Case Closed (Part 3)

Walker seemed surprised by my sudden use of force, but he rolled with it, leaning in closer himself, a big, cocky grin on his face, pinning Richard in tighter at the table.

“Look, I…I don’t think…I mean, I–”

“Richard,” Walker said, “There’s nothing wrong with being gay. But there is a little something called ‘filing a false report,’ which is a crime. So I need you to tell me now–right now–if this is all some stupid game to you, because there are real victims out there who could use our help, and you’re obviously wasting our time.”

“I’m not lying!” he said, “This really happened, I know it sounds crazy, but it did!”

At this point, by detective intuition was going crazy. We had this lying pig right where we fucking wanted him, and all three of us knew it, but even then, what came out of my mouth next surprised me–hell, it surprised all of us. “Well, if it really happened,” I said, “then you’d be able to, you know, provide us with details of that night only you would know. Like, how did it feel, pig? How did it feel, getting fucked by all those cocks? How did all your frat brother’s cum taste, eh? Did you enjoy it? I bet a pig like you could use some more, right?” I had stepped closer at this point, by crotch inches from his face. I was…hard, but then again, good detective work always gets me hard…I think. He was staring right at the bulge in my black pants, unable to look away. “My eyes are up here, fucker.” He looked up at me, and the emotion there–he was terrified. Truly terrified. And that…that set me back a bit. I felt like…like maybe I was making a mistake, maybe I was…wrong about him.

“Please…please, if you aren’t…aren’t too far gone, just let me go, please…”

“No pig, you aren’t going anywhere until we get some answers from you,” Walker said, “Right Bailey?”

“R-Right…” I said, but something was wrong about all of this. “I’m…I’m gonna cool off for a bit, take a walk.”

“Sure thing, partner,” Walker said, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his white shirt, pushing up his sleeves again, showing off forearms which looked…bigger than they had, “I think Richard and I here might enjoy some private time, right Richard? In fact, I bet we can get this all sorted out by the time you get back, Bailey.”

I didn’t say anything, I just backed out the door and didn’t stop until I was out of the building entirely, but I felt better as soon as I was outside, like the air was fresher, somehow. But I did need to walk, for a bit. Walking always helps me with my cases. I started off down the city streets, and after a few blocks, I realized one thing didn’t add up. If Richard was lying, which he had to be, of course, then why report it to us? Why come all the way here and report an impossible rape? It wasn’t like he could get anything out of a stupid story like that, with curses and suddenly gay frat houses. So why tell us at all? I could only come up with two possibilities. One, the guy was just desperate for attention, all of this was some weird cry for help or something. The second, more disturbing possibility was that he was telling the truth–and for some reason, I was coming around to seriously considering that might be the case. I mean…I’d felt…different in that room, or so I’d thought. Walker seemed to have been acting strange as well. Maybe…Maybe both of us were being affected, and we didn’t even know it. But if that was the case…then I might have just left the kid in the worst possible position–alone with my partner.

I double timed it back to the precinct and up to the interrogation room where I’d left them. I’d been gone for about half an hour, and all I could hope was that I was either wrong about this, or that I wasn’t too late. I opened the door, and immediately my cock hardened in my pants at the smell, and I looked at the two of them. Richard was now handcuffed to the chair, through the back, and looked like he’d been roughed up a bit, one of his eyes started to blacken. Fucking Walker and his hot head, getting started wwithout me! My partner was sitting on the table in front of him, his fly down, cock out…and Richard had the entire thing down his throat, moaning. Walker looked up and saw me standing there, told me to get in, and without really thinking about it, I stepped inside and shut the door behind me, groping my own crotch as I did.

“Fuck,” Walker said, shoving Richard down on his shaft until he gagged, “Did you get the cigars? Can’t believe we ran the fuck out.”

Cigars? Neither of us smoked, and yet, I reached into my plastic shopping bag I was carrying–even though I couldn’t remember buying anything–and pulled out two. I walked over, handed one to Walker, got it lit for him, and then lit one for myself as well. I noticed, then, that Walker seemed…different, all of a sudden. For one thing, his head was shaven. He’d always liked his hair a bit longer, but when had he done that? I…suddenly couldn’t remember either look very clearly. He was also bigger–more muscular. His shoulders made his neck look smaller, his arms bulging from bicep to forearm, and I could see his cock was substantially larger than the one I’d glimpsed in the showers before.

“Well Bailey, we finally had ourselves a fuckin’ breakthrough!” Walker said, puffing smoke with that cocky grin on his face he makes when he figures out a clue, “Yeah, the two of us have made some very good headway, isn’t that right, Richard?”

Case Closed (Part 1)

You see a little bit of everything, in our line of work, a lot of it that you want to unsee, too. Still, it takes a certain kind of person to be able to work sex crimes, and if I do say so myself, you won’t find two cops more dedicated than my partner, Detective Walker, and I. Still, this case, from the very beginning we knew it was going to be strange one, but let me go ahead and set the scene for you. It was a Saturday, which meant the precinct we work out of was pretty much empty aside from the usual weekend skeleton crew. Both of us had had a rough week, and were busy catching up on paperwork together. We’re both single in our early thirties–married to the job you might say, and dressed down a bit. Gotta look professional, you know? For the victims, but we’d discarded our coats and were just in our shirts and slacks, showing our suspenders, sleeves rolled up to our elbows, trying reports and shooting the shit, thinking about hitting the gym together after work. Both of us were in good shape–you had to be, to be a good cop, but beyond that, we were normal, middle Amercan guys, just trying to make the city better. That’s when an officer came in with Richard, claiming he’d been raped.

Now don’t get me wrong, I know guys can be raped, I’ve seen it plenty of times, but when Richard started telling us his story, well…it was a bit hard to believe. He was trying to claim that, the night before, he had been raped by every single fellow in his fraternity house, the whole night long–that he’d only managed to get out of the ropes holding him an hour ago, escape, and make his way here. It was obvious the guy had been through some kind of trauma, sure–that, or he had some of the best crocodile tears I’d ever seen working these cases. Towards the end of the story, he was sobbing so hard he could barely get his words out, so we parked him in one of the interrogation rooms to calm down, while the two of us discussed what he’d been telling us behind the observation mirror in the next room.

“So, what do you make of it? What he was saying about all that?” I asked, looking over at Walker.

“I don’t know, Bailey–something…something about him just rings a bit…off, you know?”

I did know, actually. Neither of us were new to sex crimes, and both of us had plenty of compassion for the victims we worked with routinely, but something about this guy, it was just…strange. I mean, the story he was trying to tell, about the entire fraternity raping him–what the hell? That was crazy all on its own. It wasn’t like I’d seen gang rapes before–hell, two years prior we’d busted a bunch of guys in one of those frats for drugging and gangraping a couple co-eds, but frats didn’t usually target men, you know? What would you have to do to get those kinds of alpha straight dudes mad at you enough for all of them to tie you down and rape you? There was something else to this story he wasn’t telling us, we both knew that. But then there was just the guy’s…I don’t know, there was something about him that just–look, it’s a detective’s instincts, you know? You can tell when someone is being straight with you, or when someone is trying to jerk you around, and both of us were feeling a bit jerked by him. At the time, I figured it might just be my exhaustion from the week.

We both fell quiet, looking at the guy. He was starting to calm down, and something else occurred to me–he didn’t quite fit the bill of a typical fraternity brother himself. Richard was considerably overweight–I mean, I might as well just say obese. A couple of chins, moobs, a bit gut stretching out his shirt. He had the right hair, he even had on the right, trendy clothes, but I knew that college, I knew what those frats were, and none of them were likely to let in someone looking like Richard. And yet, he’d been most distressed by the fact that he’d been raped by his “brothers and friends” as he’d called them. Was the guy delusional? Let’s just say I had plenty of alarm bells going off.

“Well, looks like he calmed down, at least.” Walker said, “How about we talk to him, see if he give us a more believable story.”

Obviously we’d come to the same conclusion–there was simply no way Richard was being totally straight with us. We went into the room together. Richard was sitting at the table. His eyes were still red from his crying earlier, but he was just looking…flat, at the moment. Stunned, maybe. Walker sat down across from him, but I stayed standing, by the door. This was our usual set up–normally when we had a victim come to us we’d try to find a more comfortable place for them to tell us what happened, but this guy–no, we needed to get the truth out of him, and if that meant making him a little uncomfortable, so be it.

“Feeling a bit better?” Walker asked.

Richard nodded, and let out a meek word that might have been, “Yeah.”

“Alright,” Walker said, leaning back in the chair, “Now, why don’t you tell us what happened last night. Start at the beginning.”

Commission: Bubba’s New Pup

Commissioned by Anonymous

Officer Nate Jensen climbed out of his patrol car, hefted his belt up, and heaved a sigh. At least the beat up truck had pulled over–half the time, these crazy rednecks would just hit the gas pedal harder, and make him chase them down. Usually they were high out of their mind on meth too–with gun racks hanging in the window. What a terrible fucking job–he’d always wanted to be a police officer, but if he could go back and tell his high school self that it would mean long night shifts sitting on the side of the road dealing with dumb, drugged out, aggressive rednecks, then maybe he’d have pursued something else. Still, no gun rack in this one that he could see–and hopefully the guy was just drunk.

He went around the driver’s side of the cab. The window was already rolled down, and sitting there with a shit eating, slightly toothless grin was a hefty bubba, hairy chest, mullet, and a ragged wifebeater. But what caught his attention most was this strange smell. It was dank, like pot, but even then, that wasn’t quite right. Some other kind of drug? He looked the driver in the eyes, but his pupils looked normal. What in the hell was it? “I…Could I get your license and registration please?”

“Sure thing, officer,” the man drawled, and leaned over to the glove box. Nate tried to keep an eye out for a weapon that might appear from nowhere, but that stink was still on his mind. Where was it coming from? He was taking deeper breaths through his nose now, trying to pinpoint what it was. He realized that the redneck was holding the paper and card out to him to take–had he really just zoned out? “Ya’ll right? Ya look tired, sir. Long shift?”

“Oh…uh, yeah. Just…just tired is all,” Nate said, and took the paper and license without looking at them. “Sir, I…uh…I can’t help but notice that there’s a strange smell in the cab of your truck. Have you been using drugs tonight?”

The redneck laughed, “Nuh uh boy! That’s jus’ me is all. I’m one stinky dude, right? I fuckin’ love it though–my pits ‘r so fuckin’ ripe, ya wanna sniff ‘em?” He hefted his arms up over his head, showing off his thick bush under his arms, and a unavoidable wave of the odor washed over Nate at the window. The license and paper tumbled from his hand, his jaw dropped open, tongue out, panting a bit heavily. “Yeah, that’s a good boy, come on, lean in here ‘n take a good sniff a mah pits.”

He tried to stop himself, he tried to scream. He leaned his hands on the sill of the window and pushed his head in, sniffing deeply, tongue out. Fuck, it smelled so fucking rank, how could anyone smell so fucking disgusting? The bubba grabbed the back of the officer’s head and pulled him in, pressing his nose into his pit, and Nate felt his body shake uncontrollably. It took him a moment to realize he’d just shot a load into the front of his uniform pants, but he couldn’t do anything about that, he had to smell, and lick, and lick and lick it all up like a good boy, a good boy, yeah…He was grinding his wet crotch against the side of the truck, humping it, eyes vacant, tongue running it’s way through the hairs. The bubba reached over to the passenger seat, grabbed a leather dog collar, and with one hand, draped it across the back of Nate’s neck. He felt it there and tried to pull away, but his body wouldn’t respond. The bubba took his time, drawing the collar together tight against Nate’s neck, and when it fastened shut, his body started sliding backwards, his legs collapsing under him, until he landed on his ass and back on the side of the road.

He had to get up. He had to get back to his car, or radio for help, but his legs weren’t cooperating. He tried to stand up, but didn’t quite know how to make his body work like that. It felt so much more natural to just stay on his hands and knees, and he tried to crawl towards his car, but the bubba stepped out of the truck with a leather leash, bent down, and clipped it to the collar around his neck.

Master, a voice said in his head, and he looked back at the heavyset redneck leering down at him, and that was the word that kept repeating in his head. Master master he’s my master obey master follow master obey obey follow serve obey… He tried to shake the thoughts out, tried to push back, but it felt like they were coming from inside his head, from some deep part of his own mind that he’d never noticed was there. He tried to shout, tried to call for help, tried to do anything, but what came out of his mouth instead was a series of barks and yelps and whimpers that he would have mistaken for a stray dog, if he hadn’t heard them come out of his own mouth.

“What do ya say, Copper? Should we head on home?” Master said.

Copper? Who was Copper? He tried to piece things together, and realized he was Copper. But he hadn’t always been Copper, right? He’d had a real name, a human name, he’d been…

Master tugged on the leash, and Copper crawled after him, around the back of the truck. He helped him up into the bed, where he saw a large animal crate with the door open. “Go on Copper, git in there boy.”

He whimpered, but did as Master commanded. Bubba leaned in, shut the door behind him, and latched it. “That’s a very good boy–yer gonna git a real nice present when we git home, Copper. Hmm…actually, how about I give ya somethin’ now? We’re a hour and a half away after all, ya’ll need somethin’ tah occupy yerself with til then. I wouldn’ want ya tryin’ tah git out a there, after all.”

Master undid his belt and dropped his jeans. Underneath, he was wearing a jockstrap, which he took off too. Copper saw that Master had one of the biggest cocks he’d ever seen, hanging there under his hefty gut, with a thick foreskin. Copper whined more, Master pulled his jeans back on commando, unlatched the door, and tossed the grey and yellow jock into the carrier with his new pup. He could smell it. It smelled foul, like piss and cum and sweat, and still he pressed his nose into it, licking at the fabric, trying to get as much of his master’s sent in and on him as he could, his cock hard and throbbing in his uniform pants. He didn’t even notice Master latch the door closed again, but suddenly they were moving, abandoning the patrol car on the side of the road.

It was a long, cold ride back to Master’s home. Shivering, Copper tried to avoid the jockstrap as best he could, but his nose kept being drawn back to it over and over again. His sense of smell…every time he smelled the jock, he could distinguish more and more from the grimy fabric. Master had shot in it recently, he could sense the fresh cum slowly drying into the old stale smell of the rest. He’d pissed in it recently too, and the bottom of the pouch, slightly brown, smelt of Master’s asscrack, and he found that particularly fascinating. His cock remained rock hard the entire time, and would occasionally shoot a load into his pants, which were growing increasingly uncomfortable. He couldn’t quite figure out why he even had clothes on–wasn’t he supposed to be naked? He was glad for them, kind of. It would have been very cold without them in the carrier, but still, pups like him weren’t supposed to wear clothes; clothes were only for masters.

His head, something was happening to his mind. It felt like, as his senses grew keener, he was slowly losing his sense of self, as a human, as a person. The worst part was that he couldn’t even tell when it was happening. As soon as something was gone, wiped from his mind or memory, he could only vaguely sense that it had been there at all. As terrified as he was to know where Master was taking him, when he felt the truck slow down and turn off onto a gravel road, he was eager just to get away from the jock, to try and get his head on straight, to try and figure out what he could do for master–no, no that wasn’t right, was it? He had to get away from him, he had to try and run, right? He didn’t know why he wanted to run though. Master wasn’t a bad man, Master was good, Master was very good, and he would be a bad boy, a bad dog if he ran away, Master would be so worried!

He shook his head. This couldn’t be happening to him, it couldn’t. The truck came to a stop, and Copper saw Master get out of the cab and lumber around to the back of the truck. “How’s mah new pup doin’? Ya’ll right in there?”

Copper whined. Master undid the latch on the door, and he stumbled out on his hands and knees, reached the gate of the truck and tumbled out onto the dusty ground.

“Careful Copper–Ya ain’t used tah bein’ a pup yet, but ya’ll git the hang a it soon as we git rid a all that bad man in yer head.”

Bad man in his head? That made a surprising amount of sense to him for some reason. He did have a man in his head, but he was a pup, he was Copper, Master’s pup, right? He wasn’t a man at all. Another voice pushed back, told him he was being deceived, but Master wouldn’t deceive him, right? He rolled up onto his hands and knees Master running his hand down his back, petting him, letting him know he was being a very good boy. Copper was panting. Copper was happy. He could smell his master, he could smell him right there next to him, and smelling him made him happy, made him feel safe. Master hooked the leash back to his pup’s collar, and lead him over to a single level, rather ramshackle looking farmhouse.

Inside, Copper was assaulted by a massive number of smells. Master, he could smell master everywhere, but also smoke, and also…also other pups. Other pups like him. One…two other pups. He looked around, and then up at master, whining a bit. “Yeah, don’ worry, Buddy ‘n Rover ‘r out back, in the dog run. Ya’ll meet ‘em in a bit–I’m sure they’ll take a likin’ tah ya. First though, we gotta git rid a that bad man fer good. First, let’s git them clothes off ya…”

From his belt, Master pulled a buck knife and he started cutting off the constricting uniform from Copper’s body. He felt so much better with only his collar on! Copper couldn’t believe it, and he gave a full body shake when everything was off him. He felt more like a real pup already. He panted up at Master, trying to show him how happy he was, and Master gave him a scratch on the back of his neck.

“That’s a real good boy–yer gonna be a easy one, ain’t ya?” He pushed on Copper’s side, and he sensed what Master wanted, and rolled over onto his back. Master gave him a belly rub, and Copper panted happily. “Looks like yer comin’ along nice–ya already got yerself a bright red puppy cock.”

Curious, Copper lifted his head and saw that something had happened to his crotch–where his human cock and balls had been, he now saw a fleshy sheath running up his belly, and as Master scratched around it, a bright red head suddenly poked out, a cock unlike any he’d seen on his body before. “Glad tah see my jockstink worked it’s magic on ya–but ya still got a little ways tah go before I can trust ya out back wit’ the other boys. How ‘bout ya git a taste a master’s meat, eh Copper?”

Copper rolled back onto his hands and knees, and Master dropped his jeans. letting his massive cock flop out. Copper pushed his nose against the head, and then ran his tongue up into Master’s foreskin, tasting the cheese he’d smelled on the pouch of the jock, feeling his puppy cock push completely out of his sheath. Master told him to open up, and he started thrusting the cock down Copper’s throat, and as he did, he could feel his face warping and contorting, his mouth pushing out into a muzzle, his tongue growing longer, teeth sharpening into fangs which he was careful to keep away from his master’s delicate flesh. The bad man in his head was horrified, but he was powerless. The only man Copper listened to was Master, he was the only man that mattered. Master tensed up after a few minutes and fed his new pup a load of cum. Huffing and panting, he pulled his cock free of his pup’s mouth, looked down at Copper and frowned. “Hmm…not quite done yet. I got a idea though. How’d ya like a taste a Master’s ass, Copper? That make ya a happy pup?”

He went over to the couch and bent over the side, Copper came up behind him and started licking at Master’s filthy crack, shoving his new nose against the hole, shivering with pleasure. Unable to stop himself, he reared up, trying to grapple the sides of his master and started grinding his cock against his leg, humping him, licking Master’s ass from his snout, eyes glazing over. He could feel the bad man dying away now, Master was all he needed to think about, didn’t even need to think. Just a pup, a dumb obedient pup. With a howl, he shot a load of his new pup cum across the side of the couch, and then dismounted from Master, hoping he hadn’t done a bad thing. He’d just been such a horny pup.

Master hefted himself up, and laughed. “Ya sure got spirit, I’ll give ya that. But yer at the bottom of the pack right now, Copper. Still, I’ll let Buddy and Rover break that intah ya tahnight. Come on.”

Not at all sure what Master was talking about, he walked after Master through the house. His legs felt strange–his hindquarters were nearly all dog, and he felt a tail wagging along behind him. His forelegs still looked mostly human, except for that his hands had become paws. Still, he wasn’t a real dog–just a pup. Out in the backyard, he saw a fenced area, and two sets of eyes staring at them in the early morning light. Master opened the gate and pushed Copper in, and he found himself faced with two massive pups. Master obviously liked his pups to work out–while their hindquarters were sleek, their upper bodies bulged with muscle, and both of them started snarling. Copper snarled back, but the first smacked him with a paw. He tried to fight, but in a matter of moments he was pinned to the ground as the first pup, Buddy, mounted him, and when he’d cum up Copper ass, the second pup took his turn. Master watched the show, seeing the strong will in Copper’s eyes fade away. By the time Rover had finished, Copper was a new dog–deferential, eager to please, and subservient to the rest of the pack.

Satisfied with his new addition, Master headed inside, letting the three dogs get to know each other better in the dog run. He’d start training Copper up in a few days, after he’d recovered physically and his new pup’s personality had had time to settle in. Still, he had no doubts that Copper would be as good a pup as all the rest–and after he’d sold off Buddy and Rover to good homes looking for a kinky gay pup–Copper could have his turn as an alpha, and show future pups the ropes too.

There probably wasn’t much of a reason for Tate to still be in the closet. After all, other guys on the police force had come out before, and after some mild ribbing from the other guys in the locker room, everything had settled out back to normal, but as far as Tate was concerned, it wasn’t any of their business. Besides, he kind of liked acting straight–it was fun shooting the shit about pussy with the guys, even if he’d managed to hang onto his gold star after all these years.

Unfortunately, he ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. A gay club Tate liked to frequent for anonymous hookups had just been placed under new management–and the new owners had decided to liven the place up a bit. the gas bombs went off unexpectedly, and they went off everywhere, including in the bathroom where Tate was having a piss, watching some twink look at his uniform–and his boots.

Needless to say, after getting a good lungful of the gas, he’d hightailed it out of there along with everyone else, but ever since then, well, things had been anything but normal. It started out small–with this obsessive need to shine his boots every morning before heading into work, but before long things had gotten out of control. Every space he could fit them, he’d stuck boots he’d found–some he’d bought online, others used, hell, some he’d stolen from other guys on the force, just so he could sniff their foot stink and shine their boots, because no one could get a good enough shine for his satisfaction.

The cigar smoking, hell, that had just been a way to calm himself down. When he got too crazy, a good cigar and a beer or two could keep him calm, help him resist, but soon they’d built up into their own obsession. And then the leather–he couldn’t wear cotton, hell, anything but leather these days. It fucking burnt his skin for some reason. And he had to jack off almost constantly, usually while licking his boots, and then he’d lick up his cum too, but really, that shouldn’t be his job…right?

A week after the gas attack, he was back at the club. He’d quit the force, he had more important things to worry about, like keeping his boots shiny. Yeah, these slaves, their spit got them so damn clean, and watching them squirm under his sole, fuck, nothing got him off like the sight of that. In fact, he didn’t even really need to leave the club, did he? No, there was nothing outside for him any longer, this was his life now, and he couldn’t be happier.

Officer Daniels had had a long day, and all he really wanted to do when he got home was relax in front of the TV and forget about all of the bullshit he’d just had to deal with down at the station. A drug ring kingpin that he’d helped bring down looked like he was going to get off on a technicality because Daniels had conducted an improper interview, and the entire brass was holding his feet to the fire. If he was unlucky, he might end up with internal affairs breathing down his neck or worse. The worst part was that he couldn’t seem to remember the interview much at all, so he’d had a hard time trying to muster any kind of defense.

He let himself into his apartment and was surprised to find a small, gift wrapped box on the floor right in the entryway. Who in the hell had been in his apartment? Still in his uniform, he stooped down and picked up the box, unwrapped it, and found it contained a small jewel case with a DVD labeled “Watch me.” Curious, and a bit angry that someone had been in his apartment, he put the DVD in his player and started the disc.

He gave a start when the film started, and he found himself looking at a burly guy laying on his stomach, arms and legs bound with leather straps, wearing what looked to be a diaper, and then two masked men entered the scene, and he nearly shouted in fear. They rolled the man over, and he found himself looking at himself, eyes dazed, his mouth stuffed with some sort of cloth, and he was moaning in what sounded like…pleasure.

One of the men pulled the cloth out, and he saw it was a sweaty, cumstained jockstrap, and the other smiled down at him. “How’s Baby Daniels today? Have you been a good boy? Did you wet your diaper for me like a good boy? You like being a good boy for daddy, right?”

“Yes daddy, I like being a good boy…” Daniels said, both in the video and in his apartment, and he was distantly aware of a spreading warmth in his uniform pants as he pissed himself, unable to take his eyes away as the men checked to make sure his diaper was wet, and then rewarded him with two cocks to suck. Both men shot their loads on his face, and he licked up as much as he could, smiling wide. Then, one of the men started massaging the front of his diaper, and said, “Alright Baby Daniels, it’s time for baby to cum!”

In his apartment, Officer Daniels gave a loud groan as he filled the front of his pants with cum, feeling it join the piss there, and the screen finally went black with some words on it.

Be a good boy, and this video will never see the light of day. Back off.

Before Daniels could react, someone slammed something into the back of his head, crumpling him to the floor, and the man ripped down his pants and rammed his cock into the cop’s ass. All Daniels could do was beg for the man to fuck him harder, and in a minute, after the man came, he stood up, zipped his fly, and left Daniels’ apartment, leaving the officer to wonder what in the world he’d gotten himself into, and whether it really would be over after the investigation was dead.

They were having another crazy party across the cul-de-sac, those fucking faggots over there, I fucking hated them. So yeah, I called the cops on them, and I watched the officer arrive from my window and go up to the door, figuring everything would be settled, but a few minutes later the party started up again, louder than before, and I heard a knock on my door. I got up and answered it, and found the cop on the other side of the door–except he wasn’t quite the same cop. He was chuffing on a massive cigar, and looked to be quite a bit burlier and hairy than I’d thought he’d been across the street. “Sir, I’ve been receiving reports that you’re a complete faggot pervert in hiding–I’m here you administer your punishment,” the cop said, and shoved me back into the house, and slammed the door shut behind him.

“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not–” I tried to say, but the officer took the cigar from his mouth and shoved it into my mouth, plugging it shut, and then ripped my shirt off my body, and did the same with my pants. I tried to pull the cigar from my mouth, but it had somehow grown so large that it stretched my jaw to the limit, my teeth digging into the tobacco, forcing me to draw almost all of my breath as smoke. I immediately felt woozy, and while I tried to fight the cop off, he shoved me over onto my hands and knees and started working his nightstick into my ass.

Fuck, my cock was so hard, knowing this hot cop was violating me in my own living room, and he started regaling me with a litany of all of my perverse acts that he was punishing me for. They started innocently enough, some public indecency and drunkeness where I’d jacked off and urinated in public, but slowly grew more sinister. How I’d gotten lewd and obscene tattoos all over my body. How I’d cruise cubs in public spaces before begging them to come home, abuse me and fuck my lights out. How I went from gay bar to gay bar, keeling in the bathrooms as a urinal and cumdump, until my belly was taut and bloated with beer piss. How I could take two fists up my loose cunt, and had to keep it plugged at all time. How I was obsessed with sex, leather and men, unable to think about anything else, forced to earn money by selling my mouth and ass in back alleys and at house parties like my hot neighbors liked to throw most nights.

The cop finished me off with his ten inch cock, and I begged him to fuck me rough and hard, and he was even nice enough to fill my sloppy hole with a load of piss after he came, and plugged me up with the four inch diameter plug I wore almost constantly now. He deemed me sufficiently punished, dropped a couple wrinkled twenties by my head and left, and I hefted myself up, discarding the butt of my huge cigar and lighting another one, admiring my freaky, hairy and tattooed body in a mirror, before throwing on some leather gear and hurrying across the street, feeling the officer’s piss leaking out my hole and down my legs as I went, eager to join in with the party I couldn’t believe I was missing.

Jack looked at the package he’d received in the mail, puzzled. He’d gotten hired on as a prison guard the week before, and his first shift was tonight, but he’d been expecting a uniform in the mail, but when he’d opened the box, the only thing that he’d found inside was a pair of leather boots with some black, uniform socks. Where was his shirt and pants? Figuring it was just a mistake, he tried to call the prison and ask, but his manager wasn’t on duty, and so he figured he might as well wear his normal clothes and the boots–they could probably find a spare for him when he went in to start his shift.

He pulled on the socks and boots, and realized that they were also massively oversized for his feet. He usually wore a ten and a half, but when he checked the tongue of the shoe, the boots were marked as seventeen. They were almost comical on him, when he stood up and tried to walk around, they threatened to slip off. However, after tromping around for a few seconds, he went to try and pull them off, and discovered something strange. His feet had started tingling, and by the time he’d sat down again, the boots fit him just fine.

It fact, they fit too well, and he couldn’t even get the boot off of his foot. Had they shrunk? No–when he looked at them again, he realized that, somehow, his feet had grown, and were still tingling–and the tingle was spreading up his legs and all over his body now, accompanied by a strange heat deep within his body, and a sudden sexual arousal greater than anything he’d ever experienced, so strong that he just slumped back against the couch, feeling his muscles start to pulse and expand as he pawed open the crotch of his jeans and hauled out his cock, the shaft expanding and throbbing along with the rest of him, and he stroked the nine inch shaft, shivering.

The fantasy came unbidden. He was in the jail, and the prisoner in front of him, naked aside from his boots, and Jack was facing him, his chest out, and he could smell the musk rolling off him in the hot prison, and the prisoner could smell it too, could sense his authority, and he reached out, feeling his massive pec in awe of him. He ran his baton down the prisoner’s body, using it to lift up his cock and inspect him, and the man shivered, and fell to his knees, licking his lips in front of Jack’s huge tool. “P–Please sir…” he said, his mouth dry.

“Go on then fucker, suck me dry,” Jack heard himself say, gruff and dismissive, and on the couch, as he imagined the prisoner giving him head, he felt his clothes stretch against his body, hardening into a leather uniform like the one from his fantasy, and as he thought about face fucking the prison bitch, he came, his orgasm sprouting hair all over his body, finishing with a full beard as the hair on his head disappeared, leaving a shiny dome. His old life behind him now, Jack stood up and shoved his huge cock down one leg of his pants, and left his apartment, never to return, a prison guard for life.

Daddy Cop Part 2

Where in the hell had Jeff gotten off to? The old fuck just needed to retire, Peter thought, as he waited outside the bar for his partner to return. Still, it was getting a bit late, maybe he needed some help. Still, it could wait until he finished his cigar at least. He took another drag, and glared at a couple of guys heading into the bar, enjoying the look of intimidation which flashed across their faces. He took another drag, chuckling, when the door opened and someone new stepped out–a fat old daddy bear, clad in leather his nine inch cock hanging out for everyone to see, and he growled, “There you are son–get the fuck in here.”

“Who the fuck are you talking to?” Peter said, realizing the man had addressed him, but before he could do anything, the man had grabbed Peter by the collar and dragged him into the bar. Peter didn’t remember much of what happened after that. As soon as he was in the bar, the older man’s hard cock rubbing up against his uniform, leaving drools of precum across his pants and ass, and then everything just went blurry, and the next thing he remembered was a sharp pain in his ass, and he opened his eyes, looking up and finding the man from the bar looming over him, now completely naked, and the man smirked.

“Good morning, son,” the man said in his deep voice that made Peter’s cock instantly hard.

“Oh…daddy,” Peter said, his voice higher than usual. What was wrong with him? Where was he?

Daddy Jeff drove his cock deeper into Peter’s hole, watching his cub moan and shudder as all nine inches worked it’s way into his ass. Jeff could distantly remember what Peter had looked like before, but he looked so much better now, after a night in the bar with him. He loved the goatee, the tattoos sleeves, the fat ass and jiggly gut, but mostly he loved his son’s new attitude. He did everything his daddy told him to do after all, and he loved it.

Peter did his best to fight against the new compulsions, but by the time his daddy finished his morning fuck, he was too far gone to do anything beyond moan, and jack his cock, cumming in tandem with his daddy, before sucking down his daddy’s load of morning piss from his huge cock. “Can we go to the bar again tonight, Daddy?”

“Sure son, how about we dress you up like a leather cubslut, and have you kneel in the bathroom as the club’s hot cumdump and urinal? You’d like that, wouldn’t you son?”

“More than anything, Daddy,” Peter said with a sigh, hugging his father close, “More than anything.”

Daddy Cop Part 1

How in the hell did he get turned around in here? Jeff and his partner were only supposed to check for any minors on the premises, but now he couldn’t even find his way out. Jeff had gone in alone–Peter, his young partner, was too lazy to give much of a fuck, and had stuck around outside to smoke one of those cigars of his. Jeff sighed and hefted his belt up under his gut. This close to retirement, and the department gives him a fucking hotshot. Even though Jeff was the senior partner by about twenty-five years, Peter couldn’t be bothered to care at all about what the older man might have to say.

Jeff pushed through another crowd and into another room, looking for the exit, but the bar was really something closer to a complex–and there definitely weren’t any minors here. Hell, if there were, they would stick out like a sore thumb in this place–one of those gay bear bars apparently–but there had been some rumors about strange happenings in this club, and so the department was looking for a possible reason to start a broader investigation. The place was smoky too–but it wasn’t pot–it smelled more like tobacco, but as much as he would have liked to enforce the ban on indoor smoking, he couldn’t find anyone smoking at all, and then he looked down at his hand, and found the huge pipe sitting in his palm.

Well that explained why the smoke kept following him, but what in the world was he doing with a pipe? He shouldn’t be smoking, Marsha would kill him, even if…even if the smoke was kind of arousing, and…and who was Marsha? He brought the pipe back up to his mouth and sucked down another lungful of smoke, like he’d been doing for several minutes now, completely oblivious to it, and he wasn’t quite able to figure out where the line between his terror and arousal was. He ran one gloved hand over his hairy gut, feeling himself shiver as his cock got a bit hard.

Wait, his belly? He looked down, and saw that his uniform had disappeared–or at least most of it had…or had he come in this? He usually wore a leather harness on his nights out to the club after all, and he loved leaving his dick hanging out from his chaps. His big, fat daddy dick, with a big PA in the head. A skimpily dressed cub danced up to him suddenly and started grinding up on him, and with a growl Jeff leaned over and blew a huge breath of smoke down the young man’s throat, watching him squirm and writhe in pleasure. When he broke the kiss off, Jeff shoved the cub down onto his knees and roughly face fucked him on the dance floor, a small ring of men surrounding them and cheering them on, until Jeff shot a load across the cub’s face.

Something was wrong. Something had happened to him, he had to get out of here, didn’t he? He had…someone was waiting for him outside. His partner? No…not his partner, his…his boy. His cub…his son…yeah, his hot son, but he needed some discipline, Jeff thought, his cock hardening again as he tromped through the club to the entrance and marched up the steps into the cool night air.

To be concluded…