Oneshots (boyxboy)

Happy Birthday, Officer (:

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"You don't look 26, Michael Hart." The officer holding Michael's cuffed wrists looked at him, then at his driver's license, then back at him. "Is this a fake?"

"Well a lot of things in this world are not as they seem, are they officer."

Handing the license to the other officer, he said, "run this, and the car."

"Will do."

"What did you think you were doing back there? You could have killed someone."

"Just having fun. And nobody got hurt."

The other officer came back to them. "The car is clean, registered to a Michael Hart, Sr. But this guy's name came up. He's 19, and he has quite a record: been arrested 5 times!"

"I see," said the officer holding Michael by the handcuffs. "Well that changes things." Both officers grinned.

"All of those charges were dropped," Michael said squirming. "And these will be too. My Old Man's an attorney, and…"

The officer slapped Michael with the back of his gloved hand. "You shut up you little fuck. You won't be playing that game today."

"That's police brutality, Officer…" Michael twisted to see his badge. "Officer Connor."

"It will be more brutal if you keep talking."

Addressing the other cop, Connor said, "Call a wrecker to haul this car away. Take it to the impound lot and book it as an abandoned vehicle."

"Will do. I don't think they will get much for it now. You gonna take him in?"

"Abandoned? It's not abandoned! You can't do that. You can't sell my Audi for parts!"

"You won't be driving it anymore, punk. We have a 'three strikes' rule. Now get in the car and shut up"

With that, Connor grabbed Michael roughly by his restrained arms, and shoved him headfirst into the back of the cruiser.

The boy watched the cops from the back seat. Officer Connor was hot. And fairly young. He had jet-black hair, kinda long for a cop, his bangs partially obscuring his face. He was taller than Michael, six feet, maybe. His gray long-sleeved shirt hung loosely on his slender frame, but it was clear that he had wide shoulders and narrow hips. Michael secretly had a bit of a cop fetish. Something about the uniform, the leather…the power. Being cuffed and manhandled by this sexy cop was really turning him on. He was getting hard. "I would love to see that hunk with his shirt off," Michael thought to himself...

"It looks like things are under control here. Can you take it from here?" Connor said to the other officer.

"Yeah. I'll stay here until everything is cleared. And I'll make sure all of the witnesses statements are collected and …taken care of."

"Good man. Connor said with a peculiar grin. Will I see you at the club later?"

"Oh yeah… I think we'll have some fun tonight," said the other officer. Both men looked at the scruffy blond in the car, and laughed.

Michael could see them talking, and assumed that they were laughing at him. It made him boil.

Officer Connor got back in the cruiser. He picked up his radio: "Dispatch this is Connor, unit Bravo 4."

"Go ahead B-4"

"We are just clearing the roadblock on the 520. Clocking out now for the evening."

"I have you off duty, Bravo 4. Have a good evening Connor. Oh, and happy birthday!"

"Off duty?" Michael raised an eyebrow. If he wasn't on duty, then why did he have him cuffed in the back seat of his patrol car?

The officer started the car, and pulled out onto the road. He glanced into the rear-view mirror, looking at the handcuffed boy. Michael was staring back at him.

"So today's your birthday, officer?"

The cop ignored him.

"You know Officer, the '3 strikes' law applies to convictions, not arrests."

"How many times do I have to tell you to shut up, punk? Am I going to have to gag you?" This kid's a real brat, Connor thought to himself. He needs an 'attitude adjustment.'

"Yeah, gag me. That would be fun. Does that come with the strip search?" Michael sneered. If only this cop knew how much he wanted it.

"I wasn't talking about the 3 strikes law. On the Force, we have a code of our own. Hauling in repeat offenders is clogging the system, taking a lot of our time when we could be protecting the city. And it uses too many resources in the prosecutor's office. The city has a huge budget deficit, you know."

The cop made a right turn; he was circling back toward the highway.

"Rich brats like you are a big part of the problem. You flaunt the law, and then hire high-priced lawyers to get you off. So we have come up our own solution. We call it the '3 strikes' rule."

As they approached the highway, the cruiser moved into the left-turn lane.

"Hey, Officer…the station is to the right. Do you need directions?"

"We're not headed to the station. You heard; I am off duty" The patrol car turned left onto the arterial, accelerating to highway speed.

"Well then where the fuck are you taking me? Out for dinner?"

"Well let's just say that I'm taking you out for a little fun at the clubhouse. Now shut up."

When they reached the edge of the city, they turned right onto a country road, then left onto a dirt road, eventually pulling up to what looked like an old farmhouse. There were about ten cars parked out front, 4 of them police cruisers.

Michael saw the young police officer eyeing him in the rear view mirror. This whole situation was making him uneasy….very uneasy.

The hunky cop opened the door and roughly pulled Michael out of the car.

"What is this place?"

"We like to call it the clubhouse. Now, move!" Connor shoved him forward.

When they came through the door, Michael saw a pool table, a bar, and a TV. "It really is a clubhouse, he thought." There were about a dozen men. Some wore police uniforms. And they were all staring… at him.

Michael was getting scared. He turned and looked at Officer Connor, hoping to find a hero. But Connor spun him around and grabbed the neck of his shirt, pushing him forward.

"Guys, is the rec room open, I hope?"

There were jumbled voices. "Yup." "It's waiting for ya." "Straight ahead Connor." "So that's our new toy?"

The officer kept pushing him, through an open door at the back, slamming him against the wall. From behind, he pulled Michael's black t-shirt up over his head and down his arms. Unlocking the cuff from the boy's right wrist, he pulled Michael's arms out of the sleeves and tossed the shirt on the floor. He grabbed the boy by his shoulders, and spun him around, quickly grabbing his wrists and locking the cuffs in front of him. He then pulled Michael toward the center of the room, where a rope hung down from the ceiling, with a large metal clasp at the end. He attached the cuffs to it, and pulled Michael up by his arms. Then he shut the door.

Michael tried to conceal his fear by talking…again. "Officer, you didn't have to go to this much troub…" A gloved hand was slapped over his mouth.

The cop stared directly into his eyes, his nostrils flaring. "I am going to hurt you so bad, if you don't stop mouthing off!"

That was enough of a threat for Michael. He shut up. But he could not conceal the fear in his eyes. His emotions were all over the place: from fear to arousal. Being tied up by a hunky cop was one of his favorite sexual fantasies. But the reality was different.

Michael's eyes surveyed the room. The cops called this the "rec room," but most would call it a dungeon. There was an X-cross on one side of the room, and a bondage table (or was it a rack?) on the other side. Along one wall, there was an amazing inventory of torture toys…. gags, harnesses, leather cuffs, floggers, paddles. Michael's eyes were huge. A gloved hand slapped him again…

"Stop looking around you little whore. I own you now; you pay attention to me. Understand?"

Michael hesitated. Was he supposed to reply? He had just been told to keep quiet. A strong punch to his abdomen gave him his answer, and left him breathless.

"I asked you a question punk boy. Answer me!"

"Yes," Michael wheezed. "Yes, sir..."

Officer Connor stepped back for a moment and admired the young man suspended before him. He had a lean body, but with just the right amount of muscle. His pecs and abs were well defined. The anger in the cop's face melted away, and he found himself lusting for this boy.

"Damn boy…you are pretty! I wish I could keep you."

"Oh my god." Michael thought to himself. It was as if this cop had read his mind, and was acting out his fantasies. Officer Connor was removing his shirt, and revealing an amazing torso. Chiseled pecs and abs, muscular arms. Michael's cock was getting so hard. The hunky cop still wore his uniform pants and his belt. That leather belt, with all of its accoutrements, was as erotic as hell.

The officer touched Michael. Running his hands all over the youth's body. He put one arm around the suspended boy's back, pulling him close, and kissing him.

Michael thought he had died and gone to heaven. He groaned.

The cop stepped back, admired the sexy twink for a moment, and then picked up the t-shirt from the floor. He tore it into strips, wadded up one of them and stuffed it into Michael's mouth. He grabbed another strip and used it to tie a tight cleave gag.

Speaking into the captive's ear, he said, "Some of the guys like to hear the screams. I do not."

He knelt and unbuckled Michael's belt. Then he unbuttoned the jeans, and pulled them down to his ankles, doing the same with Michael's briefs. The boy's hard cock sprang to attention.

The cop looked up, his eyes meeting the boy's gaze..."You're into this?"

Now that he was gagged, Michael felt free to…umm…speak. "Mmmm hmmm."

"Dumbass punk." The officer chuckled. He went to the wall of "toys," trying to decide on just the right one. He grabbed one of the smaller floggers…

"So let me tell you how the '3 strikes' rule works." The flogger landed hard across the boy's back.

Michael screamed into his gag. Another blow. Then another.

"When we find someone who has been arrested three times or more," he continued the whipping. "We skip the booking, the indictment, the arraignment, the lawyers, and all that other bullshit. We process you through our own system."

The cop landed several more lashes on Michael's bubble butt, then moved around in front of him, whipping the boy's chest.

Officer Connor was beginning to sweat…a nice sheen covering his muscular upper body. Michael was drooling into his gag as he surveyed the body of his captor. He was falling in love with this cop. He wanted to be his slave. The gag prevented him from saying anything, but his eyes spoke volumes…

"So, where did I leave off..." The officer continued. "Oh, yeah... We process you through our own system, then we sell you. Punks like you bring a lot of money in the Asian slave markets. Instead of being a drain on the city's resources, we have a profit center. ...and while the paperwork is being processed, we get to have some fun. Understand, bitch?"

Officer Connor landed a couple of blows on the boy's cock, which was still rock hard.

Michael struggled in his bonds, and tried to speak. "Mmmmmph." Was all he could manage. He did not want to be sold. He wanted to be the property of this cop.

"Well let's get down to business." The officer unbuckled his belt, and removed his uniform pants. He then removed his briefs, revealing a huge stiff shaft.

Michael's eyes grew wide again. He had not seen anything that big…ever. This was going to hurt.

"There are other guys waiting," the cop said, "but today is my birthday and I get you first…."

Michael screamed into his gag, until he had no energy left to scream.

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i got bored...tell me what you think vote/comment i dont care..(: