Chav Ch. 04 Pt. 02

"I know. I'm a fuck up but I don't wanna end up that kind of fuck up. I don't wanna turn into mum. I'm just desperate and running out of options. Actually, I can't think of any options."

"I'll come and visit you at your place. Give me your address...?"

"No fuckin' way. One look at you and Parker'll make it his mission to get his hands on you. I don't want you getting dragged down too. Stay away from him, sis. Seriously."

"Okay. If you're sure."

"I am. I'll keep in touch and we can meet up in town or something."

Their conversation ended with an old man in a black suit and a stoop bringing out a stainless steel urn that contained Sandra Taylor's ashes. He passed them to Becky who, as the elder daughter, was next of kin. It was the cue for everyone to depart and to go their separate ways.

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Everyone pretty much left Becky alone that night, but she felt anchored by her grief, deepening depression and the situation she had found herself in and felt unable to pull herself free of. So she hurried upstairs to get changed, having decided to head into town and drown her sorrows or something.

She pulled out a white, high necked, sleeveless, lace top that apparently did amazing things to her tits, especially without a bra on. To accompany the top she picked out a white lacy thong, a pair of white knees socks with pink swirls and a pink and white tartan miniskirt with a cute flat cap to match.

After dressing quickly, throwing on a jacket and checking her small mock-Burberry handbag for cash, she got the bus into the town centre. Afraid, because, though it wasn't the infamous night bus, it was after nightfall and even the unspoken street rules were rarely followed by the residents of the Oakfield area.

It was even-odds that a girl alone or in less than a group of say four, on a bus after nightfall was going to get fucked.

She had one of her mother's old bobby socks with a fistful of Pound coins stuffed down where the toes were clutched in her hand which was stuffed into the pocket of her unzipped fake Filo jacket.

She had been thinking about the cash at first and vowing not to spend it all and leave her without her makeshift cosh, but then a sudden realisation struck her and almost brought her to tears.

Apart from a couple of pictures on her phone that she had taken of her mother in potential blackmail-able poses poses of her mother - naked and doing all kinds of her usual disgusting, sordid and overly perverse things with numerous partners, often three or four at once and always with gusto - that she'd taken on the sly (just-in-case), that single solitary sock was all that she had left of her mother.

Becky realised the moment after the sock fact that she didn't even have the photos anymore. she's lost her phone in the fire and had that admittedly very cool new one from Parker.

And then she savagely snapped her eyes shut, fighting the brimming tears deep down and put the usual dangerous scowl on to her pretty face.

Three lads got on, spying up and down the isles. Looking for sources of mischief. Their first stop was a pretty, older woman, probably around their parents age. She was sitting alone wearing some kind of apron uniform thing, in purple with blue edging. Becky had recognised the logo on her jutting bosom but didn't know what or where the place was.

The lads, or at least two of them, seemed to be much more interested in what was making the woman's uniform jut so eye-catchingly.

However, the third lad had spotted Becky and was eyeing her up lasciviously, from half way up the length of the bus. He got the attention of his two friends and nodded urgently in Becky's direction.

The other two eyed her as well but one of them just shook his head.

"Leave her. That's Taylor." He said dismissively.

"So?"

"'Aven't you 'eard, dick'ead? She belongs t'Mad-Dog dun'she!"

"Mad-Dog?"

"Parker, you fuck-whit!" The third one added.

"Oh... Jesus."

And then he turned his attention to the woman the other two seemed to have chosen for abuse.

Becky couldn't decide if she was relieved or disappointed. On the one hand she had protection from the predators of Oakfield, something as a young attractive woman, she had always sought out, but on the other hand it was a stark reminder of just how afraid people were of Kasey Parker, of how dangerous he was. And that terrified her.

One of the other two lads sat down next to the woman, practically on her knee. While the other sat behind her, kneeling on the seat. Becky could see most of what was going on from the bright reflections that were mirrored on the windows of the bus, aided by the near blackness outside.

The two lads were sharing the woman's breasts. The one behind her had a hand tight over her mouth while the other was stuffed down the neck of her apron thing, cupping one meaty tit.

The other lad was shoved up tight against her hip, so she was trapped between him and the side of the bus. And both of his hands were shoved under the apron from the side, both clamped tight onto her bosom.

The woman struggling an slapping at them until the one behind her was whispering things that had the woman turn green and then stop struggling in their grasp.

The lads relaxed, the hand came away from her mouth and then two pairs of hands started to hurriedly undress her from the neck down.

They didn't take much care and blouse buttons flew once the apron was released from its press stud fastenings and peeled down. Her large breasts were confined tightly in a bra that was too small and tit flesh was bulging out from all over.

The lads didn't care about that either, they just hooked the black lacey cups quickly up onto her chest and let the goods bounce free and straight into their waiting and eager hands.

The bus stopped, the doors opened and two large black policemen stepped onto the bus. Becky cursed inwardly. Rod and Bull.

They said something to the driver then slowly advanced up the length of the bus. Rod spotted Becky almost at once and made a bee line for her. Bull on the other hand paused at the now topless and molested woman.

Becky was watching intently. The woman was pleading with her eyes. The lads, though with hands still full of naked tit flesh, weren't moving and were instead staring up at the man-mountain standing over them.

Though Becky couldn't see the woman's face she imagined the silent pleading look in her eyes as she tilted her head to catch the cool appraisal of her so-called saviour.

There was some kind of silent exchange, then Bull put a hand to his utility belt, drew out the regulation mace can and zapped both lads in the eyes with it. The lads screamed and stumbled away from the huge brute of a Police officer. He watched them impassively, his free hand hooked over the grip of his truncheon, like a waiting gunslinger from an old Western.

The lads somehow found their way blindly off the bus. Then just as coolly, Bull got out his note pad and insisted on the woman giving over her name, address, mobile number and what time her shift ends.

All Becky heard of the conversation was Bull's final words to the shaking, all but topless woman.

"I'll come and see you when you get off work." he said. The woman's response with a silent shaky nod of the head.

A moment later, as if the altercation had never occurred, Bull had turned his attention to a black youth half way down the isle on the other side of the bus from the woman, who was now trying to cover herself and hold back sniffles.

Bull reached down a huge shovel of a hand for the boy who couldn't have been any older then ten or twelve. Their eyes met.

"C'mon Jamal, time to face the music lad." Bull said. The lad quietly got to his feet and with head lowered stepped out into the isle beside the huge Police officer.

Rod, eyeing Becky, cast a comment to his partner, even as he started up the isle toward the back seat where Becky sat.

"I'll catch up with you later, mate, take the car. I'm riding the bus into town with Taylor there." Rod said.

Bull nodded, just the hint of a smile touching his lips for the briefest moment, before he turned and led the boy off the bus.

Then the doors shut and the bus was on its way once again.

Rod got straight down to business, but not in the manner Becky had been expecting. He sat beside her on the back seat, feet up on the seat opposite, incidentally blocking any easy egress for Becky and turned to her.

"Alright Taylor."

Becky looked him in the eyes, tried to smile but didn't quite pull it off. She tried to look sullen but the fear seemed to shine through from beneath the attempt.

Rod ignored it all.

He looked her up and down, his cruel brown eyes lingering on the perky jut of her breasts.

But his hands were hooked into his utility belt and stayed there.

"What's become of that mate of yours? Emma. That short girl with that really fuckable ass?" He asked her.

"She left. Moved up North with her fella." Becky muttered.

Not knowing where this was going and uncertain of how to act, she kept still and just answered his questions.

"Did you know she came back for more? About a week after we did you two?"

"No. She never said. What did she do that time?"

It was difficult talking with Officer Rod. Becky knew his temper was really short and the wrong thing said or taken could have you in a whole heap of trouble. Weirdly though he was being almost friendly. "Maybe he's downed a couple of E's or something." She thought to herself.

"Nothing." He laughed. "She actually came to us... Serious! She came around looking for Bull and me. Offered us her ass fer nowt. It was sweet. She was even blushing when she said it. Dirty bitch. She even offered to let us 'cuff her to Bull's bed. Wanted us to take turns up her ass. She must have got a taste fer it that last time, with the four of us."

Becky let out a noncommittal grunt, that Rod took as disbelief but surprisingly, he still didn't take offence. He laughed instead.

"I'm serious Taylor! She'd gone all out! Got herself all dolled up. Hair all done, all-over fake tan, make up, little flared skirt, tight top. She even brought her own lube!"

Becky couldn't help but smile at the thought of Emma dressed up and begging for anal. However unbelievable it sounded.

"So what happened?"

"What d'yer think? We got her stripped off, on her hands and knees, cuffed her wrists to the bed, and gave her a three hour fucking train-gang up her arse! One of us got sucked off while the other one fucked her arse then we'd swap. The sucking stopped after the first hour, her throat was hurtin' and she begged us no more deep throat. But we dragged the ass fucking out for three.

"She proper got off on it though. Bull said she'd cum so much her juice was soaked right into his mattress, must have cum twice for each time we did. And we cum fuckin' bucket loads."

"Why though?" Becky wondered aloud. "I can tell you she didn't enjoy it that last time. Neither of us did."

"You weren't supposed to dumb bitch, it was a punishment fuck!" He laughed.

"I don't know. Maybe she got off on it, like a masochist? Who cares...?" He continued with a unconcerned shrug.

"...Or maybe she felt like she needed punishing or something. Like going to a priest for confession. Our dicks ripping up her arse for three hours was like a thousand fucking Hail Marys!"

The bus, going a tiny bit too fast, rounded a corner and shoved people across their seats, Becky had to brace herself as she was shoved in Rod's direction. She didn't want any pretence of her deliberately pressing herself against him. She didn't want to give him any kind of an accidental come on.

"Sayin' all that, she fucking cummed plenty, all the same." Rod went on. "Wasn't quiet this time either. Eggin' us on she was... For the first hour anyway... Screeching an' cursing the roof off the rest of the fucking night!" He laughed to himself at the obviously fond and erotic memory of it.

"Shame she's left town. Bull was talkin' about takin' possession. Makin' her his regular arse piece. He's gonna be pissed."

Becky found herself wondering if Emma had somehow started to feel responsible for Barry's death. It was the sort of dumb shit she'd do. Blame herself for something that wasn't anything to do with her and then go and get her arse ripped up by these two sadistic bastards as penance or something.

Sounded like she'd saved herself a shit load of heart, and arse, ache by moving on when she did. Lucky cunt. Becky thought.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry t'hear 'bout your mum, Taylor. Sandy was a right sexy bitch. We'd both had her a bunch of times over the years. Fuckin' waste."

"Ta." Becky said distractedly.

She was thinking again. Thinking about Rod. Her best bet was to find protection against Parker. Someone she could give herself to who wouldn't be intimidated by Mad-Dog. Someone she could rely on. Someone who'd keep her safe from him. Rod maybe fit the bill?

Fortunately, Officer Rod seemed to be done with her. He pulled himself up out of his seat, nodded a brief farewell to Becky, and then got off the bus at the next stop without another word.

Becky slumped back on the rearmost seat with a deep, guttural sigh of relief, annoyed with herself and relieved that Rod had been uncharacteristically placid and that she hadn't gone down the road of offering herself to him in exchange for protection from Parker.

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The town centre was bustling with the usual sordid displays of night life entertainments.

They walked up and down the streets, teenage girls, their young fleshy wares intimately shown off and on overt display, while potential teenage and older male suitors drove up and down slowly in cheap but over blown and noisy souped-up cars, looking, ogling, throwing depraved and perverse overtures at the girls, trying to impress and shock at the same time. It was a vile and dominant mating ritual that Becky knew all too well.

You gave in to it, giving them the submissive lusty whore they wanted in exchange for money, drugs, booze and excitement.

And you hoped that the drugs and booze and excitement dulled the self-revulsion and the embarrassment and debasement that you felt while you were debased and subjugated and dominated while they were fucking you whenever and however they saw fit.

You just had to accept it and hope you wouldn't remember it in the morning, that you got something out of it. Some level of sexualised respect that you did them good, showed them a good time, that they would remember you and maybe felt like they owed you a favour or something down the line. Whatever it took to dull the shitty life that you lived in and around the Oakfield estate.

Becky saw a lot of the usual faces, saw all the usual scenes and scenarios. But this time, in her grief and depression, the usual rose tinted, drug and alcohol coloured allure was no longer present.

All she saw was the stark, ugly reality of all that youthful depravity. The very thing she had done on a daily basis for years. The thing her mother had done growing up, in another estate just like this one.

The very depravity that Jeni had somehow managed to avoid, that Rochelle and Emma had somehow escaped.

The same depravity that she was very much still trapped in and unable to free herself from. A quagmire of sin. It made her feel queasy and ugly. Made her feel weak and diseased. Dirty. Unclean.

It had been raining and the slick reflective coating seemed to make everything seem all the more filthy. The repeated orange glow from the dim street lights threw a dirty orange filter over everything, and it was only cut away by the gaudy neon of shop fronts. Fast food places, many with cracked fascias, food smeared glass, in need of repainting repairs, all with litter strewn pavements outside. Dull taxi-ranks in need of a lick of paint and better quality advertising, not to mention the thirty year old interior decor.

The pavements and roads were dappled with soggy discarded rubbish, food wrappers, news papers, cigarette butts, used condoms and other unrecognisable detritus.

The human trash that also littered the streets was just as ugly and depressing and gaudy and distasteful.

And Becky seemed to know every example by either name or reputation, one of which was only a couple of yards away.

Still fat and still desperate, Becky had gone to school with Ann Edwards, she had been so lonely and needy for male attention that she had quickly gained a reputation for taking it up the ass by any lad who would show a little interest and buy her booze or weed.

She wasn't unattractive, just overweight, her long loose hair danced in serpentine waves and was streaked equal parts black and red. She wore a white polo shirt with blue stripes, that bulged against her massive breasts and belly and her black stretchy jeans clung to her big hips and thighs.

At the time Becky had thought of her as a sad, pathetic heifer and had cruelly told her so on numerous occasions.

She had quickly become a source of ridicule as well as a dirty plaything for the jocks, but weirdly, it had kept her away from the even seedier crowds of Oakfield council estate lads and the gangs.

She was more a kind of - "Go round to your house, maybe I'll help you with your homework, I'll definitely suck you off and probably let you fuck me in the ass, if you get me drunk or high and let me feel wanted for a couple of hours." - than going to estate house parties, getting shit faced and fucked by random lads you didn't remember the next morning.

Becky found herself thinking back over her own sordid memories, dour, depressing images flashing into her attention as the memories came flooding back. The only evidence that you'd been with a lad the night after a party was the taste of spunk in your mouth, and the soreness and bruises between your legs and on your tits.

The number of Sunday afternoons she'd woken up and realised what she'd been up to, though with no clear memory, just by the physical evidence, on and in her body, and often worse yet, on her taste buds...

Ann was sitting on a park bench under a tree, at the side of the little Aldi supermarket sandwiched between a couple of collage age footballers. They were sharing a bottle of gin and passing a fat, hand-rolled joint.

One of the lads had his hand down the neck of Ann's polo shirt, feeling up her huge tits while she had one hand each on the lad's bulging crotches, rubbing and stroking their obvious erections through their tracksuit pants. The lad who didn't have his hands all over Ann's tits took a huge, lung bursting, drag of the joint, held it while he yanked Ann's head to towards him and then shoved his open mouth onto hers and exhaled weed smoke so quickly into her mouth that it came out of her nose and induced a coughing fit that the lads both started to laugh at.

"Time you took it up the arse, like you promised."

One of the lads pulled Ann to her feet and led her into the darkness of the car park around the back of Aldi, while his mate relaxed back on the bench and started rolling another joint.

Becky took the same route, passing through the car park to get to the main street.

She passed them by, keeping her distance and relieved that her trainers kept the noise to a minimum.

Ann was bending over a low wall on the edge of the car park, leaning on her hands and looking back over her shoulder as the footballer lad yanked her stretchy jeans over her huge arse and down to her ankles in a hurried horny motion. She didn't seem to have any underwear on.

"Can't we go back to yours? Do we have to do it out here?"

"No we can't, an' yeah we do! Now shut yer mouth an take my cock!"

"Okay but... Be gentle yeah?"

"Fuck that! You know the way we do you! Now shut up!"

Ann turned her head back and tried her best to relax as the lad drew his big hard dick out of his elastic waistband and pushed it hard against her ass hole.