Destroying Angel (8 page)

Susan parked the Rover in the shade of a dirt-encrusted sycamore and got out. The Grand Union Canal ran to one side, as smooth as glass, the surface reflecting the brilliant blue of the sky and the shapes of the buildings that flanked it on the far side. She had driven nearly three miles to reach the side of the canal opposite to the trading estate on which de Vergy Fine Wines was based, but had at least managed to get fairly close to the back of the ruined warehouse.

She walked down the tow-path. To one side was wasteland overgrown with straggling brambles, sycamore and buddleia – to the other the canal. Across the canal, the tall brick walls of the warehouses fell straight to within inches of the water’s edge. Sergeant Yates had told her how the fire had been started. One of the rear windows had been smashed with a chunk of brick and a petrol bomb thrown in after it.

Reaching the section of the canal opposite de Vergy Fine Wines, she considered it carefully. Forensic would have already gone over the ground; the solid concrete of the canal path making it unlikely that they would have found anything. What interested her was the actual physics of the thing. To have thrown the piece of brick and then the bomb from the six-inch wide strip of ground that ran under the windows would have been nearly impossible, not to say highly dangerous, for the fire-raiser. It had therefore presumably happened from where she was standing.

With all the windows now blown out and showing only as soot-blackened frames, it was impossible to tell which window had been smashed first. Still, they were all some two feet high and about six feet long. Given the width of the canal, it would have taken a fairly impressive piece of throwing to have smashed a window and then put the bomb through the hole – unless…

Susan stood pondering, forming and discarding theories but always sticking on the fact that she really needed to know more about the other five fires. Given that Gage was disinclined to be helpful, that meant Berner. Rather looking forward to the prospect of sucking his cock again, she turned to go, catching a movement across the wasteland as she did so.

Peering between tall fence stakes, she saw a man spraying a graffiti tag onto a half-demolished concrete wall. The first word looked like ‘Fire’ and he was now working on an ‘h’ that followed what was surely a ‘G’. Finding a gap in the railings, Susan stole onto the wasteland, using bushes for cover until she was near the man. As she rounded a great pile of rubble, he came into her view. He was at the mouth of a sort of cul-de-sac where a bulldozer had pushed an alley into the rubble. The wall he was spraying was the last remaining piece of whatever structure had once stood there. She sank into a crouch and moved a flower-laden buddleia branch to one side, watching as he finished his tag. As she had thought, he’d written ‘Fire Ghost’.

The letters were three feet high and a brilliant scarlet, to which he now added an equally vibrant orange. Susan watched, wondering if this could really be the elusive arsonist who had eluded the police five times. She had heard no reports of distinctive tags found near the scenes of the other fires, nor did it seem credible that he would be so stupid as to place his tag mere yards from the scene when it was still crawling with police officers. Still, stranger things had happened.

Skinny and dressed in loose casual clothes, he looked about eighteen. Susan was sure she would be unable to catch him if he ran, yet she had no way of summoning help without risking losing him. A bold front might work, especially if he was drunk, as the nearby can of super-strength lager suggested.

No, it was hopeless; he was undoubtedly faster and probably stronger than her, for all his scrawny body. She would probably be able to overpower him by putting him in a hold, but getting him to a police station would be a different matter. Brawn was out; brains would have to do, as usual.

‘You’re not really, are you?’ she asked, stepping boldly out from cover.

The lad turned sharply and stopped, his initial expression of alarm fading as he looked at her.

‘Seriously, are you the Fire Ghost?’

‘That’s me, babe,’ he answered, straightening up and putting on a pair of sunglasses.

‘That’s neat,’ she said, sounding awed, even as she thought how insecure he looked in his trendy casuals and dark glasses. ‘I’m Susan.’

‘Hi. Like my tag?’

Susan nodded and went to sit on a block of brickwork that had once formed part of a chimney. He returned to work with the orange spray paint. Just as Susan was about to start a careful line of questioning intended to first win his trust and then find out if he really was the Fire Ghost, another voice sounded from nearby.

She looked round to see a second young man coming towards them with a four-pack of the super-strength lager in his hand. A third was behind him, also carrying cans. In age they were similar to the first, one tall and even thinner but with a finely formed face and bright eyes, the other solidly built and distinctly fat. They were both clearly drunk.

The first lad, who insisted on being called Fire Ghost, introduced Susan to the others, calling them Taz and Beadle. Neither showed any concern at her presence, which increased her conviction that they were merely impressionable youths struck by the glamorous image of fire-raising. They were also beginning to make her feel uneasy, the lanky Taz in particular joking at her rather than with her. After a while he sat next to her, pointing at her breasts, making as if to weigh them in his hands, and winking at the others – all with no attempt to hide what he was doing.

Susan made what she hoped was a suitably cutting remark and turned back to where Fire Ghost was finishing his tag. Leaving was beginning to seem like a good idea, especially as she was certain he was not the genuine article. On the other hand, she felt an odd compulsion to stay. She recalled the endless fantasies she had had about just such situations as this. In some she’d imagined herself in a prison cell with three or four sex-starved inmates. Another favourite was being gang-banged by bikers in a remote roadside café. The present situation was a lot milder than either, yet it was real, and the little voice in her head telling her to go for it was being shouted down by another telling her to get away as fast as possible. Promising herself she’d let it happen on another occasion but knowing full well she wouldn’t, she got to her feet.

‘I’ve got to go,’ she said.

‘Hey, I thought we were going to have a party!’ Taz complained.

‘Yeah, come on,’ urged Beadle, ‘have a beer.’

Susan turned to him, spreading her hands in a gesture of resignation. There was a sound behind her, a light touch at her waist, and suddenly her top was up around her face.

‘Hey!’ she protested as Taz twisted the T-shirt and trapped her arms above her head, ‘that’s not funny!’

‘Get her tits out, Beadle!’ Taz cried.

Beadle hesitated only an instant and then stepped forward, barely visible to Susan through the thin material of her top.

‘No!’ she shouted as rough hands closed on her breasts, fondling them for a moment and then flipping the cups of her bra up to reveal their glory. She felt them spill free and knew they were bared for the leering lads. They felt incredibly prominent; the whole focus of her body, naked and vulnerable.

‘Nice tits, Susan,’ she heard, then kicked and twisted and managed to break free.

They stood watching and she sensed indecision. Her brief show of true defiance had got the message across; she didn’t really want them messing with her.

‘Hey, I was only fooling,’ Taz said as Susan hastily covered herself. They were in front of her, and steep piles of rubble made retreat difficult. Taz was standing with his arms held wide in mock apology. Beadle stood to the side and a little behind Taz, nursing his assaulted shin. Fire Ghost was still kneeling by his tag, quietly surveying the scene.

Susan hesitated; an angry word or a determined look and it would be over, and if she wanted to she could fetch Gage and Yates to lock the three youths up. If they didn’t have the sense to disappear, that was, which she somehow suspected they wouldn’t; Taz obviously thought he’d merely played a joke, Beadle looked hurt rather than resentful, and Fire Ghost just looked stupefied.

Another voice, deep inside her head, was calling her a fool for not playing along. All she’d had to do was giggle a bit and let them get on with it and she’d have been stripped and molested in a way that would have given her a lifetime’s supply of memories to masturbate over. But she hadn’t had the guts. Resisting was too deeply ingrained. Now her chance was spoilt and the moment had passed… almost.

It was such an opportunity. The temptation was just too, too much…

‘Don’t hurt me and I’ll toss you off,’ she suddenly blurted at Taz before she could stop herself.

A crafty grin spread slowly across the youth’s face.

Susan realised she’d taken the right line: not too willing, not too aggressive.

A hand went to his zip, drew it slowly down, and slipped inside his grubby jeans. With a little jerk he pulled his limp cock and hairy balls out into the open. Beadle and Fire Ghost gawked. Susan moved forward, her eyes riveted to Taz’s genitalia. She reached out and gingerly cupped his balls, her thumb stroking the upper surface of his cock. He sighed. His shaft moved under her thumb, swelling as she slowly squeezed it in her palm. Beadle stepped closer and tentatively touched her breasts.

Susan began to gently pull the stiffening flesh back and forth, feeling it thicken and swell. Beadle moved behind her, growing bolder as she made no protest at having her breasts fondled through her top. Fire Ghost watched with fascination.

‘You’ll do as I say, won’t you?’ Taz croaked, his voice a cocktail of arousal, uncertainty, and malicious glee. Susan trembled. She nodded, unable to tear her eyes from his increasingly impressive cock.

‘Get her top up, Beadle,’ Taz ordered. ‘I want to see those lovely big tits again.’

Susan felt Beadle’s hands go to the hem of her T-shirt and tug it up. Her bra followed, and for the second time in a few minutes her breasts burst into the warm sunlight. She continued to milk Taz as four clumsy hands mauled her breasts and sought her nipples. Beadle stopped, leaving Taz free to enjoy the feel of her, and suddenly eager fingers were tugging at her jeans. Taz pulled her arms up, and her top and bra followed and were tossed to the rubble. Her jeans were yanked open, and Taz lowered her hand and curled her fingers back around his erection.

Beadle wrestled her snug jeans down over her hips, and Fire Ghost at last plucked up the courage to molest her vulnerable breasts. The jeans were quickly down to her thighs. Taz pushed her down until she was kneeling. She let him position her without complaint. His hips jerked forward and his shiny helmet touched her lips. She kissed it. Her bottom was exposed, her white panties stretched taut across her cheeks. Taz pushed and his cock slipped into her mouth, thick and salty, stretching her jaw.

Beadle’s hands invaded her panties. Susan shut her eyes in utter bliss as the fat boy eased them down. Her bum was naked, stuck out towards him, the cheeks apart, her rear entrance and her pussy on show.

‘Looks like her old man’s given her arse a good whacking!’ Beadle sniggered, sending a pang of humiliation through Susan as she realised that the results of Annabella’s rough handling were still visible.

Beadle felt her bottom, one hand stroking her cheeks and then creeping round to cup her pussy. She knew the other hand would be on his cock, getting it ready for his turn with her. A thumb slid into her vagina, making her gasp with the lovely shock of penetration.

Taz started to wank into her mouth. Fire Ghost was tormenting her breasts, squeezing each soft globe in turn and teasing the nipples. Her eyes were shut, her senses drinking in the taste of Taz’s cock, the feel of Fire Ghost’s hands on her breasts, and the agitating thumb in her pussy.

‘I’m going to fuck her.’ Beadle’s voice strained with the excitement. He gripped and lifted her hips for easier penetration.

‘Hey,’ Taz snarled. ‘I want her cunt first!’

‘But you’re getting a gobble,’ Beadle whined.

‘Look, if anyone’s going to fuck her first, it’s me!’ Taz insisted as he pulled his glistening cock out of Susan’s mouth.

Susan knelt meekly in the dirt and brick-dust, with Fire Ghost still fondling her dangling breasts. She opened her eyes and peeped at his cock, now in his hand and fully erect. She sighed and dipped her back, improving the access for whoever won the argument to fuck her first.

‘You always get your way,’ Beadle whined again. ‘You had Jilly first after her party.’

‘Well she is my fucking girlfriend!’ Taz snapped.

‘Says who?’

‘Please…’ Susan whispered, abandoning any pretence of unwillingness. She was desperately aroused, but it seemed the stupid youths were close to forgetting her and coming to blows instead.

The arguing ceased and there was a long pause. Then hands – presumably Taz’s – gripped her thighs and her ankles were nudged apart. He shuffled between them. She again braced herself. Fire Ghost moved around to her face and his long cock prodded against her lips. She peeled them apart and swallowed him hungrily. She felt a push against her bottom and then a long column of rigid flesh prised her pussy open and filled her. Taz started to pump, gripping her hips and banging against her bottom. She was in ecstasy as she sucked on Fire Ghost’s erection. A hand took her wrist and guided her fingers around Beadle’s cock.