It was the last night of a week’s vacation at the shore for Beth and her cousin Rose Ann. Though Kenny was fatigued from having worked the extra Saturday shift he agreed to meet them at their hotel for a couple of goodbye drinks. It was more an obligation than a pleasure. Two years had passed since he had last worked in the same office with Beth back in Pittsburgh, and after all this lime he found the “auld lang syne” routine was wearing thin.

Everything had gone wrong from the very beginning that evening. Kenny was late getting home from work, couldn’t find a clean shirt, misplaced his car keys and then, coming through the lobby of the Regal, he collided with a drunk who all but knocked him over. An incoherent apology was offered and accepted and the tall blond fellow, weaving conspicuously, continued on his way toward the plate glass doors. Kenny watched with momentary apprehension.

Two more inebriates suddenly brushed by in pursuit of their staggering comrade. “Hey! Dan, where you going?”

Dan waved them off without answering and, stuffing one hand into his pocket, made a futile attempt to appear casual and coordinated as he pushed his weight against the glass door and passed outside.

His companions, having reached the limits of their solicitude, shrugged. “Hey… He’s had too much. Let him sleep it off in the car.”

Kenny straightened his tie and continued on his way to the bar, intent on dismissing the incident. But there was something disconcerting about the abrupt encounter, something beyond the jostling he’d received from the tall, sweaty blond. There was something vaguely familiar about that guy’s face.

It only came to him as he passed the entrance to the private dining room. The raucous crowd inside drew his attention to the neatly lettered sign above the door. “Policemen’s Ball.”

Kenny remembered. That guy with whom he’d had the collision in the lobby, that drunk, was the traffic cop from the Harbor Street intersection near the office. He was just a young fellow, one of those husky college kids, more brawn than brain, that the town hired every summer to help cope with the extra tourist traffic. Now with Labor Day passed, his summer’s tour of duty completed. Dan, along with the other temporary rookies, was catching up on his drinking after ten weeks of conduct above reproach.

Kenny chuckled as he went along the corridor. This policemen’s get-together was annually the rowdiest affair in town, but he knew no one would bother to make a complaint. It would have been a futile gesture, of course, calling the cops on the cops; but, actually, no one hereabout, Kenny included, begrudged the boys in blue their one night to howl at the end of a long, hot summer.

An hour later, though, Kenny was feeling considerably less magnanimous.

After two rather weak drinks and some incredibly tedious conversation, Kenny broke away from the girls with apologies, fabricating a fantastically pitiful story about having to work Sunday morning. He skipped down the hotel steps into the dimly lit parking lot, breathing a sigh of relief. The evening was still hot and humid. Nevertheless, the night air was cooler than the bar had been.

He squeezed between a couple of Cadillacs, cutting across a grassy divider toward the row of vehicles where he had parked his Vega, fishing his keys from his pockets as he went. Then he stopped short.

He suddenly realized he was headed for the wrong automobile. The brown Vega that looked so much like his was obviously someone else’s car. Somebody was sitting in it.

After a moment’s pause he spotted the look-alike sedan one row over. Setting a new course. Kenny proceeded a half-dozen steps then stopped again, looking back at the first car, checking the plate number.

He flushed with irritation. There had been a mistake, but it was not his. Some stranger was sitting in the passenger seat of his car.

Kenny started toward the car heatedly. “Hey, buddy…” but he’d gone only a few steps when, recognizing the face, his temper began to abate. It was the same fellow he’d bumped into earlier in the lobby, that blond cop, Dan. Obviously, in his drunken stupor Dan had confused Kenny’s car with the other one. Same model; same color. It was an understandable error, one easily rectified, Kenny thought.

But he was quickly dissuaded of that notion.

Dan, that tall, young rascal who, for the past ten weeks had been straddling the hot asphalt at Harbor and Main, the model of wholesome American manhood, was now completely destroyed. In fact he’d passed out. Nothing Kenny said or did seemed to elicit the slightest response from the unconscious figure. In mounting frustration Kenny pulled open the passenger door, intent on giving him a vigorous shaking; but unexpectedly, big Dan toppled sideways and suddenly Kenny found himself wrestling 200 pounds of inert muscle trying to keep the drunk from falling out of the car onto the ground.

He managed with great difficulty to prop Dan back into his seat, to close and lock the door and now, sweating profusely, Kenny found himself in need of a breather. Circling the car to the driver’s side, he opened the door and climbed in, wiping the perspiration from the bridge of his nose, surveying the situation in silence.

He reached over and squeezed the fellow’s forearm. “Hey, buddy! Hey! Dan!”

As before there was no response of consequence, no sound other than Dan’s heavy breathing. Kenny watched in silence for a moment, recalling the day he’d first seen Dan standing out in the middle of the street in his blue uniform directing traffic. He was quite an impressive figure—trim, short blond hair, aviator sunglasses, copper brown arms glistening as with spun gold. He was a sharp looking guy; but the tall hunky cop from Harbor and Main didn’t seem to have much in common with the dullard in the next seat, mouth half-open, drooling, smelling of sweat.

Kenny moved his hand to Dan’s shoulder, shook him again and, though the guy’s head rolled to one side, he did not waken. It was completely hopeless. Dan was out cold and it was apparent that nothing beyond hours of sleep would get the man moving again under his own volition. Kenny realized it was time to go back inside the hotel to seek assistance and that bit of nuisance, capping the whole unpleasant evening, brought his frustrations to a boil. In petulance he squeezed Dan’s shoulder again, but not with a gentle thumb-pressure this time. He clamped onto the muscle with a vicious grip, digging in with his finger nails so intensely it seemed he might rip through the fabric of Dan’s white jersey.

Dan responded with a soft, guttural moan and for one brief second it seemed that Kenny’s insistent grasp would provide the stimulation necessary to rouse the rascal from his alcoholic stupor. In an unexpected spasm Dan’s chin lifted itself abruptly from the cushion of his chest, his noggin snapping back against the padded headrest of his seat.

Encouraged, Kenny relaxed his crushing claw-hold, exhorting his companion now with words instead. “Wake up! Hey, buddy! You’ve got to wake up. You’re in the wrong car.” But Dan failed to attain any real level of consciousness and, after a moment, the muscles of his arched neck relaxed and once again his head drooped against his chest.

Kenny’s brief attempt at civility was short-lived. He no longer addressed Dan as his “buddy,” but rather as a “fucking asshole.” The big, helpless lug had become an indisputable source of irritation.

Nevertheless, as Kenny sat contemplating the hot, sweaty figure beside him he became increasingly aware that his own discomposure and his mounting tension were not entirely inspired by feelings of anger. He’d admired this tall, young cop with the strong jaw and trim physique more than once. In fact there had been days when at lunch-time Kenny had gone out for a midday stroll with no other purpose in mind than to cross the street at Dan’s intersection.

He recalled with perverse pleasure the long-suffering expression on Dan’s face as the perspiring cop stepped with reluctance from the curb and the shade of street side buildings back onto the hot black pavement to stop the traffic for pedestrians. Despite the dark sunglasses he always wore, the glare of summer sun invariably brought forth a squint and a toothy-white grimace of discomfort. With arms upraised, palms out to stop the cars in both directions, the dark, wet circles of his armpits fully exposed, there was no overlooking Dan’s abject misery.

Kenny had to admit that standing there hour after hour in the broiling heat was not a job; it was an ordeal. Of course, for the spectator it was also something of an erotic entertainment. Kenny truly enjoyed viewing the physical evidence of Dan’s discomfort. It was impossible to cross the street, passing within a few inches of the big six-footer without noting the plump fullness in the seat of Dan’s shiny blue pants or without speculating on the heft of the meat stewing in those sweaty britches.

Reverie gave way to reality and Kenny suddenly realized his hand had loosened its grip on Dan’s shoulder. Now he had taken hold of the man’s forearm, the bristly brown limb that lay limply across Dan’s lap.

Suddenly Kenny squeezed up a fold of flesh applying merciless pressure. Dan stirred and once again the twinge of pain surfaced on the fellow’s lips as a feeble moan, but still he could not be jolted into consciousness.

Kenny’s thoughts flashed again to the image of the cop standing in the midday sun—the hunky, young guy in his blues decked out with his black leather accessories, the wide belt and holster, the nightstick and two-way radio hanging from his hips. And Kenny could visualize Dan once again removing his visored cap, wiping the perspiration from his sweat-band with a pocket handkerchief, miserably hot and sticky.

God! Kenny could smell the sweat now… and he could still recall Dan’s spread-legged stance, the way he had of inserting his thumbs under that heavy belt pretending to shift the weight of his gear when, in reality, he was pulling at the waistband of his shorts to rearrange the creases of his damp underwear, trying to unstick his balls and give his cock some momentary ventilation.

Kenny bit his lip, dismissing those diverting images. That big, good-looking cop from the intersection at Harbor and Main was the same sweaty bastard sitting there beside him, now cradled in the embrace of alcoholic stupor, dead to the world, and there was no need for frustrating speculation on the size of his endowment.

Kenny pulled aside the arm that until now had been lying protectively across Dan’s lap, covering his crotch. Even in the dim light of the parking lot there was no mistaking the oversize bulge in Dan’s left pant leg. Perhaps Dan’s slacks were a bit too tight or perhaps his cock was piss-swollen from a belly-full of beer, but, in any case, the wrinkles of tan fabric cinched his male flesh so tightly against his thigh that Kenny had taken the measure of that cop’s pecker even before he laid his hand on it.

Kenny squeezed that bulge of flesh, gently at first, then with tightening fingers as if to test once again the depth of Dan’s slumber. Dan’s blond head bobbed and he emitted a groaning sound from deep in his throat. Beyond this, he offered no protest to Kenny’s transgression. There was not even a flutter of eyelash to register alarm on that vapid, inebriate face.

Kenny no longer entertained the idea of searching out Dan’s friends in the hotel in order to have the young policeman removed bodily from his car. A new idea had come to mind—one wherein Dan would get to make some reparation for the annoyance he’d caused.

And even while Kenny was considering the possibilities, he had managed to unzip Dan’s fly and was trying with both hands to liberate the serpentine flesh from the man’s sweaty trouser leg. It was a difficult endeavor and not until Kenny had managed to dig his forefinger under the corpulent shaft was he able to get a firm hold on Dan’s organ. He snaked it backwards, pulling it up through the scissor-toothed, hair-fringed breach into an arch and watched the bulging head bob free of its restraints.

The dark, meaty crown poking moistly through its foreskin in semi-erection filled the close confines of the car with its rich odor of urine and sweat. Kenny, still holding the shaft tightly between two fingers, enraptured by the incredible length and firmness of Dan’s prize pecker, dangled it like a toy.

After a moment’s foolishness, Kenny turned his attention back to Dan’s countenance while, with his free hand he pushed back the foreskin on the young man’s penis, completely exposing the tender glans. Kenny wrapped his fingers around it and gently worked his thumb against the piss-hole.

There was still no reaction from that besotted fool.

Kenny chuckled inwardly. He was going to have no trouble at all collecting his reparations from this big fellow. Of course, he wasn’t really expecting too much in the way of restitution. Kenny wasn’t demanding a pound of flesh. A pinch or two would suffice.

Quite precisely, the full extent of the idea that was churning up the pit of Kenny’s stomach was simply to lay a nasty series of bruising pinch-marks all over that young buck’s rangy torso—on his arms, his thighs, his chest, his buttocks and… Kenny pressed his thumbnail into the crown of Dan’s penis… even on his cock.

For nearly three months Kenny had enjoyed a mild, voyeuristic titillation watching this flaxen-haired rookie straddling the street, not enjoying his job, but enduring it like punishment, posted on broiling pavement, sweating like the handsome, macho pig he was, under the merciless summer sun. Kenny had enjoyed watching Dan’s discomfort and he knew full well that he would take even greater pleasure viewing a few moments of physical torment delivered by his own hand.

Kenny’s fingers were itching for it. He would have his fun and then, having enjoyed the deed, would take a detour out onto the state highway and dump the drunken, unconscious cop in one of those lonely, unlit rest areas.

There was virtually no risk involved and it amused Kenny to think that big Dan, the fair-haired, musclebound, all-American cop would spend the rest of his life recalling the night of the policeman’s charity ball, wondering where he’d gone, with whom and what mischief he’d done to merit the ugly black and blue marks discovered on his torso the morning after.

Just the thought alone brought a surging stiffness to Kenny’s loins.

Twisting in his seat. Kenny looked out the rear window, his glance sweeping across the rows of parked cars toward the hotel entrance. Everything was still. There was not a soul in sight.

Feeling secure in his solitude, his inhibitions waning. Kenny turned his attention back to the drunken trespasser. In his blues Dan had always been an erotic powerhouse. Still, viewing him at this moment in the shadows of the car. Kenny realized that the tight, white pullover jersey which Dan was w earing now show ed off the contours of the cop’s chest in a way the uniform never had.

Letting go of Dan’s limp cock. Kenny moved his hand up to the fellow’s wide, muscular chest, not at all surprised by the pleasing, solid heft of those massive pectorals. Nevertheless, in Kenny’s eyes, there were still points of that well-developed physique which lacked proper definition.

Inching-up the fabric of Dan’s shirt until the neatly- stitched breast pocket was scrunched up above the crest of hard muscle, Kenny began to drag his thumbnail lightly back and forth across thin, white cloth. And when he’d found the exact spot for which he’d searched, the ticklish friction of Kenny’s thumb-stroke brought forth a visible peak in the soft jersey.

Just massaging that hard-pointed nipple brought Kenny to full erection and, now, with feverish haste, anxious to begin his mischief. Kenny tugged the shirt-ends from the waistband of Dan’s trousers. Hoisting the garment upward. Kenny exposed an expanse of bare flesh he had never expected to see Dan’s firm stomach and smooth muscular chest and, cresting those hard mounds of glistening flesh like brazen badges of his masculinity. Dan’s large oval nipples, dark as rubies except for the hard white nubs.

Kenny’s erection was so rigid it hurt.

It was time now for Dan to make reparations for his drunken intrusion into Kenny’s evening.

Though Kenny had meant to plague the husky cop with finger bruises alone, those tissuey circles of flesh presented such an overpowering temptation that he could not keep his salivating lips from pressing against them both, one and then the other. And nursing on the second, like an infant sucking for nourishment. Kenny could not keep his teeth from locking on the tit. He bit down on the tender protruberance with such utter ferocity, so consumed with passion, that unrestrained. Kenny would have, with the scissor-like motion of his teeth, severed that tiny piece of meat from Dan’s chest.

But finally, the intensity of pain upset the equanimity of Dan’s drunken repose. Kenny felt the shuddering, muscular spasm.

Dan’s body convulsed a second time and, as Kenny pulled away in fearful apprehension, Dan’s head snapped back against the seat rest, his mouth opening in a gasp. But there was no outcry, just a gurgle in Dan’s throat and, suddenly, vomit everywhere.

Kenny watched in helpless nauseous horror while the besotted fool of a police officer retched uncontrollably, spewing the hot, sour liquid over the side of the car and over his own clothing.

Suddenly, gagging himself. Kenny cracked his door and hung his head out over the pavement.

But Kenny did not disgorge himself and when Dan had upchucked the last of his beer and peanuts and pretzels. Kenny discovered with amazement that the big bruiser was, incredibly, still unconscious.

At that moment, gratefully relieved at not having been apprehended in his mischief, his stomach still queasy from the stultifying smell of puke, Kenny had only one thought and that was to eject his inebriated companion from the car and drive away.

But Kenny was forced to curb his impulse. Now, of all times, a noisy, drunken couple came out of the lobby onto the hotel steps and, arm in arm, started for the parking lot.

Kenny might have out-waited them, sitting fast on the spot until the young pair drove off in their car. But even while they were still several hundred yards away Kenny was seized by an irrational fear an alarming intuition that their car was one of those parked on his immediate right or left, that they were probably friends of Dan’s, that coming close they would recognize the young policeman and lastly, most distressingly, leaning in the window they would discover Kenny’s wicked handiwork.

Kenny glanced sidelong at his stupefied chum slumped in the seat beside him… Dan, his stinking, soaked shin rolled up above his nipples, his fly open, cock protruding and covered with puke.

“Oh, shit!” The words were hardly sufficient expression of Kenny’s overwhelming frustration.

He could think of only one way to safely extricate himself from the ensuing embarassment. He pulled his door shut and, turning the key in the ignition, started the car. Taking only a second to yank down the front of Dan’s soiled shirt, Kenny backed out of his parking space. He chose a roundabout route, circling several rows of vehicles, and managed to exit onto the main road without passing by the intrusive couple.

Dumping Dan was still the foremost thought on Kenny’s mind, but as he drove the overpowering smell of vomit began to establish a new urgency. Kenny was still having a great deal of trouble keeping down the contents of his own stomach. Fearful that he might be overtaken by illness momentarily, in dread of having to stop the car at any second regardless of the spot. Kenny decided against heading out for a rest area on the interstate. At least for the time being he opted for a closer haven. Home.

Kenny’s split-level house was the only one on his street, only the third home built in this new development and for the first time the young man was duly appreciative of his lonely wooded surroundings and complete lack of neighbors.

The stop was only intended as a brief respite and once home with his small car safely out of sight in the double garage, doors closed behind him. Kenny bounded into the house in search of clean clothes and a fresh breath of air. It took only a few minutes to change into his jeans and sweatshirt and, after a momentary detour into the bathroom, to fortify his stomach with a swig of milky medication and douse himself with aftershave. Kenny then raced back downstairs and into the garage.

In this haste to be rid of his filthy, evil-smelling companion Kenny started at once for the garage doors; but before he touched the suspended door he had second thoughts. There was one last nagging detail that needed immediate attention. So far the evening had been one long series of incredible, improbable nightmarish events and before he set out again, before Dan suddenly wakened and the situation escalated to a new level of absurdity, Kenny had to put things back in order. He had to stuff Dan’s long pecker back into his trousers.

Kenny approached the task with delicacy, opening Dan’s door with care, steeling himself against the stench of vomit and leaning into the car apprehensively. The rookie’s face was shining with sweat and it was obvious in the rhythm of his open-mouthed, nasal breathing that he was still in a deep alcoholic stupor.

The meat-packing stint should have been accomplished with minimal effort but, as luck would have it, Kenny had scarcely taken hold of the swollen prick when he was confounded anew. Dan’s bladder let go, releasing a cascade of hot, yellow piss into Kenny’s face and across his chest.

By the time that squirming tube of flesh had played itself out, spurting its last drop of urine onto Dan’s pantleg, Kenny was in an uncontrollable rage. He manhandled the big fellow out of the bucket seat and the stinking puddle of piss onto the garage floor and, no longer concerned about whether the boob suddenly revived or not, went storming out into the back yard in search of the garden hose.

Kenny had only meant to hose down the inside of the car with a light spray and to sop up the mess with rags and sponges; but the cool dripping water did not wash away his anger. As he watched Dan lying there on the cement floor in an ever widening puddle. Kenny could not keep himself from turning the hose on that drunken jackass.

It was only then with the nozzle turned to its most forceful setting, as the water coursed against Dan’s chest and stomach, as the well-directed jet pushed Dan’s exposed prick from side to side, that Kenny really began to comprehend just how incredibly incapacitated the drunken asshole actually was. Not even the soaking brought him around.

But the sight of that clean, long prick awash in the cool stream of water, the sight of dark nipples visible through the plastered fabric of Dan’s shirt… those visions began to fill Kenny’s head with wild erotic fantasies, crowding out his fears and suppressing his reason. Kenny could feel his loins stiffening once again.

It was nearly six a.m, before Dan Carlson began to come around. In the hours that had passed. Kenny had cleaned up the car and had cleaned up Dan as well; but Kenny’s urgent desire to remove the rookie cop from his premises and to dump him on some wooded roadside… that had passed.

Kenny watched Dan lying there on the garage floor, enjoying the first feeble signs of consciousness—Dan’s blond head rolling to one side, his legs stretching out full length. There was a soft, whimpering moan as the groggy young man suddenly realized that he was stark naked, that his hands were tied behind his back, his ankles hobbled, and that his eyes were covered with adhesive tape. But Kenny was not rewarded with the fitful display of wrath he had anticipated.

Dan did not cry out in horror-stricken panic. His first words were spoken with annoyance rather than fear.

“Hey. Craig! Come on. This is no time for jokes. I’m sick as a dog, you bastard.”

The husky, nude giant was writhing in nauseous agony; but when he realized that no one moved to assist him, he spoke again. “Come on, Craig! I know you’re here. I can smell your aftershave.”

It was obvious that the young cop had mistaken Kenny for one of his buddies, perhaps one of his rookie roommates and, as Dan rambled on. Kenny listened in bemused silence to the spicy little monologue.

“Come on, Craig… you fucker.” Dan entreated once again to be released from the bonds on his hands and feet. “You’re the one that started all this shit, Craig. You’re the one that started all those practical jokes. You’re the one that put the flour in my talcum. How the hell would you like to walk around all day with paste in your skivvies?”

Dan gritted his teeth. His face was beginning to flush with angry frustration at Craig’s lack of response.

“Come on, bastard. My stomach is killing me and…” Dan drew up his knees as if to conceal the evidence, “I’m getting a fucking hard-on.”

Indeed he was. Even as he spoke the words his stiffening pecker was moving up his thigh of its own volition.

“I’ve got this thing about being tied up… ever since I was a kid in grade school. My wacko cousins used to tie me to a tree in the woods behind the house and pull my pants down and try to jack me off. Every time they fuckin’ caught me alone they’d drag me out in the woods and tie me up… and tell me if I squealed they’d tell my mother I was the one that set the garage on fire smoking cigarette butts.”

Dan paused momentarily, hoping to hear an approaching footfall. But Kenny did not move. He was still transfixed by the spectacle of Carlson’s swollen penis straightening itself out on his belly, near rigid. The dark pinkish crown was beginning to force itself out of the wrinkled foreskin.

“Craig, you bastard, untie me.” Dan was becoming petulant. “Look, you asshole, just seeing a piece of rope gives me a hard-on. So untie me, you prick.”

Still there was no movement, no sound other than Dan’s voice. Pushing up on the hands that were tied beneath him, Dan raised himself into a sitting position and, sensing that Craig was perhaps more amused by his display of temper than intimidated by it, the naked cop began again with a new tact. Apologetically.

“Look. I’m sorry about hand-cuffing you to the bedpost the other night where you were sleeping, but you weren’t bare-assed and it was only a couple of minutes. Aw, shit…”

Dan’s nauseous condition would not tolerate his upright condition and, grimacing with discomfort, he lay back down. “Craig. I’m gonna puke in about two minutes if….”

Now he heard the sound of movement, a shuffling sound, and his words trailed off in grateful silence. But Kenny had not been moved by Dan’s pitiful plea, rather by the man’s incredible erection. The moist knob had shed its wrinkled wrapping and was lying on Dan’s belly in full blossom.

Leaving one shoe behind. Kenny moved closer and, dropping his sock onto the floor, placed his bare foot flatly atop Carlson’s prick.

The immediate response was a startled gasp and a fruitless attempt to straighten up. Dan could not, in his weakened condition, counter the downward pressure of Kenny’s foot against his abdomen. He began to curse.

“Freak! Move your fucking foot, you bimbo, or I’ll kick the shit out of you.”

Heedless of the threat. Kenny began working his foot back and forth, riding the taut skin over the turgid core of flesh and, for the first time, it occurred to that strapping fool on the floor that his tormentor was someone other than Craig.

The precum was already dripping from Dan’s cock. His neck arched backwards, exposing his sweaty throat; his nostrils quivered with intaken breath. “Knock it off, will you? I’m going to shoot my load it you don’t quit fooling around.”

But Dan knew even as he spoke the words that the unknown scoundrel was not “fooling around.” Kenny rocked back and forth with increasing rapidity, pressing down on the backward stroke, easing up on the forward, delighting in the silky smoothness of Dan’s cock against the sole of his foot. And the heat of it under his toes, the feel of Dan’s hairy balls bouncing against his heel created an erotic sensation which exceeded Kenny’s wildest imaginings.

Dan had run out of idle words and at last, succumbing to the irresistible, tortuous rhythm of Kenny’s foot, he began to grind his hips in accompaniment. There was a gasp, a tremendous moan and Dan’s beautiful piece of meat surrendered the honey of his loins, shooting thick white spurts of cum across his smooth belly.

The movement of Kenny’s foot desisted. That should have been the end of the whole abusive little affair. But Dan, still in the throes of his orgasm, was arching his pelvis even more frantically than before. He was begging unabashedly for one more rub, one more stroke to flush out the last of his hot juices.

It was a presumptuous, irritating demand. Kenny just short of his own consummation, felt impelled to illustrate that he was master, not servant, in this bizarre encounter and, though he tried to hold back the full intensity of his passion, he responded with a thumping blow, heel-first into Dan’s balls.

The big fellow shrieked and, as Kenny looked down, shooting his own load into his trousers, the quaking, naked cop shit himself.

Having finally achieved a moment of satisfaction as payment for a long night of tribulation, Kenny would have been glad to expedite Dan’s departure while the unwanted guest was still dazed and disoriented. But the opportunity had clearly passed. Kenny could hear the birds chirping noisily outside. The sun was up, and though the hour was still early, the risk in driving down the road in broad daylight with that brawny bastard was, regardless of precautions, a risk beyond calculation.

Dan Carlson would have to remain until nightfall. But Kenny, already having planned ahead for that contingency, was not unduly dismayed.

His filthy companion required another cleansing. But now that the big lug was fully conscious Kenny found the task more of a pleasure than a labor. He manipulated the hose like a prod, directing the stinging jets mercilessly into the crack of Dan’s ass, at his cock, and when he foolishly tried to scream, into his mouth.

The shower bath became a grueling ordeal and the whimpering fool, still on his back, squirmed underfoot, trying time after time to wriggle away, slipping and sliding on the wet cement. But he could not in his blind progress, escape Kenny’s malevolent mischief. A kick in the shin, another in the shoulder, persuaded the drunken cop to abandon his futile struggle and he lay back in miserable silence while Kenny washed away every last drop of puke and piss and diarrhea.

When he was satisfied with the sanitation job Kenny turned off the spray with a twist of the nozzle. The naked brute lying on the floor coughed up a swallow of water and, turning his head to one side, sucked a deep breath of air into his lungs.

Kenny watched the swelling expanse of Dan’s chest with appreciation. That handsome, young sport had an incredibly robust physique and his days in the summer sun, on the beach and on the job, had, except in those most private areas, blessed him with a nut-brown tan. As he lay there, his silken hair matted in wet tangles, water beading on his brown muscled flesh, Dan Carlson seemed the very image of a golden. Herculean god. In fact there was only one flaw to mar his perfection—a darkening, purplish bruise around his left nipple.

Dan was built like a superman. True. But when Kenny had reinforced the tapes over the man’s eyes and had coaxed him to his feet, he found with some relief that the he-man image was still, at this point, purely superficial. Dan was still weak and queasy. Even with Kenny’s hand supporting him at one elbow, the rookie could scarcely keep his balance, let alone walk with hobbled feet.

Kenny no longer had the slightest qualms about detaining Dan for another ten or twelve hours. Of course, one question did keep flitting through his mind. Had he, in fact, kidnapped a police officer? The night had been such an absurd progression of improbable events that Kenny had not the vaguest idea where Carlson’s guilt ended and his own culpability began.

But as Kenny guided the shaky young man into the house and up the padded staircase to the second floor, the question became increasingly irrelevant. Perhaps Dan had taken his cue from Kenny’s unbroken silence, but Kenny could not help noticing that the guy had not spoken a word in nearly twenty minutes… not since Kenny’s five meddlesome toes had seduced him into unrestrained sexual frenzy. Although his mouth was as of yet, still unmuzzled, Dan did not ask to be untied. He was not asking to be released.

Once upstairs Kenny led his silent, shuffling companion down the corridor to the last room on the left, the spare bedroom. There, backing his passive prisoner up against the white stucco wall. Kenny retreated a few steps to reappraise the situation.

Dan stood quietly, his tawny brown torso silhouetted darkly against that pale backdrop. He was a magnificent figure of a man, a towering athlete with massive thighs, bulging biceps, limbs feathered with golden hair, and a smooth muscular chest with large sun-ripened nipples. He was perhaps the most stalwart, imposing specimen of naked manhood that Kenny had ever laid eyes on.

But Dan’s lower lip was quivering. In fact Dan’s entire body was beginning to tremble. Kenny had to admit that the young policeman wore his bondage well. Degradation seemed to suit him. But Dan was clearly agitated, shaking conspicuously now, not so much in fear. Kenny suspected, as in anticipation. The hot-blooded young cop was displaying a shiny new hard-on. It was already standing straight out and Kenny watched in open-mouthed amazement as the shaft erected itself once again into a rigid, upright position like some incredible meat-hook.

Now Kenny understood Carlson’s curious silence and, recalling the little tale of juvenile bullying which the fellow had recounted earlier, realized that Dan had revealed the key to his own closet. Just the sight of a piece of rope, he said, was a potent erotic stimulant. Now with his arms tied behind his back, feet fettered, Dan Carlson was all but out of his mind with horniness.

And Kenny could not stand there looking at the big bruiser and that whopper of a prick without being moved as well. He went to Dan, putting his hands on the man’s shoulders, pressing him back against the wall. Dan accepted the contact gratefully, tilting his head back, inviting Kenny’s lips to brush against his throat and chest.

Kenny nipped and nuzzled, trailing his tongue as he moved from the soft places under Dan’s chin to the V-like juncture of the clavicles and sternum and lower to Dan’s muscled pecs. The prisoner accepted the attention mutely, flinching only once as Kenny devilishly scraped his canines across the bruised nipple.

The glutton moved on, locking his fingers behind the nape of Carlson’s neck, forcing the fellow’ to bend his head forward until their lips touched. The mouth was unresisting, opening easily at the insistence of Kenny’s tongue. And when Kenny was finished exploring the stale, alcoholic recesses of Dan’s oral cavity, when he began to suck on Dan’s raspy tongue, he found the young man could no longer maintain the pretense of reluctant submission.

Kenny could hear the erratic sibilance of Dan’s nostrils. That bit of captive, curling tongue was suddenly dueling with Kenny’s own and he could feel Dan’s pelvis pushing forward as he began to rub his swollen cock against his master’s groin.

Carlson was going bananas and Kenny loved every second of it… up until the gratifying friction suddenly stopped and he realized that his hot-shot buddy had ejaculated once again.

Kenny pulled back and looked down at himself. He had taken this new load all over the front of his clean trousers. There was a dark soapy-looking circle all over the front of his sweatshirt and the hot, puerile liquid was trickling down the front of his fly, dripping onto the floor.

Kenny rubbed his forehead in exaggerated dismay, thinking that Carlson’s new mess was somehow inevitable. The drunken sot had, after all, puked on him, pissed on him and shit on his shoe. Finding himself befouled with an ill-delivered load of semen seemed to Kenny the logical progression of events.

Catching a few drops of cum on his fingertips, Kenny smeared it across Dan’s lips. No words were spoken, but both men knew that Carlson had to be punished for his annoying lack of control.

Kenny had already made tentative arrangements for the enforced custody of his hapless guest while Carlson was still lying unconscious on the garage floor. He had selected the rear bedroom as the most desirable spot for detention, primarily because of its single piece of furniture—an ugly, high-riser converta-bed. Stripped of its bedding, the heavy steel frame presented itself as the sturdiest of racks on which to tie down a potentially recalcitrant prisoner. Rope, shears, rags, rolls of adhesive tape and Dan’s filthy clothing were already on hand.

Of course, by this time it was obvious that the golden-haired chump had no intention of offering a struggle. Guided by the silent instruction of Kenny’s hands. Dan knelt facing the bed and, when the ropes hobbling his ankles had been removed, he spread his legs as wide as he could so that new bonds cinched just above his knees could be lashed to the metal bed legs. The ropes were also removed from his wrists and Dan, bending forward over the mattress, stretched out his arms compliantly to the right and left, allowing those limbs as well to be refitted with new loops and knots and retied securely to the inflexible iron framework.

It was only as Kenny, taking one more unexpected measure of precaution, slipped a noose over Dan’s head, that the husky youth suddenly recognized the irrationality of his passive behavior.

“You don’t have to do that. Please, don’t!”

But Kenny was not about to let his prisoner dictate the conditions of his bondage. He responded to Dan’s innocuous pleas with a vicious yank on the lad’s forelocks and as Carlson let out a frightened yelp, he stuffed two dirty socks into the open mouth.

In just a matter of seconds Dan’s lips were sealed with wrappings of adhesive tape. The cord, tightened snugly around his reddening, muscled neck, was pulled taut and made fast to the opposite sides of the bed. Satisfied now that the big, handsome buck was completely immobilized, fully restrained and incapable of any further expression of discontent, Kenny stood back to admire his handiwork.

Up until that moment he had not had a real opportunity to appreciate two of Dan’s finest physical attributes. Between that sinewy brown back and those tanned, golden-feathered thighs were two large, white mounds of perfect ass-flesh and, in the hairless cleft between those tender checks held wide-spread by the ropes on Dan’s legs, was a moist, pink asshole.

It was a shining invitation.

Below Dan’s furry balls the tip of the young man’s cock was visible, but only momentarily. Realizing that punishment was imminent, Dan’s shaft began to stiffen once again, hardening, lifting itself up and out of view.

Kenny took a short breather going down the corridor to the bathroom for a tube of vaseline, then briefly downstairs to rifle through a few drawers in the kitchen. He could not help wondering if Dan had any clear expectations of what was to come or if he merely envisioned several hours of bondage and exhilarating masturbation.

When Kenny was back in the guest room, kneeling between Carlson’s feet, poking his greasy finger at that rosy asshole, the muscle contracted tightly. Muffled protests indicated that anal abuse was not part of Dan’s fantasy or his childhood experience. Finally, when Kenny began to force entry, not with his own rigid penis, but with the smooth, pointed, plastic handle of a kitchen spatula. Dan became unglued. Every muscle in his back and shoulders stood out in clear relief as he tried for the first time to wrench himself free of his restraints.

But the ropes held fast and Kenny continued playing in Carlson’s private places. He forced the handle of the utensil into Dan’s rectum a good four inches, right up to the metal shaft, then twisted it back and forth. He assaulted Dan’s gorgeous hairy testicles, wringing them, strangling them, tying them off finally with a piece of string so that they resembled one large furry tennis ball. Then, reaching under the spread of Dan’s limbs, he groped for the fellow’s great upright cock and pulled it down against its inclination. Slowly, he forced a cluster of five wooden toothpicks into Dan’s piss-hole.

It was all more than the rookie had gambled on. He was bellowing into his muzzle, struggling against his bonds. His neck and his face, what could be seen of it between his blindfold and gag, were crimson red. Now it was punishment, not some erotic charade being played out for Dan’s sexual gratification.

The spatula handle was tugged out of Carlson’s asshole, not as a signal that the torment was over, but only because it presented an obstruction to Kenny’s next malevolent episode.

The metal ruler was one Kenny’d had since his college days, eighteen inches long, wafer thin and flexible. He snapped it against his palm to test it and realized it caused more noise than pain. Nevertheless it was the perfect instrument to menace Dan’s beautiful butt. The second the big bruiser heard that first trial crack of the ruler, he knew exactly what was coming up. But Kenny could not launch into the endeavor without a bit of tortuous teasing first. He massaged these great white globes with his fingers, licked them, nipped at them with his teeth, interrupting his loving tribute at regular intervals to whack the ruler against the mattress.

In this manner, he managed to work the foolhardy young cop into a terrified frenzy long before the first blow struck, and when it did come, that first thwack against Carlson’s ass, he shrieked into his gag and flinched so compulsively that the bedsprings began to rattle. And the rattling continued, escalating to a metallic clanging as Dan, with only the leverage of his squirming toes, nudged the bed-frame repeatedly against the wall. The blows began to fall with cracking regularity, goading Carlson into agonized, fruitless struggle. His wrists were raw from the friction of the ropes, his neck and hamstrings were glistening with sweat; but his pecker, when Kenny thought to reach under and feel for it, was still fully erect and holding its bouquet of wood slivers aloft like an offering to the devil.

Kenny continued smacking Carlson’s butt until what had been smooth, flawless skin was covered with a crosshatch of reddening stripes, until the welts began to rise, until finally, scratched by the sharpness of the ruler’s edge. Dan’s bruised cheeks began to bleed in several places.

Now Kenny was ready to hit the jackpot. Tossing the ruler aside, he pulled down his fly and plunged his own hard tool into Dan’s anus. It was a savage fucking. Kenny slipped his hands between Dan’s torso and the mattress, scratching and pinching at the poor fool’s tender nipples while he throttled in and out of that tight asshole. His mind was flooded again with kaleidescopic visions of the tall, young police officer in his blue uniform standing on the hot pavement at the corner of Harbor and Main. But these images of the rugged, sun-tanned rookie now paled against the sight and smell and taste of reality.

The whimpering bastard tried constricting his anal muscles on Kenny’s pulsing shaft; but with limbs stretched wide, bound to the bed-frame, it was a fruitless bit of defiance. Dan could not impede the chafing rod and it delivered thrust after thrust, insult after insult until Kenny, in one feverish rush, blissfully released his liquid load deep inside Carlson’s burning bowels.

Feeling the hot jism spurting within his aching gut, realizing shamefully that he’d surrendered himself to this base purpose without any genuine struggle. Dan shuddered and began to sob. For all his youthful aspirations and lofty collegiate ideals, this erstwhile student of law enforcement discovered with shattering humility that his ultimate purpose was to serve, not as a bulwark of society, but merely as a tight hole and a receptacle for another man’s discharge.

Kenny pumped himself out, lingering securely in the warm sheath of Dan’s rectum while his penis softened He rested his head, eyes closed, on Carlson’s smooth, brown back. !t was only then that he thought to check again the condition of that athelete’s fine long prick.

His hands slipped down to Dan’s furry crotch and, for the first time in nearly an hour. Kenny found the magnificent tool soft and drooping. Moreover. Kenny’s wet fingertips told him that somehow during the debasing assault. Dan had shot his load for the third time.

It was obviously a powerful blast. There were wet toothpicks all over the floor.

The remainder of the day passed in relative quiet. Though Dan Carlson remained tied to the bed. Kenny did not subject him to any additional abuse. Rather Kenny removed the bindings from Dan’s neck, dug out the muzzling socks and hand-fed the man a few slices of orange and a bit of toast.

The prisoner accepted the offering of food gratefully and now, while still ungagged, Carlson found the courage to speak the words which, for perverse reasons of his own, he had suppressed earlier.

“You’ve got to let me go. Please! I won’t give you any trouble, but I’ve got to…”

Dan’s body stiffened, his words tapered off as he felt Kenny’s hand brush against his check.

But there was no menace in the gesture, just a gentle, affectionate stroke and, as Kenny continued brushing a few crumbs from the young man’s lips. Dan suddenly found himself his master’s fingertips. The husky blond was beyond pretense now.

Despite his initial fear, despite his splitting hangover and his aching ass and the bruised nipples, there was no concealing that ultimately Carlson’s gratification had matched, if not exceeded, Kenny’s own pleasure in this rapacious interlude. Dan’s naughty cousins had trained him well and the thrill of those first pubescent orgasms coaxed from the helpless youngster in the woods behind his house… those shuddering moments of shameful ecstasy, had engendered in the boy an appetite for sexual subjugation which had not been appeased in a great many years. And the torment which Dan had experienced during these early morning hours at the hands of his silent, unseen master had blessed him with the most fantastic, mind-blowing climax of his young manhood. The emotion he felt for his malefactor was not loathing, but love.

Later that night, shortly after one a.m., Kenny hustled his naked companion down to the garage and into the front of the car. Carlson, still bound, hobbled, regagged and blindfolded, scrunched himself obediently into the narrow space, kneeling on the floorboards, bending face down over the bucket seat and allowing Kenny to cover him with a bed sheet.

He made no attempt at all during the short drive to cause any commotion, and Kenny, who at the last moment had picked up a rather dull kitchen knife strictly for purposes of intimidation, was relieved that he was not required to make its presence known.

Seven miles from the house Kenny pulled off the highway onto a dirt service road which led to an old cranberry bog. Then, traveling only a few hundred yards more, he pulled up and parked on a grassy shoulder. Allowing Dan the trivial consideration of slipping into his loafers, Kenny hurried the young man off into the woods. Though the distance they covered was inconsequential, it was an uncomfortable hike for Carlson. Snapping branches whipped at his arms and chest, thorny undergrowth scratched at his shins as Kenny, with a firm grip on Dan’s cock, led the man briskly through the heavy brush as though by a leash. Finally, feeling himself a safe distance from the road, Kenny backed his brawny friend against a tall, narrow pine and lashed him to it not too tightly, however.

No words were spoken. Though the possibility was remote. Kenny still felt some anxiety about being discovered with his unwitting captive and was anxious to depart from the scene. He brushed a hovering insect from Dan’s sweaty neck and then, forcing the big lug to take an unexpected whiff of his own puke-covered trousers so that he would know his clothing was near by. Kenny gave Carlson a parting kiss on the nipple and started off.

But after just a few steps Kenny paused to look back for one fleeting glance. It was a moonlit spectacle he wanted to remember clearly—that handsome rookie cop, tall, tan and bare-assed, tied to that tree, head downcast with his straw-colored hair hanging over his brow and that cock… Kenny groaned… that incredible Herculean phallus rising up once again right before his eyes to full throbbing erection.

And while Kenny watched, a solitary mosquito alighted with long feathery legs atop Dan’s moist cockhead and needled its hair-thin, bloodsucking stinger into the corpulent crown of flesh. Kenny clenched his fist, bit at his knuckle. Walking away was the most difficult thing he’d ever had to do.