Gay Erotic Stories

“Let me see your license and registration, Son.”

“Umm, just a minute,” I said, as I struggled to get the glove compartment open. “What seems to be the problem, though?”

“License and registration please.”

I handed them over to him, and he took them back to his cruiser and did some communicating into a mike on his dash. He got out of the car and sauntered back to mine. He was a tall, muscular Hispanic with an obvious attitude toward non-Hispanics.

He didn’t hand my license back to me. “Now, I have to do some more checking, so I want you to pull your car up in the overgrown driveway up there. Pull in a good fifty feet. I’ll be right behind you.” I did as he asked. The lot obviously had been abandoned, and I don’t think either my car or the cruiser could be seen from the road where we pulled to a stop. He came back to my window.

“Officer, what seems to be . . . ?”

“Step out of the car, please.”

“But . . .”

“Get out of the car now, hands showing, and assume the position, hands out wide on top and legs apart… Farther apart and farther away from the car, now!” He tapped me—no, more than tapped me—on the thigh. It hurt. But I did what he said. I was a little off balance now, concentrating hard to keep my weight balanced on my hands. I figured this was probably the point.

“Got any drugs in the car?”

“Drugs? Me? No, I don’t do drugs.”

“That’s not necessarily what your rap sheet says.”

“My rap sheet? What rap sheet?”

“Got any drugs on your person?”

“Certainly not. Listen, officer . . .”

“Save it.”

He started patting me down, doing a real thorough job, not excepting my privates. When he was finished, he stood there beside me. He seemed to be breathing a little heavy, which probably should have clued me in.

“Afraid I’m going to have to do a cavity search.”

“Excuse me? A what?”

“Now don’t go resisting an officer, he said,” as he tapped me meaningfully on the cheek with the big end of his nightstick.

“Open wide,” and he had his fingers in my mouth and was roughly feeling around on all sides in there.

“Now, these pants are going to have to come off.”

“My pants!?”

“I said a cavity search.” He tapped me on the cheek with his nightstick again, and then he put it under his arm and held my butt in his left hand as he unbuckled my belt and zipped down my pants with his right.”

“Pull your legs together.” Down and off came the pants and underpants in one movement. “Now, take the stance again.” I was about ready to cry in frustration and bewilderment, but I did as he told me. His left hand was on my bare butt now, and his right was searching around my balls and cock, which was beginning to come to life.

“Can’t be too careful; they’re hiding it just about anywhere these days.” His voice was thick, and he was breathing heavier. He got behind me, and I felt his searching fingers going for my asshole. He entered right in. I winced and turned my butt to get away from him, but he whipped me one good one with the whip on the end of his nightstick and stuck the larger end of it between my legs and into the back of my ball sack.

“Seems to me you’re resisting, son. You’re going to have to pay for that.”

I’d had about enough of this, cop or no cop, and I began to push off the car, but quick as a flash he had two pair of handcuffs out and handcuffed me to the ends of the racks on the top of the car. Then his fingers went back to digging in my ass.

“Oh, God, no,” I cried out. “Stop that! You can’t . . .”

“I can’t what, Pretty Boy?” he said close to my ear as he grabbed a handful of my hair and arched my head back. “I can do whatever I please. And you’re going to let me do whatever I please.” Swish, swish went the whip across my butt cheeks. And now the nightstick was being pulled back across my perineum and to my asshole and being rubbed and pushed against my ass hole. All of my attention went to my ass hole now and doing all I could to open up to business end of the billy-club. I was sure that he was going to fuck me with that big club and was wildly wondering if that would tear me apart so badly that I’d die. But, though he did get it pushed in an inch or two, he suddenly pulled it away.

Swish, swish. He stroked the whip end against my butt cheeks and then he slapped me on the butt a couple of times. And then I felt another rod back there, between my thighs. Not as big as the billy club, but more insistent. He pulled my T-shirt up over my head and onto my arms as far as it would go. Then he entered me from behind. Pushing pretty quickly and steadily, not really giving me enough time to open to him. I arched my back into his chest as he went in to the root, and he swished his whip across my chest and belly and thighs. Not sharp enough to cut but enough to raise welts and to cause flickers of pain. He must have had a strap with studs on it wrapped around the base of his cock, because the rim and entry of my ass were being chafed by something nobbly. He pumped me for a good fifteen minutes before he came inside me, all the time slapping my butt cheeks and swishing that leather whip across my body.

And then he was all business. He pulled away from me and adjusted his uniform. He pulled my T back down onto my body. It stung where the material came into contact with the welts from the whipping. He then had me step back into my pants and he fastened me up. He un-handcuffed me, but forced me back into the driver seat of my car and handcuffed both of my hands to the steering wheel.

“Gotta take you in, Pretty Boy. Can’t resist arrest and not be taken in for a spell.”

“But, but, I didn’t . . .”

“Drive behind me. No use trying to slip away, ‘cause you can’t get out of those cuffs. Just drive along behind me, like a good little piece of ass.”

We drove in tandem to the police office of a small town, where it appeared that he was the only one on duty.

“Okay, back in the tank,” he said, as he manhandled me out of the car, through the door of the station and toward the back room. There were four cells there, but only one occupant, a big Neanderthal trucker type wearing jeans and a dirty T-shirt that he was almost busting out of at the chest, and construction-worker boots. He had been dozing on one of two cots in the cell when we entered the room. Even though the other three cells were empty, the cop forced me over to the occupied cell, unlocked the door, and pushed me in.

“Here, I brought you a present, Jack. A pretty boy; I’ve already tried him out myself. Good meat, if I do say so myself.”

“No, please, don’t” I yelled, as the cop took first my right arm and cuffed it over the bars above my head and behind me and then my left arm to the other side, stretching me out, my back to the bars and me facing the inside of the cell and the grinning cop and the slobbering trucker. There was a wooden bench below me, behind my thighs.

“Gotta go make some calls Jack. Enjoy.” and the cop left the cell, shoot the lock home, and started whistling as he sauntered back to the front of the facility.

The trucker stood there in front of me for about a minute, a sloppy grin on his face, drinking me in.

“No, please don’t . . .” I whimpered, but that was as much as I could get out, before he reached over with a big mitt grabbed hold of the collar of my T and just ripped it off my torso. Then he came into me with his beer breath and tried to kiss my lips while his was fiddling with my belt buckle and the zipper to my jeans. I turned my head, and his mouth landed in the hollow of my neck, where he bit me and then moved down to my chest and nipples, slurping and nipping. He took a couple of steps back as he pulled the jeans off my legs.

“Hot damn, Merry Christmas,” he exclaimed. He pulled his T-shirt over his head, his biceps and chest muscles rippling and bulging. Even his muscles seemed to have muscles. And when he’d pulled his jeans off, I saw the most impressive muscle he had. He was almost as big and thick as the dean was. He gave an unearthly scream and plowed right into me. He pushed me up the bars with his hands under my thighs and, after a couple of swallowing pumps of my cock, got his mouth applied to my asshole and slobbered that up pretty well. I had my feet on the bench now, but he lifted my right leg off the bench and up almost to the bars with his left hand, while he was positioning his rod at my asshole and then he was in, plunging to the root. Up went my other leg, and I was “hammocked” there, my wrists cuffed to the bars behind and above me, my legs being held up and out by strong hands, my welted back rubbing up against the bars, and my butt suspended in air, as my ass, firmly skewered by his big pole swayed in and out with his pumping motion. He took even longer than the cop had to shoot off up my ass. But when he did, he just let me collapsed against the bars, pulled his shirt and pants back on, went back to his cot, turned his back to me, and soon drifted off into satisfied snores.

Exhausted and trying to escape the pain and this filthy cell, I forced myself into sleep, in a sitting position on the bench, propped on one butt cheek to relieve the pressure on my ass. I slowly came to as voices came closer through the hall of the station. One of the voices sounded familiar.

“Ah, look at him,” the familiar was saying, “and did you have to string him up like that?”

“Uh, sorry, Coach. He was resisting.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. I knew you’d do him, but I didn’t want you to rough him up.”

“Well, it wasn’t all me, Coach. Someone other than me had been at him too.”

“And these welts; they look like the work of a wrestler I had on my team a few years back.”

A little laugh from the cop. “Yeah, you know me real well, Coach, I guess. And what I like. But he ain’t none the worse for wear. I didn’t do any of my black leather stuff on him. Well, not much, anyway.”

Ah, it was all beginning to come together now. The cop and the dean were friends. The dean had put out a call on me.

Seeman was standing over me inside the cell now, the cop right behind him, and the trucker still snoring over on the cot.

“Ron, Ron, it’s me, the dean.” He was talking down at me now, but he turned to the cop.

“Let’s get those cuffs off him now and get him into another room. You got any salve or something we can use on him.”

“Sure thing Coach.” My hands were freed and I just collapsed onto the bench.

“Just now found out your name is Ron,” the dean was saying to me. “It was on your license. We were afraid when you didn’t show up anywhere. We didn’t know what might have happened, so we put out a search call on you several days ago. Officer Hernandez here was sharp enough to recognize your car and called me to come and get you.”

Yeah, Officer Hernandez was sharp all right—and so was his whip.

Hernandez came back with the salve and they got me into another room, someplace that looked like a small interrogation room, with a small beat-up wooden table and two rickety chairs. I was still naked, but Hernandez brought my underwear and pants along. My T-shirt was in shreds now.

“Here, stand up and lean over this table,” Seeman ordered. I did so, and he gently applied the salve to the welts all over my body. Hernandez just stood there, watching, a little grin on his face and breathing pretty heavy. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him rubbing his basket from time to time. Before Seeman was finished, Hernandez turned and left the room; off getting his rocks off at my expense again, no doubt.

“Okay, I think that will help,” Seeman eventually said. “Put your pants back on and let’s go.”

“Go where?” I asked suspiciously. “I was on my way down the road and plan to be back on my way down the road.”

“Well, you’ll have to drive me over to the campus first,” Seeman said. “I got a ride right out here from a meeting as soon as I heard you were here. I’m without wheels, so you’re going to have to drive me back first.”

What could I say? He had sprung me from the jail and, more important, seemed to have full power to put me back there if he so decided. So, we went out the door and to the car. As we were leaving I could see Hernandez off in a side room, slumped in a chair, his pants off, beating himself with one hand and flicking his whip across his legs with the other.

We weren’t more than a couple of miles down the road, when Seeman started gently tracing the welt marks on my chest and belly with his right hand.

“Please, don’t do that,” I said.

“Do they still hurt?” He asked.

“They do sting a bit,” I answered.

His hand went down and covered my basket.

“Hey, don’t do that,” I said. “Just stop, all right?”

But it wasn’t all right. He was unbuckling my belt, unzipping my jeans, and running his hand into the opening, he bypassed my cock and my balls, and his big index finger slid on across my perineum and stopped at the rim of my ass.

“Stop; just stop that,” I said. He got his left hand under my butt and pushed me forward on the seat, which gave him better entry to my ass with the fingers of his other hand, and enter he did with that index finger. He was moving it around, driving me crazy.

“We’re going to have an accident if you don’t stop that, Dean.”

“Then pull over,” he said huskily. “There, up ahead. There’s a closed shopping strip. Pull in behind that.”

“No. Certainly not!”

His finger pushed farther in and my body jerked and the car veered out of the lane.

“God, you’re going to kill us!”

“Not if you do what I say. Not if you pull over where I told you to. You just don’t get it, do you? This is all because you don’t do what you’re told to do. This is all because you ran off.”

“Okay, okay. Pull that finger out and I’ll pull over.” He did, and I drove around and behind the closed shopping strip. As soon as I’d gotten stopped, he had his hand back in my lap, this time stroking my cock, pumping me up. His mouth was on mine in a long, drawn-out kiss.

He broke away and opened his door. He was holding my right wrist in his left hand with a strong, wrestler’s grip.

“Here, out of the car. this side. I don’t want to have to chase you down, but I could if I had to.”

I first tried to fasten my pants, but he just said, “No, you’re not going to need to do that.”

“Dean Seeman,” I said. “Let’s talk this over.”

“No. You need to be educated. I told you to stay put on the campus, and you hid on me. We need to get this straightened out now.”

“But . . .”

“Just take the damn seatbelt off and slide in this direction.”

I did as he demanded. When he had me out of the car, he slammed the front passenger door, opened the back door, and pushed me down on the back seat. He produced a set of the cop’s handcuffs from somewhere, snapped one end around my right wrist and then pushed me down along the back seat, passing the linking chain through the seat belt two-thirds down the seat, and then snapped the other cuff on my left wrist. I was stretched out on the seat, my torso and arms inside the car, my butt on the edge of the door side of the seat, and my legs hanging out of the car.

He stripped my pants off and stepped back and pulled his own clothes off. He produced his ointment from somewhere and lathered up his cock, pumping it up to its gigantic proportions.

“God, Dean . . . Coach, don’t do this. You split me last time. I’m still sore from that.”

He took a gob of ointment and started working it into my ass hole. I was lying on my left side, and he lifted my right leg up to give him an good view of my ass hole.

“Doesn’t look too bad to me, Sport; but I don’t care if you are sore. I made you an offer the other day and you disrespected me. You accepted the offer and then you ran off. I’m going to make you another offer, and I want you to remember what happens when you disrespect my offers.”

When he had me moistened up to his satisfaction and his own pole standing at magnificent attention, he slapped my butt and said, “Get out here. Get your butt out here, feet on the ground, chest on the seat.” I wasn’t moving fast enough for him, so he dragged me out of the car and brought my rear end up into the air.

“Stand wide,” he said. “Stand as wide as you can—for your own good.” I believed him and did so. He pulled my butt cheeks apart and brought his mouth to my asshole and tongued it briefly. Then he was only holding my left butt cheek, and I felt his cock at my hole. It reminded me of that cop’s billy club. He took his time entering me, and when he was in all the way, he rocked me back and forth, pumping deep. I moaned and groaned and he grunted and sighed. After a few minutes he turned me, rotating me around his embedded cock and had me laying on my left side again, raising my right leg and side splitting me with continued deep pumps.

“One more time, Ron. Do you like this? Do you love this?”

“Yes, Dean,” huff, puff.

“Coach, call me Coach. Do you accept my offer of a spot on the wrestling squad?” He took the root of his cock in his hand and rotated his rod around in my asshole, stretching it farther.

“Yes, Coach. Yes, I’d be happy to be on your team.”

He rotated me yet again. This time my back was on the seat, and he was supporting my butt up in the air with both of his hands, suspending me and moving both his cock and my pelvis in a rapid, deep fuck. I got my legs and feet back in the car. My right foot was in the corner of the back window, and my left foot was on the ceiling above the passenger door.

The coach pumped and pumped and pumped.

“And how often are we going to do this, if I want?”

“Every day, Coach--every day, if you want.”

“And what do you want me to do now?”

Silence. “I don’t know, Coach, what do; I want you to do.”

“You want me to fuck you, fuck you hard; fuck your brains out. Say it.”

“Fuck me, Coach. Fuck me hard; fuck my brains out.”

And he did that as best he could. He got a pillow off the floor and stuffed in under my hips, and just fucked me and fucked me and fucked me. His hands came over my hips. His right hand went to my cock and he pumped me until I shot off all over his belly. His hands then traveled slowly up my torso and buried themselves in my chest. With a heave he pulled his rod out of my ass and shoot up my belly. Then he lowered his belly to mine, and moved it around, mingling my cum with his.

He stood up, put his clothes back on, made a clumsy attempt to push my pants back on as well, pushed me all the way into the car, slammed the door, and came around to the driver’s side and got in.

“I’ll drive the rest of the way. I’ll drop you off at your dorm, Ron, where I want to you stay. I’ve asked Nate to look after you, and he’s really looking forward to doing that. We’ll establish a routine tomorrow. Understand?”

“Yes, Coach,” a whimpered weakly from the back seat. He turned the ignition on, changed gears, and we were off, back to the campus.

To Be Continued.