As with all of these stories, this is inspired by, and dedicated to, Ronin.
CHAPTER TWO:
FOR FUCK'S SAKE!
Becky woke with a start. Her eyes adjusted to the bright light streamed in through a window that was not hers.
Everything was blue and cream, instead of the lush countless greens and browns of the woods she had just been dreaming about. And instead of the natural perfumes of those woods every thing was now stark and clean and smelled of disinfectant.
And the realisation that she had been dreaming of Emma again developed slowly in her befuddled head. She realised even as the new reality reasserted itself in the form of unfamiliar but recognisable surroundings of a private hospital room.
Even so, she could still hear Emma and Barry fucking, hear the squeaking of those shock absorbers, she could even feel her bed moving to the back and forth fast thrusting of their fucking pace.
Barry was loud. Grunting, guttural and animalistic. Overall it was a mix of Emma's soft, high, loud throaty moans and gritty, deep and aggressive snarls from Barry.
Then, once again, reality reasserted itself and replaced Emma and Barry, the former up North somewhere with Ray and the latter dead and buried, she reminded herself, she managed to turn her head. There was a dull thudding pain inside, behind her eyes but it was no worse than a Sunday afternoon hangover, her neck ached too. However, she managed to look down herself, over the complex frame of the hospital bed, with its starched white and blue bedding, down to the far end of it. There was the woman making the noise and there was Mad-Dog making her make it while adding his own guttural grunts.
The woman was actually a Police officer, going off her uniform.
Her body armour was opened at the front revealing her pressed white blouse beneath which had also been opened. Her plain bra had been tugged up onto her upper chest to reveal small, firm breasts with stiff rosy nipples surrounded by £2 coin size areolae.
She was tanned, though her bared torso showed bikini lines of creamy pale flesh that stood out against the deeper bronzed skin.
She was a brunette, her short, bobbed chestnut hair held away from her face by silver clips and was very pretty and young looking, mid twenties was Becky's best guess. She was probably newly graduated or whatever they did.
Her eyes were squeezed shut, but she had long lashes and a heavy dose of eye liner.
The nostrils of her straight, up turned nose were flared and her thin, though pink lips were slack as she let out a tumult of short gasping moans before chewing erotically on her pouting bottom lip.
Becky noticed between the bars at the foot of her bed that the officer's uniform trousers were loosened but cinched halfway down her thighs, which were visible through the bars and as lushly tanned as the rest of her.
Plain white knickers were cinched just above her trousers. Her weighty utility belt was pulling her trousers further down her thighs by the second, it was only that her legs were spread apart that stopped them hitting the floor with a thud.
Behind her, his bulk and height framing her much more petite body, in an immaculate silver- business suit, was Kasey Mad-Dog Parker.
He had one hand cupping one of her small breasts, pulling at the stiff nipple between finger and thumb, while the other gripped her throat from behind. He was growling into her sucked-on ear, while he humped away at her hard and fast from behind, pounding at what had to be a sweet and perky little bottom, his cock jutting from his unzipped fly.
Not that Becky could see his cock, but she could see his trousers were still on and belted snugly around his waist.
Becky lay there trying to rest and straighten out her head but they were making too much noise. She knew from the level and tone of their noise that they were nearly done. Not that Parker would be interested in the girl-cop getting off. As long as he did.
"Take it cop-whore!" He growled suddenly, then emitted a series of heavy groans and wheezing noises as he started to empty his fat balls deep inside his young enemy's tight clutching pussy.
"Take my bastard, crack-dealing scum right up your tight little cop twat you fucking slut-cunt!" He snarled at her in time to his hard bucking hips.
Becky saw the girl-cop's cheeks flushing beetroot at his loud tirade of offence but she took it like she took his hot spunk, without complaint and in silence, just like a victim. Like she didn't have a choice.
Becky wondered what he had on her, or maybe she liked a bit of rough. Maybe it turned her on.
They parted finally and started to pull their clothes back into order. The officer, in silence, unable or unwilling to look Mad-Dog in the eye, checked herself over and then headed for the door. Parker stopped her.
"Be round at mine tonight at seven. Bring your handcuffs, your truncheon thing. Oh, and plenty a' lube. Clarence's taking you up the arse tonight."
The cop-girl turned positively green, Becky would have put money on her throwing up then and there, but she didn't.
"And after he's done you can suck him off."
She heaved a little and whimpered finally stammered a complaint.
"But... But, you said I..."
"I don't give a fuck what you think I said." Mad-Dog growled. "I'm saying you're getting it up the bum. Hard. Tonight. Got it?!"
She started to cry, did a little twitchy dance, undecided whether or not to run for the door or stay put. Finally, she gave a little sniffling nod through her streaming tears and then ran.
Mad-Dog watched her go with a laugh and a semi conscious squeeze of his cock through his suit pants. Then he turned to look at Becky, apparently not surprised or concerned that she was awake and had been a witness to the exchange between him and the pretty little girl-cop.
"Her lil' sister owes me big time but she got sectioned into some mental ward or some'at. So now she's havin' t'pay the debt for her. Good for me. Shite for her." He explained with a rancid, malicious grin.
"I love fuckin' with self righteous cunts like her!" He added, laughing as he pulled a chair up to Becky's bedside.
Becky just looked at him. Numb, confused, tired.
"Fucking coppers. Fuckin' enemy ain't they." He muttered, seemingly to himself.
Becky said nothing. She was parched, and sore and tired and her head was swimming. She idly wondered why her mum wasn't here too.
"The bastards'll wanna interview you. You tell 'em shit all, got it?! You don't remember anything." The hint of warning in his voice was as obvious as it was unnecessary.
"Isn't too far off." Becky muttered, before asking the question that was burning her. "Where's mum?"
"She didn't make it. Cunts were gunning fer me obviously, tried to burn me alive in your place. But I'll see to 'em in good fuckin' time. I'll fuck 'em up good 'n proper."
Becky was numbed and shocked at the same time. Though she was aware enough to recognise Mad-Dog's lack of compassion, tact or concern, as well as his obvious self importance. Her mum had died because of him, because some drug rivals (she assumed) had tried to kill him at her house and the best he could come up with was 'she didn't make it'?! At the same time she had enough understanding of Mad-Dog to keep her outrage to herself. He just carried on his self centred discourse.
"You're coming back with me when they let you out. All your stuff's gone. Yer house got burned to a fuckin' cinder."
"You're only alive 'cause a'me, girl. I saved your ass. Remember that. You owe me big time now."
There was a long heavy silence. Parker looking absently around the small immaculate room, while Becky lay there not knowing what too feel or say or how she was supposed to act. She was soon fighting back tears.
"Sorry 'bout Sandy. She was a great lil' strawberry she was. Great fuck." He muttered, eventually.
Again, it felt like he was talking to himself more than to Becky. She had a very hard time biting down her temper.
Eventually, tears and temper under control, she managed a long weak sigh.
"Christ I need a cig." She muttered.
"Here." Mad-Dog said, fishing a packet and a lighter from his inside pocket.
He lit it for her and passed it across. Becky watched him through the smoke haze.
His eyes were on her, examining the way the hospital gown and single sheet played across the pert curves of her full, braless breasts.
Then they were interrupted by the appearance of a Doctor. He looked around, sniffed a bit and then focused on the cigarette in Becky's hand.
"Miss, there's a no smoking policy in the hospital. I'm going to have to ask you to put that out, I'm afraid."
"If she wants to smoke she's gonna smoke." Mad-Dog barked.
"It's against hospital policy, and the law..."
"Do I look like I give a fuck?! Just check what you have to check and then get the fuck outta my sight, you're starting to piss me off!"
The Doctor frowned, thought for a moment, had obvious second thoughts and then silently gave Becky a quick check before having a hurried flick through her notes.
Becky had put the cigarette out on the bedside table while he checked her pulse, and blood pressure.
Parker left a couple of minutes after the Doctor and Becky soon fell back to an aching, exhausted sleep.
The next thing Becky knew was being woken up by a nurse leading two police officers to her bedside.
It was a short interview, uncomfortable but not all that difficult.
