A Policewoman’s Lot – Part Eight

WPC Cox tried to gather her thoughts as she lay on the blanket with the two rapists standing over her, her mind a mass of conflicting emotions. Humiliation, fear, shame, guilt and relief that it was over. So it had finally happened. She had been raped. In her previous encounters with men, Alison had experienced groping and sexual assaults on several occasions, and at the back of her mind she knew it was a possibility that this could happen one day. That was something she probably shared with all women.

This hadn’t been like sex with her boyfriend. She hadn’t been ready for them, and they had not been gentle with her. They had fucked her. They had raped her. Her jaw ached and her pussy was sore. Her thighs were bruised and her hair was dishevelled. The rope was biting even more painfully into her bound wrists. She was totally exposed, her blouse open and her skirt pushed up beyond her hips, leaving her pussy and bottom for all the world to see. I must look quite a sight, she thought. She felt like she had been pulled through a hedge backwards.

Alison was unable to do anything to cover herself up with her hands tied behind her back. She was unable to pull her skirt down. The police issue skirt was just above knee length and was cut quite tight, without any pleats or slits in the material. It tended to ride up with any movement.

She struggled awkwardly into a kneeling position on the blanket, her knees apart and her bust protruding forwards. Alison realised she needed to play the few cards she held to her advantage. She remembered instinctively that in the past after she had submitted to groping and harassment by men, afterwards they sometimes displayed a more protective attitude towards her. Perhaps she could cajole the two men into treating their captive more gently.

The first man told the second to pick up the discarded condoms and tissue paper and put them in the van. “Don’t want to leave any forensics,” he said. He returned with a bottle of water. He drank from it and gave it to the first man. “Want some, love?” the first man asked.

!Alison nodded. “Yes please,” she said. “My mouth feels like the bottom of a bird cage.” The man put the bottle to her lips, and she gulped it down greedily, spilling some on her chest. “There are some Polo mints in my handbag,” she said to her captor. “Do you think I could have one?”

He rummaged through her handbag and emptied the contents on the blanket. Her note book, handcuffs, and truncheon fell out. The first man picked up the short truncheon and laughed. “What do you do with this?” he asked.

“The batteries go in at the other end,” she joked. They both laughed. “My name’s Alison,” she said, hoping to establish some kind of rapport with them. Hopefully they’d respond to her and see her as a person. She tried to memorise every detail about them in case she came through this. She had already noted that the first man had a bird tattoo like a swallow on his right hand.

“I’m Fred Smith,” said the first man, opening the packet of mints and placing one in Alison’s mouth.

“Thanks, Fred,” she responded. She struggled against the ropes binding her hands behind her. “You’ve tied me up really tightly,” she said, looking up at him. “Do you think you could loosen the rope a bit? My hands are really hurting. Could you tie them in front of me instead?”

The first man got a knife from the toolbox in the van and knelt down behind her. “Keep still or I’ll cut your hands,” he warned. He cut the rope binding Alison’s hands and she brought them in front of her, rubbing her wrists and arms to restore the circulation. There were deep welts and marks on her wrists. She took the opportunity to pull her skirt back down and button up her blouse. At least she didn’t feel so exposed now.

“Thanks ever so much,” she said gratefully. “You’re a gentleman, Fred. Not like your mate,” she joked. She was hoping to get them laughing and joking with her.

“You’re not a bad looking bird, Alison,” he said. WPC Cox was happy that he was using her name at least. “You’ve got a nice face and a good figure. And nice tits.”

Alison smiled back at him. “Do you think I could go to the toilet?” she asked hopefully. “I really need to pee. I can go behind here.”

The first man helped Alison up off the blanket and led her to a spot behind the Marina van near the entrance to the building, holding her firmly by the upper arms. “You can go here,” he said.

WPC Cox squatted down behind the van and lifted up her skirt. She was really embarrassed as the man stood over her, watching her closely. But she really needed to go, probably from the shock of being assaulted and raped. Alison finished and stood up. The man handed her one of her tissues from her handbag and she lowered her skirt again. “Okay,” she said, “Thanks.”

The first man took her firmly by the arm and led her back to where the grey blanket lay on the ground. “I’m going to have to tie you up again, love,” he said. He picked up her handcuffs from the blanket. “But I’ll use your handcuffs this time. It won’t cut into your wrists so much.”

“Oh, okay, Fred,” Alison said, holding her hands together in front of her submissively. It wouldn’t be so bad if he cuffed her in front, she thought. She could see her key ring on the blanket, which had the handcuffs key on it. If she got the chance she could pick it up and free herself later. But the man brought her arms behind her and cuffed her hands tightly behind her back. There was no way she could slip her wrists out of them. Looks like I’m out of luck, she thought. “You’re not going to hurt me, are you?” she pleaded. “Please don’t hurt me. I’m not going to do anything stupid.” WPC Cox hoped she had done enough to establish some kind of rapport with the men, but she didn’t know what they were going to do next.

“What are we going to do with her?” asked the second man.

“We’ll just lock her in the boot of the police car,” he said. “Bring the blanket. And get some rope and tape for her mouth.”

They led her inside the old Nissen hut and opened the boot of the police car. WPC Cox looked inside the boot and recoiled in horror, shaking her head. “Oh no, please, you can’t put me in there. I’m claustrophobic. It’s a really hot day. I could suffocate in there before anyone finds me.” It was true. Alison had locked herself in a closet accidentally when she was a little girl and couldn’t stand confined spaces ever since.

The two men looked at one another in thought. “Okay,” said the first man, closing the boot lid. “We won’t put you in there then. Don’t say we’re not nice guys.”

“Thanks ever so much,” said Alison gratefully. It looked like they weren’t going to kill her after all. “I really couldn’t stand being locked in there.”

“Better gag her now,” said the first man. “We want as much of a head start as we can before she’s found.”

The second man approached her, holding the roll of black adhesive tape. He produced her discarded black knickers from his pocket and rolled them up into a tight ball.

“Oh no, please, you don’t need to gag me,” she pleaded. “Nobody will hear me even if I scream my head off. And you can’t gag me with my knickers. I’ve been wearing them.”

But the second man prised open Alison’s mouth and stuffed the wadded knickers inside. She didn’t try to resist. That’s really gross, she thought. She remained completely passive as he tore off a strip of the black tape and pressed it firmly over her mouth, sealing her lips shut and securing the wadded knickers inside her mouth. But he wasn’t finished. He wound the tape over her mouth and face and behind her head several times, distorting her cheeks and covcring the lower half of her face entirely. She couldn’t make a sound.

They spread out the blanket on the ground near an upright steel pole supporting the roof. “She should be comfortable enough till they find her,” said the second man. Get down on the blanket, love.” He guided her down in a sitting position on the blanket.

“I’ll get her hat and handbag,” said the first man. “We don’t want to leave anything lying round to be seen. We’ll take her radio with us so we can listen in to what’s going on.”

The second man produced a long piece of rope. WPC Cox looked at the man in alarm, her hands secured behind her back with her own handcuffs and the lower half of her face mummified with tape. He reached down and crossed her ankles and tied them tightly together. Her thin stockings didn’t offer much protection from the rope. Then he turned her over on to her stomach and lifted up her bound feet. He tied the end of the rope over the chain of her handcuffs, drawing her hands and feet close together in a hogtie. Alison lay immobile face down on the blanket, unable to move an inch. She’d never get free. Nobody would be able to see anything from the road and track, she thought.

The first man returned and dropped Alison’s hat down on to the blanket next to her. “Sorry to leave you like this, love,” he said. “But we’ve got to go. I hope they find you okay. Thanks for your company. See you again some time.”

WPC Cox lay motionless face down on the blanket. She heard the men walk away and the van doors being shut. They started the engine and drove off. Suddenly it was all quiet. At least I’m still alive, she thought.

To be continued.