Bruno, sinking his huge mitt in her lovely hair, pulls her head up so’s she’d be looking at him if she’d be looking at anything. I can see he’s got a hard on, and with him that’s awesome. He shakes her a bit, saying “Come on, bitch, wake up!” Bit unfair, I suppose, as he put her to sleep. But hey, the world isn’t fair. She wakes up. Bad move. He slaps her big-eyed stupid face hard, I mean hard. She sort of whimpers. He jerks her head back further. If he jerks it back any further he’ll snap her neck like a dry stick. That would be a waste, man, I tell him. We can kill her later if we like. He eases off just a fraction and slaps her again even harder. Stupid cunt looks like she’s going to cry. He hasn’t even started yet.

She was sort of quite an eyeful, like I say, nice big tits, big arse but not the floppy sort, nice face if you’re a mouth man. She’d held my attention enough for me to forget that she might be followed by other pigs. But no more came. The stupid cunt had come in alone. Even I know the pigs have rules not to do that.

I reckoned the safe could wait and I ought to give Bruno a hand, so I straddled her and twisted her arms till she didn’t mind me taking her reflective jacket off. Then I grabbed a good handful of her nice crisp white blouse in each hand and ripped it right apart. She made some stupid sound like “Oh!” and nothing happened for a moment except I could see nearly all of her lovely big brown tits filling her lacy white bra. Then she surprised me. I’d given her a chance and she took it. Her elbow hit me in the stomach. I’d lifted off her a bit to get a better grip on her blouse and that meant she could get up real quick on to hands and knees, twisting sideways so her shoulder got me in the balls.

I admit it, man – that took me right out. She pushed me off and turned to run. She could have used her CS gas but maybe she thought she didn’t have time or because she hadn’t used it before she didn’t think of it, or like some other stupid pigs she hated using it. Bruno was after her but he’s not a fast mover. That’s why he was never anything special as a boxer. Lost too often on points. It looked like she was going to escape, she must have thought so, and in a way she deserved to for a real clever move. She was just about to find out the world isn’t fair. I stuck out a foot and sweet Miss Piggy just tripped right over it and down she went. Then Bruno was on her, gripping her hair and giving her a good kicking, shouting

“You bitch! You hurt my friend! He’s a real good friend! Cunt! You do that to a bro, you’ll get it! Here! And here! And here! YOU-DO-NOT-TRY-TO-ESCAPE, right?”

She was gasping and bug-eyed and I reckoned it wouldn’t help if she got broken ribs or more. Bruno could have killed her before we’d even fucked her.

“Ease off, bro,” I said. “She’s got the message. We’re gonna fuck her, right? Dead cunt ain’t as much fun as live cunt.” He listened to me as he usually does.

“You’re right, bro,” he admitted. “That pig girl down by the docks – after we chopped her head off her cunt wasn’t half as good.” We weren’t going to get any more fight out of our current piggy, so I took the opportunity to give her nice plump arse a good feel in its nice tight uniform pants. Then Bruno asked if he could take her bra off. I pulled her head up a little, he stuck his big fingers in the bridge between the cups, and he pulled it right out, about a foot from her big tits. Then there was a TWANG and the elastic broke on one side and he tugged it right off. That was humorous. I hadn’t known he had a sense of humour. He gave her bra a good look like a kid with a new toy and stuffed it carefully in his pocket. I was more interested in her big brown tits and I kept her head yanked up while I examined them (nice word, “examined”). For a big pair they were pretty firm (I felt them with my free hand to check). She had nice big aureoles with big pointy nipples on the end of them (that’s where slags normally have their nipples, I’ve noticed, at least until some bro or sister gets to work with a knife). Those pointy nipples made me wonder if the slut was actually enjoying all this and I pinched them to find out. No, they weren’t stiff, but as I pinched them they stiffened nicely. Good girl.

I let her head go and she turned and looked at me with these big cow eyes like pleading but not expecting, so I punched her. I owed her for what she did to me. My fist pulped her nose and the blood ran down her chin on to her tits. Stupid cunt stared at me with those big eyes and I was going to give her another one when she said,

“Why did you do that?” Well, that was a surprise. She hadn’t spoken a word since she’d come in yelling “Police!” and I’d thought maybe she didn’t know any words, not like me.

“What? I said.” Not an answer I pride myself on.

“Why did you do that to me? I know you’re going to, um, rape me and I heard you talking about killing me and I can’t stop you if you do, though I know if you do there’ll be a bigger police reaction. But why just beat me up for no reason at all?” Now it was a surprise, especially after we’d done her over like that, all these joined-up words, and in a posh voice too. I do like my post cunt. Anyway, I didn’t see why I should give her an answer, so I just gripped her lovely left tit with one hand and squeezed the nipple between my other thumb and finger and if it popped off I’d laugh. Her scream was really sweet. It started kind of like a child moaning and rose as my nails went in harder to a real screech. Best sound I’ve ever heard. Wish I’d recorded it. Could try and get it from another done slag, preferably a pig. I let go. Bruno slapped her face hard and said,

“Shut up, slut!” Stupid cunt actually protested with “I’m not a slut!” WHAM! Her nose was splatted anyway. Bruno saw blood on his knuckles and licked it off, looking like a kid with an ice-cream, smiling a big smile.

Well, I never carry a gun but I do have this evil knife. I thought it was time to use it. I pulled it out, let the nice little piggy see it and wonder what I was going to do, and drew it all the way down her right tit from one end to the other, leaving a nice, neat red line. She didn’t say anything, but when I put the knife away she stared at her scratched tit, began to cry and didn’t stop.

“Brother,” I said to Bruno, “we’ve been seriously remiss. We’ve let all this time go by since this young lady joined us and we haven’t even got her pants off. Look – she’s crying!” Bruno looked downcast.
“Sorry, bro!” he said. Does he have a sense of humour? Maybe not.

We were able now to move around, let her go to change position, all that, without her trying anything on. I was getting quite curious about her fat arse, but there was a problem. I couldn’t get her big heavy belt off with all the stuff hanging from it. Finally I worked out the trick. I pulled it well away from her just in case she tried to get at the CS canister, but detached the cuffs and baton, reckoning we’d need them ourselves. Her arse looked good enough to eat (not a bad idea – could try it if we did kill the bitch) even though it was still in her tight, mannish police cunt trousers. Uncle gets quite chatty about how the sows (pig girls – geddit?) used to wear tight skirts instead of trousers and how easy it was to upend one and get a preview – and also how the tight skirts stopped them running fast, which was great if you were trying to escape from one and even better if she was trying to escape from you. Well, that made sense and sounded good, but I like the pants. Looks like they’re cunts trying to do a man’s job, which they are: the pants make a big arse look real evil. Some fucking porkers even ran a campaign complaining that uniform trousers made their arses look big. I like a big arse, especially if it’s firm, and so do most guys, nearly all the bros, and what else are the bitches paid for? I pay taxes, man, for these cows to perform. Taxes on my day job at the computer shop, anyway.

I’m a gentle, patient sort of guy. I started by stroking her arse, then patting it, then pinching her undercheeks. She squirmed a little but said nothing. I yanked her hair to get her attention.
“Excuse me, darling,” I said, “lots of girls would give their right tits to get this from a big Black buck Niggah. Show some respect. Show some appreciation or I might just be made to slice your tits off. Say ‘sorry’ and make happy sounds.”

“Sorry!” she says in this real weak voice.

“Good girl!” I said, patting her rump. “Now sound pleased for us! Lots of girls do!” She began to whimper, which may just have been because she was nearly crying again, but I was kind and accepted it as sounds of pleasure.

“When do we get her ass bare?” Bruno asked. Good question – thanks, bro. Those policewoman pants aren’t easy to get off. Bruno had helpfully taken her shoes off, but I couldn’t get the fucking things down over the widest part of her hips and arse. Then I had a good idea. I get a lot of them. I’m smart. I stuck my knife in the crack between her big blue cheeks – the material was strong but the knife’s very sharp – and sawed them open along the line of her arsecrack like the skin off a bit of fruit. Bruno was very impressed.

“Keep the noise up, slut!” I warned the pig. This time she started saying,

“Oh, thank you. That’s really nice. It’s good of you,” and a load of other shit in this posh voice. I let her go on with it for the time being.

I cut the bridge at the top of her pants and pulled the two halves apart, but I just got a flash of this fantastic round ass with pale pink panties covering about half of it before the two halves flapped back because they were still connected to the pants legs. But now there wasn’t a problem pulling them down and off. She kind of shivered a bit as I was doing it. Bruno asked politely for her pants and I gave them to him and told him to keep them carefully. He was grateful. I’ve seen an ass as good as hers maybe four or five times, excepting TV and internet. One was on my old English teacher. I wanted a piece of her arse right through three years at that shithole, and soon as I left, along with Mike and Grant and Rupe we waited for her, we knew the way she used to go, silly cow thought walking was more healthy, well, it wasn’t for her. So I got that one. There was one girl who wanted it. One in a nightclub who didn’t, but got it all the same. Then Uncle’s current piece – untouchable while she’s his. With Little Miss Piggy, I was going to have a hit rate of four out of five.

You couldn’t get a rounder arse than this pig’s. Warm brown too, nice colour. Real big, but when I poked it, you could tell it hadn’t just been held up by the tight pants, it stood up proud and firm on its own. Bruno’s impressed too – he starts pawing and pinching it. She’s stopped expressing her appreciation, so I put the point of the knife against her arse and warn her to get going again. This time it’s almost convincing:
“Mmmmmn, oooooh, aaaaah…”
“Glad you’re happy, darling,” I said. Bruno was keen to get her panties off right away. I had other ideas.

I’d been curious about whipping, spanking, that kind of thing, since I was a kid, but not many bros were into that except just as a way of keeping their girlfriends in order. In my opinion if they want to beat up a woman they lack subtlety (that’s the word!). Then Uncle, who’d noticed how I looked at some asses, had a word about a little shop and a website. I learnt a lot in a short time. Then I started experimenting. First girls who agreed to it – either willingly or because they didn’t want to risk me being annoyed – then a date or two who didn’t agree but got it anyway, then that nurse on her way home late at night. Mind you, she wouldn’t have got it if she hadn’t obstructed my very reasonable demand for her handbag and then unreasonably and disrespectfully objected to being fucked, and maybe she’d have got away with just a fucking, not a thrashing, if she hadn’t scratched me. Of course, the spanking wasn’t all she got, stupid cunt, and the fucking wasn’t all either.

Well, here was this lovely little piggy with a world-class ass and sexy panties, all in our hands for us to do what we liked to. I sat down on an office chair and like a king asked Bruno to pick her up and put her across my lap. So there was this fantastic big pig ass sticking up on my lap, all for me. I started stroking it like a pet dog, then patting it, and it quivered a bit. Then I raised my hand right up and brought it down on her fat piggy arsecheek so it flattened like someone had sliced a chunk off and she screamed. It rebounded, so I struck in the same place and flattened it again. Then I did the same on the other side. She’d stopped saying how nice we were, so I reminded her she’d got to do that. But she was starting to cry.

“Sorry!” she said. We got into a kind of rhythm:

“WHAM! EIAOOOW! Bur, hur, hur! Thankyou! Hur, hur, WHAM! EIAOOOW!” and so on. After a bit, I lifted the band of her nice white panties up, tore them in two at the back, tugged them out from under her and chucked them on the floor. Well, it looked good enough to eat, slowly, with a barbecue and a nice sharp knife. Good enough to fuck, too. Big, smooth, warm brown ass. Two huge hills, beachballs, whatever, pressed against one another but with this real deep dark cleft in between. The whole thing wobbling just a bit as she breathes and cries. It looks sort of sweet, sort of vulnerable but like you’ve got to have it, like than posh teen I caught coming out from the tennis court and she cried for her mummy, so I got her to say where mummy lived and I done mummy as well. Those were the days. Well, this was even better. Like I said, I had to have it. Only I have to give it to Bruno, he was handing me her stick and saying,

“You want this, bro? She’d use it on us if she had the chance.”

“Good thinking,” I said, and started using it on her arse.

“Please, bro, I want to do her tits with it,” said Bruno, like pleading. I saw no reason not to give him what he wanted- so now Miss Piggy’s big brown tits were going this way and that under her own stick and she’s screaming something beautiful. Bruno’s a strong guy, of course, and I start thinking he’ll knock one right off. What’d we do with it? Anyway, it didn’t happen. I thought it was time to give the cunt the coup de grace. That’s French, right? So I threw her over the safe, pulled out my cock and shoved it up her nice well-behaved Asian piggy cunt, right up till my balls were against her lips. I didn’t even need to tell Bruno to go round the other end and persuade her to open her mouth. He knew the score from that police detective cunt down by the docks and from that nurse who was interfering with Uncle’s drugs business, telling the kids to stay off it. So our sweet little porker is getting it both ends. Bruno’s well away. I almost expected to see his great big cock come out of the back of her head. She was dry and that made me angry so I pushed harder and further. She was real tight, though. After a bit she was sort of limp. I hate it when they go limp. I pulled out and slapped her face and she started to cry, right on to the root of Bruno’s giant cock. Before we changed round, I decided to give it to her up the arse.

“Ever had it up the arse, darling?” I asked. She didn’t reply, so I slapped her harder. Silly me – she couldn’t reply because she had her mouth full. Bruno pulled out. I repeated the question.

“Er, no,” she said.
“Ever had Black cock, before?”
“Um, no.”

Racist bitch, keeping your cunt for your own!” I shouted, and hit her again.
“I’m sorry!” she said. That was good.
“Do you want my big Black cock up your arse?” I asked.
“Er…yes, please.” I’m a kindly sort of guy, so I gave it to her. It didn’t go in easily. Her arse fought me. Maybe the hole wasn’t quite big enough. No problem, if the hole’s too small, just push in till it’s bigger. As it snapped open, defeated, she moaned. So did I.

It was as well for her that when we switched round Bruno stuck to her cunt. He’d have split her arse in two. As for me, I was instructing her in the art of fellatio. Look it up in the dictionary. When she didn’t use her tongue properly I grabbed both her ears and yanked her on to me closer. She was crying on to my balls. That was kind of pretty, kind of sweet. Best fuck I’d had off a pig cunt for at least three weeks. Liar, the best off one of them for ever.

It was along time before we’d finished with her and by then she was real limp and I had to slap her again to make sure we hadn’t been fucking a dead one.
“Can I kill her now?” says Bruno, with this pleading expression – bit like a big, soft dog. I hated to disappoint him.
“What yer got to say, darling? Any reason the bro shouldn’t kill you?” I asked. She looked at me with these big brown tearful eyes.
“Please don’t. It’ll devastate my family,” she said. Wow – “devastate”. Now a girl who can be thrashed, fucked all ways and still use a word like “devastate” has my respect.
“Don’t give a fuck about your family,” said Bruno. But I’d made my decision.
“Bruno, bro, Uncle won’t like it if we kill her,” I explained. “The pigs put more effort into it if you’ve killed one of them. Let her live. Maybe then we’ll run into her again.”
“Shit, man, that would be great!” said Bruno. In his eyes it was sure to happen. So we just tied her up nice and tight, rope either side of her tits, gagged her with a bit torn from her nice white uniform blouse and went back to the work we’d come for.

The safe wasn’t any big deal – not for an expert like me. We done a neat job so you couldn’t see it was damaged. There were some banknotes inside, some files of paper and some DVDs and stuff. We left the paper files and took the rest. Then we shoved Little Miss Brown Piggy inside the safe, pissed in her hat in case she wanted a drink, shoved her stick right up her cunt and shut the door on her. So she couldn’t get out.
“Just hope the owner hasn’t gone on a long holiday,” I says. “Be an awful smell when she gets back.”
Well, that was it for us. We got the shit out and Uncle was pleased with what we’d got.


Inside the dark, confined space, the fumes from her rapists’ piss filling the air, Suriya moaned, cried, and hoped to live. She thought of her doting parents, her heroine-worshipping younger sister and of her pride and duty as a police officer. She persuaded herself that she would get out of this alive when the owner came in the next day. She would show them. She would get back to work.

2...

Dr Amanda Passmore arrived at her office the next morning in good spirits. A long campaign was about to end in success. She had messed with the best and won.

The moment she looked in the room her mood changed. The damage was not great, but it was all too obvious there had been a break-in. Papers and office items were strewn around. With growing foreboding, she made for the safe, telling herself it had not been blown and was surely, surely, intact. There was a strange smell which she discounted. The safe door did not open when she pulled at it, but did open far too easily. One glance showed her CDs and DVDs had gone. Instead, the safe contained a trussed-up, tearstained, brown naked young woman and a stinking policewoman’s hat. The trussed woman was alive: she looked at Amanda with hurt, pleading big brown eyes.

“What the shit are you doing in my safe?” asked Amanda. The brown woman did not reply because she was firmly gagged, but her eyes seemed to say,

“It’s not my fault. Why are you being nasty to me? Please help me!” This irritated Amanda, who slammed the door shut and went off to pour herself a stiff drink. Ten minutes later, her mood slightly improved, she had made a quick check of the premises and found various items of police equipment plus torn bits of uniform. She also realised that one of the smells in the foul, musty cocktail of stink was that of men’s cum. Presumably the thing in the safe had interrupted the burglars and had been raped for her trouble. “Why didn’t the stupid cow call for help?” Amanda said to herself. To be fair, though, the loss of the stuff in the safe was not a total disaster. It was Uncle Chaplain, of course, and a perfectly fair move. They could still do a deal – which left the pathetic lump of cunt in her safe. She thought a bit more.

Suriya had been joyful when she had heard the door opening and steps – the steps of a woman, surely, and that was good news. She was about to be rescued and would get practical help and sympathy. So when the tall, fashionably-dressed, cold-faced but attractive thirty-something woman in black had merely stared at her, spoken rudely to her and slammed the safe door, she had broken down in tears. This was a horrible nightmare and it hadn’t ended yet. But then the door opened again. The tall woman’s face looked kinder now.

“Sorry I was so bitchy. I was upset and not thinking straight. Let’s get you out of there and then we’ll have that gag off,” she said. Soon Suriya, still tied up and cuffed but free of the gag, was placed on a plastic sheet on a settee in another room.

“Right,” said the tall woman, quite kindly, “I imagine you could do with a cup of tea.” She went off to make the tea. Suriya called after her asking to be released from her other bonds, but the woman did not seem to hear. When she returned with the tea, the policewoman was so delighted by the familiar sight of mug and teapot that she did not ask again to be freed. That could wait. The woman checked if she wanted milk and sugar, poured the liquid into the mug and lifted it to her lips. It tasted divine. When she had drunk the mug dry she felt much better. She was a strong girl and a trained officer.

“O.K. – now tell me who you are and what you’re doing in my office,” said the woman rather sharply. Suriya’s recovery had gone far enough for her not to be happy being pushed about. However, her answers would surely get her free quickly. She explained what had happened – her diversion from her planned route, the open window, her lone intervention and, leaving out the worst bits, her treatment at the hands of the burglars.

The woman did not seem grateful and did not hurry to free the policewoman who had tried to protect her property. Instead she said, dryly,

“So instead of calling for help as anyone sensible would have done, you charged in and got fucked. As a result of your incompetence, I’ve lost valuable property.” Suriya straightened up – as much as she could do while still tied up – and spoke very clearly:

“My name is Police Constable Suriya Sethi. I was trying to stop a crime against your property. Kindly let me free immediately. I have to report to the station.”

Instantly the woman’s face changed.

“Insolent bitch! Never speak to me like that again! Never! Do you understand?” She grabbed the policewoman’s long, glossy hair in one hand and delivered a stinging slap to her face with the other. While the woman still held her hair, Suriya stared at her with amazement.

“My colleagues will be looking for me right now! A big search! Do you really want to be done for assaulting me instead of being thanked for helping me?”

The woman smiled close into her eyes.

“Only one problem with that, ducky,” she cooed, “by your own account you were off track and they won’t expect you to have gone down here. I haven’t reported the burglary, and if I never do, they’ll never have any reason to come here.” Suriya began to cry; but with one last spurt of spirit, she sobbed:

“I thought those men were beasts! But you’re no better than them!” For that she earned another hard slap.

“How DARE you compare me to brutal, stupid MEN?” the woman asked. “I know what you deserve, you stupid bitch!”

Suriya had emptied the mug of tea, but the large metal teapot still stood on a table. Amanda Passmore looked at it and a thought formed. She smiled. She drew up a small table, placed the teapot on it, removed the lid to reveal steaming brown liquid inside, grabbed Suriya by the hair and her right tit, and forced the tit through the opening into the hot tea. Suriya screamed. Dr Passmore let her go. She had had to stuff the titflesh hard into the teapot, so it now bulged out inside the pot, which could not fall off and could not easily be pushed off. Suriya’s wrists were still bound. She jerked back so the teapot rose off the table and some hot tea trickled out. She went on screaming while Dr Passmore watched, smiling. Finally the tall woman concluded from her captive’s diminishing screams that the tea was getting cold and she roughly pulled the teapot off. The thing was breathing heavily and sobbing.

It was a pathetic parody of a strong woman. It deserved everything it was going to get, Amanda Passmore thought. Her clear, decisive mind was forming plans. The thing would need to be washed – but she herself should make her phone calls first. The thing could listen.

“Andrea, darling, I’ve got the most fantastic news! Yes, of course we’re meeting later today, but there’s a bit of a change of plan. No, still come here. Same time. But we won’t be using the girl from Silberstein’s. We’ve got another. When I opened up today, I found my office had been burgled. No, not too bad. Yes, something was missing, but I know what to do about it. I shouldn’t have been surprised, really. Down to experience and all that. But the burglars had left me a most fantastic present. A little piggy! All juicy pork! Tied up and stuffed inside my safe! No, not a real pig, a policewoman, and quite a big one, at least, her tits and arse are big. Yes, bring the tape measure for the records. No, we can’t stuff her and put her in a case! Andrea, you are a hoot! Why not? Good question – I’ll think about it. No, I think you’re right. We can still get the Silberstein’s girl to come. By the way, our piggy’s a brown one. Some kind of Paki. Do they? How interesting. Byeeee!”

Amanda made one more calls in similar terms, though she spoke more slowly, clearly and carefully, and her tone was less bubbly, less girly, more respectful. Then she rang yet another number and spoke to someone who was clearly not a friend, having a businesslike conversation:

“Yes, we’d still like her to come and of course the payment is unchanged, but you can tell her the specials are on someone else. Who is it, by the way? Louise? Excellent! She’ll enjoy it.” She put down the phone, turned to Suriya, who was still softly moaning and staring at her poor, burnt, glowing tit, smiled briskly and sais, “There we are! All done in a few minutes. The girls are looking forward to meeting you.”

“I need to go to the toilet,” said the policewoman.

Amanda took her to the toilet, dragging her by her long black hair, and then to the shower where she dumped her in the cubicle, set the controls in the coldest position and turned the jet on. Suriya squealed and shivered, but slowly the stinking glue from the burglars’ cocks was cleared along with her own dried blood. Turning the shower off, Amanda advanced with a cake of acrid-smelling, yellowish soap which she applied vigorously to her captive, removing the last signs of the burglars, giving particular attention to the girl’s cunt and tits, before turning on the ice-cold shower again. Finally she dragged the girl by the hair again on to a large towel and left her to dry.

Busying herself to make the place ready for her guests, Amanda had no time for the plump brown lump on her second best towel until it spoke:
“Please…”
“Yes?”
“I’m hungry.”
“Of course you are,” said Amanda, not unkindly, and fed the thing some chicken drumsticks, which it gnawed.

The doorbell rang. Amanda left her captive and welcomed her friend Andrea. Suriya heard steps and voices. The door opened and a heavily-built, heavy-faced middle-aged woman was staring at her. She stared for a long time and then turned to her friend.

“Yes, I see what you mean, dear, but she’ll just about do,” she said.

“Tea, darling? Coffee?” Amanda asked. The two women sat drinking and chatting as if Suriya was not there. She had decided to keep quiet for the time being. It seemed there was going to be some kind of gathering. If she spoke out, she might be silenced – but if she waited till they were all present, the chances of finding someone sympathetic increased.

After the usual girlish and enthusiastic greetings, the overweight woman asked about the captive.

“Piggy. Apparently tried to stop a burglary here, with such success that she got left in my safe in place of my stuff. No, it wasn’t that valuable – a business matter. Well, I just thought this useless bit of tail might make up for her incompetence by giving us some fun before we take care of her in the usual way.” Fat Andrea agreed wholeheartedly. She stared at Suriya, pinched and tweaked her tits and went back to chatting with Amanda. When the buzzer went again it was a very different visitor.

Confused, weak but not cowed, Suriya was waiting for someone more sympathetic to appear. The new arrival looked quite old, maybe about 60, but moved like a younger woman. She was expensively-dressed in a well-fitting apple-green trouser suit polished black shoes. She was Far Eastern, perhaps by her quite pale skin and slight build Japanese. The other two women greeted her enthusiastically and she responded graciously but with a hint of more reserve. She looked at Suriya and caught her gaze. To Suriya, the cold eyes seemed to look right through her.

“So, Amanda, is this what we have to play with?” Amanda was clearly about to say yes, but for the first time Suriya interrupted.

“I’m not something to play with! I’m a human being! I’m a police officer and I demand you let me go! My colleagues will be EAIOOW!” Amanda had slapped her face viciously so her head jerked away. The tall woman approached her.

“What a disgraceful example of ill-breeding! I really do not know where they come from. NEVER speak that way to a lady!” With that she took firm hold of Suriya’s ear and twisted it, smiling slightly, till the policewoman screamed.

“No logic about these types. She thinks because she’s a human being – which she may be, just – that she’s not for playing with. What a strange idea! And to claim to be a police officer and a human being – quite remarkable!” said the Japanese woman. “These whores do not know their place.”

“I suppose this tiresome piece will protest that she’s not a whore because she’s a policewoman, Akiko,” Andrea remarked.

“What is the difference?” asked Akiko. “Some Indonesian friends of mine were annoyed by a policewoman when they were doing business in New Zealand. There were nine of them and she tried to arrest them! Of course they all raped her and took her back to Indonesia to earn her food. A whore, like this one.”

“That’s not fair!” said Suriya, quite loud.

“Well, that’s one for the book! It can talk!” said Andrea. The Japanese woman said nothing but advanced on Suriya, gripped her ear, twisted it round and tugged viciously four times. Suriya wailed and sobbed. The woman slapped her in the face, remarking that peasant whores were all the same.

The doorbell rang again. The new arrival was a hard-faced young woman with large breasts, a bottle blonde with a low-cut top and skin-tight black trousers. It was not hard for Suriya to guess her profession.

“I’ve brought my knitting,” said Andrea.

“Oh, Andrea darling, that’s fantastic!” Amanda enthused. “The red wool?”

“No, pink.”

“And the REALLY sharp needles?”

“Of course.” She approached Suriya and wrenched her roughly so that her generous tits were best presented. “Now, Miss Piggy, I want you to listen carefully. These knitting needles can easily make holes in your silly big titties. Want me to demonstrate? No? Very well. If we have any reason to be dissatisfied with you, I’m going to knit your titties together with pink wool. If you’re a good little girl and do everything we say, I’ll be very kind to you and not improve your titties. So – are you going to behave yourself? ARE YOU?” Suriya could not find the words to reply. One razor-sharp knitting needle descended towards her right tit. Andrea gripped the tit firmly and as Suriya opened her mouth to concede, jabbed the needle in. Suriya screamed but Andrea, grinning, kept pushing till the point came out the far end. Then she let go. The three women stood smiling, observing their captive’s reactions as she screamed, wailed, writhed and finally quietened down, staring disbelievingly at her damaged breast with the knitting needle sticking through it. It had not happened. Things like that didn’t happen. This was a horrible dream. It hurt like hell. It wasn’t a dream. It had happened and her poor tittie would never be the same again. She burst out crying.

“No nobility, no strength, no courage, no dignity, these people,” Akiko commented. “Natural slaves. My father told a story about the war. His unit overran a British army hospital. They themselves had suffered casualties, so they needed to clear the hospital of British and Indian troops quickly. The nurses were Indians and Burmese with a few British. Some cowered, but two made trouble. One was British, a tall girl, much taller than any of our soldiers, but very young. The other was an Indian with enormous fat hindquarters, a bit like this one only even fatter. The British nurse was pleading with our men, appealing to their “better nature” not to do anything to the wounded British and Indians – as if a soldier’s better nature were not simply to obey all orders, to fight bravely, to kill and to die willingly! The Indian whore was actually ordering them not to touch the patients, lecturing them! So they decided to make an example of both. They seized the British girl and the Major raped her, but only the Major. Then they dowsed her with petrol, still with her nice uniform on, and a soldier threw a cigarette on her. My father said it was so wonderful, so exciting! The screaming, the stupid girl running about like a headless chicken! So funny, such good entertainment for the troops!

Then they also seized the Indian and she finally went silent, as she thought they would do the same to her. But they didn’t! Instead they stripped her, roped her over a bed with her huge bottom sticking out, and thrashed her with their belts and bamboo sticks till her buttocks were more red than brown and she was sobbing and wailing and pleading for mercy. Then they raped her, of course, as she deserved. Then off for comfort girl, making soldiers far from wives and girlfriends happy. Then very near the end of the war, when our men were retreating, half a company who had been lost in the jungle came out more than half starved and found these whores. The others were Burmese or Malayan, quite skinny, but they stared at this Indian whore with the huge bottom, and naturally, well, you can imagine…” Her friends and the hard-faced young woman laughed.

“Is she really a pig?” asked the young woman. Amanda confirmed she was. The young woman approached Suriya with something in her eyes that made the policewoman very frightened indeed. She struck her hard across the face, making her nose bleed on to her tits. She seized the undamaged tit and wrenched it round like someone shifting a rusted lever or wheel. She continued to twist. Suriya felt unbearable pain. She let out a long, screaming wail. Her tit was going to come off! She was going to die, or maybe worse, live one-titted! The other women were laughing and clapping. Finally the girl let go and spat in her victim’s face.

Suriya wondered what appalling torture would come next. In fact the women relaxed over some holiday photos Andrea had brought. Their captive, dribbling blood from mouth and tit, seemed forgotten.

After a few minutes Amanda, still chatting, strode over to Suriya and began showing off her good points much as a slaveholder might do when trying to make a sale:
“Nice tits, wouldn’t you agree? Quite big but firm, and big aureoles and nipples for those that like them.” She squeezed her captive’s left nipple, producing a squeal. “Not exactly the strong stoic type, but lots of girls like plenty of noise. Arse in the top league. Big, but no flab.” She prodded one haunch to prove her point. “Nice pussy, but we can go into that more later. In the meantime, darlings, it’s playtime!” she announced. “Usual procedure. Take a card.” She held out a pack of playing cards and each woman took one. Finally she herself took a card, and simultaneously, they all looked at their cards. Andrea had drawn the ace, the Japanese woman a three, the bottle blonde a five and Amanda the Queen of Hearts. While Andrea smiled smugly, her hostess left the room, returning with a small green bag. She laid out the contents one by one, making sure Suriya could see: a riding switch, a leather strap with a zigzag carved pattern and a kind of baton from which came five tightly-knotted cords – a flail.

“I don’t think we need her restrained any more, girls,” she said. Kaylee, darling, could you oblige?” The bottle blonde freed Suriya of all her bonds and yanked her upright by her fine black hair. Suriya elbowed her in the tits, hard, following up with a smash to the jaw. The girl went down. Amanda tried to intervene but Suriya kicked her in the shin. She yelped and hopped backwards. It hurt for Suriya too, as she had no shoes on, but she was now a few steps from freedom.

The old Japanese woman stood in her way, regarding her calmly. Suriya kicked at her knee but found her foot being pulled up so she fell heavily on her back and hit her head. Nonetheless, she started to rise, but the old woman placed on delicate foot on her stomach and pressed her big toe into a carefully-selected place. Suriya blacked out. The women gathered round the unshapely lump of brown flesh. Kaylee kicked it twice and spat on its face.

When Suriya came too she found herself staring at a pattern of rusty red, cream and yellow. It seemed vaguely familiar. There was something else, blurred at the edge of her vision, something brown. She was staring at the carpet and a chair leg. She was draped over the chair face down, with one cushion under her belly. She heard light steps. A hand gripped her hair and jerked her head up. Amanda Passmore stared into her face.

“Slut! Don’t ever attack us again or we’ll kill you slowly!” she said. “Do you accept that you’re our slave?” Suriya did not quite accept, but it seemed safer to agree.

“Yes,” she said.

“Then stick your fat bottom out more and open your legs so we can have a good look. More! OK, that’ll do. Look at that girls!” There was much laughter and Andrea poked her pudgy finger into Suriya’s cunt. She gurgled with pleasure as Suriya squirmed. Then she picked up the strap, stroked it, flexed it, kissed it and slammed it down on her victim’s arse. There was a loud SPLACK! The initial impact hurt shockingly, but the evil object wrapped itself around her buttock to spread the damage. Suriya screamed. The women laughed and Andrea raised her arm again. The other buttock was set on fire. Ten times the strap struck and between each blow Suriya whimpered, anticipating the pain. After the tenth Andrea bent, sniffed Suriya’s cunt, smiled and gave way to Amanda.

“Look, darling, you’ve left a nice zigzaggy pattern all over her fat bum!” Amanda said. “It’s almost a work of art. Still, I think I can improve on it.” She took up the switch, showed it to Suriya, got into position, waited, and flicked the policewoman’s left buttock delicately with her long, violet fingernail. Suriya, expecting the bite of the switch, screamed and spasmed. She was shamed by the loud laughter. Then the switch bit into her plump arseflesh like a knife into butter. That was a longer and a more desperate scream – but it was not the last. Amanda targeted the marks of the strap and then moved to her upper thighs, working systematically down, Finally she stood back, calculated the angle carefully, and buried the switch in her cunt. Brain overridden, Suriya sprang upright, A cunning little punch from the Japanese dropped her and Kaylee sat on her head to keep her down.

“Disobedient little slut!” sneered Amanda. She delivered a second in the same place before handing over to Kaylee the bottle blonde, who was giggling and leering.

Kaylee had the flail in her hand.

She pranced round in front of Suriya to show it to her, pointing out that it could be used on her “big piggy tits” as well as on her “fat arse”. Then she stuck the evil implement in her belt and amused herself pinching and slapping Suriya’s bottom cheeks.

“Never seen a Paki arse this close up. Smells like shit, doesn’t it?” she said. Well, time for some fun!” Suriya knew what that meant. She steeled herself. It was not enough. As the five knotted cords bit deep into her arseflesh, she let out a long scream like a death-cry. After a second or two a second cry mingled with it – Kaylee’s cry of triumph. She struck again, lower – and then a third time exactly where the second blow had landed. Suriya was in full cry. Five more times her tortured arse received the flail. To the excited, admiring watchers, the big, butterplump cheeks now looked like raw meat or something rescued from a road accident. They wobbled alluringly between each stroke.

“Tits now!” said Kaylee.

“Do you want me to hold her head up?” asked Amanda.

“Yeah,” said Kaylee. Amanda gripped Suriya’s lustrous black hair and jerked her head up and back, revealing the full extent of her beautiful tits. Kaylee squeezed them, pinched them, toyed with the nipples and finally, as Suriya gasped, bit one, leaving deep purple tooth marks. Suriya wailed and sobbed in pain and humiliation, but the others knew her punishment had hardly started. Kaylee, grinning widely, raised her arm with the flail. She struck. The pain was incredible, worse than when the knitting-needle had been driven through her tit. Kaylee struck again, leaving blotchy red lines across both brown tits.

The doorbell rang. Everyone froze. No other visitors were expected. Someone started knocking at the door. Amanda broke out of her spell of fear, organised Suriya being gagged and dragged into another room by Kaylee and Andrea, and hurried downstairs to the door.

PC Angela Simpson was Suriya’s best friend at the station, a black officer of similar age and interests, though from a poor family, not a well-off middle-class one. She had been devastated when Suriya went missing and had volunteered for the search with such passion that the Superintendent had realised there would be trouble if she was not used for that. She had completed the tasks she had been given, so now she was free to follow up her own ideas and a gathering suspicion about where Suriya might have gone. She had been running over in her mind what she knew about her friend and her beat. She was supposed to patrol down the High Street, then by way of Norton Road and Victory Avenue to the Nicholas Farm roundabout, taking in the Lidl car park and the Nag’s Head pub on the way – but the Nag’s Head was the spot on the beat where there was most often trouble, Suriya did not shirk heading for trouble but considered it her duty to seek it out, and from the High Street a short-cut to the Nag’s Head would lead down that street of offices. She had a rational hunch Suriya might have gone down there. Someone was supposed to have covered it earlier, but Angela suspected it was not a careful check. For friendship’s sake, she would put that right.

A tall, well-dressed, self-assured-looking woman answered the door, apologising for the delay.

“I was with some friends and you caught me at the wrong moment,” Amanda explained. “Can I help you, officer?”

“Just a couple of questions, madam. Nothing to worry about. Sorry to trouble you. Have you seen this officer since yesterday early evening?” Amanda looked carefully at the photo of Suriya.

“No, I haven’t seen any policewoman yesterday or today – until you now, of course. What’s the other question?”

“Are you aware of any trouble or criminal activity last night? The sound of a fight, maybe? Signs of a break-in? Screaming of car tyres?” As Amanda took her time appearing to think over the possibilities, the observant Angela noticed that there was blood on Amanda’s long fingernails. “Have you hurt yourself, madam?” she asked.

“Why? Oh, that blood. Oh, it really is too embarrassing. I had an argument with my boyfriend. He called me something rather unpleasant and I scratched him.”

“Oh, I see. I’m sorry. Was that very recent?”

“About an hour ago.”

“That blood looks fresh.” Amanda looked confused, then shamed.

“I’m really sorry I lied. You’re quite right. I don’t have a boyfriend. I have a girlfriend. I just had a particularly nasty argument with her in front of some other friends. That’s why I was slow answering the door. She slapped me and I scratched her.”

“I understand. Would you mind if I spoke to your girlfriend?”

“Very well.” Amanda gave an impression of being reluctant, but not of any serious possibility of refusing. “She’s upstairs.”

“Lead the way, please,” said Angela.

Amanda opened the door, walked through, and turned as if to speak to the black policewoman. Angela opened her mouth, said,

“Oh!” and slumped untidily to the floor.

“I haven’t used that one for nearly three years, but it worked like a dream,” said Akiko, smiling. “This one is quite nice for her kind.”

“There didn’t seem to be any other cops working the street,” Amanda said. “I think we’ve just collected another little present. Hellooooo, girls! You can bring our fat-arsed piggy toy back in!”

Kaylee and Andrea dragged their captive back in. When she saw her friend lying in a heap on the floor, she made awkward head and face movements as if trying to expel the gag.

“I think it wants to say something,” commented Akiko. “Take the gag away!” They did. Suriya screamed, a long scream that turned into a wail and finally a long moan.

“That was very impressive,” said Amanda. “I hope the recorder got it all. Music is the food of love and all that!”

“What have you done to her? You haven’t killed her?” Suriya finally managed to say.

“No, we haven’t killed her. Special friend of yours, is she? How does she suck?” Amanda responded. Suriya burst out crying again.

“Well, Kaylee, could you put this stupid nig-nog’s cuffs on her own wrists?” Amanda asked. In the meantime, while we’re waiting for it to wake up, we can have nibbles. We’ve got an ideal waitress!” She left the room.

While she held Suriya, Andrea, probing with a knitting-needle, pushed a strong bootlace through the hole in her tit. She passed the lace through a hole in a leather belt and gave it a slight tug. Suriya screamed. Amanda reappeared with cheese straws, an assortment of biscuits, a packet of crisps, some orange juice and some very small glasses. Amanda poured orange juice into the glasses and pushed them into her victim’s tight arsecrack. Then she added the food items, shoving the sticks in hard. She took over the lead from Andrea and led Suriya around to her guests one by one for them to pick out nibbles and drink. The Japanese woman picked out a chocolate biscuit in a wrapper, ate the biscuit and shoved the wrapper up Suriya’s arse.

Angela groaned.

“Niggy Piggy’s woken up!” Kaylee yelled. “More fun, ladies?”

Angela was staring at the grotesque scene with incomprehension. She still didn’t understand when Kaylee smashed her nose. After the groan, the first sound Angela made was,

“Suriya!”

“Yes, we’ve been having lots of fun with your girlfriend. She’s got very nice tits, a faqntastic arse, and her cunt…but of course you know all that!” Andrea said. Angela continued to stare at her friend.

“What have you done to her?” she asked.

“Well, let’s see…she’d already been raped. We’ll be raping her too, of course, but we haven’t got round to it yet. Andrea here made a nice, neat hole right through her big tit and we’ve fitted her up with a lead. We’ve thrashed her arse and tits. Have I forgotten anything, girls?”

“Shoved cheese straws up her arsecrack!” Kaylee added. Their new captive did not have the sense to stay quiet.

“You must be mad! You can’t do this to her! We’re police officers! All the…UNK!” Kaylee had kicked her in the cunt. Angela fell silent, but Kaylee kicked her there again just for fun.

“Kaylee – leave a little bit of it for the rest of us, darling. Andrea – could you keep an eye on the big-arsed one while we strip this thing?” Amanda asked. Soon Angela was naked, though the women paused a little to laugh at her pretty, pale blue panties with little pink flowers on, before stripping them off and passing them around to smell. The prey before them was slimmer than the other, with tight, narrow, almost triangular tits and an arse that stuck out a long way without a big spread of hips. They pummeled it, laughing at its bounciness. Kaylee pulled the buttocks wide apart and spat between them, which caused still more laughter. The three visiting women were too excited and amused to notice Amanda had slipped out.

“Let’s give niggy-noggy-missy’s black arse the paddle and the switch and the flail!” cried Kaylee. The other two thought this was a good idea and soon the disbelieving Angela was squealing as Andrea, smiling evilly, crashed the paddle down on her bouncy black haunches. Kaylee took over, and soon Angela was burbling and sobbing in the pauses between the whacks.

“Now I give this inferior being the switch!” the old Japanese woman announced. “Ah! Our hostess has come with news!”

“It can wait!” said Amanda.

“Then the bottom awaits the switch!” said Akiko, raising her arm high over Angela’s quivering cheeks. As the cruel little instrument bit into the dark, quivering cheeks, the torturer seemed to be translated into a trance, a trance of triumph and joy. Angela’s wails, the writhing of her defenceless arse, the narrow blooded lines, sent her into raptures. Finally she stopped whipping but continued in ecstasy, her hands pressing towards her cunt.

“Time to get serious!” she cried.

“Agreed,” said Amanda. “Now I wonder if these little sluts will get off on seeing us strip?” Neither Angela nor Suriya gained any pleasure from it. In fact they were both wondering fearfully what their captors stripping meant for their own treatment. It did not look good. Andrea, probably the least likely to attract a man, stripped with coquettish glances and body language. Kaylee demonstrated her professional skills in Angela’s face, poking her fat arse into the black officer’s face, gyrating in front of her, throwing the black lacy bra at her. Amanda and Akiko, though, stripped with no fuss, as if it was in preparation for battle.

The four women stood naked in front of their prey. Only Kaylee was young, though Amanda’s breasts were still firm and her stomach flat. Andrea was flabby and the Japanese woman looked shrivelled. The two captured policewomen watched them as they whispered in a brief discussion. They were nodding and moving apart: they had reached a conclusion. Amanda and Akiko were approaching Suriya, while Kaylee and Andrea were headed for Angela.

Suriya’s last sight before the two women were on her was of Angela’s look of horror and Kaylee’s look of pure lust.

“Be my guest. You have her cunt first,” Amanda said to her guest. They pulled Suriya’s legs apart and Amanda sat on her face, pinning her down. Then she began to rub her slit against Suriya’s mouth and nose, spreading salty wetness all over her face.

“Suck me, slag, or I’ll pop your silly brown eyes out!” Amanda hissed, pressing at the side of Suriya’s left eye with thumb and forefinger.

“Aaaaah! No! I’llblmb, urgh, um…” Suriya replied – and then she was sucking at the soft lips, swallowing her conqueror’s female essence…

“USE YOUR TONGUE, PAKI SLUT!” cried Amanda. She was clumsy – she’d never done this before – but perhaps her life depended on it. She slipped her tongue between the lips.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” cried Amanda. Suriya would have cried something too, if she had been able, because a wrinkled, bony hand with two rings had beeen thrust roughly up her cunt. Long fingers sought her clit.

“Got it!” cried Akiko. The fingers squeezed, twisted and jerked. Suriya’s screams were muffled in Amanda’s cunt. Up to now, her nose had been free, but now Amanda shifted a little so it too was covered. Suriya ran out of breath. She gagged. She kicked and bucked weakly, giving both women extra pleasure. She was going to die.

Amanda started to stand up, letting Suriya gasp in air. Amanda farted. Suriya lay gasping like a fish out of water while the Japanese woman continued to investigate her cunt.

“Enough!” said the woman, pulling out. Suriya lay as if half-dead and did not see what was happening to Angela.

At that moment Andrea’s plump fingers were delving deep inside Angela’s cunt and Kaylee had placed her fat arse on the black policewoman’s face, just giving her the opportunity to breath for a second or so from time to time.

“Eat muff, pig bitch!” she yelled, squirming her cunt on to Angela’s mouth.

“I’ve got her clit!” cried Andrea.

“Twist it and pull it! Maybe it’ll come off!” Kaylee suggested. The policewoman’s clit did not come off, but the torture did make her wail and scream every second her mouth was free from Kaylee’s cunt. This just meant Kaylee could push more flesh and juices into it.

“Let’s bite her big black tits!” Kaylee squealed. So both of them leaned forward to take one defenceless tit in their mouths – and bit, hard. Blood trickled down below first Kaylee’s mouth, then Andrea’s. Then Kaylee’s arse descended on Angela’s nose and mouth and stayed there. Their victim twisted and kicked. The kicks became weaker, more mechanical. As she lay dying, her two tormentors were kissing.

“Enough! Let her breathe!” said Amanda. “I’ve got a use for her.”

Suriya had revived enough to see her friend lying dead. Then the black girl’s arm twitched. Then her mouth opened. She had survived.

“So what’s the use for this piece of shit?” Kaylee asked.

“Yes, we’ve trusted you, darling, that we wouldn’t get these sluts complaining about us to their bosses. What are we going to do with them?” asked Andrea. Amanda smiled.

“While you were having fun, I was fixing things. Miss Brownarse, the one the burglars thoughtfully left in my safe, is worth a good price. I could sell her in Russia or Thailand or Morocco, say, but my agent advises that for her the best price would be in West Guinea. The President for Life has a penchant for girls. Yes, you’ll have seen all that stuff about torture, corruption and oppression, but he sits on oil and no-one among the big powers are going to offend him. At any one time he has about fifteen girls to play with and they last on average nineteen months. Then they get weak or he tires of them and he and his friends have a big banquet and kiss goodbye to them. I’ve sent a drifter and a foreign student to him before, but not a piggie. Thing is, he has a particular dislike for Asian – Indian – types, something to do with the trading class in the country before independence, or some say to do with some girl who turned him down when he was still just an army captain. So he particularly enjoys having fun with one. The deal is already done.”

“And the nig-nog slag?” Kaylee asked.

“Ah…that’s a nice one. You know I had a bit of a dispute with our friend Uncle Chaplain. That was why his goons raided my place. Just a business matter. Well, I was holding certain videos he wanted because I thought I could trade them for concessions in part of his business. He wouldn’t play ball. But Uncle has VERY strong views about black cops and so do his friends. They see them as traitors. Now a black cop slut with the tits and arse this one has – she’d be very interesting to Uncle, I knew. So I rang him.”

“Well?” asked Akiko.

“We reached a mutually advantageous agreement. He gets the piggie and I get the concession.”

“Brilliant, darling!” cried Andrea.

“Some removal men are coming for both of them in less than two hours. They’ll take the black slag to Uncle and the brown one to a certain small port. It’ll more than cover the cost of replacing that rubbish safe.”

“What are you doing this for?” moaned Angela. She knew very well what kind of reception she’d get from that evil gangster Uncle Chaplain. Amanda laughed.

“Money – and pleasure. Plus ridding the world of two absurd nuisances.” Angela’s mouth fell open. She stared at Amanda – and then at Suriya.

“Suriya – be brave!” she said.

“You too, Angie. You’ll be all right!” Suriya responded. Then she screamed as Akiko approached her with a breadknife, eyes fixed on her cunt. Akiko laughed triumphantly and put the knife down.

Angela and Suriya were well bound, ankles tied together and tied in turn to their necks, the taut rope running along the lines of their arsecracks, their wrists cuffed behind their backs, their mouths gagged with huge wads of toilet paper and greasy kitchen cloths. Their eyes, though, were left open and so they saw the “removal men”, saw their gloating expressions and the rapidly growing bulges in their jeans.

With horror, Suriya recognized one of them. It was the huge thug who’d beaten her up and raped her during the burglary. The other, a thin, grim-faced black man with long, straggly hair and expensive clothes, she did not recognize.

Drug dealer Randy McCormick turned to Bruno.

“Hey, let’s look at this Paki pig’s azz. Yeah, I recognize it! I almost put a bullet up it last night when she was climbing through a window. Would have done, but I was a tad too slow.”

“I know her too, bro,” Bruno replied. When she got through that window she came hollering in on us, interrupting our work. She is a real good fuck, man.”

“The other pig cunt is one of us, and instructions are to deliver her to Uncle. I reckon even you know what he’ll do with her, bro. We don’t need to hurry and no-one’s gonna study their cunts and azzholes. Let’s stop on the way and have some fun.”

“That will be great, Randy,” said Bruno as he loaded Angela on top of Suriya into the back of the unmarked dark blue van.


Angela was delivered to Uncle and Suriya to a Liberian-registered cargo ship. Uncle and his boys and girls played with Angela for five days till she had given them all the information she could and she was too weak to scream. Then she became an ornament on Uncle’s bedroom wall, taken out from time to time to amuse important guests or make a point to possibly unreliable female gang members.

Suriya became the President for Life’s favourite slave for all of four months, and lasted two years, five months, nineteen days in her busy role.


President for Life, High Commander of Justice Laurent Gabia lounged on a sofa, his broad, fat buttocks spreading wide, the emblem of sacred law of an ancient disappeared kingdom dangling from a thick golden chain over his bulging, open-necked white shirt. Beside him was his favourite son and designated successor Julius, wearing the uniform of an admiral of the fleet, but with shirt open too, for it was a hot day.

In the President for Life’s left hand was a bottle of French beer. In his right was a rare-cooked steak. One empty bottle lay on its side on the floor and two more sat on a wicker table. He interspersed drinking from the bottle with gnawing the steak, sucking its juices hungrily. His son also had a beer and a chunk of meat, though his was fattier and he drank less heavily.

The President belched.

“I’ve changed my mind about Indians, son,” he said. “I quite like them now. I must get another one.”





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