TASKFORCE

TASKFORCE

Part Two

The saga continues…

Chapter Eight

       Driving around the typical ghetto neighborhood after leaving the warehouse’s subbasement to get his fresh pack of cigarettes, watching the street corners, the usual rabble wasting perfectly good oxygen as they walk around like they own the streets, he lets the manila folder cover the nine millimeter on the front seat.  Again listening to the car’s fm with one ear, his police radio between his thighs, he listens to the usual bullshit, the usual run of the mill middle of the night dispatches with his other.

       Stopping at a red light, across from him a mixed group’s hanging around the corner building’s stoop of what used to be a mom and pop neighborhood grocery, now cut up into multiple one room apartments, probably housing as many people as roaches.  Sitting with his elbow hanging out the window, his Marlboro between his fingers, he glances toward the four or five guys mostly on the sidewalk, the couple or so girls with them milling about by the open door.  A little shuffling in the group, he hears one of the punks yell out.

       “What the fuck you looking at Whitey?... Better get your ass through that light!”

       Reaching his hand back inside the car, a long drag of the shortening cigarette, he flicks it out in the street, a nice toss, halfway toward the mingling group while he eyes the slender, young girl with bleached blondish hair, appearing to be the only Caucasian in the group and with the least amount of clothes.  Sliding his other hand over his issued piece, resting his fingers across its cold steel, he smiles toward the mouthy punk, sits motionless as the light changes to green.

       “Motherfucker… I said you better get your white ass out of here!”

       Chuckling to himself as the supposing badass tough guy takes a couple steps toward the curb, he watches him hesitate as he points his finger back out the window toward him.  Cocking his thumb, mimicking popping off a round as he give a “fuck you” smirk, he casually reaches his hand back inside.  Slipping his fresh pack of Marlboros from his shirt pocket, he continues to stare down the group while he presses the lighter in the dash, waits for it to heat up, the traffic light again cycling to yellow, to red.

       Enjoying the mixed looks of the befuddled group, again glancing toward the out of place white girl practically showing her tits in her sluttish halter and short shorts, he hears one of the guys telling the badass.  “Better leave that motherfucker alone… He’s either crazy of he’s the fucken’ heat!”

       The traffic light changing to green again, resting his arm on the driver door, the fresh cigarette in his fist, he smiles, takes a long thoughtful drag while taking another close look at the girl as their eyes seem to lock, her index finger barely rising.  Slowly nodding back with his usual smirk, sliding his finger from the trigger of the semi-automatic next to him on the seat, he grips the steering wheel, drives on as he thinks to himself just how right the lucky bastard is, on both counts!

       Driving home, also keeping an image of the punk’s face in his photographic memory, he makes a mental note to look up some mug shots in the next day or two.  Maybe that asshole’s already becoming a detriment to the community; maybe he’ll need a private attitude adjustment, maybe a cast for an arm or leg, maybe even a body cast.  Another thoughtful draw on the cigarette, turning up the fm’s music, he smiles to himself as he flips the butt out the window, reaches for the pack, thinking he probably should have bought two. 

Chapter Nine

       The beginning of the third day of her spread-eagled bindings and she’s had nothing to drink or eat during that time.  Her naked body dehydrating, her arms and legs numb between cramps, the rest of her body aches from the multitude of abuse.  Head slumping forward across her sternum, her breasts crisscrossed with welts, bruises, her upper thighs and swollen spread slit’s also discolored with their own abuse.

       Barely able to focus through her swollen eyes, her breathing  just wheezing gasps for air through her flailing nostrils, her thoughts, her fears have long since become barely comprehensible in her exhausted state both physically and mentally.  Time meaningless, minutes seeming like hours, hours like days, the confining cell is either pitch dark or glaring with light when she’s coherent enough to dissimilate the difference.

       Functioning practically on instinct alone, she realizes when the iron door clangs open, somewhere on her naked body she’s about to receive another measure of pain that she can’t shield herself from.  Sometimes the pain’s unbearable, even leading to blackouts, other times it’s inflicted along with sexual abuse, all the time sadistic.  Eyes parting, blinking in the pitch darkness, hearing sounds outside the room that just a couple days ago would be impossible for her to sense, she hears the manipulation of the iron door being disturbed.  The light flicked on above her, the glare searing into her throbbing head like daggers through her eyes, she squints as the footsteps approach her from behind, the door slamming shut.

       “Swish!... Thwack!”

       The searing burn between her thighs, across her swollen vulva barley causes a reflex.  Maybe a pitiful grunt at best, her head barely lifting as the pain’s almost become the norm.

       “Swish… Thwack!”

       “Oomph!”

       The leather crop ripping across both swollen breasts, tearing at the pair of engorged, discolored nipples and her grunt’s actually audible through the half chewed ball gag.  Her head tugged back by her frazzled hair, her face twisting toward her side and she squints her swollen eyes shut.  “Smack!” And open hand cuffing her left cheek, again she doesn’t even grunt, just the impossibly stretching bindings creaking between the crossties and her nearly disjointed extremities.

       Reaching in his athletic bag, another clear bottle of spring water, this one a larger one, he twists off the cap and takes his usual couple healthy swallows.  Holding the neck of the bottle in front of her face, again tilting her head back by her hair he lets the water dribble down across her parched lips stretching around the ball gag.

       Not in much of a mood, a lot on his mind, he scowls.  “Want some?”  As he unsnaps the rear of the ties to the gag, he tugs the disintegrating ball from her mouth, tosses it toward the floor.

       Eyes barely able to open between her swollen lids, feeling the cool, fresh water across her parched lips, across her nostrils, she barely grunts as she attempts to shake her head, force her aching jaws to move.  Letting the water splash across her face, cupping her chin, he holds the opening just an inch or less from her parting lips.  Tipping, pouring the water, he watches her gulp, frantically swallow as a like amount splashes, drips across her bare chest, her quivering breasts as she arches herself forward in her restraints.

       A couple more tilts, the water she’s not able to swallow cascading off her naked body, pooling, mixing with the bodily fluids already spreading beneath her on the damp floor, he nonchalantly watches the light reflecting off her taut flesh, her abused but rock hard breasts.  Pulling the bottle back, another drink himself and he again tips the bottle above her trembling lips.  Pouring the rest of it across her face, letting most splash against her bare flesh, he tosses the empty bottle into the top of the gym bag.

       Slowly stepping behind her, having just left C.I.S. downtown and not even having stopped at the donut shop, the day’s not off to a very good start.   While checking over some mug shots, finding the punk’s from last night, he got the information this girl’s man was arrested during an altercation, a domestic violence while he was cutting up another of his dumb ass bitches, the pimp bastard.  Incarcerated in county lockup, his lucky ass will have to wait a while before being enticed here.

       Stepping on around the pillars, another couple of terrycloth’s from his gym bag and he uses another bottle of water to start cleaning up her naked body.  Plenty of welts and bruises but the short stay hasn’t left any real permanent damage.  No serious cuts, the piercings will easily heal, he thinks to himself as he circles her slumping body, again glancing at the fucked up tattoos that’ll probably cost him a few bucks when she’s auctioned.  A quick phone call, she’ll be out of here before noon, out of the country before nightfall.  In a few days when she’s mostly healed up, she’ll be laying on her back with a line of guys taking turns in some whorehouse, what a fucking waste.

       Done with the cloth towels, tossing them in the bag, he takes out a black eye mask, slips it cross her face.  Sliding a fresh bright red ball gag in her mouth, stretching her aching jaws again, tightening its straps behind her neck, she’s ready for delivery when they show up for her.  Stepping back behind her, one final glance over, thinking how tight she is as he softly runs the tips of his fingers across her ribcage, her waist, he stops just beside her moist labia, spreads the lips gently apart.  Thinking just how good she feels, he kinda’ shrugs, decides not to fuck her one last time as the blondish girl from last night keeps popping up in his thoughts.  Turning away, slamming the door behind him he locks it before leaving.  When he comes back the pillars will be empty, and available.

Chapter Ten

       Not quite dark, his earlier phone call already producing its results, he flips his cell phone shut as he’s been informed she’s been picked up, on her way as all the others.  The pillar’s empty, his bank account’s full again, a down payment so to speak.

       Leaving the impounding lot, the gate closing behind him, he makes sure the fm station works along with the cigarette lighter in his new ride.  A Caddy of all things, what the Hell, it’s only fifteen years old.  A stop for another pack of cigarettes, some coneys, extra onions and it’s another night of prowling.

       Having taken his time, a watered down coke with not enough ice, fries and three cheese Coney’s, along with a like number of cigarettes, it’s back in his newest ride.  Downtown, the center of the hood, he drives past the corner from last night, leaning toward the center of the seat, arm rest down, pimpin as he appropriately listens to the ‘Shaft’ theme from a local black fm station.  No one out yet, another misty rain and the streets are basically empty.  Feeling that stirring in his stomach, it’s not the onions; it’s somehow wanting to find that girl, no particular reason like the rest, just a hunch, just maybe, also his hard-on.

       Circling a couple times, he lets the occasional drops of rain streak down across the windshield without the wipers on.  Another loop of the seedier part of the area, the rain a little harsher, he just has that feeling, rain seems to bring him luck on his quests.  Turning the wipers to intermittent, a short smile with a nod to the music as they both actually work, he again trolls the area close to that corner, parks for a while less then a block away.

       Cracking the window open just a couple inches, the smoke of his cigarette curling toward the ceiling, out the door as he sits at the curb, the motor running, he watches the wipers swiping back and forth once in awhile, the traffic light a block away in front of the old grocery.  Flicking through the fm channels, catching the end of a Hank Williams Jr. song, he catches a glimpse of the blonde girl getting off a bus between the corner building and his car.

       “Damn!”  He practically blurts out to himself.  Dropping the shift in drive, slowly pulling forward, the rain comes down even harder, the sounds of the downpour pounding across the car’s roof.  Sliding up next to her as she’s quickly walking with her arm above her head, purse in hand for cover, he stops, swings the passenger door open.  “Need a lift?”

       Glancing over, nodding no as she continues to lean forward in her brisk pace, he glances toward the empty stoop in front of the old store, reaches in his belt, flashes his badge.  “I think you do… Now!”  His most assertive voice, impressing even himself, he adds.  “Get in … Now!”

       Stopping, shaking her head with a frown, herself glancing across the street, toward the building, she leans down.  “What the fuck did I do?”  She scowls as she glances at the badge, realizes it’s probably for real.

       “Just take a moment.”  He scolds.  “Get in before you get drenched…. Hurry!... The damn seats getting soaked!”

       Sliding in, already soaking wet, he glances her over, her wet top clinging to her youthful breasts, not so big but already a firm rack.   As she tugs her hair back, her makeup overly done, her perfume a little too strong, he still sees the natural good looks underneath everything else.

       “What?”  She sarcastically asks, too belligerent for her age, yet just a hint of trepidation as she stares toward him.

       “Just need to show you something… To ask a couple questions… I’ll bring you right back when we’re done.”  He answers with authority as he drops the car in gear, drives past the building, through the green light.

       Glancing across the seat, a frown on her face, she stutters.  “You… You the guy from… from last night… At the light?

       Glancing back, barely a nod he answers.  “Yeh… That’s me… The guy who backed those punks down… The guy you gave the finger too!”  Staring past her, out the passenger door window, pointing with a quick nod, he blurts.  “There… There… Who’s that?”

       Jerking her head toward the door glass, glancing out into the rain, the darkness, no one in sight, she starts to turn back as she quips.  “Where… Who……..”

       The needle jamming into her neck, she almost instantaneously blacks out as she slumps back on the seat, her purse falling on the floor as he drops the syringe in the ashtray.  Lifting the open package of cigarettes from his shirt pocket, flicking his wrist, flicking a Marlboro up from the pack, he grips it between his lips, pushes in the cigarette lighter.  Dropping the pack on the seat, pressing the reddened tip of the lighter against the cigarette, he puffs a couple draws, slides the lighter back into the dash.  A short ride back to the warehouse, the pillars are vacant, for the time being.

Chapter Eleven

       Eyes blinking, arms, legs aching, she tries to move in the pitch black, can’t.  Turning her head, flexing her fingers, her toes, she grunts through the harsh rubber ‘O’ ring stuffed between her yawning lips.  Heart pounding, stomach churning, she jerks, twists as the leather cuffs chaff at her wrists, her ankles.  Shoulders aching, thighs aching, she realizes she’s spread out, her extremities bound in stretching ropes, upside-down!

       Feeling the drool dripping across her face from the circular gag, the coolness across her bare flesh, it’s obvious to her that she’s naked.  Jerking her head back, overwhelmed by her predicament, she feels the tears flowing, crisscrossing as they drip across her forehead.  Again glancing around, the darkness seeming darker then black, her mind’s hazy as she tries to understand what’s happening, where she’s at.

       The light flicking on above her spread-eagled body, the glare blinds her as she’s forced to squint, keep her eyes shut.  Hearing a metal door clanking open, slamming shut, she turns her head toward the sound, barely squints.  The shadow of a man stepping around her, behind the pillars, she squints across one shoulder then the other, her heart pounding, thumping erratically in her chest as she twists her wrists, ankles in there bindings as even with the pain of the brilliant light, she focuses on the wooden pillars, up toward her naked body stretched between them.

       Feeling a hand tugging back on her hair, her head jerking back, eyes rising upward toward the bright light, she feels the cloth mask slipped over her forehead, her eyes.  Again darkness as the straps are bound behind her neck holding the eye mask in place.  Her nostrils flaring with each forced breath, her jaws aching as her teeth dig into the hard rubber ring, she feels herself on the verge of hyperventilating, the pit of her stomach queasy with fear, the sense of nausea enveloping her.

       Stepping slowly around the pillars, a plastic bottle of body oil in one hand, he squeezes, allows a generous portion to build in the palm of his other hand.  Dropping the bottle on the floor, he slides his hand full of oil across her sternum, begins smoothing, spreading both hands across her breasts.  Sliding his palms across her nipples, around the outer curves of both melons, he feels the firmness of her young breasts, standing out just as firm upside down as right side up, feels the instant hardness of her puckering nipples.

       Ignoring her grunts, spreading his hands between her thighs, watching the oil streak down across her bare torso after collecting between her tautly stretched thighs, he leans over for the bottle, allows a similar amount to pour across her bare, gapping vagina.  Shaking the bottle, spreading her cunt lips apart, filling the gapping hole, the overflow streaks down between her breasts, across her nipples, drips across the floor.  Rimming her rectum, flicking his thumb in the sloshing slit of her vagina, obviously not a virgin, he smiles to himself at the thought of the next pair of candleholders, imagines the wax mounds forming between her stretched thighs.  He’ll leave that light on for her when he leaves in a while.

       Massaging her from her toes to down to her neck, watching her body glisten under the stark light, he inspects her milky skin, still unmarred.  Kneeling, melding her breasts again, inspecting the firm pinkish little mounds of each of her areolas and nipples smoothly formed without nubs, the barest indentations of slits across the pointed tips, feeling their thickness as they stand out off her firm tit flesh, he guesses C ups, a nice size for her wiry body.

       Stepping behind her, sliding his fingers across the rounded mounds of her almost boyish butt cheeks, flicking the tip of his finger across the narrow bridge of flesh between her puckered rectum and the slit of her vagina, he can feel her reflexively twitching, see the folds of her vagina quiver under the shimmering coat of moist oil.  Young, almost childish features except for her firm breasts, her I.D. from her purse showing she’d just recently had her eighteenth birthday; he wonders just where she’ll be on her nineteenth.

       Deciding to play a little game with her to start, reaching in his athletic bag, pulling a short length of tightly knotted rope, each knot not quite the size of a golf ball, he slides it back and forth across the floor beneath her letting it soak up some of the body oil as he curls it around.  Standing, pushing the first knot between the stretching folds rimming her vagina, he stuffs it inside her as he ignores her muffled grunts.  The following knot a couple inches further up the rope, he slips it in next.  Feeling her hips trembling, her vagina quivering, he slips the third and forth knots in with one long shove of his fingers and thumb.  Her labia spreading, the knots disappearing, he continues pressing the rope in between her jerking thighs until all dozen knots are packed tightly into her crammed slit with just a couple inches of rope left dangling across the dark bikini cut on her pubic mound.

       Tapping her on her belly, feeling it puffed out just a tad, he wonders what thoughts could possibly be dancing through her head.  Reaching in the bag, a second rope, he also drags it across the wet floor, lets the first knot slap across her butt cheeks before stuffing its end into her puckered rectum.  Forcing her sphincter muscles to spread, each knot ‘plopping’ into the tight orifice, it takes a little more effort as he counts the knots scraping their way inside her rear orifice.  Halfway through stuffing her anus, her grunts louder and closer together as the tendons in her thighs tighten, stretch beneath her taut milky flesh, he probes each knot inward with a thumb, forcing it to disappear as he causes her body to spring gently up and down in the flexing ropes.

       Finally the last knot joining the rest between her stretching legs, just the last couple inches of that rope left dangling between her butt cheeks; he’s satisfied with the preparation between her spread thighs.  Taking a step back, again almost casually inspecting her trembling body spread upside-down; he contemplates what to do with her breasts, the rare nipples, thick and perky, firmly standing out no different then if she was bound right side up.

       Almost feeling a sense of compassion, a tinge of remorse in realizing she’s so young, he softly strokes her breasts, gently squeezes, melds them as her body almost vibrates between the ropes.  Gripping a little firmer, a partial twist with both hands and the thought passes as he recalls the sluttish way she looked the other night, the assholes she was hanging with, where she was headed again when he confronted her.

       That rare moment passing, it’s back to normal, for him.  Standing and checking out his assortment of whipping implements in the corner basket, picking a short, supple birch switch and he realizes it’s appropriate for such a youngster.  Flicking it back and forth, hearing the ‘Swishing’ sound through the confinements of the small room, he kneels, sits and crosses his legs in front of her.  Eyes level with her hanging breasts; he lets the tip of the switch roll across one nipple, the other with his right hand.  Oil still dripping from their pink tips, he flexes the end of the switch with his right hand, bows it back until it touches his other hand, lets it rip.

       “Swish… Thwack!”

       “Aaaggghhh!”  Her grunt echoes off the walls as her naked body bucks, the switch impacting the outer edge of her left areola, nipple.

       “Swish… Thwack!”

       “Oomph!”  Another grunt as her right breast jerks, bounces from the impact of the birch switch flailing across its nipple.

       Lowering the switch above his crossed knees, glancing from one reddish welt to the other over her otherwise creamy flesh, he’s satisfied the lotion’s working, the welts aren’t tearing the flesh of her naked breasts.  Glancing toward her face, the tears from under the mask mixing with the drool from the red ‘O’ ring, dripping in lingering trails across the floor, he glances up toward the dangling end of the rope across her pubic mound.

       Reaching up with his left hand, slipping the end of the rope between his index finger and thumb, he slowly kneels in front of her trembling body.  Gripping tightly, barely lifting until the rope tenses, he steadies himself, jerks the rope in one harsh yank straight upwards.

       “Aaaaaagggggghhhhhhh!!!... Aaaagggghhhhh!!!”  Screaming though the ‘O’ ring, her body lurches upwards, the knots rippling across her clitoris, tearing between her flapping labia lips.  Watching her stomach flex, her thighs spasm, he jerks a second time, the last few knots again exploding out from between her crammed orifice.  “Aaaaagggghhhh!!”

       Lowering himself, again crossing his legs, he lets her body go through its spasms, waits as she arches, twists, jerks at her bindings as her rasping grunts subside.  Noticing the pair of welts becoming even brighter, thicker, he leans back some, adjusts his aim so the very tip of the switch lines up with just the pointed tip of her coned nipple.  Flexing the switch, after a couple trail aims, he holds it until the tip touches his wrist, lets it spring forward.

       “Swish… Thwack!”  Perfectly centered, the switch slices within a fraction of an inch against the tip of the left nipple.

       “Aaaaaaaaagggggggghhhhhhh!!!”

       “Swish… Thwack!!”  A second, quick bow of the switch, a quick release across the other nipple.

       “Oooooooommmmmmmpppppppphhhh!!!”  Another animalistic scream as her right breast flails across her heaving chest, just the tip of the nipple imprinted with the mark of the supple switch.

       Quickly kneeling in front of her jerking, twisting torso, her arms, legs springing up and down in the rope bindings, he grips the knotted rope between her butt cheeks, yanks it straight upwards, completely tearing it out from her rectum, the feel not unlike a washboard to him as the knots ripple outward, grinding past her sphincter muscles as her glistening, drenched body lurches repeatedly upwards, springs back.        “Aaaaagghh……………………..”

         The last knot smacking across a butt cheek, a red welt instantaneous, she slumps in her restraints.  Her head swaying, her exhausted body spasms once, twice before she becomes completely limp.

       Standing, dropping the dampened switch back into the basket, he glances back toward her, shaking his head at the little bit of torment that she could endure.  A pair of fresh wax candles from his athletic bag, stuffing one in her reddened rectum, the other in her gapping slit, he reaches in his pocket, flicks the last Marlboro out and slips it between his lips as he crumples the pack.  Searching for a match, finding a matchbook in his front Levi’s pocket, he lights his cigarette, takes a couple puffs before leaning over her spread thighs and lights the rear candle first, the one in her vagina second as the match flickers out.

       Another couple slow draws on his smoke, aligning the pair of candles perfectly level between her thighs; he stretches the tight folds of her labia evenly around the front candle, gives her butt cheeks a playful smack and kneels down.  Slipping the mask from her eyes, off her head, glancing at the crisscrossing welts on her perky breasts, he tosses the black mask in his athletic bag, steps toward the door.  Flicking the light switch as he steps through the doorway, watching the room flicker by the dancing light of the pair of candles, he quietly shuts the door and locks it.  An hour give or take, time for a couple more cheese coneys, without so many onions this time and a fresh pack of smokes, he wonders what her thoughts will be when she wakes up.

End Part 2