The Dark Tunnel

Discussion in 'The Big Bookshelf (Library)' started by Meanhatter, Oct 13, 2018.

  1. Meanhatter New Member

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    The Dark Tunnel

    The police car swerved smoothly to leave the road for a bumpy track with patches that showed it had once been a level, well-surfaced way. PC Sammy Greenwood, in the passenger seat, was impressed by her colleague’s driving – smooth, self-assured, skilful, professional, all the things she herself wanted to be. For Sammy would still be on probation for another two months and Madhu Verma had been an officer nearly four years.

    “Tell me about this Willis guy,” Sammy said as Madhu neatly avoided a suicidal rabbit. “Does he imagine things?”

    “Who doesn’t?” the glossy Indian girl replied. “But has he invented or imagined seeing Bryant? No. I think I know him well enough. He saw something. Might be Bryant, might be some tramp or industrial archaeologist who looked a bit like him. Definitely worth investigating, Sammy.”

    “But he’s a sex offender?”

    “A long time ago. No recent offences. I feel a bit sorry for him, but maybe he’s a natural loner and this life is what he’d have chosen anyway.”

    “What, all alone up here?”

    “Yes, all alone up here.”

    At a bend in the track, a vista suddenly opened up. The sky was blue, visibility was good and the rocky hills and green valleys stretched to the horizon. Towns there were, but out of sight. Madhu stopped the car so they could both enjoy the view.

    “Brilliant, isn’t it?” she commented.

    “Good to be alive!” Sammy paused before adding, “Pity there are bastards like Bryant about.”

    “Pity those private security men didn’t know what they were doing. Pity Bryant escaped.” Madhu drove on.

    Outside the low stone building with a corrugated iron roof, the ground was flattened for some distance, making a good parking place. A short, plump, elderly man, going bald but with long wisps of grey hair, was already waiting for them.

    “Well, it’s my favourite police officer!” he called. “PC Verma – with a friend.”

    “Hello, Mr Willis,” said his favourite police officer. “This is PC Sammy Greenwood. Where did you see this man who looked like Bryant?”

    “Just outside the engine house over there,” he replied, pointing at a solid but ruined building. “I don’t know if he saw me, but he went straight inside. So did I, if you see what I mean. Locked the door. What a wonderful thing a mobile telephone is! I’m so glad you’re here.”

    “Have you kept the engine house under observation?”

    “Yes – and I haven’t seen him come out.”

    “Any other exits?”

    “Well, yes, through the windows, but you can see how steep the slope is behind the building and how open the ground is. I think I’d have seen him if he’d come out.”

    “So you think he’s still in there?” Willis smiled nervously. His hands fluttered.

    “Well, of course, there is the tunnel. Goes well into the hillside it does. Still possible to go in for more than a mile, so I’m told.”

    “Right – you stay there. We’re going in.” But to Sammy’s surprise, the old man objected. He insisted that having brought the two young officers out here all this way on a dangerous errand, he had a responsibility to go with them. Moreover, he pointed out, he knew his way around the engine house and even a little way into the tunnel. Moreover, he had a strong torch. Sammy expected Madhu would kindly but firmly tell him to stay put; but maybe she didn’t want to deny the old man his little adventure or his wish to be helpful.

    “OK, but stay behind us and no heroics,” she said. The old man set off into the hut and came out with a small rucksack which presumably contained his torch. They headed for the engine house. Sammy thought they’d go through the door, but Madhu explained that could lead to an ambush. Instead, she clambered through a window and then called the others through the door.

    Most of the roof had gone, so there was natural light, but still plenty of dark places. The walls were high and here and there rusting machinery looked oddly ominous to Sammy. She looked round to see if Mr Willis was all right, but he seemed quite calm now. A sudden noise startled them, but it was a pair of Jackdaws making off. There was no sign of any human.

    “We’ve checked everywhere now,” said Mr Willis. “Maybe I did miss him going out.”

    “But the tunnel?” Madhu prompted.

    “Yes, there’s the tunnel.”

    “Look, Mr Willis, you’ve been very helpful, but Bryant is very dangerous. Just remember what he did to that poor officer in Coventry – and she’d only just got married. Go back to your house and lock the door.” But Willis showed unexpected steel.

    “My dear, remember I know the tunnel. There are two places where there are holes you could fall into, there are low beams and to my knowledge there are three small side-tunnels you probably wouldn’t notice. No, I must be your guide – and so I must go first.” Madhu too could be steely.

    “No, if you come with us, the danger is our job. We go first and you follow. You can still call out when we’re coming to something difficult, can’t you?”

    “I suppose I can,” said the old man doubtfully. And so it was Madhu first, Sammy next and Oliver Willis third who entered the tunnel.

    Which was just what Willis had wanted. He genuinely had seen a suspicious man who looked like the escaped prisoner Marvin Bryant, but the prospect of following two hot young policewomen through a narrow tunnel, with the benefit of his powerful torch, appealed to him.

    He’d already got a good look at the arses on both of them. The Paki slut he knew well enough: she’d come up to his hideaway four or five times “to make sure he was OK” and once when some unusually dedicated troublemaking youths had come up here to “sort out the nonce”. She was asking for it. But a warning system in his mind had stopped him acting on that perception. Of course, he’d thought out any number of ways of getting the hot cunt and thoroughly enjoyed vivid notions of what he’d do with her. But most of them fell down on the fact that she was young, fit and strong while he was old, a bit weaker and on his own.

    When he’d phoned 999 about seeing Bryant – or someone who looked a lot like Bryant – he’d pleasantly wondered if it might be PC Fragrant Cunt Verma who came, but of course she’d not come alone to look for a violent criminal like Bryant and it could have been two thick, oak-faced policemen arriving. In fact it was Fragrant Cunt and she’d brought another hot young slag with her, a big-titted, fatarsed blonde. Fragrant Cunt’s arse was a bubble butt – very round, plush, taut, deeply-parted (as far as he could tell) but only medium size, as most arses on long legs were. Blonde Slut’s one was fat. Fat, in-your-face, medieval banquet pork. It was now that vast target he was following into the old mine’s tunnel.

    Natural light gave out almost immediately. Steps echoed from the slightly uneven floor. Torchlight made weird shapes from the rock. The tunnel was just big enough to walk upright in most places, but here and there were rock-falls, warped props or abandoned items that involved picking your way carefully or squeezing past. He warned them to mind their heads – not because there were any dangerous obstacles up there, but because it would make them bend forward a bit.

    The Paki’s torch was lighting up the tunnel ahead, but his one was lighting up Blondie’s buttocks, bulging and swivelling in their tight uniform trousers. If she stopped suddenly, he might just allow himself to collide with them.

    She stopped suddenly. He collided with them, pushing into plush bounciness and then recoiling as if shocked. Before he could apologise, she said “Sorry”! If life could only be like that all the time – to poke into fat, bouncy hindquarters and for their owner to apologise! They moved on.

    He had a plan. A cunning plan, indeed – but did he have the nerve, could he take the risk to actually do it? How would he live with himself if he let the opportunity pass? Fragrant Cunt was squeezing past some obstacle, so Blondie had to stop again. This time he didn’t collide with her arse. The delay gave him time to take his rucksack off and extract something important. Wait. Choose the exact right moment. There was a voice in his head accusing him of cowardice, of delaying a brave act and then finding a reason to delay it further until it was too late. He told the voice to shut up.

    Fragrant Cunt was through and Blondie was now squeezing her meaty curves into the gap. Shit. He hadn’t realised FC would turn around and help her friend by lighting the way with her torch. That wouldn’t do.

    “OK?” asked Fragrant Cunt.

    “OK! I’m nearly through!” replied Blondie.

    “Great!” said FC. She turned around and pushed on. Great indeed!

    Now. He’d delayed to get a good view of Blondie’s fat arse contorting. But if he was going to do it, it must be NOW.

    He’d read the instructions and he’d used the thing experimentally on himself. There was also stuff the supplier had told him. NOW.

    He pushed the button. There was a brief buzzing noise like a fly frying in an electric fly-trap. Blondie spasmed and was still. Success! Now to pull her out of the gap, quietly as possible. For a moment he couldn’t shift her and then she came. He almost lost his balance, for she was heavier than him. He recovered and dumped her on the floor. Now he had to hurry. He knew she wouldn’t be out for that long, so he couldn’t afford to leave her as she was. It was quicker to bind her wrists and ankles with cord than to fumble for her cuffs.

    Fragrant Cunt had pressed on down the tunnel. He hurried to catch up. Assuming it was Blondie behind her, she didn’t look round. He knew she would soon come to a place where a major rock-fall had left only a small gap. This was as far as he had gone. She reached it.

    “Wow! This looks tight! Just hope Bryant isn’t waiting at the other side!” she called out. Not waiting for a reply from Blondie, she clambered up to the gap and squeezed into it. Willis shone the torch on her gorgeous bottom as it contorted. It contorted, jiggled, gyrated, bulged one way, then the other – and then it was still.

    “Shit! I’m stuck!” came that voice. “Sammy, can you push my bum?”

    Now that was a dilemma. He was more than willing to get his hands on Fragrant Cunt’s arse. But if he pushed hard, she might pop through the hole. She would then be beyond his power and she might also quite possibly turn and see him. But the idea of pushing his palms into that arrogant plushness at her own request! He pushed.

    At first he didn’t push too hard, afraid he’d push her through. But a very slight shift forward was brought to a firm halt. It seemed he was actually getting her more firmly stuck. So he pushed harder. God, her buttocks were bouncy! Hours and hours in the gym or jogging, taking care on diet, just to give him a monster horn!

    “Sammy, stop, I think I’m just getting more stuck!” she cried. Willis stopped. But he was about to be rumbled. He hadn’t felt able to imitate the fatarsed blonde’s voice and it had just occurred to FC that it was odd her colleague hadn’t spoken. “Sammy? Sammy, is that you?” she enquired.

    “No, it isn’t the fatarsed blonde slag,” Willis replied, “it’s me, Mr Willis. Well, you stuck-up do-gooding bit of smelly Paki cunt, I’ve got you where I want you! Pity about the poor light, but I can manage.”

    The light was indeed a problem. In order to do what he wanted, he would have to put down the torch. He looked around and was delighted to find a ledge which would support the torch. It wasn’t quite shining on the wretched policewoman’s arse, but it threw enough light on it to get on with.

    He poked it. The squeal, distorted by the tunnel and the obstruction made by cop girl meat, was fascinating. The echoes were amusing. He poked it again. He fondled it as if it were a pet. All the protest she could manage was quivering and twitching.

    He took a small step back and gave it a well-deserved whack. He hadn’t felt that good for thirty-nine years. She screamed like a distorted banshee. He gave her plenty of time for the smarting and the humiliation to sink in. That gave her a chance to verbalise.

    “Mr Willis, Oliver, please, you don’t have to do this!”

    “True. I choose to do it.”

    “Look, you’re getting yourself in all sorts of trouble. If you just…”

    “Get on with sorting you out, when I’ve had all my fun I can kill you and the big-titted blonde nice and slowly and make it so it looks like Bryant did it.” From the less interesting end of the thing, there was silence. He resumed spanking. He had often fantasised about spanking an unwilling policewoman and finally it was coming true. She had a gorgeous, rubbery arse. You could use it as a beach-ball if it weren’t for the other bits attached to it. The squeals were muffled by her body stuck in the gap, but he could hear then echoing further down the tunnel.

    Time to get those trousers off. He was not the kind of ingenue who pulls a girl’s trousers down and then finds he can’t get them right off because of her shoes, but he saw no reason why the trousers shouldn’t stay crumpled around her ankles. There was a potential problem, though. Never having taken down a policewoman’s trousers before (when he had last stripped a policewoman’s lower half, they wore skirts), he wasn’t sure where the relevant zips, catches or poppers were. They might even not be on the part of her sticking out and if he fumbled about too much beyond that, he could even dislodge her. But with fortune and skill, he succeeded. There was a POP and that incredibly sexy sound, a zip unzipping. He tugged and the trousers shifted – only a little, but he knew success was in his grasp. A good tug and they were off her fat brown arse and descending of their own volition to her ankles.

    There was a little shocked cry. Then a nervous quiver of her gorgeous buttocks. It would be better with full light, of course – or maybe not, because the uneven light of the torch gave her fine dusky arse a surreal, almost supernatural quality. A supernatural arse with a supernatural arsehole!

    The colour of her panties was hard to establish in the torchlight, but their extent was crystal clear. They bisected one lovely buttock and protected less than half of the other! The blatant, shameless tart! How right he had been to give her a good spanking! In fact, he ought to continue.

    The feel of his palm on bare, bouncy copmeat was really exciting. When it struck panty-clad dusky cheek that was fascinating too and he loved swatting her across the divide between bare arse and panties so he got both feelings in one. She squealed and she spasmed, but she could not escape. She surely wanted to escape, though, and that deserved punishment. The one thing he regretted was that in the poor light, he couldn’t see her punished arse reddening. But then her skin colour would make that harder to see anyway, uncooperative slut.

    Those panties had to come down. He thought about ripping them from her, but there was no need. As long as they weren’t in the way, he could just let them find their natural level and collect them later. He hooked an index finger in the panty-waist just where it crossed that delicious shallow groove that marked the end of her back and the start of her arsecrack. He pulled. It took a little effort to get them over the heights of her buttocks, but then just a little tug more and they fell sadly to her knees, where they nestled. He picked up the torch and played it over the rich, promised, forbidden land. It looked every bit as good naked as he’d imagined. Even shining the torch directly at her arsecrack did not dispel the gloom and shadows. He imagined miners gaining a dangerous living in the rich crevasse.

    Well, time to spank it some more. Take THIS for being a policewoman! Take THIS for giving yourself airs and graces! THIS for ordering men about! THIS for trying to play Lady Bountiful to me! THIS for daring to wear a British uniform! THIS for having beautiful hindquarters! THIS for being brave! THIS for being a rapist’s dream! THIS, THIS, THIS! Now after every swat he gripped a chunk of arse and squeezed. From her squeaks and squirming, it was obvious her arse was well sore. He squeezed harder.

    The cue for stopping was when his wrist hurt.

    The sounds Fragrant Cunt was making and the noise of the swats hitting her rump must have drowned out the other sounds. A weak voice was calling behind them.

    “Help! Maddy! Help! Watch out! It’s Willis!” Well, that was what they called locking the stable door after the horse had bolted. He left FC and walked back to Blondie. Stamping on her belly and kicking her face shut her up, or at least, replaced the shouts with moans, which were less disruptive.

    Back to whacking that impertinent brown arse. Back to squeezing it and making her squirm and scream. Magic.

    He stopped when his wrist hurt. There was a great silence – but no, not wholly a silence, for in the darkness, PC Madhu Verma was sobbing. He’d soon put a stop to that. To find her cunt, he had to put the torch back on its ledge and the search wasn’t as easy as it would normally have been. Yes, there it is. His fingers pushed in and she squirmed, but then suddenly stopped. He knew this was for fear of injury, but it was still a defeat, an acknowledgment that he was her master. Her cunt was tight, but dry. Perhaps there was something he could do about that. He had shoved his fingers in roughly, but now he began to work her cunt gently and teasingly. With any luck she’d get excited despite herself. Her slut body would overpower her stuck up do-gooder brain. It worked.

    He withdrew his hand and sniffed it. OK, enough of this namby-pamby foreplay. He unzipped his flies and struggled to get his swollen cock out of his boxers. Not necessary to take them down: they might trip him up and the rock was hard. Well, this was really going to teach her. He’d been wanting to rape the haughty slut for two whole years. NOW!

    The acoustics distorted her pathetic “OH!”. The slut was juicy enough now – and tight, tight, tight. She responded to his rhythm. She had no choice. He was young again.

    Blondie had recovered a bit, for she shouted, “Leave her alone!”. This time Willis did not bother to go back and sort her out. He was busy. Now, what about her arsehole? Bound to be even tighter and breaking through was fun. It amused him that very likely, this was her first experience of a cock up her arse. Bad, that. It ought to be part of the training of every policewoman, except the ugly ones.

    Finally, he felt quite exhausted. That was unfortunate, as his next task was to try to pull her out of the gap she’d got herself stuck in. It might be too much for him, in which case he’d have to kill her there. The best idea, he thought, was to pull at her legs. The trousers were a nuisance, but he managed to get a good grip on her ankles. Trouble was, he was not as strong as he used to be and leaning back didn’t bring as much weight to bear as if Blondie, for instance, was doing it. NO, wait a minute – he was being stupid. All his careful preparation could have been thrown away and worst. If he pulled Fragrant Cunt out of the gap, even with her trousers around her ankles, she might well overpower him. It was taser time.

    Amusingly, FC was encouraged by the pause to try wriggling out. He watched this lewd display for half a minute before giving her the works. Right up her cunt. The wriggling stopped. Now to go back to trying to pull her out. But if he couldn’t, maybe he could trim her a bit here and there?

    She shifted a little and then stuck again. Encouraged, he rested for a moment before giving one good tug. Out she came and flopped on the floor.

    She’d lost her hat.

    That was disappointing. He stepped up to the gap and fished for it, careful not to get stuck himself. There it was! Excellent. He couldn’t rely on it staying on her head, so he stuck it in his bag. Bagged: one policewoman’s hat. Also one other policewoman’s hat and two policewomen, complete with panties and cunts. He put Fragrant Cunt over his shoulder and set off back to the entrance. On the way, he encountered Blondie and kicked her again. By the time he got to the entrance, he was tired and his arm was aching, so he dumped FC and went back for Blondie.

    She’d become weepy, so he slapped her face. He found he couldn’t pick her up, so he bagged her hat and dragged her along by her hair. That made her rather noisy again. Her cries echoed through the tunnel, but there was only Willis to hear them. He dragged her out of the tunnel, past the unconscious FC and all the way up to his home, pausing for breath a few times.

    The door hung open. He wa sure he locked it, but in his excitement maybe he didn’t. Anyway, he’d got to get FC out before she revived. He went back and brought her. He dropped her on top of her conscious friend.

    He ought to be careful. But only the one police car stood forlorn in front of his dwelling (he could drive it two miles to that place where it could easily be sent over the side down the ravine to the river). If someone had broken in, what could he do? Run? He would be caught. He already had a suspicion of what he might find – and hoped he was right. He dragged the two policewomen inside.

    A door opened.

    A bald, muscular, bristle-faced man walked through. The photos on the news were a good likeness. He looked at the policewomen. He looked at Willis.

    “Fucking hell, mate, how did you get them?” he asked. “Nah, tell me later. I’m Marvin Bryant. Haven’t had cop cunt for eight years. I been looking at your stuff. You’re Oliver Willis, right? Sorry I broke your door.” He advanced to shake hands. “Looks like you’re a fellow spirit,” he said. “Torture, rape, snuff OK with you?”

    “It’s OK with me,” said Willis. “I need to spank the blonde first, though.”