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‘It’s like that ship…what’s it called again?’ Danny has never been much good at general knowledge. That’s why he never makes it into the station’s pub quiz team – he’s reserve number four. ‘The Marie Celeste,’ Claire points out. He’s right though, she thinks to herself. The back door was wide open when they arrived at the scene. There are two coffee cups on the kitchen table and a newspaper spread open. There’s even a packet of biscuits and a pint of milk out. She notices the milk’s off; it smells. ‘Either they’re very trusting, or they had to leave in a hurry,’ he says, loosening his tie. Danny looks uncomfortable in that cheap polyester suit. Perhaps it’s the fact his neck’s too fat for his shirt collar, or his belly’s too big for his belt. She wishes he’d lose weight and smarten himself up a bit. Claire wanders through to the hallway. She picks up the pile of letters sitting behind the front door, sifts through the envelopes. There’s an answering machine on the table, a red light flashing up the messages waiting to be heard. Danny joins her. He’s flicking through his notepad. ‘What have we got then?’ she asks impatiently.
‘The postman contacted us. He was delivering a parcel. There was no answer when he knocked so he went round the back to leave it on the back doorstep. The door was wide open and when he shouted out, no one answered.’ ‘Do we know anything about the people who live here?’ ‘I talked to the neighbours. They say they’re a quiet couple, Paul and Elaine Harrison. They keep themselves to themselves. They’ve got two kids but they’re away at boarding schools for most of the year.’ ‘The amount of letters suggests the Harrisons have not been here for a few days,’ she ponders. ‘See if you can find out where they work. They must have good jobs if they can afford this place and send their children to private school.’ Danny lumbers off obediently. Claire checks out the various rooms of the house, finishing her cursory search in the lounge. It’s a large room, well furnished with a cream leather suite and a giant plasma screen TV. She’s envious. She’d love to live in a house like this, but her force salary will only stretch to it if she climbs the ranks. Detective Sergeant is fine for now but she needs to escape this staid rural backwater if she wants to get ahead. Beneath the TV there’s a DVD player. She notices the tray is open, a disc sits in it. There are words written on the disc in black permanent marker. She kneels down and reads them. Home Movie, No 1. She’s intrigued to see what they look like, the Harrison family. She decides it will help her in her enquiry if she can put faces to the names. Claire flicks the TV on and nudges the tray into the DVD player. She expects to see the family celebrating Christmas or a birthday, or enjoying a special day out. Instead she sees a couple sitting in the front of a car, a large 4x4 by the looks of it. It’s light
outside and there are trees in the background. The camera looks as if it’s positioned on the dashboard. She hears his voice first. ‘I want you, babe!’ The woman’s left hand roams onto his chest, fingers slipping between the buttons of his shirt, massaging the bare skin beneath with slow, deliberate strokes. All the while she holds his gaze with wide eyes. His hands encircle her narrow waist, pulling her onto him so she sits knees apart across his thighs, her back pressed against the steering wheel, her groin thrust against his. ‘I love you, Paul,’ she whispers in a husky tone, gyrating lightly against him. ‘Elaine,’ he sighs almost breathlessly, his hands wandering tentatively under her chunky-knit sweater, seeking out the taut, milky-white flesh below. ‘I want you. I want to fuck you.’ She hauls her jersey off and tosses it onto the passenger seat. Tousled strands of black hair cascade down over her face like the dark grain of white marble. He sinks his face into the shallow valley between her breasts, nuzzling the gently rounded curves. Her body quivers. She moans softly, throwing her head back as he unclips her bra and runs his dewy tongue over her nipples. Her hands are on the waistband of his trousers, unhooking his belt, zipping the fly down and pulling the material sharply back. He fumbles with the fastener on her jeans. It looks so cramped in the car. She brushes his hands away, rises up and unhitches them herself. He helps her pull one leg free of the denim as she takes his hard cock in her palm, easing him up towards her pussy as she sits astride his hips once more and plunges down onto him with a hissed intake of breath.
Claire watches as they make love on the front seat of the car, Elaine Harrison rising and falling with long, painfully slow arcs of her body, the stretched curves of her chest pushed out to meet Paul’s mouth as his hands drift over her stomach and hips, occasionally dipping lower to add to her mounting pleasure. The fucking gets faster and more frantic. Elaine shrieks as she rides his prick harder. ‘What you got there?’ Claire hears Danny’s monotone voice, suddenly realizes she was too wrapped up in watching the sex to see him enter the room. ‘Er…just a DVD,’ she stutters, hitting the stop button on the machine. She pops the disc out and slips it into an evidence bag.
Claire sits at her desk reviewing her newly opened file on the missing couple. Normally it would be treated as low priority, but there isn’t much else happening in CID so she decides to run with it until a more juicy case comes along. Danny is sitting opposite, munching on a hamburger. She winces as she watches him stuff his face. His phone rings. He wipes the back of his hand over his greasy chops and answers. A moment later he hands it across the desk to Claire. ‘It’s for you, someone wanting to speak to the officer in charge of the Harrison case,’ he explains. Eagerly she picks up the handset. ‘DS Claire Reid, how can I help?’ She hears nothing, other than the sound of the line going dead. She hands it back to Danny. ‘Strong silent type?’ he suggests. She tries to trace the number, hopes the caller might have vital information on the whereabouts of the Harrisons, but to no avail.
Back home, Claire rustles up a bite to eat – another microwave meal for one. She uncorks a bottle of red wine and savours the fruity taste. She eats hurriedly and, immediately after supper, powers up her laptop. She inserts the DVD. The Harrisons have been on her mind all day. How could a couple just disappear and not be missed by anyone? Paul Harrison did tell staff at the factory he owned he was taking a couple of days off, but that was almost a week ago and there was no mention of any imminent holiday plans. Then there was the DVD, left sitting in the machine. Who left it there? Surely the Harrisons would hide something so personal. If it was hers she would. It’s playing now, the footage she viewed before she was so rudely interrupted by Danny. Claire watches intently, following the couple’s every move. Elaine, she estimates, is in her mid-thirties, slim and attractive, with a taut, supple figure. Paul is a little older but Claire can see he clearly takes care of himself. He’s fit and muscular with a healthy tan. They look like the perfect couple. The sex reaches a climax. Elaine shudders uncontrollably as Paul makes a final long, stabbing upward thrust. She grabs his hair, hauls his face into her cleavage and cries out. Claire sees Paul’s hips stiffen beneath her. They remain together for a long, lingering moment, their bodies glistening with perspiration. They pant breathlessly until at last she prises herself from him, floats back onto the passenger seat. Claire watches as she repositions the camera slightly, zooms the lens in on Paul’s still-hard prick. It’s the first
time Claire has seen the erection clearly. She’s transfixed; she can’t take her eyes off the screen. She’s never viewed pornography before, never felt the need. She’s always seen it as something only men look at. But this shot arouses her. It’s so clear she can see the glossy sheen of blended love juice coating the shaft. Elaine lowers her head into her man’s groin and gently guides his cock between her lips. She rolls her tongue around the head, its tip probing the narrow slit, flicking relentlessly back and forth over the polished red flesh. Claire cannot see Paul’s face but she can tell by the noisy grunting and groaning that Elaine is skilful in her handling of his manhood. Claire’s hand is on her crotch, its journey there bred of desire. She feels very hot, flustered. There’s a moist warmth between her legs, a tingling aching to be nurtured. She slips her palm under the waistband of her jeans, onto her knickers. The warmth radiates against her fingers, inviting them in. Her gaze remains on the screen, studying Elaine as she takes Paul into her mouth, her silky lips gliding effortlessly down the rigid muscle, enveloping it whole. Claire’s forefinger brushes against her clitoris. She feels its tiny head poke up between the folds of her labia. She caresses it gingerly through the fabric. She’s done this many times before, in the privacy of her bedroom. But this is the first time she’s watched strangers fucking and touched herself. She increases the pressure, rubs more vigorously as her eyes follow Elaine’s lips up and down. His moans of undiluted pleasure fill her head as she rubs harder and faster, her own lonely world dissolving into the action before her.
Claire closes her eyes, pictures her own mouth wrapped around his cock. She responds willingly to his desire, concentrating her lips and her tongue on the source of his joy, speeding up her rhythm when his sighs threatens to subside, slowing down when he grunts harder and she senses he’s about to come. She teases out his pleasure painfully, makes him wait for that inevitable moment. She knows she can make him come; she knows she has the power to decide when. She can hear his moans grow in pitch again. She feels his cock twitch and his balls rise. Will she prolong the excruciating agony of an orgasm denied or release him, let him enjoy the fruits of his labour? She decides to let him go, savours the taste of his warm sperm as it explodes into her mouth, ebbs and flows inside her, coating her tongue and dribbling down her throat. Elaine is watching, smiling, as Claire comes, too. Her orgasm is one of the most intense she can remember. But as she opens her eyes the ecstasy dies instantly, its place taken by a deep sense of guilt. What the hell is she doing masturbating over a film of two people who, for all she knows, could have been abducted or worse still, be dead?
‘Where did this come from?’ Claire asks, lifting the package from her desk. It has her name written on it, but no postage stamps. ‘It was handed in last night,’ Danny replies. ‘Who by?’ He shrugs his heavy shoulders unhelpfully. Claire tears open the envelope and a DVD drops out. It’s marked, Home Movie, No 2. Immediately she recalls the guilt of the previous evening, the shame of climaxing
over a film – bagged as police evidence – of two missing people having sex. ‘Get me a coffee,’ she barks. Once Danny is out of the room she slots the disc into her computer. Elaine has the camera trained on her husband as he climbs out of a dark blue Range Rover. Claire can hear her voice in the background, urging him on. They’re in a car park, not in town but in the countryside. She thinks she recognizes it and her suspicions are confirmed when Paul walks over sand dunes to a beach. It’s a beauty spot about twenty miles down the coast. Paul and Elaine are alone on the beach. From what Claire knows of the area it doesn’t surprise her. It only attracts bathers in the peak of summertime; for most of the year only surfers, ramblers and dog walkers go there. The couple stop at an upturned boat. Elaine places the camera down on the hull and appears in the frame alongside her husband. She wears a camouflage green top and a white miniskirt. She flirts with the camera, dances provocatively in front of the lens. Paul smiles encouragement as her lithe hips gyrate. She rotates them slowly, thrusts her groin back and forth lustily. She slides her skirt up over her thighs, teases the camera with her posturing. There are no panties beneath, just a neatly trimmed mound. Who is sending her this stuff? What kind of twisted mind, she wonders, is getting off on posting her films of a missing couple at their most intimate? Is it some kind of bizarre message, the forerunner to a ransom demand? She continues to watch. Paul’s jeans are round his ankles. He lines himself up behind his wife, takes her waist in his hands and tugs her skirt right up so Claire can
see his bobbing cock slide into her silky cunt. They go at it hard, breathless fucking on the beach, both staring into the camera.
The Range Rover is in the beach car park when Claire arrives. She screeches to a halt next to it and leaps from her car. The big 4x4 is empty but she notices her tormenter has left a silver disc below one of the wiper blades. He’s creating a trail for her to follow. She grabs it and dives back into her car. She brought her laptop, knowing she might need it. The film begins with a shot of an old beach hut, paint peeling from the wooden facade. Suddenly Elaine darts past the cameraman into view. She’s barefoot, but still wearing her camouflage top and white skirt. She stops running, turns briefly to face the camera, flashes an inviting smile, her forefinger beckoning the viewer on, then she’s off again, skipping across the sand towards the tiny hut. The camera follows but stops when she turns again. ‘Come on.’ She winks before scampering off again. The Harrisons enjoying happier times. Claire runs down onto the beach. She stops, looks left, then right. There’s no one about, but she spots the wooden hut. She’s off again, sprinting along the sand towards it. Her mind is racing, too, trying to determine in advance what she might find. Is the captor holding his victims there? Will she find another disc, another clue? Is this just another step in an increasingly bizarre game of cat and mouse? Claire slows as she reaches the hut. She wonders whether she should call for back-up. But there’s no sign of anyone around, no one keeping watch. She creeps up to the veranda on the front of the
shack, her heart beating faster, her breath shallow. She steps onto the rotting wood, eases her body towards a window. Her back is to the wall now, the window to the left of her shoulder. She edges closer, swivels her head to look through the glass. She sees two people inside, recognizes them immediately – the Harrisons. And they’re fucking on a rug spread across the floor. Claire’s anxiety suddenly turns to anger. She bursts through the door. Paul looks round, sees her, but continues to hump his wife, his arse bouncing up and down between her spread thighs. He simply greets Claire with a smile, holds her astonished stare. ‘We wondered if you’d come and join us,’ Elaine moans between long-drawn-out sighs. ‘Pity she’s not in uniform,’ Paul groans. ‘What the hell is going on?’ Claire demands. But they’re too wrapped up in shagging the living daylights out of each other to answer. He looks to be on the verge of shooting his load and by the sound of it Elaine is about to come, too. ‘I’m a police officer,’ Claire shouts. ‘Stop it!’ Her protestation just spurs them on. Together they reach orgasm. Claire doesn’t know what to do. Her training never prepared her for anything like this. She’s out of her depth. ‘Wow, that was amazing,’ Elaine sighs as Paul finally rolls off her. ‘Best yet,’ he agrees, panting like a dog. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Claire roars. ‘Something impulsive,’ Elaine beams. ‘Something so spur of the moment, so risky it’s dangerous.’ ‘Did you send the discs?’ Claire asks.
They nod in unison. She notices how Paul’s cock twitches every time she speaks. Suddenly the penny drops – she realizes she’s been drawn into their sex games, her presence fuelling their voyeuristic fantasies. It all makes sense: the discs were an invitation to her to watch, to become involved. And she has on both counts. She’s watched the films, not just once but repeatedly, and she’s touched herself, brought herself off as she did. ‘It was just a bit of fun,’ Paul says, apologetically. ‘Let us make it up to you.’ ‘I ought to arrest you for wasting police time,’ Claire warns, taking out her handcuffs… Danny’s at his desk when Claire arrives for work the following morning. She’s late, by ten minutes. It’s the first time she’s ever been late in her life. She plonks a takeaway coffee in front of him. He’s surprised by her sudden generosity. ‘Heard you found them,’ he grunts. ‘It was all just a misunderstanding. They’d gone away for a few days together, that’s all.’ ‘So no arrests?’ ‘No.’ she smiles. ‘I dealt with them myself.’
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‘It’s like that ship…what’s it called again?’ Danny has never been much good at general knowledge. That’s why he never makes it into the station’s pub quiz team – he’s reserve number four. ‘The Marie Celeste,’ Claire points out. He’s right though, she thinks to herself. The back door was wide open when they arrived at the scene. There are two coffee cups on the kitchen table and a newspaper spread open. There’s even a packet of biscuits and a pint of milk out. She notices the milk’s off; it smells. ‘Either they’re very trusting, or they had to leave in a hurry,’ he says, loosening his tie. Danny looks uncomfortable in that cheap polyester suit. Perhaps it’s the fact his neck’s too fat for his shirt collar, or his belly’s too big for his belt. She wishes he’d lose weight and smarten himself up a bit. Claire wanders through to the hallway. She picks up the pile of letters sitting behind the front door, sifts through the envelopes. There’s an answering machine on the table, a red light flashing up the messages waiting to be heard. Danny joins her. He’s flicking through his notepad. ‘What have we got then?’ she asks impatiently.
‘The postman contacted us. He was delivering a parcel. There was no answer when he knocked so he went round the back to leave it on the back doorstep. The door was wide open and when he shouted out, no one answered.’ ‘Do we know anything about the people who live here?’ ‘I talked to the neighbours. They say they’re a quiet couple, Paul and Elaine Harrison. They keep themselves to themselves. They’ve got two kids but they’re away at boarding schools for most of the year.’ ‘The amount of letters suggests the Harrisons have not been here for a few days,’ she ponders. ‘See if you can find out where they work. They must have good jobs if they can afford this place and send their children to private school.’ Danny lumbers off obediently. Claire checks out the various rooms of the house, finishing her cursory search in the lounge. It’s a large room, well furnished with a cream leather suite and a giant plasma screen TV. She’s envious. She’d love to live in a house like this, but her force salary will only stretch to it if she climbs the ranks. Detective Sergeant is fine for now but she needs to escape this staid rural backwater if she wants to get ahead. Beneath the TV there’s a DVD player. She notices the tray is open, a disc sits in it. There are words written on the disc in black permanent marker. She kneels down and reads them. Home Movie, No 1. She’s intrigued to see what they look like, the Harrison family. She decides it will help her in her enquiry if she can put faces to the names. Claire flicks the TV on and nudges the tray into the DVD player. She expects to see the family celebrating Christmas or a birthday, or enjoying a special day out. Instead she sees a couple sitting in the front of a car, a large 4x4 by the looks of it. It’s light
outside and there are trees in the background. The camera looks as if it’s positioned on the dashboard. She hears his voice first. ‘I want you, babe!’ The woman’s left hand roams onto his chest, fingers slipping between the buttons of his shirt, massaging the bare skin beneath with slow, deliberate strokes. All the while she holds his gaze with wide eyes. His hands encircle her narrow waist, pulling her onto him so she sits knees apart across his thighs, her back pressed against the steering wheel, her groin thrust against his. ‘I love you, Paul,’ she whispers in a husky tone, gyrating lightly against him. ‘Elaine,’ he sighs almost breathlessly, his hands wandering tentatively under her chunky-knit sweater, seeking out the taut, milky-white flesh below. ‘I want you. I want to fuck you.’ She hauls her jersey off and tosses it onto the passenger seat. Tousled strands of black hair cascade down over her face like the dark grain of white marble. He sinks his face into the shallow valley between her breasts, nuzzling the gently rounded curves. Her body quivers. She moans softly, throwing her head back as he unclips her bra and runs his dewy tongue over her nipples. Her hands are on the waistband of his trousers, unhooking his belt, zipping the fly down and pulling the material sharply back. He fumbles with the fastener on her jeans. It looks so cramped in the car. She brushes his hands away, rises up and unhitches them herself. He helps her pull one leg free of the denim as she takes his hard cock in her palm, easing him up towards her pussy as she sits astride his hips once more and plunges down onto him with a hissed intake of breath.
Claire watches as they make love on the front seat of the car, Elaine Harrison rising and falling with long, painfully slow arcs of her body, the stretched curves of her chest pushed out to meet Paul’s mouth as his hands drift over her stomach and hips, occasionally dipping lower to add to her mounting pleasure. The fucking gets faster and more frantic. Elaine shrieks as she rides his prick harder. ‘What you got there?’ Claire hears Danny’s monotone voice, suddenly realizes she was too wrapped up in watching the sex to see him enter the room. ‘Er…just a DVD,’ she stutters, hitting the stop button on the machine. She pops the disc out and slips it into an evidence bag.
Claire sits at her desk reviewing her newly opened file on the missing couple. Normally it would be treated as low priority, but there isn’t much else happening in CID so she decides to run with it until a more juicy case comes along. Danny is sitting opposite, munching on a hamburger. She winces as she watches him stuff his face. His phone rings. He wipes the back of his hand over his greasy chops and answers. A moment later he hands it across the desk to Claire. ‘It’s for you, someone wanting to speak to the officer in charge of the Harrison case,’ he explains. Eagerly she picks up the handset. ‘DS Claire Reid, how can I help?’ She hears nothing, other than the sound of the line going dead. She hands it back to Danny. ‘Strong silent type?’ he suggests. She tries to trace the number, hopes the caller might have vital information on the whereabouts of the Harrisons, but to no avail.
Back home, Claire rustles up a bite to eat – another microwave meal for one. She uncorks a bottle of red wine and savours the fruity taste. She eats hurriedly and, immediately after supper, powers up her laptop. She inserts the DVD. The Harrisons have been on her mind all day. How could a couple just disappear and not be missed by anyone? Paul Harrison did tell staff at the factory he owned he was taking a couple of days off, but that was almost a week ago and there was no mention of any imminent holiday plans. Then there was the DVD, left sitting in the machine. Who left it there? Surely the Harrisons would hide something so personal. If it was hers she would. It’s playing now, the footage she viewed before she was so rudely interrupted by Danny. Claire watches intently, following the couple’s every move. Elaine, she estimates, is in her mid-thirties, slim and attractive, with a taut, supple figure. Paul is a little older but Claire can see he clearly takes care of himself. He’s fit and muscular with a healthy tan. They look like the perfect couple. The sex reaches a climax. Elaine shudders uncontrollably as Paul makes a final long, stabbing upward thrust. She grabs his hair, hauls his face into her cleavage and cries out. Claire sees Paul’s hips stiffen beneath her. They remain together for a long, lingering moment, their bodies glistening with perspiration. They pant breathlessly until at last she prises herself from him, floats back onto the passenger seat. Claire watches as she repositions the camera slightly, zooms the lens in on Paul’s still-hard prick. It’s the first
time Claire has seen the erection clearly. She’s transfixed; she can’t take her eyes off the screen. She’s never viewed pornography before, never felt the need. She’s always seen it as something only men look at. But this shot arouses her. It’s so clear she can see the glossy sheen of blended love juice coating the shaft. Elaine lowers her head into her man’s groin and gently guides his cock between her lips. She rolls her tongue around the head, its tip probing the narrow slit, flicking relentlessly back and forth over the polished red flesh. Claire cannot see Paul’s face but she can tell by the noisy grunting and groaning that Elaine is skilful in her handling of his manhood. Claire’s hand is on her crotch, its journey there bred of desire. She feels very hot, flustered. There’s a moist warmth between her legs, a tingling aching to be nurtured. She slips her palm under the waistband of her jeans, onto her knickers. The warmth radiates against her fingers, inviting them in. Her gaze remains on the screen, studying Elaine as she takes Paul into her mouth, her silky lips gliding effortlessly down the rigid muscle, enveloping it whole. Claire’s forefinger brushes against her clitoris. She feels its tiny head poke up between the folds of her labia. She caresses it gingerly through the fabric. She’s done this many times before, in the privacy of her bedroom. But this is the first time she’s watched strangers fucking and touched herself. She increases the pressure, rubs more vigorously as her eyes follow Elaine’s lips up and down. His moans of undiluted pleasure fill her head as she rubs harder and faster, her own lonely world dissolving into the action before her.
Claire closes her eyes, pictures her own mouth wrapped around his cock. She responds willingly to his desire, concentrating her lips and her tongue on the source of his joy, speeding up her rhythm when his sighs threatens to subside, slowing down when he grunts harder and she senses he’s about to come. She teases out his pleasure painfully, makes him wait for that inevitable moment. She knows she can make him come; she knows she has the power to decide when. She can hear his moans grow in pitch again. She feels his cock twitch and his balls rise. Will she prolong the excruciating agony of an orgasm denied or release him, let him enjoy the fruits of his labour? She decides to let him go, savours the taste of his warm sperm as it explodes into her mouth, ebbs and flows inside her, coating her tongue and dribbling down her throat. Elaine is watching, smiling, as Claire comes, too. Her orgasm is one of the most intense she can remember. But as she opens her eyes the ecstasy dies instantly, its place taken by a deep sense of guilt. What the hell is she doing masturbating over a film of two people who, for all she knows, could have been abducted or worse still, be dead?
‘Where did this come from?’ Claire asks, lifting the package from her desk. It has her name written on it, but no postage stamps. ‘It was handed in last night,’ Danny replies. ‘Who by?’ He shrugs his heavy shoulders unhelpfully. Claire tears open the envelope and a DVD drops out. It’s marked, Home Movie, No 2. Immediately she recalls the guilt of the previous evening, the shame of climaxing
over a film – bagged as police evidence – of two missing people having sex. ‘Get me a coffee,’ she barks. Once Danny is out of the room she slots the disc into her computer. Elaine has the camera trained on her husband as he climbs out of a dark blue Range Rover. Claire can hear her voice in the background, urging him on. They’re in a car park, not in town but in the countryside. She thinks she recognizes it and her suspicions are confirmed when Paul walks over sand dunes to a beach. It’s a beauty spot about twenty miles down the coast. Paul and Elaine are alone on the beach. From what Claire knows of the area it doesn’t surprise her. It only attracts bathers in the peak of summertime; for most of the year only surfers, ramblers and dog walkers go there. The couple stop at an upturned boat. Elaine places the camera down on the hull and appears in the frame alongside her husband. She wears a camouflage green top and a white miniskirt. She flirts with the camera, dances provocatively in front of the lens. Paul smiles encouragement as her lithe hips gyrate. She rotates them slowly, thrusts her groin back and forth lustily. She slides her skirt up over her thighs, teases the camera with her posturing. There are no panties beneath, just a neatly trimmed mound. Who is sending her this stuff? What kind of twisted mind, she wonders, is getting off on posting her films of a missing couple at their most intimate? Is it some kind of bizarre message, the forerunner to a ransom demand? She continues to watch. Paul’s jeans are round his ankles. He lines himself up behind his wife, takes her waist in his hands and tugs her skirt right up so Claire can
see his bobbing cock slide into her silky cunt. They go at it hard, breathless fucking on the beach, both staring into the camera.
The Range Rover is in the beach car park when Claire arrives. She screeches to a halt next to it and leaps from her car. The big 4x4 is empty but she notices her tormenter has left a silver disc below one of the wiper blades. He’s creating a trail for her to follow. She grabs it and dives back into her car. She brought her laptop, knowing she might need it. The film begins with a shot of an old beach hut, paint peeling from the wooden facade. Suddenly Elaine darts past the cameraman into view. She’s barefoot, but still wearing her camouflage top and white skirt. She stops running, turns briefly to face the camera, flashes an inviting smile, her forefinger beckoning the viewer on, then she’s off again, skipping across the sand towards the tiny hut. The camera follows but stops when she turns again. ‘Come on.’ She winks before scampering off again. The Harrisons enjoying happier times. Claire runs down onto the beach. She stops, looks left, then right. There’s no one about, but she spots the wooden hut. She’s off again, sprinting along the sand towards it. Her mind is racing, too, trying to determine in advance what she might find. Is the captor holding his victims there? Will she find another disc, another clue? Is this just another step in an increasingly bizarre game of cat and mouse? Claire slows as she reaches the hut. She wonders whether she should call for back-up. But there’s no sign of anyone around, no one keeping watch. She creeps up to the veranda on the front of the
shack, her heart beating faster, her breath shallow. She steps onto the rotting wood, eases her body towards a window. Her back is to the wall now, the window to the left of her shoulder. She edges closer, swivels her head to look through the glass. She sees two people inside, recognizes them immediately – the Harrisons. And they’re fucking on a rug spread across the floor. Claire’s anxiety suddenly turns to anger. She bursts through the door. Paul looks round, sees her, but continues to hump his wife, his arse bouncing up and down between her spread thighs. He simply greets Claire with a smile, holds her astonished stare. ‘We wondered if you’d come and join us,’ Elaine moans between long-drawn-out sighs. ‘Pity she’s not in uniform,’ Paul groans. ‘What the hell is going on?’ Claire demands. But they’re too wrapped up in shagging the living daylights out of each other to answer. He looks to be on the verge of shooting his load and by the sound of it Elaine is about to come, too. ‘I’m a police officer,’ Claire shouts. ‘Stop it!’ Her protestation just spurs them on. Together they reach orgasm. Claire doesn’t know what to do. Her training never prepared her for anything like this. She’s out of her depth. ‘Wow, that was amazing,’ Elaine sighs as Paul finally rolls off her. ‘Best yet,’ he agrees, panting like a dog. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Claire roars. ‘Something impulsive,’ Elaine beams. ‘Something so spur of the moment, so risky it’s dangerous.’ ‘Did you send the discs?’ Claire asks.
They nod in unison. She notices how Paul’s cock twitches every time she speaks. Suddenly the penny drops – she realizes she’s been drawn into their sex games, her presence fuelling their voyeuristic fantasies. It all makes sense: the discs were an invitation to her to watch, to become involved. And she has on both counts. She’s watched the films, not just once but repeatedly, and she’s touched herself, brought herself off as she did. ‘It was just a bit of fun,’ Paul says, apologetically. ‘Let us make it up to you.’ ‘I ought to arrest you for wasting police time,’ Claire warns, taking out her handcuffs… Danny’s at his desk when Claire arrives for work the following morning. She’s late, by ten minutes. It’s the first time she’s ever been late in her life. She plonks a takeaway coffee in front of him. He’s surprised by her sudden generosity. ‘Heard you found them,’ he grunts. ‘It was all just a misunderstanding. They’d gone away for a few days together, that’s all.’ ‘So no arrests?’ ‘No.’ she smiles. ‘I dealt with them myself.’
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