Breaking & Entering · Part 2

Breaking & Entering · Part 2 (2/2)
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“To answer your questions, dear – I’m not rescuing you because you richly deserve what you’re about to get. In fact it’s long gone time for this,” her husband responded. “as for the police, two of them are alongside you and don’t seem to have much idea what to do. On the other hand, they both have very nice arses and quims, and one of them is decidedly superior to you in the arse department.” He tapped Sally’s bottom with the water pistol.

“Ready?” asked Dave politely. A moment later the trainer descended on the posh woman’s bottom.

Despite her plight, Sally could not help thinking there was something quite amusing about this punishment. The woman seemed dreadfully offended, and something of this found its way into the quality of her shrieks. After eight or nine swats, though, she was just screaming and sobbing like any punished girl. Social distinctions did not stand against a spanking.

“I do have a cane. Would you like me to get it?” said Jonathan.

“Thanks a lot. Do, please,” Dave replied.

“Da…Darren – I mean Dave,” Simon protested, “how do you know he isn’t going to call the police? They might send proper coppers!”

“I’m a good judge of character. I trust this gentleman,” the older man replied.

Jonathan returned with a cane. Sally could not see properly what was happening, but the sounds were quite instructive. The woman clearly did not like being caned, and it appeared that she had got it from each of the three men. Sally began to feel slightly sorry for her.

“Can I make a suggestion, gentlemen?” Jonathan said. “It would be excellent fun to cane the big-arsed policewoman next.”

“Good idea!” said Simon fervently. “You first, sir.”

“Stop this! I’m a police officer!” cried Sally.

“Yes, and I’ve always dreamed about thrashing one, but I’ve never had the chance before,” Jonathan replied. “Well, I tell a lie. There’s this lovely little plump blonde piece patrols regularly round the local playing-fields and one day I chanced on her all alone behind this hut and I thought, ‘wouldn’t it be beautiful to grab her and overpower her and strip her and thrash her and, well, make love to her,’ but I just said ‘Hello, what a nice day!’ and she smiled at me so nicely I felt really bad for not taking my chance to do all that to her. But now you and your dusky friend have come along! I’m so grateful! What’s more, I do believe I’ll now have confidence to do the right thing next time I meet that juicy little blonde round the playing-fields.”

“Jonathan, you are waffling. If you want to cane the wretched slut, get on with it! YEAAAAAAAAAAA!” said his wife. Then, after a few moans and sobs, she added, “that was meant as a constructive suggestion!”

“Darling, I think our relationship is making progress!” said Jonathan smugly. “Hmmm, PC Thingy, you do have a very thrashable arse.” To underline this, he pinched and patted her bottom. His next contact with it was less mild. The cane bit into her right cheek like a superheated sabre. Sally screamed. Jonathan cut another mark below the first.

As he punctiliously continued to stripe her right buttock, avoiding the left, it became evident to Sally that he was no expert. His aim was uncertain, but he was certainly enthusiastic. Little “aaaaaah!”s after each stroke showed he was enjoying it, up until the moment when he handed over to Dave. Sally used the brief intermission to cry a lot. Her friend Yasmin, though, used it to protest.

“Leave her alone, you devils! Can’t you hear you’re hurting her? We’re police officers and we’ll IAAAAAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!” Sally could not see what they had done to her, but she did not interfere again.

Dave coughed politely as though attracting Sally’s attention. Then he sliced her left buttock. It was obvious that he was an expert, a master, his aim immaculate and the fiery retribution enhanced by a sly little flick of the wrist. When he had finished, a sobbing Sally had a row of precise angry red lines throbbing on her left cheek.

Simon made play of not knowing where to cane her next, before cutting a few red weals into her upper thighs and finishing with two clever strokes diagonally across those on each buttock, leaving it looking like a five-barred gate.

“Miss Brownie next,” Dave pointed out. “’Dja like to go first, Simon?” Simon would, and Yasmin was soon wailing after each ominous WHOOSH and cruel CRACK! When he handed over to Jonathan, he had a few words of advice: “Jonathan, mate, I notice your aim isn’t brilliant. I’ve striped her on both buns, but with nice big spaces. Now see if you can cut her between my marks.”

“I’ll try,” said the householder uncertainly, and began his work.

“Well done, mate!” said Simon at the end. It was left for Dave to target a couple on the most sensitive part of her undercheeks and stripe her long legs.

“Well, gentlemen, that was really an education!” Jonathan enthused. “Darling, I think I might just untie you now, if these gentlemen are happy with that.”

“Go ahead,” said Dave. When Jonathan’s woman was free, she sidled up to him and Sally heard her whispering in his ear.

“Why, certainly, dear!” Jonathan replied, sounding surprised. “I didn’t know you cared! Which one of them do you want to thrash?”

There was a long silence.

“I’d really like to thrash both the little tarts…”

“Of course you can!”

“But the fat-bottomed one first.”

Sally knew that could only mean her.

“Your wife is quite a lady!” said Dave appreciatively.

“There isn’t much room left on her,” said Simon more doubtfully.

“You could do her calves. Maybe the nice little pocket at the back of her knees – and her tits haven’t had any action,” Dave pointed out helpfully.

“Excellent! All of them then!” the woman pronounced.

And so poor Sally had to submit to her slender calves being striped, vicious and cunning blows snaking into the point between the backs of her thighs and her calves – and then being pulled upright in Simon’s strong arms for the cruel, vindictive thrashing of her tender tits. The woman finished with two successive slices on to Sally’s left nipple. There was nothing left of Sally’s pride and professionalism but a moaning, tear-drenched slave; but Yasmin’s final abasement was yet to come.

Sally was so defeated that the sounds of anguish, of offended dignity, of steady defeat, from her friend and comrade caused her little further pain, but only relief that it was not her being punished. By the end, Yasmin was reduced as Sally had been.

“There is, of course, one more act tradition and natural justice demand,” Dave intoned.

Sally was experienced enough in these matters to have a pretty good idea of what he meant; but she had not anticipated the details of delivery, with Simon’s huge cock filling her mouth and jamming down her throat, filling her with his essence as though she was to be stuffed; Jonathan forcing himself roughly into her arsehole and Dave mastering her cunt, all at the same time before changing round. Again there was that odd little voice saying that something about Simon, or rather about his cock, was familiar. No, it must have been some dark fantasy from her dreams, the ones she dared not tell her boyfriend Nigel.

It still bothered her a little, though, as the threesome moved on to Yasmin for the same combination. As usual, the Asian officer was somewhat more vocal in her protests: “NO! Leave off! You CAN’T do that! I’m a police officer! You can’t URGH! Mmmmmm…GLUG, GLUG, GLUG…”

“No gratitude, these people!” the woman of the house commented.

“Don’t you get above yourself, woman, or I may have to thrash you again!” her husband warned.

“Promises, promises!” she replied coquettishly. “Actually, darling, I think you’re quite tired out. You should go to bed. I’ll entertain this nice young man here!” and with that, she motioned meaningfully to Simon. The pair of them moved round right in front of Sally. Then, very suddenly, the woman tore the mask from Simon’s face.

“Oooooh, handsome boy!” she cooed. But the impression the face made on her was nothing to the impression it made on Sally. It was her beloved boyfriend Nigel.

“Nigel! How COULD you?” she wailed. He did seem a little embarrassed.

“Oh, hello, Sal,” he mumbled.

“HELLO? You’ve just done all these horrible things to me AND TO YASMIN right in front of other people! And what are you doing with this burglar?”

“Burgling. He’s my dad. You have met.”

“Hello, Miss Sweetass,” said the older man. Sally had not finished.

“Nigel! Why turn to crime? You’ve got a good job! You’re a plumber!”

“No I’m not, Sal. I was a burglar all along. Amazing you never guessed it. When I told my friends they couldn’t stop laughing – especially the bit about what happened in old Professor East’s basement.”

What?”

“When you chased after me and got stuck in that wooden demon and I came along and spanked you and screwed you.”

“BUT YOU RESCUED ME!”

“So I did. I didn’t want you left there forever, it’d have been a waste. I just switched accents. But I must say, Sal, however many times I’ve had you up the arse, it’s never been quite so good as that first time. Forbidden fruit, like.”

“You CHEAT! You BEAST!” Nigel immediately looked hurt. Sally hated seeing him like that and hastened to apologise.

“Nigel, I’m sorry! I suppose you couldn’t really help it, it was your upbringing or something…” He looked hurt and angry this time.

“This here is my dad, I’ll have you know,” he said, pointing to the burglar previously known as Dave. “He’s been a very good dad to me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Nige,” Sally replied, “but after all this, you do realise I can’t see you again. Our thing is over.”

“Shit!” said Nigel, “that’s a pity. Still, we can be good friends and all that. And if you’re at a loss for a fuck, I can always oblige.”

“Oh, why do you have to say things like that?” sobbed Sally. “You sound AWFUL, and I still love you even though you’ve been awful to me.”

“I don’t want to interrupt,” said Nigel’s father, “but is she going to split on us as soon as she gets free?” This did not seem to have occurred to Nigel, who looked uncertain and turned to Sally.

“Well, are you?” he asked. For reply, Sally’s tears flooded out so she could not speak for a minute.

“No, Nige, I can’t because I love you,” she responded. “I should because I’m a police officer, but I just can’t. But please promise to me you’ll try to go straight.”

“I promise to try to go straight,” said Nigel.

“Then I’ll keep my promise,” said Sally.

“What about the other porker?” asked Nigel’s father.

“Yeah, darling, you didn’t see my face or hear anything about who I am, did you?” Nigel asked of Yasmin. There was a meaningful note in his voice, almost a threatening one, but Yasmin was strong-willed and idealistic.

“You must be joking,” she replied. “I’m a police officer and you two have committed a series of serious crimes. I do know just who you are and I’m going to see you go to prison.”

Sally was horrified, both for Nigel and because she could see Yasmin might be talking herself into trouble.

“Yas, PLEASE! We’re really good friends! For me, please, change your mind and just say they kept their masks on.” Yasmin in turn was horrified.

“Sal! You’re asking me to LIE! I’m a police officer and I took an oath! It’s my duty! I’m sorry about you and your boyfriend, but I can’t fail to do my duty!”

“We’ve got a problem,” said Nigel to his father.

“Son,” he replied, “there are no problems, only challenges. If this little piggy won’t keep quiet on her own, we’ll have to make her quiet for good – no mess, no squeaks, no trouble.”

“Dad, you don’t mean…” began Nigel apprehensively.

“I mean I’m going to phone Winston.”

Sally knew, as Yasmin did not, that Winston was Nigel’s older brother. Since Nigel had referred to him as the white sheep of the family, if Nigel was a burglar who enjoyed exploiting bound women, Winston must be worse.

“Before I ring him we’ll need a description,” the older man added. “Mr Jonathan – do you by any chance have a tape measure?”

“Well, yes, actually, I do – for D. I. Y., you know?”

“Completely unused,” his wife commented.

“I’ll deal with you later,” he replied, and she was silent.

The two burglars busied themselves making a series of measurements of Yasmin, some quite predictable (waist, bust, hips, legs) and some more unusual and intimate. The older man repeatedly entered the results into some electronic gadget, remarking that stealing it on that job in Gerrard’s Cross had really been a good move. Finally he was satisfied and used his mobile phone. He did not have long to wait.

The trussed policewomen could hear only his side of the conversation: “Hello, Winston? It’s your dad.”

“Yes, keeping it up. Indeed I am!”

“Look, son, I’ve got a policewoman who’s being a bit of a nuisance, and I wondered…”

“Yes, she sure is.”

“Brown. Indian or something.”

“Yes, with a uniform, slightly damaged unfortunately, plus I. D., baton, all that stuff.”

“Yes, we’ve got a description. Here goes…”

And later: “Excellent! Wonderful! And you’re offering?”

“Hmmm…I’d thought maybe…”

“Good boy. It’s a deal. So where…”

“Bhagarem? Never heard of the place…”

“Oh, Arab.”

“The camel team? You don’t say! Well, you’re a good boy, a fine boy. The goods are in the post.”

Sally had convinced herself that this conversation was an elaborate charade, a sort of black humour (no, not black. That was racist). When duffel bags were placed over Yasmin’s head and hers, and the strings tightened, she was not unduly disturbed. Nigel might be a burglar, but he was a nice boy at heart and would not hurt a fly (well, he had hurt her bottom, but that was different, she told herself).

An hour or so later a large package was delivered to the all-night Hard Place Café marked for the manager’s attention. Inside was Sally, unharmed except for the thrashing. Of Yasmin there was no sign.

Sally was torn between her duty to her friend and her love for Nigel. She was still trying to make up her mind when she had to give an account of the night and merely said she had last seen Yasmin when they had both been hooded.

Four months later she got a postcard from Calais. It said: “Love you still, darling. Went to see Yasmin. She’s getting on like a house on fire, a camel rather. She sends her best wishes and says you make a better strippogram than copper.”

That finally decided Sally. Love for Nigel came first.

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Breaking & Entering · Part 2 (2/2)
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