by Anthony Santos
illustrated by Cavelo
“You know when I got the right idea for you? Just the right idea?”
The other made a sound. The gag stifled it.
“Nothing to say? You talked a lot yesterday, didn’t you, motherfucker? Didn’t you?”
The other tried to move away. His biceps balled up. It was quite useless. The Sergeant had him, all of him.
“You can’t get away, motherfucker. But keep trying. It’ll work up a good sweat.”
The victim was already sweating. It was hot down there, near the boiler pipes. He could see them dimly: The single strong overhead fight showed only him and the Sergeant. He knew they must be in the station basement, because they had marched him down steps, two flights.
He felt a bead of sweat pass down his chest and onto the plates of his abs. His blue eyes stared, following the Sergeant’s moves. The Sergeant’s face came close.
“I like fresh ones, motherfucker, guys like you. White guys especially. White guys with big fucking mouths who think they’re hot shit.”
The Sergeant was black. He was about as big as his victim. He was a few years older. They said he “had experience.” They never said what experience.
The star on the Sergeant’s shirt flashed as he moved. He smelled of aftershave and leather.
“Fuckin’ hot here, ain’t it, boy?” he asked. “Ain’t it, motherfucker?”
No sound came from the bound figure.
“I asked you a question, motherfucker. You can grunt an answer.”
He made a quick motion with his right hand. A strangled sound came from the hanging man. It grew louder as The Sergeant’s eyes gleamed and as his hand tightened.
“Maybe I’ll squeeze some kids out of you, motherfucker,” he laughed.
He ended the pressure but kept his hand under his victim’s sac. He moved his fingers and toyed with the fat balls.
“You’re pretty big, motherfucker. Some guys, their cocks are tiny and their balls are like raisins, and everything hides in their cock hairs. And then their raisins go back in their gut when they’re scared. Pussies. Not you. You’re easy to get to.”
The Sergeant smiled. He dropped his hand. He stepped back.
“OK, motherfucker, OK. Enough fun. Time for motherfucker Newman to get some police business.”
The Sergeant look off his shirt. He threw it out of sight. The light gleamed off his torso and his shaven head like polished wood. He moved close enough so that his chest almost touched Newman’s.
“Like I said, I got this idea for you. When I saw you after your workout. You dropped your towel and I could see your cock. They’d cut you, all right, but they’d left a lot. Half-covered your cock head. I bet if I wanted, I could cover that with what they’d left me “
Newman tried to move back. The bonds stopped him. His torso twisted. He threw his head back.
The Sergeant went to his cock and balls again. He cupped them.
Newman felt his sac being pulled down, the fingers warm this time, caressing, gentle, and in response his cock twitched a little harder
“Oh, you’re quick. Newman, you’re quick,” the Sergeant said, and laughed to himself. “Real nice package. I’ll show you mine maybe, from behind if you know what I mean.” He laughed again.
The other hand passed lightly over Newman’s torso, plucked at his chest hair.
“You got nice tits. Like a woman’s. Big. Me too. Like ‘em licked? I do. Licked and sucked. Wet and warm, wet and warm, wet…”
Newman relaxed for one moment, then stiffened. He saw the hand go to his legs again. He strained at the bonds when the pain-sickness hit his balls and flooded up into his guts.
“You knew a guy’s balls will go flat almost before they pop? You know that, Newman? Want me to make your sac one bloody fucking mess inside?”
Newman gave an animal grunt. His body broke out new sweat. He could feel the Sergeant’s body next to his, hot. Then he felt the Sergeant’s chest flow against his own, smooth with their sweat, and that felt good somehow.
“You’re nice, while boy, fucker, real nice. Fresh meat…” The Sergeant’s voice faded as he stroked Newman’s chest and used his thumbs to circle the nipples. His hands moved lower, toyed with the navel, moved up to feel the lats, and finally moved behind and stroked Newman’s ass.
The Sergeant licked his lips, concentrating, his eyes closed.
Newman stiffened his ass muscles.
“Oh, that’s good, boy, that’s good, motherfucker. Keep it tight, Fight it. It’ll hurt so much, so good when it happens.”
He stopped. He stepped back.
“Time for your fun to begin, motherfucker. Want me maybe to cut off that skin they left on your cock?”
Newman could not scream “No!”, but his eyes moved in panic.
“Hey, boy, don’t worry. It’s all cool here. No scars, see? No proof. No marks. Fuck, we could whip your ass with our belts, and the studs would chew into you. Lots of blood. But then we’d have to get rid of you. We want to keep you, understand? So we won’t leave any marks.”
The Sergeant stepped aside for a moment, then came back:
“Besides, this’ll hurt a lot more.”
He smiled.
He went away into the darkness behind Newman.
His arms and thighs hurt from the bonds, but that was nothing compared to the fear in his gut. He knew they wanted that fear, and that he wanted to deny it to them. But fear was in his gut all the same.
The Sergeant came back with… it looked like a plastic squeeze bottle, like you might buy in a grocery store.
“It ain’t mustard, boy,” the Sergeant said, and chuckled. He squeezed the bottle. A clear jelly came out, thick.
The Sergeant reached down and hooked onto Newman’s balls again. With one hand he wrapped something (maybe it was a thick rubber band) around them, so they were tight in his sac. Then with the other he smeared the clear stuff onto them. It was cold.
Newman had expected it would hurt. It didn’t. The rubber band cut into his skin, and that hurt, but it was bearable.
The Sergeant left again. Newman heard something being opened, like a box. Then something being snapped together. Then a click or snap, like a switch on a light.
Newman felt drops of sweat go down into the small of his back.
The Sergeant returned and held up a long copper wire. It shone like gold. Newman couldn’t see the end of it, just that the wire had been stripped of its covering for maybe a foot. It snaked away, into the dark.
“Let’s gift-wrap you, motherfucker.”
He held Newman’s trapped balls with one hand, and circled the sac with the wire. He pulled it tight to give Newman a new pain.
“Now comes the good part,” the Sergeant said. He moved away, then came back for a moment and licked Newman’s nipples. His eyes were glittering and happy. He moved away again, and returned holding… what?
It looked like a long, very thin tube, with a disc at one end.
“Cops like me, Newman, we like hardware stores. I saw this little piece one day and knew just how I could use it.”
He stroked Newman’s cock, moving his foreskin back and forth as if he wanted to give pleasure. The cock was so big it filled the cop’s hand. Its head was wet and pink. A drop of clear fluid came out its tiny slit.
“Like to see that, motherfucker. It means you’re ready.”
When the Sergeant said that, Newman knew by instinct what he was ready for:
The plastic tube began to feed into his cock, slowly. Newman’s breath came hard.
The Sergeant came to that place in a man’s cock when the smooth sliding stops.
He toyed with the tube, up and down (that would make the piss-slit hurt more, and hurt for a few days), and then forced it down. Newman’s cry was stifled.
Newman fell the thing go into his cock up to its base. Same kind of clamp then bit into his cockhead. The Sergeant stood back. “See? It’s not coming out. No fucking way.”
Newman was breathing hard now. He tried to prepare himself for what was coming. But that was it. He knew he did not know. Would it be a burning feeling?
The Sergeant came back from the shadows. Another wire. “I could just shove this up your cock, motherfucker. Watch you squirm while I start and then take off your gag so you could beg, beg and squeal.”
He flicked the sharp end of the thing against Newman’s tits. “But I won’t. You’d bleed. A lot. And for a few days, because it’ll be a wound inside, just below the waiting prostate.”
“Ready?” the Sergeant said.
Newman stiffened, then relaxed—nothing. His body bucked in its bonds, twisted, writhed, and from behind the gag came what would have been a scream.
The force of the current passed from the balls to prostate.
Newman relaxed, sunk down.
The Sergeant toyed with Newman’s left nipple.Then Newman writhed again.
He writhed more this time and his chest heaved once, twice — then relaxed.
“Like you imagined?” the Sergeant asked.
No, because nothing can prepare any man for this pain; its sudden intensity, its force, or its range from gentle, almost pleasant sting to the agony of being ripped apart by animal claws. When the force went to the balls, it was as if a weight were crushing down on them.
The Sergeant knew how to work a man. He moved the tube down the long thick cock and shocked Newman along its length. He made the shocks pulse so Newman could wait in natural terror for the next burst of pain. He sometimes set up a steady pulse, then suddenly altered it so Newman would brace himself for a pain that did not come, and then take pain when he did not expect it.
Finally he withdrew the plastic. The delicate glossy flesh inside Newman’s sex was reddened but intact. From its tear-shaped slit came more clear thick fluid.
“You must get off on this, Newman, boy. You must really like it. Maybe you’ll shoot a wad at me after we play some more.”
Newman felt the wire slide off his balls.
The Sergeant came behind him.
He heard sounds behind…
Then the Sergeant’s hand reached forward to cup his cock again, play with it, and especially draw his thick foreskin forward. He fell the Sergeant’s presence hot behind him, and then flesh against his. At his ass he fell the thick rod, pressed up tight against his ass-muscles. That too felt good somehow, but it made him fearful.
“Not yet, motherfucker, not yet… soon,” the Sergeant whispered. He used the other hand to toy with Newman’s nipple.
The stroking increased. The cock became stiffer, began to curve up.
Newman fell the gag release. Instead of speaking, he screamed.
His foreskin was on fire.
The Sergeant had brought forward silver-shining clips, with eager little teeth, and they bit at the sensitive skin.
Three of them finally got clamped onto his sex. Newman’s eyes blurred from pain, so he did not see the Sergeant attach all three to a single wire.
He never saw the other wire. He felt instead the Sergeant’s finger toying with him behind, whispering that he had to “open up, open up, open the little sweet bud,” and then with the finger going in and up and then something else, like a stiff wire but not a sharp one….
His screams came again, with the pain tearing through his gut. The three things clipped to his cock were like diamonds of pain-fire, but the force in his gut was worse. Whenever the pain eased, when he knew he had to wait for it again, he begged for mercy.
The sound “OK. Mercy” came finally, when he longed for any end, even death. The Sergeant’s big arms encircled him, supporting his weakness.
He fell the tip of the Sergeant’s cock. He felt it press into his tiny hole, not far, not so much as to cause any pain. Then the thrust, the ripping open, the new scream.
The Sergeant held Newman and rocked with him as he spasmed inside.
He withdrew. Newman sank down in his bonds.
The Sergeant grabbed Newman’s gleaming-wet hair, drew his head back, toyed again with the nipples. He ripped the clamps away. Blood spattered the floor.
He withdrew to the shadows.
He put on some of his clothes.
The Sergeant went upstairs slowly. He carried his shirt with him. Upstairs he met one of the night shift detectives.
“Working downstairs?”
“Yeah.”
“Who?”
“Newman.”
“Newman. Good, taught him things they didn’t tell him at the Police Training Academy?”
“He’ll remember.”
“Yeah. Next week him and you can work together.”
“Yeah. He sure as hell earned his badge tonight.”
