TASKFORCE

TASKFORCE

Part Eleven

Chapter 31

       Quite the headlines, the two son-of-a-bitch pedophiles found airinated in their Mercedes, the cunt missing, presumed abducted as the rest of the women in that sorry ass family’s been.  And, the fucking reporters want action, results, right now!  At least that’s how the front page of the morning newspaper laying on the counter reads to him as he sits back on the stool at the Dunken Donut shop, chugs the last of the second cup of black coffee while finishing his third jelly roll, they’re cheaper in threes this week.  Flipping the paper across the counter, seeing the Chief’s statement that he’s going to have his best detective assigned to the case, what the fuck!  So the Chief considers him his best detective, he smiles at the thought, kinda’ touched by the compliment even though the Chief didn’t mention that last night when he jovially called him with the news the case was going to be his.

       Leaving a couple buck tip, figuring every donut shop’s going to be owned by a family of fucking dot-heads sooner or later, he smiles at the youngest of the three dark skinned Pakistani sisters working the counter as she quickly slips the bucks in her own apron before the other pair sees her.  So much for honor among sisters!  Stepping out to his BMW, lighting up before turning the ignition, he thinks of the cousins over in the vineyards, thinks about maybe taking his first vacation in who knows how long, thinks especially about Ariel.

       Oh well, what the fuck, time to get to work, look for those bastards that ruined the interior of that otherwise perfect Mercedes with those asshole’s blood and guts.  Backing out of the parking spot, casually pulling off the lot, he makes a mental note of contacting the article’s reporter later in the morning.  Fuck, if she’s as hot as her picture in the column, he might have some tidbits of information to tease her with, maybe over a dinner, maybe tonight.  Damn, he thinks, just who the hell does she look like?  Heading downtown, just to cruise the hood, flipping the radio band to AM for one of his favorite talk radio programs, he sits back with his Marlboro hanging out the window between his fingers, enjoys the beginning of a wonderful new fucking day.

       Killing an hour or so, the streets still pretty well empty, of course who the fuck gets up before noon down here if they don’t have to go to fucking work, he makes a couple passes by the old grocery building just for the memories.  Nothing shaking, deciding a quick call to the newspaper’s desk about the article seems in line, he hits the pad on the cell phone, leaves a message to the reporter’s voicemail that he’s working the case and can give an unofficial interview.  Figuring anyone on the ball would have to jump on that, he flips the cell phone shut, tosses it across the seat beside him.

       Less then ten minutes, the eager voice returning his call, discussing an interview, wanting a photographer and the whole nine yards present, he turns her down.  On the other hand, refusing his offer of a dinner meeting, she compromises and accepts a one on one, off the record meeting in his car for nine o’clock.  Cunt, he thinks to himself as he closes the phone, the bitch thinks her shit don’t stink.  That’s okay; she’s going to be in for an interesting evening anyway.  Driving home, taking a break for the rest of the day, he figures he’ll take in a Cub’s game on that WGN cable channel this afternoon, Wrigley Field itself being the real attraction.  Then it’s grab a bite to eat afterwards and take it easy till the evening.

       Game over,  a peaceful nap and never needing an alarm clock, his body seeming to have its own timer, he showers before dressing halfway respectable for the interview.  In the car, heading to the newspaper building, he flips the cell phone open, does a recall to her phone.  Sounding like a bitch, a pouting brat, again almost demanding to bring along a photographer, he threatens to drive off, skip the interview if she even mentions it again.  Parking in the no parking zone in front of the main entrance, less then a couple minutes she’s stepping out the door, the pout on her face matching their phone conversation.  Turning on the interior light, flashing his badge, he lets her get in the front seat herself.   So much for the gentleman shit.  After all, with the fem lib, equal opportunity and all that other bullshit including her snugness, she can open the fucking door herself.

       Sliding in, glancing over the car, she gives a curtsy smile.  “Nice car for a cop…. Tax payers must really love paying your salary!”  Glancing back toward her, not really giving a shit with her attitude anyway, realizing he’s right, she is a fucking cunt, he returns her curtsy smile, goes for the jugular.  “Kinda’ nice tits for a reporter too… Not big enough to be store bought though… Huh?”

       A glare, her face flushing, she mutters… “That’s… That’s not called fo……..”

       “Hey!”  He butts in, figuring he might as well really piss her off, reaches in his shirt pocket as he continues.  “First of all… For your information this is a confiscated drug car…  And second.”  He continues as he flips in the lighter, holds it between his thumb and finger as he lets the Marlboro dangle from his lip.  “Second… I earn my fucking money, toots.”  Lighting up, the first long draw blown back across the car, he slips the lighter back into the dash just knowing she fucking loves to be called ‘toots’.

       Out from the curb, heading toward the hood, he glances over toward her scorning face as she can’t open the locked power window on her side.  “What’s the matter?… Don’t like Marlboro’s!”

       “Cigarettes are disgusting!”  She scolds, frowning, wasting her time trying to wave the smoke away.  “Could you please open this window?”

       “Sure… Anything for you… Toots.”   He smirks back as he presses the control on his side of the door, lowers her window all the way down.  Cracking his window a couple inches, letting the smoke on his side drift up and out also, he again smiles.  “Want an interview or want me to turn the corner around the block and drop your ass back off empty handed?... Don’t matter much to……”

       “I… I… No… I’ll take the interview… Might as well.”  She butts in while still frowning, glancing out the passenger door window.  “I’m already here… The rest of my evening’s already wasted anyway… And for Christ’s sake… No more ‘Toots’... Please!”

       “Yeah… I know how you must feel… Mine too!”  He grunts as he briefly glances toward her, impressed with pissing her off so easily while still wondering why women seem to always have a problem with him on first impression, and second.  Another puff, another flick of an ash out the top of the partially opened window, he takes a longer look at her silhouette as she stares straight ahead toward the hard streets that’s just starting to come alive in the darkness.  A closer look, his mind wondering, he realizes he sees more then just a vague likeness.  Damn, he’s figured it out!  “Anyone ever tell you that you kinda’ have a strong resemblance to Demi Moore?”

       Turning her head toward the sidewalks passing by, a slow shake of the head back and forth, she scowls.  “What’s that, a weak ass pick up line?”

       “Oh… No.”  He grins, flicking his cigarette out the window.  “Really… A little younger version… Maybe back to ‘A Few Good Men’ era… You know… Early nineties… The movie with Cruise… Nicholson.”

       “Yea.”  She continues looking straight out the windshield.  “Cuba Gooding Jr. and Kevin Bacon, too.”  Lightening up a bit, she adds.  “Yea… I guess you’re more the Bruce Willis type too, huh?”

       “Actually.”  He grins as he reaches for another smoke.  “I’ve been told I am along those lines… Only a littler gentler… I even think I’m actually kind of introverted.”  Hitting the lighter, waiting for it to heat up, he adds.  “Of course that shit he does is just movies… No one’s like that out on the real streets… You know us cops… We just hang around donut shops and drink coffee to avoid the bad-asses out there.”  A puff on the Marlboro to light it, another frown from her as he slides the lighter back into the dash, he finishes.  “Damn… I don’t recall ever firing my gun in the line of duty.... Sometimes I wonder if I even could!”

“Really?”  She nods. Her face turned toward the open window, the inner city dwellers filtering out of their apartments, hanging on the corners, giving the BMW more then a quick glance.  “Think you should roll the window up?... And… And maybe finish that cigarette?”

Seeing the old grocery less then a block down on the left, a few of the regulars hanging out on the stoop, he rolls his window all the way down instead, lets his arm rest on the sill after sliding her window shut with the power buttons.  “Yea… Yea.”  He nods.  “In a minute… Yea… Wait!”

His attention staying on the loiterers, ignoring her beside him, eyeing the punk in the middle of the group, all that’s missing is the white bleached blond, imagine fucking that!  Slowing down, making sure he misses the light, he cruises to a stop as he slowly reaches his hand back inside the window, takes a long, slow draw on the Marlboro.  The slick BMW cruising the hood getting their attention, he notices one of the younger guys taking a step or two toward the curb.  The adrenaline flowing, resting his arm again on the sill, he flicks the butt toward the kid’s feet while slowly shaking his head back and forth while thinking, don’t need your fucking drugs, asshole!

Ignoring the kid completely, eyes’ locking with the punk’s in the middle of the group, watching his arm sliding around the girl leaning beside him, squeezing her big youthful tit with one hand, noticing his other hand slowly going in toward the waistband of his droopy ass pants, he realizes she’s just another new young white tramp, but with jet black hair this time, and big tits too as she pushes them out, probably even D’s, fuck me!  Eyes focusing back on business, on the punk, daring, almost hoping he sees a flash of steel in that waist band, giving him a smirk and a cocked finger and thumb as the first time around, he rests his other hand reflexively on his concealed nine-millimeter under the seat while slowly releasing the safety.  Sitting through most the green light, all he gets back is a few scowls from the quieted punk ass group, nothing else.  Imagine that!   A wanta’ be pit bull not realizing he’s just a punk ass glaring straight into the eyes of Jack the fucking Ripper!  The motherfucker’s being lucky twice now!

Silence all the way around, inside and outside the car, giving a final ‘fuck you’ nod, he slowly cruises through the intersection after the green traffic signal flashes to yellow.  Making a mental note, he really does need to come back visit that cocksucker soon, and real, real soon!  And, fuck the body cast, its out!

“My God!”  The reporter’s voice almost trembles as she breaks the silence.  “What… What was that all about?”

Turning, glancing at her ashen face, just remembering she’s with him, he nods.  “Oh… Nothing actually… Just a local tough guy with his Hoe’s and Bitches out on the street trying to do business on his corner… That’s all.”   Rolling his window up, almost feeling a tinge of sympathy for her naivety as he slides the nine-millimeter back under the seat, flicking the safety back on, he adds.  “Remember what you said when you got in the car… I get paid quite well for doing my mundane job… Don’t I?”

“Aren’t … Aren’t you concerned being by yourself down here like… Like this?”  Her voice quivers.  “I mean… With those people?... Wha… What if they did something?”

“Hey!”  He smiles.  “I’ve got you with me… Remember?... Besides… It’s absolutely politically incorrect to say ‘those people’… Don’t you know that?”

“Yeh… And… And I’m ready to… To pee myself!”

“Oh… Come on Demi!”  He grins as he reaches for the cigarette pack in his shirt pocket while glancing toward the rear view mirror.  “Oh… Fuck!... Fuck!”

“What?... What’s the matter?”  Eyes widening, twisting her neck, glancing back toward the intersection, she almost yells.  “What… What is it… What’s happening?”

“It’s real bad…Damn it to Hell!.... Shit!”  He scowls.  “I’m… I’m out of smokes!”  He nods, crushing the empty pack, tossing it onto the back seat.

A moment of silence, a smile with a slight nod of her head, she whispers.  “Thank God!... Now… Now how about that interview you promised?… Asshole!”

“Okay… But remember… Strictly off the record!”   He answers while glancing over toward her profile as she sits upright, back against the seat while she’s again watching the sidewalk filling with vermin out the passenger door window.  Again his mind’s in continuous motion as he realizes her tits ain’t that small after all, besides, Demi had to get a boob job for her role in ‘Striptease!’

Chapter 32

Still keeping her to himself for the time being, he heads toward the smallest of the chambers in the bowels of the mansion, wondering what bullshit his new reporter friend’s going to print that he fed her last night.  Things go just right; he’ll get that fucking dinner date with her after all, then ‘feed’ her a lot more then that.  Walking down the hall, he stops at the closed door, unlocks, and opens it.

Althea’s mother appears barely awake as her naked body hangs, arches by her arms reversed upwards back past her shoulders by baling wire disappearing into her painfully bound wrists.  Both shoulders contorting, appearing on the verge of dislocating, enflamed, swollen from the excruciating bindings holding the weight of her barely swaying body, her grunts are barely audible as she slowly twists; similar wires binding a pair of matching weights dangling from her raw ankles.  Her long dark single braid of hair now matted and stringy stretches her head back by another wire fastened to the top eyelet of a thick black metal hook rammed between her buttocks penetrating her stretched rectum.

       Eyes glazed over, having hung in the same agonizing position for the better part of a full day now, her globular breasts, though sweating, streaked with drool, has remained unmolested, the only part of her body virtually pain free.  Spinning her around, smacking her breasts a couple times back and forth to get her attention, her dark areolas appear flat; just the nubs of her nipples standing upright off her full melons bouncing, swaying down off her heaving chest as she’s spun in a complete circle.  Somewhat coherent now, parched without a drink of water since her abduction, her body sporadically trembles as he releases, steps around to the front side of her.   Slipping a hand between her thighs, pinching, twisting her clit, he causes barely a rasping grunt from her raw throat, long hoarse from swearing, threatening, finally lack of water.  Sliding his hand away, he prepares to give her unobstructed breasts their long overdue attention as he thinks of the brutality she’s reaped on so many other innocents.

       Feeling that feeling he gets when he’s in complete control of someone’s fate, the pain they’re about to feel, he snips another length of baling wire from the coiled spool in the corner.  Gripping a breast, wrapping the wire slowly and firmly, turn after turn as her breast swells in the palm of his hand as it bulges into a dark, round globe, he watches as the areola, nipple discolor into a deep shade of purple.  Her grunts become louder as her head remains jerked back by her twisting hair as he drops her breast, lets it jiggle from out off her chest.  Another snip of wire, her other breast cupped, wrapped time and again with the wiring starting right against her chest, that breast swells into another hard, round discolored globe, its veins standing out, crisscrossing her taut tit flesh as each of her rasping breathes brings a gurgling groan.

Stepping back, letting that breast bounce as he releases it, sadistically calculative as he watches her body twitch, snipping yet another length of wire, circling her left distorted melon a couple turns above the already numerous wrappings, he lets the loose end dangle, steps around her.  Another length of wire wrapped a couple more turns around her right breast; he positions himself behind her, wraps the pair of loose ends around a short wooden handle behind her back.

       Twisting a full deliberate turn to let her feel the full impact of the stretching, feeling the wires tense, he twists a second full turn and watches the thin wires tighten, sinking into her glistening ribcage under her up stretched arms.  Another slow full turn, the wires tensing tighter, her breasts begin to spread apart, separate toward her sides.  Feeling her body jerking, hearing another louder grunt, then a series of whimpers as the metal hook jerks between her butt cheeks and braided hair, he doesn’t hesitate as he twists yet another intense full turn, this time a little slower and more difficult as the taut wires stretch at her bulging globes, firmly tugs them away from her sternum, even closer toward her sides until he can see the outlines of her darkened taut nipples appear past her ribcage from behind, pointing apart, more then puffy, yet nearly translucent though almost blackened.  Another harsher twist, not quite able to complete another full turn, the wooden handle sinks into the small of her back as she gasps, grunts, her body again jerking, the weights swaying back and forth from her bound ankles as she reflexively kicks her feet.

       Stepping in front of her, listening to another unearthly groan, he surveys her unrecognizable breasts standing straight out from her sides like a pair of overripe grapefruits, the wires tightly wrapped into less the an inch circumference into their bases.  Griping the nubs of both bulging nipples, he gives them a long, slow complete agonizing turn.

       “Aaaaaggghhhhhhhh!!!”   The first real scream from her parched lips of the day, her nearly bursting nipples facing virtually back around either side of her contorting torso, he pinches one harsher pinch and let’s go.

       Stepping around her, her chest unerringly flat across her chest, both breasts practically torn around the sides of her ribcage, her dark toned body beads with perspiration as it quivers uncontrollably from the twanging wires.  Head tilted back by her stretching hair as her neck stretches backwards, her stomach ripples with each rasping breath as he steps close enough to cup both bulging, rock hard globes against her sides.  Running his fingertips across her flattened nipples one more time as he glances into her swollen bloodshot eyes, feeling just the smallest of the bulge of her taut areolas, he flicks his thumbs against the hollow sounding globes and steps back, not done yet.

       One more length of wire from the spool, two, three tight twists around her clit as he stretches it’s nub downward, systematically lifting up her left ankle a few inches, wrapping the end of the wire around her ankle and dropping it, lifting the other ankle from her jerking leg even as she screams again, and wrapping the other end of the wire around that ankle, he steps back, watches her legs tremble as the weights hang down, jiggling,  swaying back and forth from below her bowed knees as she uses what strength she has left to momentarily relieve the unbearable pain now between her legs.

       Satisfied so far with her torment, her battered and bruised body hanging like a marionette in the glistening wires stretching, twisting with her tortured body, he reaches in his pocket, slips a Marlboro from the half empty pack, lights it.  Strolling around her as her grunts become just gurgles, watching her body contorting, sweating, swaying, he’s sure she’ll be unconscious within the next couple minutes as he’s amazed she’s lasted this long, the fucking bitch can take some pain.  He wonders to himself if she’ll have nightmares, then again, how about the countless kids she helped torture, send into slavery and worse.

But, until she does pass out, maybe a little more attention to her tits.  A deep puff, laying the glowing tip against her left nipple, he can’t tell if she feels it or not as her body’s already convulsing and her grunts are raw wheezes.  Stepping around, another long draw to get the cigarette to glow a little hotter, pressing it against the other purplish nub, the same basic result, maybe a noticeable grunt or two as he can see the ashes grinding against the nub.

       Damn it!  Shaking his head, taking one more long, slow toke, the red tip glowing, he presses it between her legs, harshly against the thickened nub of her wired clit, twisting it back and forth a couple times.  “Aaaaagggghhhh!”  Smiling, listening to her final scream as her body finally goes limp in the wires, he takes another puff, flicks the butt to the floor, satisfied she felt that.

       Slowly walking around her, thinking, deciding how far to go, knowing she’s on the verge of no return with the brutality of her torture, her body being ruined, he thinks to himself, Christ, she’s won’t be worth fucking with much more of this punishment.  Fuck, the Dom won’t even want her!  A closer look, her fucked up body not even resembling what she did just hours ago, he makes his decision.

       Untwisting, snipping, unwrapping the wires from her suspended body as the wires leave dark purplish bruises across her battered flesh, he frees her breasts, her clit, her ankles as she remains limply hanging by her inverted arms stretched upwards behind her.  Lowering the butt hook, removing the weights, untying her hair, finally releasing those wires left hoisting her off the floor; he lays her down on her back, spreads her arms and legs outward.  Checking her over, any real permanent damage could be to her shoulders, other then that, the session wasn’t long enough, this time.

When she wakes up, she’ll more then likely be unable to stand, to move for quite a while, he thinks.  A couple buckets of ice cold brine water tossed across her raw wounds, leave her for another day or so and maybe he’ll let her have a bottle of water before playing with her some more, this time just maybe a little harsher.  Then again, maybe work out another deal with the Dyke, and let her have her.

End Part Eleven