Alone Ch. 04

So far, for someone who'd been raped twice, I had a good amount of clothes on. Hell, my duty belt was still on me, though it was riding halfway up my chest, with the tails of the shirt wrapped around it, making it essentially impossible to get anything off it. Not that there was anything particularly useful left. I'd lost my gun, I'd lost my taser, magazines were worthless without a gun, my radio had been stripped off me, he'd already taken one of my two pairs of cuffs, and the only things worth a damn left would be the ASP baton or the OC spray, both of which did me no good when he was holding a gun to me. After realizing we now had some time to kill, Greg soon decided that those clothes had to go.

"Alright sweet cheeks, lose the belt." He said simply, pulling his own pants back up and leaning against the BMW, holding the gun on me, a smug smile on his face already.

I hesitated for a moment, before gingerly getting to my feet and straightening out my shirt. Immediately when I did that, the belt fell down past my waist, resting loosely on my hips. As I looked down I realized a bit of an issue. My OC spray pouch was mounted close to the left of the buckle, well, his left, my right. That meant it was covering up the belt excess, which was held in place by a sliding belt keep, as well as a large metal peg that snapped into a hole in the belt. I had to move the OC spray pouch to my right in order to actually remove the belt.

"I have to- it won't- I gotta-" I began, but stopped after fumbling over my words.

He'd picked the phone back up and was recording me again.

"Hold up, give me a twirl." He demanded, moving forward a little and gesturing with the gun.

I swallowed my pride, and gave him a rather uninspired twirl.

"I need to move the-" I began again, but he cut me off.

"I don't care, I am loving this aesthetic." He said with a grin, moving closer still. "Aight, spread the legs, c'mon." He added, again, gesturing with the gun, finger on trigger the whole time.

My pants were quite literally around my knees, I didn't see how he expected me to spread them, but I did as he asked, and spread my feet apart. I could only get them about a foot or so apart, but he was content with that.

"Spin around, bend over the car again." He instructed, crouching down slightly as I did so.

I held myself up on the hood of the car, assuming the same position he took me in previously.

"That's nice, but a bit more. Come on Deputy Murphy, face down, ass up, legs straight, let's go!"

I bit back the rage I felt as he addressed me that way. He'd get what was coming, I swore, then and there, with God as my witness, he would get what was coming to him. I did as he asked, not even bothering to acknowledge the camera on the hood still watching me. I didn't look behind at him as he did whatever it was he was going to do. I didn't want to. I flinched as I felt the cold steel of my gun dragging across my asscheeks.

He whistled. "Damn, that's a beautiful sight..." He mumbled, dragging the barrel of my gun around my ass and down towards my leg. "Sweetheart, reach back and pull those cheeks apart for me." He added after a moment, tapping the sides of my asscheeks with the pistol.

Having a gun pressed up against my genitals made me pretty compliant, all things considered, so I did what he said without a moment's hesitation, reaching back and grabbing my asscheeks, pulling them apart. I started crying silently as I felt a liquid dripping slowly down my leg. I knew what it was. I didn't need his cruel laughter to confirm it.

"Goddamn! You fuckin' drained me!" He exclaimed, and I felt a rough hand grabbing a handful of my ass.

I didn't reply, even when I felt a few fingers push into my vagina and start worming their way around, forcing out more and more of his seed, which subsequently found its way down my leg and pooled in my pants around my knee, doubtlessly ruining them. I didn't make a sound as he explored my battered vag. The tears fell swiftly and silently, and I just told myself he'd pay. He had to. There was no way he couldn't. I didn't believe in God, but I believed in something. Karma, the... long arc of the moral universe, or whatever it was called. Something. I believed in something. Maybe it was justice. Being a cop, I had to believe in justice, right? I had to believe he'd get his comeuppance. The idea that he wouldn't was just too awful to consider.

"You... Damn, that's a lot." He added with a laugh.

A few more minutes passed before finally, when he grew tired of molesting me down there, he pulled his fingers out, and wiped them all across my bare ass, as well as the tail of my shirt.

"Alright, turn around, get the belt off, shirt off, all that shit. I wanna see what you got hiding under that badge." He directed impatiently.

I turned around to see him rubbing his hand across a noticeable bulge in his jeans, my gun sticking out of his pocket, all the while he held the phone up with his other hand. I shifted the belt around and started moving the OC spray pouch to the side. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the hand nursing his pants go straight to my gun.

"Hey hey hey, no no no!" I exclaimed, and raised my hands high in the air, falling back against the hood of the car. "I have to- I have to just... move the pouch, to get the belt off." I reassured him.

He didn't say a word, but with gun in hand, gestured for me to continue. I moved the pouch aside and undid the belt. Once it was off, I just sort of, held it in front of me. It was every last tool and weapon at my disposal, I couldn't bring myself to just throw it off. Greg looked at me, a bemused smile on his face, and gestured with the pistol for me to drop it. I laid it down off to the side and stood facing him, not sure what to do now.

He sighed. "Now the shirt." He said wearily.

I obeyed, and started on the few remaining shirt buttons. Evidently I was going too slow for him though.

"God, do you have a room temperature IQ or what?" He snapped, striding over.

Holding his phone awkwardly between his thumb and index finger, he pulled the rest of my shirt off, knocking my bodycam, along with the mount, right out of the shirt, as well as tearing a few buttons and exposing the flexible white bulletproof vest beneath. He shoved me against the car and pulled the shirt off me, holding my gun out of reach the whole time, but pointed more or less towards me. He threw it onto the hood behind me and stepped back to the BMW, where he gestured at me to continue. Not wishing to be manhandled again, I did so, undoing the velcro straps at the front of the vest. When I did so, it immediately jumped up slightly, as my breasts, which until then, had been insulated behind it pushed it out. I lifted it up and off, tossing it aside. With my last real piece of warm clothing now gone, the cold was starting to really bite now. My pants were still down around my legs, and the leaking from my vagina was sending chills up my leg and right to my core.

The whole time, Greg had been watching me with great interest, fondling the bulge in his pants, but when I took the vest off and he got a good look at my figure, his expression turned from that of a lewd fascination, to one of vicious hunger. I wasn't surprised, I knew what I had. If I had no self-respect, I suspect I could've made a lot of money in the adult film industry. During college, one girl, who I used to be friends with, and who was, as much as I loathe to admit it, drop dead gorgeous, told me I should make an onlyfans account. Poor, naïve me, I didn't even know what it was at that point. I looked it up, and quickly decided I didn't want to be friends with her anymore. I could see where she was coming from though. I stayed in shape, doing exercises in my dorm, as well as laps around the campus most mornings before class, to wake up and clear my head. Not only that, I didn't go for junk food if I could avoid it. The result of my discipline was good grades, a slender waist, toned belly, thighs to die for, and a behind with cushioning in all the right places.

He seemed drawn to my chest though, and again, I knew why. My breasts weren't exactly small, and now that the vest wasn't hiding them, he could see just how big they really were. 39" bust, DD cups, and the undershirt did nothing to hide them. I was a late bloomer though, funnily enough. Throughout most of high school my breasts were fairly small, but then in the last year or so, they really grew in. When I hit the dating scene in college, my assets were gorgeous, and I knew it. I remember how when I was a freshman in college, all the boys paid me so much attention, far more than I ever got in high school. I got my first fake ID only a few months into classes, despite only being 18. All courtesy of one 'helpful' senior who out of the goodness of his own heart, or pants, more likely, got me one for less than the cost of a 4-pack of Four Loko.

I remember how the first party I went to, I got far too drunk, and a couple of guys were crowding me, asking me if I was alright, asking me if I wanted a lift home. I didn't know Megan properly yet. I saw her in classes, but we never talked, except to exchange notes here and there. But she appeared out of nowhere, and when I woke up nursing a hangover the next day, it was in her dorm, on Sarah's bed. That was the beginning of a friendship that endured to this day. I did lose my V-card in college a few months later, but I was actually awake for it, and excited for it, which I'm sure made it a more pleasant experience. Still though, it wasn't what I expected. We fucked in the back of his 2006 Ford F350, in the driveway of his parents' house at about midnight. Given it was my first time, I wasn't really sure how to ride him properly. My toenails kept digging into his legs, and we kept getting interrupted by occasional car headlights passing down the quiet, suburban street.

What made it funny though, looking back, was that he'd put on a spotify playlist full of supposedly sexy songs, and it was all cheesy old stuff like Bad Company's 'Feel Like Makin' Love'. I didn't end up coming, but it had been such an awkward experience that when he asked me if I did. I lied, and said I did. He ended up being a pretty cool guy. He was a college senior, while I was just a freshman, but he was a younger senior, and he wasn't a creep, like some of them were. He did end up making me come a few times as well, when I figured out that sex was supposed to actually be fun for the woman as well. Kyle, his name was. We lost touch when he went off to university though. Last I heard, he was studying business out in Phoenix.

"Sweetheart, are you gonna lose the shirt?" Greg asked, an odd tone to his voice, snapping me back to the reality of my current hell.

"Can I pull my pants up?" I asked hesitantly. "I'm cold." I added, perhaps unnecessarily.

He stared at me with a look of mild confusion, before rolling his eyes and sighing. "You're just gonna have to take them off again, but sure, I guess."

I tried not to let that affect me. I knew he wasn't done with me. I knew full well that two times wouldn't be enough for him. He was going to get his trouble's worth out of me. I quickly pulled my panties up, followed shortly by my stained and dirty forest green uniform pants. Without my inner belt, they didn't really stay securely around my waist, but having something hiding my genitals again was a welcome change. Now for the next phase of the humiliation to begin. I grabbed the hem of my sweaty, yet rapidly cooling undershirt and pulled it up and over my head. I threw it behind me onto the hood of the patrol car and turned back to face Greg.

My bra wasn't anything special, just a plain black sports bra, but my breasts filled it out, and I knew full well how appealing I looked in it. I didn't need to see the voracious look on his face when it was revealed to know he was about to strike, I could see he was itching to take me again. He'd been nursing his erection for a while now, and I noticed he'd already unbuckled his own belt when I was taking my undershirt off. Then he took my gun out his pants, and threw it, along with the nearby radio, as well as my duty belt, through the shattered back window, and into the depths of the BMW. That was when I knew he wanted me to fight. He wanted that brutality, that fight, but he didn't want the gun in play, because he knew full well I'd kill him with it in a heartbeat. That will have been why he let me pull my pants up as well. He was just going to rip them right back down again.

I knew what to expect when he charged at me a moment later, but I wasn't expecting the sheer violence of it. I almost expected him to go easy on me, toy with me, even. I figured after he'd so easily managed to get compliance out of me, he mustn't rate me for much, but when he picked me up and pulled me over his shoulder, before slamming me down on my back on the hood of the patrol car, I knew I'd misjudged him. I tried like hell to squirm and beat his arms away as he dragged my waist down to the edge of the hood, but very quickly, he had two hands on the hem of my pants and was wrenching them back down, inch by inch. I tried to sit up and pull them back up, as well as kick out at him, but once he rolled me over onto my stomach, my leverage was gone, and he pinned me to the car with one hand, while tugging and ripping at the back of my pants like a wild animal with the other.

To my endless credit, I wasn't crying while we fought, or, more aptly, while I tried to repel his relentless assault, but once he had my pants down just far enough to see my asshole peeking out, he turned me back around and started pulling again. He'd just about revealed the matted lump of pubic hair shrouding my pussy when I finally landed a blow on him, scratching his cheek with my nails. It didn't slow him down though, and a moment later, I was repaid in kind with a vicious open hand smack to the face, knocking me back down to the hood of the car, followed shortly after by a rough hand pulling on the front of my bra, releasing both my breasts to the elements, which I'm sure excited him to no end.

As I regained my composure, I saw something shiny next to me on the hood. It was my badge, attached to my green uniform shirt. A five-point star with small, bulbous bits at the end of each point. I knew everything about my badge. It was gold-plated, engraved with my county, my rank, and a small gold outline of the state of Florida sitting atop a colorful seal in the center. In very small writing around the bottom edge of the seal, it read 'In God We Trust', and along the top edge were the words 'Honor, Virtue, Providence'. I wasn't sure where I fell in those categories, truth be told. I'd lost my honor by now, or so I suspected, and my virtue had been robbed from me by the man currently struggling to get my pants down past my knees. Providence, well, providence meant something along the lines of God's will, or God's protection. Well, That might not be doing me much good right now, but the badge certainly might.

Gripping the badge in my fist, I slipped my fingers around the points, and with everything I had, I launched myself up at the bastard, right as he was looking down, undoing his own pants. I made solid contact with the leftmost rounded point, right to the side of his head, just in front of his left ear. He stumbled back and fell to the ground. Seizing the moment, I released the shirt and badge, dropped to the ground where I was and, ignoring the harsh dirt road digging into my bare legs, pelvis, and breasts, I reached out under the car. To my elation, I could see it, and after shuffling forwards slightly further, and stretching my arm out as far as I could, my fingers finally wrapped around the cold steel of the grip. At last, I had it. I had it!

My elation was short lived though, as I felt a sudden, sharp pain in my ribs, and I was thrown to the side. The next kick landed right in the middle of my stomach, and as I tried to bring the gun up, I realized I was holding it upside down. I desperately brought my other hand to the gun, twisting it around, knowing all I had to do was get one good shot. One good shot would stop him, and then the rest would finish him. Then the next kick found my hand.

The gun was knocked clean out of my hands, about ten yards or so behind me, and then he kneeled down atop me, sitting on my legs. That's when the beating started. Instinctively I put my elbows up, and managed to block or lessen the worst of his attacks. What I didn't expect though, was when he grabbed both of my hands and somehow secured a handcuff to one of them. Knowing if I didn't act now to get that gun back, I was dead, I struck out with the free cuff, and somehow caught him across the face with it. From there, I got out from under his legs, mostly by squirming essentially all the way out of my own pants, which were now caught on my boots. On hands and knees, I crawled rapidly towards Thomas's gun, dragging my pants behind me, ignoring every rock that scratched, every stone that stuck or cut into me, desperate to get to that gun.

I was maybe two feet from it, when I felt his hand on the back of my bra yanking me back, before another hand was wrapped around my ankle. I tried to get free, squirming and thrashing, and while I succeeded in slipping out of my own bra, all that meant was that he grabbed my other leg. I went from being only two feet from the gun, to three, to four, and then two yards, then three, then four, and five. All the while, he was dragging my nude form across dirt and stones that were scratching and cutting all over the front of my body. When I knew it was lost, I started screaming with rage. Unlike before, where he might've laughed at me, taunted me, or told me to shut up, this time he just dragged me right back over to the front of the car, secured the handcuff on my left wrist to the right hand side of the inner push bar, kneeled down on the back of my legs, and without a single word, forced his erect cock back inside me.

My screams of rage turned to a single, long wail of unbridled despair as I felt him fill me up. Due to me being almost entirely proned out on the dirt, he wasn't able to get his entire length inside, but it didn't matter. I'd had my pants down for so long that I was chilled to the bone down there, and so it felt like he was splitting me open for the first time all over again. He grunted animalistically as he began savagely raping me anew. In and out, in and out, brutally hard, a little under a second between each thrust. The only other noises came from the dull chiming of the open doors of my patrol car, and the rhythmic slapping of his hips against my bare ass. I tried to lift my head up, but he just shoved it back down against the dirt as he worked out his frustrations on my worn-out snatch.

I'd have thought that given how much abuse I'd already received, my vagina would have loosened up a little. It was meant to, right? Guys always said that girls who got a lot of action were 'run-through' and made jokes about their pussy looking like a pastrami sandwich, so I thought that after the dicking I'd gotten already, maybe it wouldn't be so damn tight. That wasn't the case though, and for the next few minutes, all I could do was lie there and silently cry as he ruined me. My left arm hung limply from the push bar, while my right was pinned to my back, as he just kept going, and going, and going, like a damned robot. He needn't have even kept me handcuffed or pinned, as the sheer weight of my crushing failure was enough to drain me of all my energy or will to fight.

After what must have only been a few minutes of this, but what felt like hours, he let out a low groan, and grunted as, again, he released inside of me. This time though, instead of staying inside me for a long while, as he did the previous times, he pulled out of me rapidly and let go of my arm. I laid there, unable to do a damn thing, as hot, fresh cum leaked out of my pussy and rained down across my back, all the way up to my shoulder blades. By the time he was finished, I was coated in the stuff. It didn't stay warm for long either. As he got up to go do God knows what, I just laid there, shivering, waiting for death.