Predator Tales Ch 09

Detective Inspector Jenny Armitage was a tall, striking looking woman.

Indeed, she was the sort of woman for whom the word handsome was coined. Not young enough or petite enough to be called pretty, and not quite breathtaking enough to be called beautiful, she was nonetheless a looker. With her luxuriant auburn hair, clear blue eyes and dignified poise she commanded everyone's attention.

But there was also something a little severe about her. Those eyes could be cold, even disdainful. The skirts and jackets she wore were rather austere, usually in a restrained pin stripe. The skirts were always of a decorous length.

However, her clothes could not disguise the fullness of her breasts or the length of her legs.

The thought of what else lay beneath those clothes had been tormenting me for weeks.

Which, I guess, was the point because she was the succulent morsal in a deadly mousetrap.

Had she been aware that I knew she was a Detective Inspector she would have been furious because she'd spent weeks passing herself off as Clare Shelly, a newly hired saleswoman for my company.

She had entered my world and ended it at the same time.

I have never been so frightened in my life.

It all started so promisingly when she joined the company.

Though I was over sixty, I generally still went for much younger women. At nearly forty, Jenny was definitely pushing the envelope but she was so attractive I didn't care about her age.

My smiles and flirting had bounced right off, but that was to be expected.

And anyway, I had other well-used tricks.

Owning a big security company has many perks, not least access to all sorts of information people want to keep hidden. Information that can be used to leverage a woman into sexual surrender.

And poor Clare Shelly had a shit-load to hide. She'd married some goody-two-shoes social worker and had two kids. Did Two-Shoes know she had a record for fraud and prostitution?

Crooked, and sloppy enough to keep getting caught, she'd spent a few months in jail. Which, with Britain's crowded prisons and paralysed legal system, is actually no small trick. She must have seriously pissed off the judge.

Plus, of course, she'd neglected to mention any of this when she'd applied for the job. Even though her criminal activities had taken place years before, I could sack her instantly. That would be a disaster for her. After hooking her mug of a husband her life had morphed into one of respectability. Both her kids went to an expensive private school.

Not bad for a whore.

But, without her high salary she wouldn't have a hope of maintaining that lifestyle.

I had her! Faced with exposure, she'd almost certainly agree to let me bed her.

I remember sitting back and laughing in triumph.

But then the back of my scalp started tingling and the laughter died.

It had all been too easy, too perfect. Working in the security field brings with it a necessary degree of paranoia and that's what saved me.

Even before I began to dig deeper, I knew in my water that I was being played.

I ran a scan on her ID badge photo. Undercover coppers are easily rumbled in this way nowadays so their IT guys fillet the web of such photos. But, my company does a ton of work for the Home Office and we have access to passport and all sorts of other restricted databases.

The search produced hundreds of hits (you may think you look unique but, trust me, you don't) and I spent a caffeine-fuelled night going through every one.

I missed hers first time round. Her real hair was much darker than the auburn it was now, and it turned out the cold blue of her eyes were down to contacts. They were actually dark brown and much warmer.

Once I'd got her real name, the rest was child's play.

I'd guessed she was a copper but that she was an inspector rocked me back in my chair. It was usually only lowly constables they sent out on undercover stings.

That showed they must be taking this really seriously. The 'Clare Shelly' backstory had been a carefully baited hook suggesting they knew exactly what sort of things I got up to.

And I'd given the cops plenty of ammunition. I'd compromised women just once or twice a year but, over nearly forty years, that mounted up.

If the cops could make a case then, like all those women, I'd be well and truly fucked.

I make preparations to do a runner. Money transfers zipped through undersea cables to some of the less reputable Caribbean banks.

But, before I fled my oh-so-comfortable life, I had to find out just how deep in shit I was.

It was easy to trick her. I'd told her to work late on Friday as we had an important client flying in. We were selling him anti-surveillance equipment and we'd be doing a demo in the testing facility. As that was far over on the edge of the site, it was natural that she would come in my car.

Little did she know that the instant she closed the car door, the tables had been turned and she was suddenly the trapped mouse.

I drove my big Beamer through the rainy night and then straight into the open doors of the facility. I'd taken the remote control earlier and I pushed the button as the car entered. By the time we got out of the car the doors had closed.

Getting out, and showing a flash of shapely leg, she smoothed down her skirt. Her makeup was perfect and her poise superb. I'd told her to take special care to look good for the client. Tonight she did look beautiful.

"So, where's the..." she started saying as she looked around. Thus distracted, it was easy for me to grab her arms, pinning them behind her.

She immediately started struggling but I'm still strong and fit. Before she could start kicking me, I dragged her hard back against a structural pillar. Pulling handcuffs from my jacket pocket I snapped them on her wrists so she was trapped with her back against the pillar.

She strained against her bonds, her heavy breasts swaying. I stepped back out of range of her kicking feet.

I almost flinched at the look of fury on her face.

"What the hell d'you think you're doing?" she yelled.

"I wanted a word with you in private, Inspector."

"What did you call me?"

I smiled. "I can call you Jenny if you like."

She froze.

"You've got the wrong..." she began, but I was having none of it.

"Forget it, Jenny!" I said, interrupting.

Then I and gave her chapter and verse about her work with the police, when she graduated from Hendon Police College, where she'd served, her notable arrests. The name of her husband, not a social worker at all but rather another copper.

As I talked, the look of anger was replaced by dawning horror, but she still wasn't willing to admit the truth. "If I really was a copper then I'd have backup. Any second now they'd be bursting in mob-handed."

I was pretty sure that wasn't true. I hadn't even begun to blackmail her yet. It was only when I demanded payment that there'd be full surveillance, including men with binoculars and an urge to kick in doors.

But that didn't mean she wasn't wired or that there wouldn't be some lower level tracking going on.

"Come on, Jenny," and I spread my arms and turned round to encompass the room. "I'm in the security industry and you're on my turf. This whole room is a Faraday cage. No matter what kind of tracker you've got on you, no signals can get in or out. And the car I brought you here in? Has three of our strongest jammers on board. As soon as you stepped inside, any of your signals disappeared in a tidal wave of static."

I stopped turning and looked at her directly. "The truth is, Jenny, that nobody knows where you are. By the time they find you, when the staff arrive on Monday morning, our business will be concluded."

I could see her swallow.

"What business?"

"I want to know what you've got on me."

She shook her head, her eyes narrowing. "I won't tell you a thing, you piece of shit."

An array of tools hung displayed on pegs along one wall. I went and a selected a box-cutter. I strolled back over to her.

She watched intently as I extended the blade.

"Are you going to kill me?" I admired how controlled her voice was. This was a brave woman.

"If this whole thing, this whole investigation, is about what I think it is, then you know I don't use violence. Well, apart from the odd slap or two. But you'd better not struggle, Jenny, otherwise you might end up cutting yourself."

I walked up to her, blade extended. Her body stiffened but at least she didn't kick me. I held the knife aside so I could press up against her and feel her breath on my face. Now that I was too close to kick or knee, I slipped the cutter into my jacket pocket so both hands were free.

Grasping the lapels of her shirt, I tore them apart, buttons pinging around us.

She started swearing at me, calling me all the names under the sun.

Looking down, I could see the heavy swell of her breasts cupped by a white patterned bra. The material was straining to hold its delicious cargo.

I trailed a finger over the top of her breasts, marvelling at the smoothness of her pale skin.

She jerked at my touch and started to struggle again, her jiggling breasts a breathtaking sight.

I pulled the box-cutter out of my pocket and she froze again.

Grasping the little strip of material connecting the cups of her bra, I brought up the knife and very carefully sawed through it, making sure the sharp steel didn't touch her delicate skin.

The bra cups fell away. Her breasts were so proud and so firm that they sagged down hardly at all.

I stepped back out of kicking range to appreciate their magnificence. Large pink areolae encompassed rather flat nipples, but the cold air of the tech room served to wrinkle the tender skin, forcing the nipples up into stubby protrusion.

I'm not generally vindictive but in this case there had to be some form of punishment. She'd ended my comfortable life in the UK and she had to pay.

Brandishing the knife, I stepped in close again. This time I undid her skirt and let it fall to the floor.

Such long, beautifully toned legs. It was difficult to keep my hands off them.

That would come later.

I find panties erotic but I hate tights. Kneeling down, I hacked away at the top of hers, until only her thin white cotton panties covered her genitals.

I stepped back again to relish the sight. She was still wearing her jacket and shirt but their lapels hung down either side of her bared breasts. Her wrists were handcuffed tightly behind the pillar, thrusting her breasts forward, a picture of female submission I'll take to my grave.

"What is the nature of the investigation?" I asked.

She looked to the side and said nothing.

Back I went to the tool wall which also displayed all sorts of aerials. Modern aerials are tiny but, as in most workshops, techies don't like throwing old stuff out.

Such as, in this case, an old style whip aerial.

It was about four feet long and made a satisfying 'zizzing' sound when I flicked it.

Her eyes went wide. "I thought you didn't use violence?"

"It won't even mark you, at least not permanently. But it will sting like fuck."

And, without any warning, I lashed the aerial her across her bare stomach.

She screamed. Her head jerked back and I heard it bang against the pillar.

She had a lean build, to the point where I could just make out the swells of her abdominal muscles. Without much in the way of cushioning fat, the lash of the aerial must have really smarted.

Though she was trying bravely to blink them away, tears began to well up in her eyes.

I ran my finger along the metal of the aerial. "This isn't about money is it? I may be a bastard in other ways but I'm no fraud. I mean," and again I waved a hand to encompass this large factory estate," we make a shitload of money by fair means. No need to cheat anybody."

I let that settle in, then: "It's about the women, isn't it?"

Again she looked away.

This time I aimed for the whiteness of her upper thighs, exposed where I'd cut away her tights.

Her body spasmed and the sway of her breasts made me catch my breath.

"I won't tell you anything," she said through clenched teeth.

The lash had left bright red lines across her stomach and thighs. I didn't want to mark her lovely breasts but Jenny needed more encouragement.

Reluctantly I brought my arm back and sent the aerial lashing across her chest.

She yelled in shock and pain. "Christ!" she hissed. "Yes, of course it's the women!"

A red line was already appearing on the underside of her breasts where the whip had caught her.

"Which women!"

"I don't know."

This time the lash came down across the tops of her breasts and she screamed in outrage.

"I can't tell you."

Now I aimed for her nipples but my angle was a little off. The aerial missed the left one but squarely caught the right.

She yelled and yelled. When the pain had finally died away, her eyes found mine. Tears were falling from them freely now. "I can't, I really can't. I can't have you hurting them." She sounded so wretched.

I'd never intended to hurt those women but, belatedly, it occurred to me I'd been asking about the wrong thing. There was only one question that really mattered.

"How many?"

She hesitated and I brought my whip hand back, ready to strike.

"Eleven," she said miserably.

One or two would have meant a few years in prison, not counting time for what I'd done to Jenny (and I had a plan for eliminating that). But with eleven women bringing charges we were looking at a life sentence. Especially as such a high number would interest the press. After that, how many more of my victims would come crawling out of the woodwork?

I'd pretty much expected all this but I'd needed conformation before entirely abandoning my life in the UK. I'd already reserved a seat on a flight from Heathrow later that night.

But that still left me a few hours for sweet retribution.

Turning away from her, I slipped my phone from my pocket and activated the camera. Swinging back around I got a series of pretty good shots of Jenny, her bare thighs and white panties, her breasts exposed and her lily white skin laced with the red lines of the lash.

And it perfectly caught her look of dismay and defeat.

"What the hell are you doing you sick bastard?"

I held up a finger for silence, sat down at a desk and poked away at the phone like I was writing something. After a while I sat back as though the imaginary task had been accomplished.

"Well, Inspector, I've just downloaded those pictures to my cloud account. I've told the AI to post them to just about everywhere its vast mind can think of it I don't countermand the order by a certain time. Say, soon after my plane lands."

"What plane, what are you talking about."

I shrugged. "You've won, Jenny. I'm doing a runner and I don't imagine I can ever return to the UK. These pictures..." and I took the phone to her so she could see the best one, "... are by way of blackmail. You may be the innocent victim but how will your family and fellow coppers feel when they get a load of these. They'll see you humiliated. They, and you, will never be able to unsee that. How will they ever respect you again? The whispers behind your back will never end. Your career and reputation will be shot. Your present life, like mine here in the UK, will be finished."

She tried to keep her face expressionless but I could see that what I'd said had touched her but not in a good way.

I looked deeply into her eyes. "You've wrecked my life and I can wreck yours. However, I'm not as vindictive as you think. You at least get to keep your life but you have to pay a price."

"And what's that?" she said but I could hear the dread in her voice and knew she'd already guessed.

I came closer and cupped her chin in my hand.

"I'm a married woman with children," she said miserably.

That made me feel sorry for her. Despite whatever her investigations had revealed, she really didn't know me. She was out of her depth. Otherwise, she'd have known that defiling other men's women gave me a special thrill, so that was the last thing she should have said.

How unmanning it would be for her copper husband if I did release the photos. His wife stripped and whipped by a villain like me.

And then, of course, brutally ravished.

He'd never be able to hold up his head at the cop shop again.

It wasn't just one career she'd be sacrificing herself to save, but two.

"Play nice!" I said and brought my mouth to hers. There was an instant of resistance but then her lips opened and my tongue pushed through. I could taste the coffee she'd been drinking when I'd taken her from her desk.

I put my hands either side of her neck, then gently trailed them down over her shoulders before finding her heaving chest. I let a single finger glance off each nipple.

Then, laying the palms of my hands fully on them, I felt her nipples crinkle and harden even more.

I kissed her deeply, my fondling hands caressing every inch of her magnificent breasts. She was breathing hard and they shuddered under my hands.

I licked the salty tears from her cheeks.

I ran a finger down over her belly button, stopping briefly to explore it, then down to the tops of her panties.

"Please don't!" she moaned.

Sliding my hand under the elastic, I felt my fingers running through a gratifyingly luxurious bush.

She squeezed her legs together, stopping my fingers sliding between them. With my other hand, I reached up and grasped a handful of her lustrous hair and pulled her head back.

She gave a little cry of pain. Her legs reluctantly parted.

My leading finger found her clit and she jerked at the shock of my touch.

The outer lips of her cunt were large and loose enough that my finger should slip between them easily. I had expected her to be as dry as the Sahara but that wasn't the case. I got two fingers into her easily and she grimaced with the humiliation.

"I'm begging you not to do this," she moaned.

I had to taste her.

Kneeling down, I got out the box cutter and cut away her panties. She'd dyed her hair chestnut, but the hair around her sex was jet black, as was mine.

I ran my hands up her long, slender legs, marvelling at the smoothness of her inner thighs. One at a time I lifted up her legs and hooked them over my shoulders, taking her weight. I put my hands under her buttocks and pushed her up, her cunt now open to my exploring tongue.

I pushed my tongue as deep inside her as I could, tasting her richness.

"Oh, God, you evil bastard!" she moaned.

When faced with unwanted sex, some women's bodies betray them, a simple animal reaction. That was the case with poor Jenny because she soon got even wetter.

I lapped at her with gusto, my tongue delving into every nook and cranny of her defenceless pussy.

I glanced up at her breasts from beneath, marvelling at how far they thrust out from her body.

And they looked so tempting that I stood up and started fondling them again. The tips of my fingers gently glanced off her erect nipples.

By now her chest was wet with tears.

I grasped her hair. "I hope you really understand your situation, Jenny. Cause me any trouble and you'll be ruined. Think of this sacrifice as payback, pure and simple. I get to use you as I wish, but it'll be our secret. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, you'll keep some dignity and you can return to your life as it was."

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"Your only hope is that I keep my word."

She said nothing but finally she nodded reluctantly.

I went around the pillar and got out the keys to the cuffs and opened them.

Rubbing her wrists, she turned to look at me. She didn't try to stop me as I grasped the lapels of her jacket and shirt and slid them off her shoulders. The cut bra followed.