Date: Sun, 28 Jun 2009 12:09:39 +0800
From: mike lynch <lynch.um@gmail.com>
Subject: Whore and Order, Chapter 5; Revenge.

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 5; Revenge

I study our potential `a' again.   He and #158 were actually laughing
with each other, enjoying their images on the teve.  It did not bother
me but Hemming slapped #158's behind hard and they stopped.  He eats a
bit more with the prisoners then orders them to finish, looks to me.
I better get their trial over with.
"I am the magistrate in these parts for the Private Regional
Institution for Correction Corporation.  They won the contract to make
people like you of value to our community," I inform the accused.
"Officer Hemming I would like you to reconstruct the arrest scene."

Ted folds back a wall that gives privacy to my office's en-suite.  The
shower area had robust fitting for bondage enactments.  There is a
solid vanity case with a large, cracked mirror.   The toilet bowl had
a waist high cistern, there is no pissoir.   The hardness of my meat
is beginning to make the cockbox of my leather pant's feel like a
cock-cage.   I unzip the fly that went down its centre as I swivel in
my chair I get a good side on view.  Cams do other views.  I like to
play with my cock as I watch stuff like this.  What I am doing is
obvious to our new prisoners so it helps me ascertain how cooperative
they will be, how easily they will settle in.  The reenactment of the
morning's arrest needs to be more depraved than accurate.  Hemming
pulls #158 to the bowl (exhibit I) slapping both his buns with hand as
he does it.  He ties the con's arms with rags (exhibit II) to the
cistern's pipe.

"Both were naked when I arrived in the loo.  Don't know what they got
up to before I arrived.   The stud had the he-bitch tied to the
cistern's pipe using the slut's own t-shirt, like so."  Hemming
innovates as he finishes tying #158's wrists.  A couple of loud slaps
echo through the office and #158 taillights are flushed red, begging
for co-accused cock.
"Are you suggesting the fuckee was not willing," I ask?
"Nar he was right in to it; presumably the instigator."
"No doubt.  Alright prisoner #159 show me how you buggered this
bum-boy."  I fondle my hard phallus as I watch first the lad's
annoyance at being manipulated or maybe a doubt that he could perform
dissipatedly in public.  But this dissipated as the dimensions of his
donger massively multiply because of the hot juicy arse wriggling
invitingly in front of him.  He is soon humping hole to relieve the
fire of his bloated boiler.

I love the vid-relay that takes the office-bog-fuck from the other
side.  My gonads are in the monitor's top-right corner, my hand
getting their rocks off.  I edge but wait till our new big-buck blasts
butt.
"Fuck-yeh" he explodes, so, I pronounce sentence:
"You both will be remanded as the property of PRICKorp.  Your
treatment will...oh...," I edge close, stop wanking, "heheme, depends upon
how you cooperate."   I pump my prime pelvic protein on the pure power
of punishing pulchritudinous punks.  I watch my cum blast both live
and vid.  Ted's a disheveled mess of britches on boots, spunk splat,
funland face.  The convicts are in embrace over bog-bowl.  A phone is
put through, it must be important.
"Day Renal," I pant.
`Thax for the background chief.   I returned to beach and parked my
ute close to their van, though not obviously if you are coming from
the beach   I get out wearing my police boots, boardies with my top
bod bare."   I can see Renal has got right into his undercover role.
"I took the chance with the boots because I carried no other weapons
but my flick knife.  Besides, I guessed the bitch boi would be turned
on by me wearing them.

`"Max" I introduce my self "they call me The Max."'  This is not
officer Renal's first name, nor his nick name.  That is `Raptor', for
good reason.
`"Jon...J...Jonathan," the youth splutters, eyes on my crutch rather than my face.
"I past ya earlier on the way to my wheels from the surf."
"Yeh, I know," he admits.
"Shit man, why aren't ya out surfing?"
"I'm not all that good.  Why aren't you out?"
"Thought there may be more interesting tubes to explore onshore," I
say smiling, "like a drink?"
"Yes please, sir."  The `sir' throws both of us for second but I
ignore it and he goes back to being domestic while go to my ute and
bring back half a slab of beer.   Jonathan is chuffed. The first beer
is downed by him instantly.   The hesitant youth turns to the
gregarious boy, wanting company, happy to talk as he glugs down a
second beer.

`"We've got crisps and biscuits," he offers.  I accept and he goes
into the van.   I follow in time to see him throwing a blanked over an
assortment of sex-toys.  He looks me in the eye for a long time for
the first time as I hand him this third beer.   I kick the blanket
aside and he become demure.  He kneels at my boots and runs his tongue
up them but when the tongue touched the flesh of my thigh and his hand
goes to the velcro of my fly, my backhanded fist had him out sprawled
on the floor.   Shit ya know I am straight.   Ya know how I hate that
shit.'  Renal, the `Raptor', straight? Hardly, but he is married with
kids and Kate would leave him if he looked at another man or woman
sexually.  But that does not mean he cannot deal with the punks we
work with, forcefully.  The do-gooders might say, sadistically.  As he
is no homophobe, he has a special place at my PRIC.  Gil and Renal and
myself are the enforcers in this establishment though Steel and Ted
are, like all PRIC officers, expected to use force should a prisoner
be disrespectful or `get attitude'.  Renal has sent through some phone
footage of him `piss-boarding' Jonathan which is typical of his
interrogative ingenuity.

The van has a high-top that extends up on pylons.  Raptor hangs the
he-bitch upside down, by ankle shackles from one of the pylons,
boadshorts are off, up, tight around his knees.  His shoulders rest on
the floor, as do his arms that are tied together behind his head with
a piece of rope that also chokes his neck.  He has used the sex toys
inventively.  The youth's t-shirt has been dragged up to cover his
face.  A hole has been cut in it at his mouth, a 30 mil. circular bit
held it in place and also keep his mouth open. Raptor takes the
phone-clip one-handed as he used the other to drink his beer and on
the kid, encouraging him to confess.  The cam's perspective makes the
lad's body recede towards his head and mouth drain.  It makes his
miserable prick dominate the top of the screen.  It is hanging down
but sticking out hard at thirty degrees from his shaved pubes. The
only part of my officer in frame is his high leather boots on either
side of the suspect's veiled head, ensuring it does not move.

The interrogation starts with beer tipped from an on-high can, off
screen.  It falls into the prisoner's oral orifice or splashes about
soaking the cloth covered nose and head.  I can follow little of the
questioning due to the quality of the recording device, the obscene
tirade Raptor combined with his questions and the he-bitch's gag-bit.
I can see it is not going well, mainly because this is a piss-pig.
The vid centred on his mouth and it looks like a sink as the flood of
beer drained into him, even though be is upside-down.  With a throat
like that he must give great head.  Renal ratchets up his responses.
The amber fluid in the next clip is obviously piss that had gone
through the Raptor refinery.  It froths more than the commercial piss.
  It is even more greedily received by the wee-whore.  The Raptor's
exceptional skills are displayed in the next couple of minutes.

Till now the wee-wimp had managed to control his bladder, no doubt the
stiffy helped, but the taste of PRIC sanctioned piss is enough to
initiate a personal nitrogenous deluge that that same stiffy sends in
a neat arch towards Raptor.  Errol Flynn style, Raptor rapidly alters
repartee to rap rhythmically with the rake's rivet's rivulet.  Renal
laughs as the force of his piss diverts the punk's piss in a splatter
descent, most ends helixing into the gapping jaw, much further
drenches the slash-slut's improvised hood, some splatters Renal's
boots.   There appears to be a growing puddle on the floor when the
vid cuts.
`"OK chief.  As ya can see I got nothing from this sow of a
masochistic/mother/ father/fucker.  I just kept turning him on.  I
mean to wait till his buck turns up.  In the mean time this slut can
lick my boots clean.  Report back soon."'

Hemming has already removed the prisoners by the time Renal cuts-off.
I follow him on monitors, taking them to the showers.  The details of
prisoner #157 arrive via prisoner #145.  #145 wears the penitentiary
attire: jump suits made from a crimson stretch blend.  He is, like
#158 a designated `c', catamite, he wears the zip, in the tight one
piece, to the back.   If he has underwear it would be a jock-strap.
The same gear is worn by an `a', `authority potential' or a `b'
`butch'.  They wear the zip to the front, do not normally have leather
collars.  The hierarchy of the prison is well illustrated on the
screen.  Hemming needed a shower too so he is stripped and the pom-`c'
#148 is soaping him.  A `b', #141, is mopping nearby.  I would define
a `b' as a man who if ya knew him he would be a friend or an enemy you
would respect.  Given the limited nature of my PRIC most `b' I look
after are mates who did stuff I might do anyway though I would
automatically get away with it: traffic, drugs, sex.  Gunna, #141 is a
cobber.

Gunna would know from just looking that #158 and #159 that they are
respectively a `c' and `b'(`a' potentiality he would not bother
about).   Even in the shower #158 still wears his collar while #159 is
without.  Prisoner #145 leaves as I glance at the file he delivered.
There is a picture of prisoner # 157, alias Freddie, the `d'
`deigrade' classification is ticked.  I search for #157 on my
monitors.  I find him strapped to a `X' bench in the infirmary.   Gil,
who has already shaved his body, is fitting his `d' attire. The attire
of such fuck fodder may include a harness, shackles, choker chain
lead, metal is always prominent.  I am proud of the innovative abdomen
wear.   I won an award developing it.  It is all a `d' normally gets
to wear at my institution and is now widely accepted by PRIC
establishments throughout the state.  A cock cage is fitted to hang
off their prick and peas by a tight cock ring.  Gil is fixing this as
I watch.

Prisoner #157 screams like a girl as an industrial clamp pushes it way
between his spread-eagle legs.  It looks like a jack hammer but
instead of a bit it has a vagina-dentate clamp that could castrate as
readily as it rings his nuts and bolt.  The cage can be removed but
not without an ulta-sound, flesh sensitive, surgical grinder.  The
cage can tract, massage, shock and monitor the `dirt' but it needs
power.  Gil attaches the power pack in the shape of a butt plug that
hangs from a 150mil cord.  The plug can be rectally carried or can, to
the dirt's genital discomfort, hang off the cage.  The cage or
butt-plug can massage or shock in unison or separately.   The cage
also monitors all penile emissions, important when training
slut-slaves.  Next Gil fixes a small Prince Albert that links his
prick to its cage.  It keeps 10 mil of the dirt's piss-slit extant for
hygiene reasons and gives him a he-clit.  Gil finishes the processing
by tattooing the PRICKorp logo on his left arm and #157 on his right.
This is done effortlessly via two ready made tat-brands.

Gil is slapping gauze on the arms as he rings up to ask me to test my
remote control.   It all centres on a control board on my desk.  The
tracking is Wi-Fi within the PRIC, GPS outside.   I zoom the cam in on
a view of #157's face.  Normally I take my time with this but I am so
busy.   I flick a switch to deliver the dirt's prick a pleasurable
sensation, though the inability to stiffen must hurt.  I emphasize the
pain of his thwarted erection by a number of harsh shocks delivered to
the cage.  I watch the dirt's countenance show pleasure, strain then
pain.   His pinned body spasms then writhes as I turn a dial half-way
to a permanently disabling shock.  I turn my attention to the plug up
his butt-hole.  I massaged his butt shaft, tickled his prostrate.  Gil
stands back.  It took me a couple of minutes to get his dirt juice to
splatter in nasty spasms from the cage.  He is a natural, soon
training will have him see pain in dissipation his only source of
worldly satisfaction.

Gil leaves to get some much needed rest.  I play with the dials,
progressing #157's conditioning as I read his confession:

I am a mixed blood indigenous Aussie who sees myself as part of a long
tradition in the land and sea around here. To my dark complexion and
broad fleshy lips, Celtic forbears have added hair that bleaches as I
work in sun and blue eyes. School was not my thing and as I got older
I had my problems with the dole and boredom so I was glad to work with
my buddy Frank in a bit of construction work.  We are footy mates and
while I am good small around the rucks, Frank was brilliant.  Frank is
huge which is why our team was unbeatable when he played.  Most
thought he would end up down south in the big league until that season
when he laid out a smartarse lines ump and got a life ban.  He is a
descendant from the local indigenous and the islanders who built the
railways of the Pilbra.  Frank has his troubles other than his temper,
he does not always take care of business when his cock is concerned.

 "Well by the time we smash it up and redo it I won't make a fucking
cent," he yells slapping the wheel, "so I can't pay ya," he tells me.
We stop at waylay a little out of town for lunch. "Ya should have
looked after it rather that chatting up the client."
"I was chatting up the husband of the woman you were rooting because
he came home unexpected."  Woman still loved getting off with Frank
even though he is no longer a footy star.  I guess it is his superb
body and the huge crutch bulge that is hard to miss in the tight work
jeans he wore.  Our argument is getting heated when one of the bikies
parked a hundred metres away comes towards us.  He wears a leather
jacket, tight worn jeans, blond, teal eyes, clean shaven, bright teeth
glint in the sun.   Our discussion is none of his business so we face
him down together.

"You're the bloke who banged me in Katherine last April," he says and
I see the smile as more a grimace.  I am dumfounded.  I have a
pathetic sex life.  I wank imagining Frank fucking his women.  I am
thinking about Frank more than the women.  Suddenly I realize that I
could have been sucking his cock, been fucked by his huge meat.  I
have never thought this before because Frank is straight.  Now I feel
he has been cheating me all this time.
"Never seen ya before," Frank says.  I can tell he is lying.  He was
in Katherine in April.
"Well I reckon ya should remember this." The bloke's slim muscular
body narrows at the waist to a bulging crotch.  He turns and bents
over.   His jeans crease into the crack of his arse the top of which
is seen above an unnecessary belt on the low hanging dacks.  White bum
is obvious through a frayed decimetre size hole on his right buttock.

"Just fuck off, okay."  Frank had his tool belt on.  He took a shifter
out. Suddenly things become sinister.  Our blond is joined by another
couple of leather jacketed hunks, both dark haired. The taller of the
two carries a tomahawk the other a metal bar. Frank hands me a pissy
little screw driver.
"Ya take the blond.  Now!"  Frank yells but as I make my move I am
grabbed from behind.  I am lifted by a hand to the neck and one under
my pelvic floor and thrown at Frank.  I think it is Frank's shifter
that knocks me out.  I come too on the ground, I do not move but open
an eye a slit.  I am untied, naked except for my work gloves and
boots.  They must have taken my boots off to get my jeans off then put
them back on.  I am sure I did not have my work gloves on to eat
lunch.  I shift my head fractionally to see Frank stripped like me
with boots, gloves and his tool belt still on.  His legs and hands are
bound behind a wood power pole.  At his feet is the blond hunk who had
accused him.  He is totally naked, his cock is erect, and he is
fondling Frank's massive donger.

I have glimpsed it in the showers after footy but had tried not to
stare.  It is beginning to grow from the attention.
"Shit, I taste cunt," the blond spits after licking Frank's cock.
"Ya begging for it again," Frank says with bravado.
"Can ya imagine how I was beaten by my topman because ya wanted some
fun?"  That shut Frank up. The other guys just laughed as they strip
their clothes off, struggling to get tight jeans over hard cocks,
putting their boots back on once their jeans are off.
"Let his bitch suck it."  This came from behind me.  I know he is
talking about me, I am Frank's bitch.  A kick to my kidneys hurts.  I
can not pretend to be unconscious as my stiffy is sticking hard out
from my body.  I look up at he who had kicked and spoke.   I see a big
limp dick and balls hanging out of a set of crutchless leather chaps.
He looks down at me, dark hair, trimmed beard, rugged acne-scarred
completion.  His face and crutch are the only bits leather free, he
wore a cap.

I am on hand and knees trying to rise.
"Crawl," his says shoving his boot's heal into my bum crack.  I crawl
the five metres to my buddy.  The blond bloke stands, bows and walks
away playing with his ridged phallus.
"Don't suck it mate," Frank says but I want to.  As I take a cock into
my mouth for the first time I feel like I am on my wedding night not
part of a poofter, bikie, revenge gang bang.  The bloke in leather
comes up behind me.  His dick hangs, drools in my hair.  I start to
suck the head of Frank's dick and despite his efforts it is growing.
The guy in leather leathered hand caress Frank's tethered left thigh
and buttock.
"What gave ya the right to dip ya wick into my he-bitch," he spits the
words out in Frank's face.  He is higher than Frank given the way
Frank is tied.
"Shit mate, don't tell me he didn't enjoy it."  As he says this any
chance his cock has of remaining weak went, it became a three hundred
mil log stuck in my mouth.
"Of course he liked it, that's why he's a he-bitch.  Your problem is
that you didn't ask me when ya wanted him, so now ya gunna have to
pay."

As he says this he drove his knee into my buttocks, which drives my
head into a head slitting choke, taking most of Frank's massive
monolith straight down my thorax.
"Get up their mole," ordered the bigger of the other bikies, he had a
huge eagle tattooed on his chest.  His bumboy leaped up on Frank's
massive chest like a monkey.  The guy sat on it like it is a lounge,
shit Franks pecks are bigger than this blokes buttocks.  He is trying
to stuff his prick into Frank's mouth.
"I'll bit it off," Frank threatens.
"Fuck I got too much cock for a bikie mole anyway," the chest jockey
laughs.  I do not need more to continue to swallow the whole of
Frank's fodder.  I figure how to breathe and swallow, play with his
balls, taste the woman he just humped, his sweat, smegma, pre-cum and
fear.  He had a right to fear because the way these hunks were playing
their organs and beating Franks hind bongos we all knew what concert
was cuming.

The man in leather joins his blond he-bitch.  The blond is playing
with both their cocks, the bloke in leather is fingering the blond's
butt.  I have been swallowing mega-meat for about five minutes when
the man with the eagle tat pulls me off Frank's cock and away from him
by my hair.  This is the cue for Frank's wrist tie to be cut by the
chest jockey. Given that the guy is still swinging off Frank's pecs.
and Frank's legs are still tied behind the post, Frank falls as
felled.  I think his main concern is to stop his solid cock-pole
augering the earth.  His ankles are still bound behind the pole and
the blond sits on his boots.  The dark couple grab an arm each,
enjoying the struggle that ensues.
"Lube this super-bitch for me creep," the man in leather orders me.
The two men who have his arms put a hip each into Frank's shoulders
and his butt is shoved back towards the power pole.  There is plenty
of room between the pole and his butt for me to put my head in and
stick my tongue out.  The man in leather wants more.
"Pull his buns apart," he directs as he pushes my face into Frank's
bum crack, "suck his arse out."  Frank just yells and swears

At first I wondered if I am spoiling the wonderful new relationship I
have achieved with Frank by doing this to his arsehole but then I
realize I am just kissing it, licking it, sucking it, adoring it. I am
lost in another olfactory wilderness when I am suddenly pushed aside
as the man in leather stepped behind Frank.   I have readied him to be
violated.  The man in leather spreads his legs and leans his bum
against the power pole.
"Lobe it," he tells me waving the cock at me that he is about to abuse
in my hero.  I easily swallow his erection into my juicy mouth.  It is
near as long as my man's but nowhere near as thick.  I bet what the
blond he-bitch told him had made him jealous and curious.  He is
fondled on his leathered bottom by his bottom who still sat on his
rapists boots.  His top merely held Franks hips so they were guided
onto his manhood.  The impetus came from the dark haired men who plied
their hips to my hunk's shoulders to force him relentlessly onto the
man in leather's rapier.

I watch my hero sodomised.  He tries not to scream or cry as the
avenging vehicle is driven steadily along his narrow dirt track.  He
is held in doggie position, the man mounting him ramming forward as
the blokes at his shoulders pushed.  It is soon over, the man in
leather blasts his balls' load after a half dozen stokes.  Frank takes
it like a man but these blokes just mock him as how much he likes it,
playing with his still hard manhood.  There are minutes of casual male
bonding for a job well done amongst the gang after the man in leather
pulls out.  A struggle from Frank is enough to start the next stage of
his humiliation.
"Grab an arm," I am told by the man in leather.  So I do.  Franks leg
ties have been cut and we drag him forward from the pole.

"Thanks my man, ya juiced him up perfectly for pay-back," laughed the
evanescent blond he-bitch who is already falling on Frank as the dark
couple spread his legs wide.  The man in leather and I hold an arm
each.  I kneel beside Frank comforting him through his ordeal.  The
blond takes his time but I do not let Frank move.
"Don't get to butt butt much," the blond giggles.  Frank's vitriol has
subsided.  The eagle chested bloke gets to use his arse chute next.
His mole asked permission to fuck Frank's mouth while his top fucked
Frank's arse.
"Sure bitch," the top agreed.   I held Frank's hair to keep his head
steady while the butt-boy drove his stiffy in and out of his mouth.
The dark pair blow about the same time, their mouths in tonguing
embrace.  I support Frank's head as he chokes, swallowing the
bike-mole's spunk as ordered by the bloke with the eagle tat.

When the man in leather fucks Frank for the second time he takes his
time too.  He needs no help to hold Frank down.  The others dress
while this happens but I am not allowed to.  After the man in leather
had cockholed his cuckolder for the second time he stood.  He flicked
a glug of personal and accumulated spunk off his cock's foreskin onto
Frank's back.
"Go man.  Ya will be welcome back any time," the man in leather laughs
an invitation and warning.  "We'll take care of ya unfaithful bitch."
Frank mumbles something and needs to be helped up by eagle tat guy.
As he stumbled up off the ground he is unable to hide his final
humiliation.
"Hay big boy which of us pumped that out of ya," laughs the blond
bloke pointing to the spunk smear on the ground and damp dirt around
Frank's pubes and navel.  The blokes including me laugh as he grabs
some clothes holding his arse cheeks tight.

The eagle tat escorts him to his ute. and gets something out of the
back before Frank drives off.  I think, `what about me', is that what
I get for dedicating to a man.   I look at these happy couples.  The
man in leather's cock glistens in the afternoon sun with fuck juices
from Franks arse.  Beside him the blond is dressed except his jeans
are not fastened allowing a hand on his backside and arched cock
hanging in front.  The other two are apart.  That is to ensuring I can
not escape.
 "Tie him!" the man in leather orders.  My arse's pucker tickles, at
last it is my turn.  I am naked still except for boots and gloves.
They tie my wrists with leather tong through a high fork in a tree
branch.  I have to lean away from the rough bark of the tree because
my stiffy refuses to go down.  I have wanted to blast my balls since I
was ordered to suck Frank's cock but the man in leather stopped me
touching my prick.  Ever since then my hard-on and virgin arse have
begged gratification but have had only humiliation and titillation.

The blond he-bitch removes the belt from his jeans and gives it to the
man in leather.  The belt thrashes, trashes my legs, bum, back.  Once
when I look back to beg the bike boss for mercy the belt slapped my
mouth and I bit into my tongue.   Even as I am belted my stiffy
remains solid, I almost blow against the rough bark but then another
stinging lash has me recoiling.  The other three watched.   The blond
he-bitch stroked his cock in twittering excitement, the other two
cuddling in oral, petting passion.  When I had been beaten a couple of
dozen times the four confer.  Again I expect my butt chute to be
buggered but minutes later the dark bottom bloke came forward with the
tin taken from Frank's ute.  It is black marking paint and he paints
on my back, starting between my shoulder blades, again in the small
and then two letters on each side of my arse crack.  Though difficult
for me to see, the bikies made it clear what it said:
.
                                        I'M
                                         A
                                   S L).(U T

They hop on two to a bike and together ride away in a jolly mood.  My
leather jacket, pants, underwear, t-shirt and self esteemed go with
them.  I still wear my work boots and gloves.

I am actually tied near a local road and it is still daylight.  At
first I try to be inconspicuous, but once Frank drove past near
sundown and only stopped to give me the finger I began to panic.  As
dark fell I yelled out at every passing vehicle but am ignored   I
have had a hard day.  I am dosing when Officer Renal, a mate of
Frank's, pulls in on his bike.  Renal and Frank are alike but
different.  Alike in age, they both played footy but against each
other, they are big and angry.  Officer Renal is an Arian, shaves his
head, it is naked under his helmet.  All arvo I have been expecting to
be buggered but when the anal penetration came I am not ready and it
is not of the form I expect.
"Christ, I heard how those four fuckers did ya over, must be real
sloppy in there," Officer Renal says.   My reply is a prolonged scream
as his dry truncheon is delivered with cavity search indifference to
my rectum.

"Let me cut ya down," he says leaning on my flayed back forcing the
truncheon deeper into my guts.
"Arrrrherrr," I whimper.  My hands are no longer tied in the tree but
still hang with loose bindings.  Officer Renal pulls on those ties to
bring my face down onto his contained erection.   I should have
noticed it outlined in his motorcycle pants straight away, but rampant
dicks are normal for me today.  I lick its huge outline, suck its
obvious head.  While I homage his cock he played with the truncheon in
my arse.  I am surprised how I feel it as hard plastic.  I can imagine
how much more thrilling human flesh must be.  Further tugs on the
straps around my wrists has me at his knees, at his high boots.
"I bet they made ya lick their boots aye slut."
"Yes, sir," I lied.  I have not had a drink since lunch, my mouth is
dry as the proverbial nun's pussy.   I try to lick them, they are not
that bad.  They are dusty, rich in metho.

Officer Renal pulls me up by my hair.
"I arrest you and am taken ya in for interrogation.  If ya don't
follow orders it will take longer, be harder," he sneers twisting the
buried baton in a way that made me turn putting my back to him, making
me cry out.  Officer Renal ties my hands behind my back with the still
hanging tongs.
"Sir, do ya wanta take ya baton back." I lean forward flashing my
skewered manhole at my arresting officer.
"I know where it is."  He slips my wrist tie under the baton,
painfully changing its angle of penetration.   "On the bike."  I ride
to town, naked, painted on, behind Officer Renal.  I am balancing on
the foot rest to ensure the vibration of his Kawasaki and his erratic
driving do not drive his police weapon past my butt-hole's end.  At
the station I am brought into the tiled reception area and processed.
My boots and gloves are taken off me but the butt baton remains.

Officer Steel slips a metal choker lead.
"Prisoner 1-5-7," Officer Renal calls me as he drags me out the way I
came to another smaller but similar room to the one I just left.
Officer Renal presses a button near the door.  A chain dropped from
the ceiling and I am pushed towards it.  Officer Renal attached my
left leg to it and went back to the controls.  The chain started to
return to ceiling.  Soon I am hanging by my left leg, my elbows on the
floor my right leg dangling.  Officer Renal uses one hand on my neck
chain to raise my mouth to his cock's height.  While he plays with the
baton up my bum, I use my teeth to pull down his fly.  He did not wear
undies but his swollen cock and huge balls are imprisoned in his
pants.   He won't let me use my hands so I used my mouth and tongue
undo his belt.  Officer Renal verbally encourages me but only helps by
holding the chain lead as I hung choking in the lead.  I chip a tooth
getting the top stud of his pants undone.

Finally the erectness of his cock helps to push cloth aside.
"Ya need this don't ya.   Well slut dream on.  My shifts ended so I'll
leave ya for the next shift."  He dropped the lead and my chin hit the
floor.  I am dazed as I watch him leave me not even bothering to put
his hard-on away.  The next officer who deals with me wakes me by
sticking his baton in next to Officer Renal's.  He extracts this
confession by a tape recorder on the floor near my head, while
whipping me with a horse crop.  He is using my lead to choke me and my
right leg to swing me about.  As I circulate I see the man's chest
behind his sweaty shirt.  His abs. ripple, pecs. flex, bi'es bulge and
lose cock swings in unison to the swipe of the crop as he whipped my
upturned arse, back, front and thighs.  A third batton is added when
the morning shift brings in the typed up confession for me to sign.
I am in no state to but a smudge of my blood (DNA) suffices.  After
all that happened to me today it seems I am still a virgin, at least
as far as rooting or being rooted is concerned.