The keeper - illustrated bondage story, part 63

Barb was so amazed that she didn’t even hear them. “Please...untie me...please!”

“What is that on your wrists, miss?” said the second cop, leaning down behind her. “It’s like nothing I’ve seen. What did they tie you with?”

“Not them,” she managed. “It’s some kind of glue and mesh....”

“Later, later,” said the frst cop. “Let’s just get out of here, quick.”

They helped her out of the abandoned car and into the back of their squad car. “Please,’ she said, looking down at her front. “I can’t...the bra, the shirt....” “Maybe when we get back to the station,” said the second, younger cop. “The matron....”

“Oh, for pete’s sake,’ said the frst, taller cop. He quickly, nimbly, fipped open her shirt, pulled down the bra to contain her fne, full breasts, and buttoned the bottom three buttons of the six button white shirt. Barb was so relieved to be covered she didn’t even complain that you could still see her cleavage and some of the underwear through the remaining shirt opening. “Thank you,” she said.

“No problem, miss.”

“Can you cut my hands free?”

The second cop’s hand went to the back of his belt, but came away empty. “No knife,” he said sheepishly. “Let’s get out of here!” the frst cop insisted, jumping behind the wheel and gunning the engine.

The second cop jumped into the passenger seat and the car took off into the street...deeper into the slums. Within a few seconds, the frst cop glanced into the rear view mirror, taking in the sweet, young, despoiled blonde in the back seat...and the way her arms were wrenched behind her back, thrusting out her breasts, the way her fne chest shone with sweat, the way her natural blonde hair wildly covered her head, the way her blue eyes shone, and the way the pleated miniskirt rode up her pantyless thighs.

“I’m sorry miss, but that is one of the worst places in the city. If we had stayed there too long, cop or no cop, we might’ve bought it.”

“I’m just glad you found me!” she exclaimed, leaning forward. “I was....”

“They might have killed you,” interrupted the second, glancing around at her. “I know,” she answered. “But they weren’t the ones who....” “Do you think you could identify them?” the frst one interjected. “I, well, yes, but....” “Could you or couldn’t you?” said the second. “What?” Barbara blinked.

“You seemed unsure. Sometimes that happens, especially after an attack. Are you sure?”
“Yes, but please, listen...!”

“Save it,” said the frst fatly.
“What?!”

“Save it for the station, miss,” he said apologetically.
“There’s no way it’s gonna be admissible if you spill it all out now. Some smart lawyer will twist it around, tear you up, and spit it out. We gotta wait ‘til we get back to the hospital where we can get physical evidence, and then your statement on tape and on paper.” “But....”

“Go over it carefully in your mind, miss,” the second cop suggested. “Go over it three ways from Sunday, until you’ve got every fact exactly right, then go over it again. We gotta make sure it sticks. We can’t let these guys back on the street to do it to some other poor girl.”

Barbara was stunned. She fell back against the seat, her mind reeling. Was this what the justice system had come to? She almost moaned in anguish until she real- ized that the buildings she was seeing out the back window were not the ones she was supposed to be seeing. “Hey,” she cried. “This isn’t the way to the hospi- tal!”

“We’re going to the station, miss,” the one behind the wheel said immediately. “They’ll be an EMS gal there.”

“What station?” she demanded.

“Regulations,” the second cop said quickly. “It would be our heads if we didn’t try to spot those guys immediately. Once they get too far into the hood, there’ll be no fnding them.”

“But...,” Barbara stammered, eyes flling, pulling on the mesh around her wrists. “But I’ve been...I’ve got to...THERE THEY ARE!”

It was the cops turn to say “What?!”

“There! There!” she cried, nodding feverishly with her head. “At the side door of that building! Willie! Tyrone! The two men who attacked me!”

The car immediately jumped the curb and hemmed in the two young men. “Get down!” the driver instructed, hitting the brakes.

Stunned, Barb still managed to keep her seat as the frst cop launched out his door, gun drawn, shouting. “Aren’t you going to call for backup?” she asked the second cop in a frightened, shaking voice.

“Here, in this neighborhood, it’s okay,” said the second cop, his gun also out. “My partner can handle it. Now do as he said, get down.”

“But....”

“Get down!” he bellowed.

Barbara immediately ducked, crawling as best she could between the front and back seat, her head on the cushion. She listened intently, her eyes twisting up to the windows, but she saw nothing but darkness.

She felt her knuckles on the fesh of her ass, realizing this position was pulling up the already short skirt. Trying not to straighten, she pulled the light, pleated wool as far down as she could.

She heard the front door opening and the quiet voices of the men. Then: “Miss?”

She half sat up, blinking.

“Yes?”

“Miss?”

She sat all the way up to look at the frst cop, who had a strange expression on his face. “What is it?”

“They didn’t fnish.”

She just stared at him...then looked at the second cop, who had the same bland, blank expression.

When she didn’t speak, the frst cop continued. “They said they didn’t fnish.”

She kept staring, a ball of thorns beginning to build inside her.

“If they didn’t fnish, there’s no physical evidence,” said the second cop. “No hospital, no EMS worker.”

“Just your word against there’s,” said the frst.

“And there are two of them,” said the second. They stared at her, almost accusingly.

“Take me to the station,” she said, her voice like a tiny cry a half world away.

“Sorry,” said the frst cop, opening the back door.

“There would be no point.”

“Uh-uh,” said the second, unlocking the other door. “They have to fnish.”

They were on her as she screamed—her head slammed to the seat, a black cock deep in her wrenched-open mouth, and muscular hands on her hips as a huge cock was rammed into her cunt.

She lay there—a beautiful, bound white girl on the back seat of a cop car—deep in the ghetto at three o’clock in the morning—gagging and spasming as they fnished, a police revolver pushed threateningly deep in her left tit.