[Ambush-predator]

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.