Chapter 35

Aching and sore but feeling that his sexual needs had been well satisfied after his hour long session on Fifi's crucifix with the over-the-hill prostitute tormenting his balls to the point of orgasm, Ian Smythe stepped out of the apartment block where the hooker operated from with a satisfied smirk on his face... and walk straight into a nightmare for there, before the warehouse he was supposed to be watching, were at least eight police cars, their blue lights flashing as the assembled officers sealed off the area and fell into a well practised routine.

Colour draining from his face, Ian approached the barricade at a point where it was manned by a constable that, until he recently resigned from the force himself, Ian had worked alongside. "What... What happened?" he managed to ask in a quavering voice.

"Nothing to see here, Sir," came the automatic response before recognition crossed the constable's face. "Oh, it's you Sir. Sorry, I didn't recognise you out of uniform. It's a robbery and a very well organised one. In and out like a hot knife through butter. And you know what's really funny about it?"

"Let me guess," suggested a crestfallen Ian, "you'd had a tip off and the place was under observation?"

"How'd you know that, Sir?" asked the admiring PC, astounded by the deductive powers of the former Inspector.

"Because it was me who was doing the watching..."

"Oh! In that case, Sir, the new Gov'nor's looking for you."

"And who's that these days," enquired Ian hoping for a friendly name he knew from the past.

"Inspector McDougal. Ooh, she's a right dragon. Tough, but fair... knows her job," the officer confided. "But she doesn't like failure, Sir." Seeing his former boss's face fall, the PC couldn't help but to add a little maliciously, "Personally, I reckon she'll rip the balls off you and make you eat them over this!"

"Thank you, Jenkins, no need to rub it in..." responded Ian as he ducked under the plastic tape and entered the closed off area seeking out this unknown quantity by the name of Inspector McDougal...

Laying in her swelteringly hot West African prison cell, rivulets of sweat trickling down her naked body, Princess Carol M'Boka (formerly of Peckham, South London) looked at her bruised and beaten pale skin and rued the day she'd agreed to marry an African Prince for money as part of a scam to get him a British passport, for now the whole plot had unravelled and she was paying the price while waiting to be deported back home with possible further criminal charges pending there relating to her attempted deception.

Carol's thoughts were interrupted as the heavy metal opened, its unoiled hinges screeching badly. She backed away, cowering in the darkest corner of the cell and prayed that it wasn't her tormentor returning to make her life miserable again... but, unfortunately for her, it was.

The huge black officer smirked down at the trembling white woman and sucked into his hungry eyes ever last detail of her body as he closed the door behind him. "Ain't you going to welcome me back, bitch?" he challenged her.

"H... h... hello..." Carol responded hesitantly, not sure what the sadistic man would have in mind for her this time.

"Lay on your back, you slag, in the middle of the floor, legs apart and drawn up. Let me look at that pale pussy."

Scurrying to obey and knowing that either tardiness or a refusal would only make matters worse, Carol did as she was instructed. "I've got some good news and some bad news for you," the police officer smiled. "But first I'm going to fuck you. Would you like me to do that? If you don't want me to I'll just go ahead and do it anyway because I want to do it. But if I have to force you, I won't tell you the good news. So, you want me to fuck you?"

It didn't take the captive Princess long to come to a decision and to nod her agreement. Chuckling to himself at the power he held over her, the man undid his belt, unbuttoned his pants and pulled down his fly before hauling his long, thick cock out into the open. As Carol watched, the organ began to swell and grow even stiffer and it wasn't long before the man released his grip upon himself and his prick remained as it was, pointing eagerly at the woman laid prostrate on the floor.

Kneeling between the legs of his distraught, trembling captive, the policeman thrust himself into Carol's dry and unready hole then laughed as she flinched. Deliberately pressing his weight heavily down upon her chest, thus pinning her to the ground, he started to thrust slowly and deeply in and out of her. With no concern for the girl's wellbeing or comfort, he simply and crudely satisfied his sexual needs, briefly and efficiently... mercifully briefly as far as Carol was concerned and it was only a few minutes afterwards that he squirted his seed deep into her before pulling himself free of her body, standing and putting his cock away without even bothering to clean himself off.

"Now, onto business," he stated as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred before turning and collecting a file from an aide outside the room. "Princess, you'll be pleased to hear that you are shortly to be on your way home..."

Carol sighed audibly at this welcome news. "But what about the report that's going to the British police?" she questioned.

"Ah, this report would that be? The one that lays bare how your marriage to the Prince was only one of connivance and how you had already agreed to divorce him after a year? Would that be the report you mean? The one that could have you sent to jail for several years?"

Still laid on the floor, her legs spread widely apart, Carol nodded. "Yes, that report."

Her tormentor pulled out an old and battered Zippo lighter which he brushed against his trouser leg twice in a swift and dextrous single handed action to bring the lighter to life. He then applied the flame to one corner of the cardboard folder and they both watched as the file was consumed and turned into ashes. "Thank you," Carol said simply.

"Never let it be said that I'm not a man of my word," and, so saying, he opened the door once again and this time a pile of clothing was handed in to him. Tossing these down to the Princess, he suggested that she dress quickly for her plane was about to depart.

Needing no second bidding, Carol delved into the clothing only to discover that it was the outfit that she had been wearing when she first arrived here in Africa. She was going to leave this hell hole with nothing more than she arrived with other than a new name and a simple gold wedding band.

"Some colleagues will be arriving soon to escort you to your plane, Princess," he told her in a voice dripping sarcasm as he mentioned her title, "and I hope that you enjoy your trip. Just one thing before you go - and to keep you amused on the plane: did I really destroy the file or was that a copy? Has another already been sent to London? Happy flying, Princess..."

"You bastard!" Carol roundly accused him but he simply laughed and left the room, signalling to a pair of female constables to take Carol away...

Finally locating the female Inspector, Ian coughed to attract her attention from the report she was skimming through as she stood in front of what used to be the doors of the warehouse before someone rammed a JCB digger through them. "I believe that you're looking for me," Ian added as a way of explanation.

"Unless you're behind this robbery, I doubt it very much," responded Inspector McDougal in her Scottish lowland twang as she looked the newcomer up and down.

"Er... No, I'm the bloke who was hired to keep an eye on this place by the owners."

"Ahhhh, you're right, I am looking for you," her eyes scanned the file before her, "ex-Inspector Smythe. Compelled to resign the force after being accused of raping a female constable, wasn't it?"

"She dropped the charges long before it even got to the internal enquiry stage... And, besides, I didn't rape her, she wanted it!" Ian snapped back.

"They all say that," the Inspector countered. "But that's not what we are here about. So, you were watching this building, were you? What happened here, then? Who did it? Where did they go? What did they look like? The getaway car - make? Model? Colour? You got the number, of course? Tell me all the juicy details that I don't seem to have at the moment..."

"I... erm... didn't actually see anything..."

"You didn't actually see anything? Now why doesn't that surprise me, Smythe?" she went on sarcastically.

"Because I... I wasn't where I should have been..."

The woman's eyes looked up and down Ian's lanky body and then she shook her head ruefully. "So where were you?" she asked, her voice dripping venom. "Jerking off in the toilet? No, it can't have been that - my men checked the flat where you were supposed to be and it was empty. So where were you, you useless excuse for a surveillance team?"

Ian looked at the floor in shame, knowing that he'd really fucked up here and that he fully deserved the dressing down that the Inspector was handing out to him. The only problem was, he was enjoying being treated so by a female authority figure and his penis was starting to swell inside his pants.

"I... I... "

"Spit it out man, or can't you even do that right? Is even the power of speech beyond you now? Are you that incapable?"