Date: Sun, 7 Jun 2009 14:41:31 +0800 From: mike lynch <lynch.um@gmail.com> Subject: Whore and Order, Chapter 4 Disclaimer: This is a fictional soap that contains tales of graphic homoerotic control and authoritarian domination. These may not be legal in your area or you may be under age. If so, or if the material is likely to offend, please leave now. Chapter 4 None but themselves to blame. I sit at my desk watching numbers 158 and 159 by monitor as Officer Hemming leads them up to my office. They are naked except for PRIC issued, padlocked collars with light, tensile chains. I have a good stare at the lads' bare bods when they enter the control room. I say nothing though I gently rub the swelling between my thighs. Hemming hitches their leads to a rail that runs abs' high along the bar that the separates the large alcove, that is my inner office, from the gaol's general control area. A lunch of fruit, biscuits, cheese, meats, sports drinks and snack bars is set out on it. I shift my bulge for comfort, resisting the temptation to release it though it would still be hidden under my desk. I nod to Hemming and return my attention to the selection of food and papers I have on my desk and the monitors along the wall in front of me. The prisoners cannot see these but there is a regular TV in front of them. On it I flash their mug shots which are nude, demeaning poses with their number across the screen. "Ya hungry," I addressed Hemming, "have some lunch, let the prisoners have some while I go on with this." Hemming joins me at my desk, gives me the statement for #159. He keeps an eye on the prisoners who must be starving given how they are wolfing the food. "What ya working on if I may ask sir?" the respect he showed me somewhat diminished by his mouth being full of chicken. "There is no way we can accommodated the dozen or more inmates we look like ending up with this weekend. Even if I work you lot twenty-four while they are here I be short staffed." "Call in back-up." "None that are trained are available. How would ya like to run a COCS for the next few days." The Correction and Orient Camps Scheme is a government program to promote army style boot camps for young offenders. They are lucrative but I normally cannot run them because you need at least ten participants under twenty-five. The staff would enjoy the romp,t rather than extra shifts in the PRIC building. "Ya still need the staff to run one, I mean they will be running around lose." "Yeh of course, but I'm just checking the details. The `custodians' don't need to be trained police or prison officers. We can get work for our mates, call them youth workers, deputies and such." "Kool with me." I pour us both a bourbon, straight, we salute each other. Hemming heads back to the food and prisoners. I eat my lunch with one hand as I massage the lunch between my thighs with the other. Phone rings, it is from Renal. "Boss, I am at the beach. I saw ya memo when I get back to my car at16:20. I am happy to bring them in. I am sure I noticed one of the suspects as I was returning from a surf. He is in the back carpark. I was surprised to see him cooking by a van when the surf was happening. It was an obvious boi/butch combo happening given the look he gave me when I past him, board under my arm, the sun drying my salt encrusted torso." "Give me a break. There was only one of them?" "Yeh the other would have been out riding, not being housey. I'll wait till he gets back." "We just don't have space for them back here. Look if you can secure them in the van you meantioned I'm sure a certain friend of PRICKorp could look after them tonight. Ya can interrigatre them in the mean time. See what ya can find out undercover." "Kool, I can hang about by the beach. Shit, it was a euphoric series of waves and I was pissed off about having to get ready for work. I'll need a slab of beer." "No probs, charge it to PRIC." When Renal cuts off I open #159's confession: I suppose I had no one but myself to blame. While the dry season was meant to start a month ago a late cyclone has sent a rain depression that has bucketed down for two days. I do not have a tent, my sleeping bag is soggy, my clothes on me and in my pack are drenched. I am on the road hitching, heading north, desperate for work. I have so little money I can not afford accommodation, even if there is any about. I am not on the main highway for trucks but I would not expect them to pick anybody up these days anyway. So I am surprised when the semi pulls over. Especially as I must look like a bunyip who has just emerged from a swamp. As I stepped up to the warm, dry cabin I see Gavin, an English back-packer I had a ridden with days earlier. "Wowe keep the wet stuff on the floor. Here put these on, your clothes would drench the seat," says the driver, mid thirties, the preverbal brick shithouse. "Digger this is Phil," Gavin introduced us. We shake hands and I take his clothes. I quickly undress on the running board as there is only a smattering of rain about. When I get to my underwear I paused. I look up and both the blokes are watching me, or more precisely, admiring my body. You know the look. I saw it from Gavin before on the other hitch. Too late to bother about that now even if it bothers me. I do not know if it does. My singlet and jocks are soaked too so I strip them off. Digger's shirt is flannel, lumber-jack; the duds are stubbies, sizes to big. I pull them up and my aware cock slips out the left leg hole. It is strengthening. Embarrassed I have I trouble tucking it back in the floppy material. I sit quickly, try to stop thinking about it. I glance the grins on the guys beside me as the lights in the cabin went out. I am handed a flask of warm, sweet, milky, whiskyed, instant coffee to drink as the engine turns from idle to roar and we move. Given the amount of sleep I had had over the previous two days, this drink and the dry, warm, rumbling womb of the cabin, I am asleep in seconds. I wake once; disturbed by Gavin who is leaning on me, asleep, his hand resting on my incorrigible cock. It had found its way out of the loose shorts again. Or am I dreaming this. "Okay, I've got to get some sleep. Either of ya are welcome to join me," definitely wakes me. The light of the cabin is on and the driver is climbing into the sleeper above the seats. I have barely opened my eyes before Gavin jumps up after him. I can stretch along the cabin's seat. I am exhausted so am soon back to sleep. I sleep well; which is amazing given the activities in the loft above me. There is little light in the cabin as it is still an overcast, dark night but I wake once to see Gavin's stiffy sticking out above me, his hand working it occasionally. He needs the hand mostly to cling to the separating curtain, as he would otherwise tumble onto me, a consequence of the unseen forces buffeting his groin from his backside. Gavin's groans closely following the grunts emulating from the secret cavity. Another time I wake to see stout, muscular, hairy legs levering themselves on the edge of the cabin's void; a rod intermittently appeared from a hole only to be forcefully rammed back in. Both dick and hole were defined by balls; one heavy swinging set belong to the rod thrusting into the arse-void of the other set which are tightly wrapped along a shaft that disappeared into the doom. I try to sleep but could not block the percussion rhythm of the lose balls-sack smacking the pelvic floor of the shagged. I could no longer take my mind off my own hard dick that stuck out of flimsy pants. I quickly, quietly jerk-off to the orchestration of writhing buttocks, to the erotic moans, sack smacks and grunts above me. I slipped back to sleep again as soon as my jizt finishes pumping onto my borrowed shirt, trembling hand. The thrill of it coursing my blood delivers sweet dreams. The next disturbance is Gavin getting down from the sleeper and out of the truck. I open my eyes and the dawn is reflected on Digger's shinny, not quite tumescent dick. It is in my face as he rolled out of the sleeper; thick, stubby, like him. He notices the barely dry cum on my hand, thigh and his clothes. "Should have joined us." He said with a smile on his dial. "I was bugged!" I said realizing the inaccuracy of the reply as I said it. "No, Gavin was buggered," Digger laughed. "I'll leave you two jocks here while I deliver this redneck town. The turn off's few `kicks' back." We were at a highway rest stop near a river flowing fast from recent rains. Digger, who delivers to local supermarkets, got out and followed Gavin into the bog. They are in there a long time. It gives me time to get up and spread my clothes and sleeping-bag on the picnic tables. It gives me time to think. I wanted to join them. I understood suddenly the reason why I enjoyed telling my stories about what I supposedly did to girls to my mates more than doing it with the shellas. The wet steamed out of my things as the sun's warmth cut into the bylay. I resolve to go into the toilet, I need a slash anyway. Just then Digger comes out of the bog tying up his shorts: "If ya still here when I get back at lunch I'll pick yas up again." "Thanks!" "Keep the clothes." "Thanks!" I say again relived that anyone seems to care. I wave to the leaving truck. I stroll into loo to find Gavin naked except for a tee-shirt on his arms but to the front not over his neck. Both Gavin and Digger were about the same height, 1600 mil, though Gavin, a twink, is much slighter, short blond hair, blue eyes, cute cut prick and tight bunned butt. Where these unexpected thoughts came from I do not know but they start to harden my dick. This leads to me having trouble pissing at the urinal. Gavin is washing his slim bod at a sink, his soft pommy complexion flushed pink from the cold water, the morning activity. I try not to look but out of the corner of my eye I see him immodestly dryings his butt and crack with a small towel. I try to finish my leak shaking my stiffening cock only to splatter piss drips everywhere. "Bitch," I swear. "Yeh!" I turn to see Gavin leaning against a cubical divide, playing with his stiffy. I try to put my meat into the stubbies but by now it is a rigid slab. It sticks out of the right leg of the floppy shorts, my balls though tight, hang out on the left. I try to cover my manhood by pulling the pants lower but they end up hang on by my hard-on. Any embarrassment or shyness I had evaporates as we both laugh. I unhook them and they fall to my feet, my cock points straight at Gavin. He turns and walks into a cubicle, with a wiggle of sweet arse and sits on the bowl's seat. Whether it is me, or the gravitational pull of my now massive forestay, I step out of the oversized pants and follow. From nowhere Gavin produces a joint, lights it with a lighter and after a couple of tugs gives it to me. As I drew prebreakfast smoke into my mouth, he drew my cock into his. As the vapors coursed down my throat; my steel hard rod past down his. "Ohhh!" That's feels awesome and some more awe. He is not just licking it or sucking the fat knob that is pulsating at its head; he swallows it whole, deep into his throat. His fine chin hits my ball-sack intermittently as he fucks my hot meat with his mouth. If I had not had that dreamy wank earlier I would have blown immediately. The chicks I been with had always gagged on a very little of my dick. `Too big', was their usual refrain. Shit I had come to see my donger's dimensions as a liability. Gavin certainly does not find them so. He breathed rhythmically with the pump of his face. I stand rooted to the spot though I occasionally shiver with ecstasy. I smoke most of the `j'; though Gavin has a couple of breaks, usually when he senses I am just about to blow. I am sucking the last of the roach as he swallows me again. The sudden explosion of my balls surprises me as much as Gavin. He pulls back and off, choking, as my ball sent a second spasm of jizt in a trail over his head, dropping down onto his hair and face. He smiles, looks at me only to cop a third shot in the eye. He eats my meat again making me wince as he sucks the sensitive tool of the last of its juice. He releases its receding form and I shudder having to put both my hands on the cubicle wall for balance. Gavin pulls his t-shirt on wiping his face in the process. "Sorry," I say, meaning the spunk on his face. "You can offend me any time." Dazed, confused though satisfied I go across to the stainless, steal, urinal. I finally finish my piss which adds to my sweet cum-down. I pick up the shorts and slip them on. I head out to check on my gear only to find the metal bars across the entrance to the loo are bolted from the inside. I dash back around the dividing wall to see Gavin staring at a policeman. I must have walked right pass him. Nobody speaks for a moment. The cop is my height, a little older and muscularly mature; he works out. One of his hands rested on a truncheon, near a gun, in his belt. The other rubbed his thigh below an open fly. "Nice show. Drugs, public debauchery, buggery..." were the words that broke the silence as the bloke in uniform whipped out a set of hand-cuffs and cuffed the stunned Gavin's left wrist. "We weren't buggering," is my feeble objection as Gavin releases a sound between a groan and a whimper. "You'd shut to fuck up if ya knew what was good for ya punk. Come on you too, over to the urinal." This is an order to me as he dragged Gavin, by the shackle, to the stained, stainless sheet of metal. I follow. He pulls the lose end of the cuffs though a pipe that provides water to the urinal's flush and grabbing my left hand slapped the other cuff on it. We are link at Gavin's shoulder height, him facing the pissing wall while I have my back to it tying to match eyes with the pig. He has an amused sneer on his otherwise handsome countenance as he removes the truncheon from his belt and started to pontificate, as if to a higher authority: "Given the drugs involved in the felony, I believe, in the circumstances, an anal search is in order." He is behind Gavin now rubbing his butt with one gloved hand, positioning the truncheon with the other at the point of entry to Gavin's arse. Gavin hung off the cuffs, making me support him as he leant back to cooperate with the search. The pommy arse takes the baton like a redcoat trooper as the law enforcer expertly works much of the pole out of my sight. I must admit my cock, though not long satiated, is hardening as Gavin groans expand like shit-chute. My manhood is hard to hide in my borrowed dacks and is soon noticed by the man-in blue. I am scared to use my free hand to cover it because I would look like I am working my meat as the pig is working a long muscle through, the now damp material of, his uniform. "In this case I'm investigating hidden weapons," states the cop as he abandons his truncheon to hang out from Gavin's butt-hole. Gavin is slowly playing with his stiffy as he colonally clutches the intrusion. The officer uses both hands to pull my stubbies up so my cock and balls bounces out the left leg-hole; my rigid one-eyed monster eyeing him. He rips the truncheon out of Gavin's butt making a soft `hissss' emulate from the orifice. The cop slaps his symbol of law and order under the youth's arm-pit, twisting the poms arm back behind his back, he uses the t-shit to wipe the baton. He then pushes it firmly into my ball-sack without cracking my balls and measures my hard-on along its length. It streached to an obvious notch in the resin. "A full fuckin' foot; far-out." The enforcing officer swung me around, off the urinal step, front to Gavin back. I could say the cop made me do it but it really is what comes natural. I melt into Gavin's soft British flesh as he drops his primed arse-hole onto my bouncing boner, swallowing ten of my centimetres before I know what is happening. The enforcer of order drives another ten in by giving my rear a shove. Gavin squeals as I hit buttend. I expect my dick to get all the way up this pliant pom's pussie so I start a pulsating pump, making a few more millimetres with each penetration. The pig finally gets his own huge dick out of his pants and wanks, as I fuck, to the side we are not bound. He explodes his load first and it lands in gollops on the front of the clothes I am wearing and Gavin's back; lots no doubt finds its way onto my piston that is mining Gavin's shaft, joining Digger's copious offerings up there. This spurs both Gavin and I. He leans back as I force forward until my balls start to add my hot spunk to further fill his arse-chute, lubricate the way to another depth. I force my cock forward as Gavin retreats, not accepting it all. He yields when pinned hard against the cold metal as the last of my taddies and the crown of my cock loose themselves in deeper caverns. Both of us hang limply from the chain that bound us together and to the bog. I noticed his prick has smeared his own emissions on the urinal. "As I said I am arresting you for Drugs, Public debauchery and buggery. You have the right to remain silent " "Hay man...." I start to protest though I am still euphoric from my first butt fuck, my dick is still savoring the squelchy milieu of Gavin's arse-hole, tighter now that he had cum. "You have the right to remain silent means ya shut up." "Owwe" I utter as the pig roughly pulls me out of Gavin and around. He pushes his baton up hard under my chin. "We don't want to know yar problems punk. In a few hours you will be brought before a magistrate who might be lenient if you co-operated fully." He releases the cuffs from Gavin's wrist, locking me to the pipe. "Give us ya t-shirt." Gavin slow compliance ends with the pig ripping it off him. He wipes his hand and dick on it and threw it to me. "Clean ya dick." I wipe my half deflated member with my free hand and hand the soiled rag back to Gavin who whips his arse and thighs and chucks it on the floor. "Littering too," says our captor as he releases the cuffs from the pipe, grabs Gavin's right hand, attached it to my left and pushed us to the toilet door. Everything is happening so quick; the cop has us out of the loo and across the carpark to the Holden ute that served as a black-maria in these parts. He does not let us collect our belongings, just bundles us in the enclosed cage on the ute's back, Gavin is nude, I am in clothes too big for me. Our tether decreed we sit on the same side. We were both shivering, Gavin probably from cold so I sit close. I think I am shivering from a mixture of shock, fear and sexual tension. In a twisted way I believe we were both enjoying this, adventure. Gavin tried to talk once on the trip to the nearby town but a: "Belt-it-back-there" from the front cabin shut both of us up. We are on the edge of a town when the cop skids to a stop sending us sprawling to the floor of the ute. The policeman dashes out yelling: "I will shoot if ya don't stop." Moments later the cage door opens and a very black man in ill fitting clothes climbs in while the cop holds his pistol on him. "What ya staring at!" he addresses Gavin and me in a heavy accent. "Belt up boy," says the cop, as he locked the door. Minutes later we arrive at the lock-up.