Officer Roy
The events that allowed me to force officer Roy to sever his own cock-head with his teeth are so extraordinary that I find it hard to believe. I wish I had kept the pieces of his cock and his balls in my freezer to remember, but my memories are probably vivid enough to last even without some token remembrance.
I was on my way home, late one night, after a party with a few friends. I live in a rural area, so I go a little slow at night because of the deer in the road. Also, I only drink cola or iced tea at parties, because I don't want to drive drunk.
So I was driving along, maybe 45 miles per hour in a 55 zone, as I said, there are a lot of deer around here. And in my rear view mirror I see a set of headlights approaching really fast. I slow even more, and pull a bit to the right side to let the ass-hole past.
Instead of passing, the car pulls behind me and a set of cop-lights go on. Red and Red, means he is a local cop. Staties are Blue and Red. I'm in a bit of a panic, but I think I have everything OK. I have insurance, I checked my lights last week, I'm going ten miles under the speed limit, and I'm sober. I pull over and wait.
The cop wastes no time getting out and stumbles up to my car.
"Need medical..." he stammers.
And then he collapses right by my car. I can see that it is officer Roy, from the local police. I open the door and look down on him by the domelight. He is sweating really hard, breathing heavily, and a little flushed. But I don't see any blood or anything. He is moaning and trying to get up.
"Reaction" he says, his hands convulsing a bit. "Allergic...".
I open my back door, and help him get inside. He is in pretty bad shape and can barely get to the seat. Luckily Officer Roy is not a very big man. I get the door closed, and get in the driver's seat myself. No plan in mind. The hospital is twenty miles away, well past my house. I sigh, why do these things always happen to me.
Officer Roy is a young cop, maybe twenty-five or so. Unfortunately he has taken to our heavy-handed local police department like a fish to water. He will stop and search any car driven by anyone under age twenty-five in hopes of finding an open bottle or a joint. He will stop and verbally abuse anyone driving a clunker car, because he knows they are poor and can't bring him to court.
The worst part is that he terrorizes the black family on Wells Road, saying their fifteen year old daughter is his girlfriend and fucking her two nights a week. They don't dare say a word, because the police department in this town is their own control, and if Roy got offended, the black family would not live long.
At least Roy is a handsome cop. He is what I would call a USMC type -- all muscles and no rounded parts. He works out a lot, but does not have very much definition in his chest -- no half-mound pecs. His abs, though, are perfectly muscled and flat.
As I drive, I start thinking about what it would be like to have sex with a guy like that. He's not really my type -- I like 'em older, hairier and rounder, but certainly would be spicy. I feel the incipient hardon tingling in my pants, and a plan starts hatching in my brain.
I look in the rear view mirror. Officer Roy has apparently passed out laying sideways in the back seat. I can't see him breathing. He would be no fun if he died this soon. I look again, and can see that his chest is moving with shallow breaths. Perfect, I say, as I turn into my driveway.
My garage door opener works fine, and I'm sure that my neighbors did not see the officer who is laying on the seat. Just two minutes more I whisper, to immobilize him. I'm already making up a story if he wakes up, something about stopping at home to get an ambulance because I thought he needed CPR.
With the car parked in the garage I push the button and the automatic door slides closed. I get out and open the back door.
His handcuffs are on his left side, up to me. I reach down gingerly and take them off his belt. Slowly and quietly I cuff his hands in front of him. After that, I work my hand under his other side and unsnap the holster, grab his gun and put it in my back pocket. He starts moaning a little and looks up with glazed eyes.
It's all or nothing time now.
"We're at the doctors's house", I shout, "we have to go in so the doctor can help you!"
I grab his arm and he starts to get out of the car. He stares uncomprehendingly at the handcuffs, but is so dazed that he continues to stumble forward. We go though the garage door, left down the hall, and into my bedroom.
As we stumble in the bedroom door, I turn the lights on full blast. Poor officer Roy looks like a deer in the headlights. I throw him on his back on the bed, pull out his gun, and say,
"Hands over your head copper, and you won't be hurt".
I like to lie.
His comprehension about the handcuffs is more clear, and he raises his hands over his head. Here is the other lucky thing. I have a hook installed in the center of the headboard, with a clipping carbiner already installed. I like to play with a little fantasy S&M with my boyfriends, and this hook aids my imagination.
With a single motion, I clip the chain between the cuffs to the 'biner. Officer Roy jerks up, but it is too late, his hands are now hooked helplessly to the heavy headboard.
I put down the gun as he continues to struggle. I grab a climbing rope and make a quick slip knot. As he kicks up his foot, I grab the right one and slip the loop over. With the rope now attached to his ankle I run it up to the right post on the headboard, and twist two half-hitch loops over the top. That secures his right leg up in the air. I throw the rope over to the other side, and walk around.
His struggles are more limited, with his right leg stuck in the air. I grab the rope and loop around the left post, and then make double loops for another half hitch. I make them big, because I have a moving target. I loop over his left leg and pull the free end.
The hitch tightens and his leg is caught. There is too much slack, though and his left leg kicks freely around. I take the free end of the rope and tie it again to the left post of the headboard. I use a bowline knot, and his left leg is now tied as high as his right.
I'm out of breath. The whole solution is not very elegant. A slip knot, two half hitches and a bowline. But the result is interesting. A full grown uniformed police officer tied helplessly to my headboard. His legs up high, his crotch bulge, with full nuts, and his butt sticking up there for the taking.
Time to relax. I go upstairs to grab a couple beers, one for me, and one for Roy. I come back down. He has been struggling, but to no avail. The handcuffs hold tight, officers always trust them, and you can't just untie your ankles with no hands.
I gulp down the first half of my beer. What a joy to see that USMC body in that blue uniform helpless on my bed. I put my finger over the hole on my beer, and shake the can. The foam rises, and with my thumb I direct the spray over officer Roy's face. It looks almost like cum as beer foam covers his square jaw and clean-cut features.
He spits and curses. He is getting over his allergic reaction and becoming more aware of his surroundings.
"You are assaulting a uniformed officer", he says. "Do you know of the punishment when you are caught?"
"Mr. Roy", I answer, "You are going to have to face the fact that your medical emergency caused you to slip. No one knows you are here, and no one will ever be able to trace you. Now if you want to make things easier on yourself, you will obey me completely".
"Why should I obey you" he says. "I'm just going to turn you in as soon as you release me".
Sometimes police men are stupid. They need stupidity in return. I respond by turning the beer can up over his chest, pouring beer down his dark blue shirt. I pour down to his crotch, where the last of the beer soaks his groin area leaving a scum of foam encircling his bulge.
"Oh dear, now your clothes are all wet," I say with the emphasis on the sicky cunty sweet sound of wet. "Whatever will we do?"
My desk is on one side of the room, and there I find a pair of desk scissors. I start with his shirtsleeve, cutting in to the top of the shirt.
He struggles.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm drying you off", I reply. "If you don't hold still, I'm going to slip and cut off something important!"
"Up yours" he says.
"That is not language becoming of an officer, Officer Roy", I reply. "Besides, as this evening progresses, you will find the opposite may well become true".
Officer Roy appeared to ponder this. As I said, our local Policemen are not exactly brain surgeons. I, however, remained a shirt surgeon and continued to carefully cut his shirt. From each sleeve into the center, then grabbing both sides of the front, ripping the sides apart with the buttons flying. With the sleeves cut, the shirt lay in tatters on the bed.
Like most Policemen, Officer Roy wore a T-shirt. A V-Neck style, most appropriate. One of the sexiest things about policemen is that they wear so much clothing.
The same treatment for the T-shirt, cut from the sleeves to the center of the chest. With the T-Shirt, one must also cut from the bottom of the shirt right up the center. Soon, the T-Shirt was opened, off his chest, and over his shoulders, lying flat against the bed.
As I said before, Officer Roy had a compact tan chest, with a youngish smattering of hair in the center. His nipples were medium red, and stuck up a bit, showing that someone in his life got off on pinching them. I pinched one...
"You get off on your nipples, huh copper".
"Uuugh" said Mr. Roy.
You could tell he hated to be touched by a man. More than he hated to be hand-cuffed and tied to a bed.
Yet there he was, now shirtless. A USMC shirtless officer, still pantsed, butt-up and helpless before my eyes.
I grab the second beer, and take a sip. His pants are just too much. His butt is pinched by his position, and his crotch is just a big bulge begging to be released.
"Officer Roy", I say. "I want you to realize how much I am in control here."
I raise my arm, and bring my fist in a full arc right onto the center of his crotch bulge.
"Aaaauuuuuwwww" he screams, trying to contract to the pain. "Nooooaa aaauuuwww".
Officer Roy can be so articulate at times.
I'm feeling evil, so I raise my hand and smash his nuts again, and again. His face turns red, and he is struggling to breath. I'm a little detached, because he is going to feel much worse by the time I am through with him. He should feel happy that he is in such little pain, compared to what he will feel for the rest of the remaining hours of his life.
He calms down to a groan, and I start with the scissors on his pants. Slowly cutting up the inseam on both legs, right up and on one side of the crotch. With both legs cut, and the pants now dangling to each side of his raised legs, I have to put the scissors down and unbuckle his leather belt to finish the job. Belt unbuckled, I unzip down to my cutting, and the dark blue pants fall free.
No surprise, but he is wearing white jocky briefs. These guys are just so straight it is sexy! The scissors make quick work of them, and finally officer Roy is naked, legs up, hands tied, on my bed.
His dick looks pretty average. It's shrunken ... and his balls are retracted -- all shriveled up and trying to hide. His pubic hair is deep, rich dark brown and tightly matted. He has barely a thread of hair running from his pubic mat up to his belly button. His abs truly are worth it, however -- hard and muscled, not deep grooved, but still taut-stretched the way only a twenty-five year old can hold them.
Scissors aside, I grab my beer and sit. A dab of beer on his ass-hole serves to clean it and to wet my finger as I test him. He is a virgin. Clean and smooth and very, very tight.
"That won't last" I say.
"You touch my ass again and you die, cock-sucker!" says the cop.
"You're in no position to give the orders," I snigger. "Besides, I need to show you who is the cock-sucker now!"
He grimaces at me as I get up and shuck my clothes. I wave my now-hard dick in his face.
"Open up dearie," I snortle.
He clamps his jaw shut, lips tight. Just to have fun, I swat him a couple times across his cheeks with my hard dick.
"If there is no safe harbor here, my voyager will have to explore new territory".
Under my bed is a can of Crisco, which I reach for and grab a small finger full. I rub it on his naked sphincter, massaging the muscle. With the digit dead center, I press my index finger in. I smirk -- I'm finger fucking a cop!
And he is resisting. Big surprise.
"You gotta relax and push out a bit copper ... otherwise this is really going to hurt", I say.
"You mother-fucker..." he snarls.
"Are you a mother?" I chortle. "You don't look the type".
"Fuck you!"
With my left hand I grab his balls. They are medium size -- also virgin, meaning that they are not bulgy or anything. I grab the sack and pull the balls down, then squeeze firmly.
"Copper, you're going to open up your ass, or I'm going to squeeze these balls ... one of the two".
"Try me," he snarls.
I squeeze.
He gasps hard, loses his breath. I might as well have punched him in the stomach.
"Open up".
He clenches his jaw. I squeeze harder, his face starts turning red and he is losing his breath.
We play like this for two, maybe three minutes. As tears stream down from his eyes I let up on his balls.
"Take two breaths, and then push out your butt like you are taking a shit" I say.
I let him take three breaths, then push two fingers in his butt. They enter. He is broken.
With two fingers in, I can explore. His prostate is pretty low, and already hard. Probably from the ball squeezing. That means I will be able to get him to cum. I'm really not evil, but the thought of making a copper cum against his will, in the way that I plan, is a heady and toxic thought.
After two fingers, three is easy to slip in. He is still opening using his muscle control. That is nice.
"Just lay back and let it happen," I instruct softly.
"You're going to kill me" he says, matter of factly.
I guess he is pretty much recovered from his reaction, and is back to thinking more clearly.
I smile and pull out. Sitting, sipping my beer, I work for a proper reply.
"You are going to beg me to kill you," I say smiling.
"Then kill me now", says officer Roy.
"And miss all my fun?", I ask. "Push out hard"
I jam four fingers up his virgin hole. He tightens up. I pull out forcefully and his butt goes pop. It had to have hurt, even though I only had three fingers in him.
"Listen copper. You better take me seriously now, because if you don't I will make things much more painful", I say.
To make my point I get back the scissors in my now greasy right hand, and with my dry hand I reach up and pinch one of his tits up. I pull his tit until it is stretched three quarters of an inch above his chest, then neatly slice the tit off with my scissors.
It looks like a gumdrop in my hand, and his chest is now bleeding from the half inch or so hole where his tit used to be. Officer Roy is between panic and bluster,
"Why did you do that?" he stammers.
"Just to show you I'm serious," I snort. "Suck my dick".
With that I present him a second time with my dick. He opens his mouth slightly, and I move my dick head to his lips. Then he clamps his jaw tight, and I can see I am getting nowhere fast.
"You're a dumb fucker Officer Roy", I say as I reach for the crisco.
I slather a big gob over my right hand and wrist.
"Just a dumb fuck copper".
I reach down for his butt with my greased hand. One finger, two -- he is open that far. Three is a push, and four is a wall. I start working on that wall. He groans -- it's hard to tell if he's enjoying himself, however reluctantly, or it's just pain.
His problem now is that his butt pokes up, and I can get my weight right over my wrist. My entire two hundred pounds is now dedicated to wriggling past the wall of his sphincter. The muscle doesn't have a chance.
I'm in no hurry, and it takes fifteen minutes, I'd guess, for my knuckles to reach the middle of the hard muscle. He is alternately moaning and crying now. Sweat is pouring off his chest and his face is red from the pressure of resisting.
Suddenly, I am past and forward as his crushing sphincter betrays him and accepts the narrowness of my wrist over the width of my knuckles.
"Aaaaawwwwww" he screams.
He is breathing rapidly trying to get used to the pressure.
"Fuuuuucccccckkkk".
I'm as hard as a rock -- you would be too if you had your fist buried in a young police officer's virgin ass. I snigger to myself again ... what a joy to explore the slippery tight canyon within the tanned and muscled legs of this hemi-demi-semi-god. His sphincter is clamped so tight, I wonder about losing my circulation.
No, it will be fine. I move my hand up and around a little, and he gives up a little as his sphincter gets accustom to my fist.
"Time to cum", I say, as I apply my knuckles right onto his prostate.
The intense pressure has immediate effect as he starts pissing straight into the air. As he pees, his dick gets harder and starts to rise. I work my knuckles further against his prostate.
With each stroke, his dick gets bigger and redder.
"Fuuuuuucccckkkk" he groans as his cock starts peeing cum -- peeing and then shooting, milky then clear.
His sphincter is relaxed now as his genitals give way to the pleasure. I'm proud and happy, because I always like it when my kind attention gets my partner to cum -- especially a straight boy -- or one who thinks he's straight. An epiphany.
I let him relax a bit, recovering from his exertions. Then it is time for more evil. I narrow my hand and, bracing my body against his leg, I pull out of his butt with a single quick backstroke. Splurp!
"Hhhuuuuuuaaaaaa!" he gasps, almost in reverse.
His eyes are bulging and I can tell that his insides got a good pull off my exit. His rectum is slightly distended making a little pink cream-puff around his formerly virgin hole.
I grab a gob of grease, and frost the puff with a generous dab of whiteness. Then press my fist slowly back in. It only takes a minute to get back where we were, his sphincter clamped around my wrist.
I brace myself again, and pop my wrist out.
"Pop goes the weasel" I snigger, trying not to, trying to be more conversational.
"Hhhhuuuuuaaaaaa," he whines, his eyes full of tears. "hhuuuuuuaaaaa".
Two more times, and I can slip my hand in as fast as I can jerk it out. Time now to try for depth.
With each punch into his gut, I work for another half an inch. His eyes are glazed over and his cries accelerate to a pitched screaming. High screams when I punch in, breathy moans when I pull out. Punch, Scream ... Pull, Moan ... Punch, Scream ... like rowing a boat.
Deeper and deeper, my fist is now engaged halfway to the elbow. I stop for a minute with my arm to it's depth. Bend my wrist a little right and left -- to clench the muscle of my forarm so it pushes against his sphincter and prostate.
"You're an expert at handball, Officer Roy," I taunt. "Lookie, I have my whole arm up your butt."
"If I ever" he makes out. "If I ever get free, you..."
"Oh save it for your dreams, officer Roy. How many people do you know have ever slipped a pair of your own handcuffs," I puff. "I guess you'll just have to grin and bear it".
With that, I draw my wrist out, getting another good groan out of him. Poor guy, his anus is now very distended, lifting a good three inches above his butt. A red-pink bubble of angry pain, centered upon the hairless tan of his muscular butt.
I grab a towel and clean off my arm. My eyes examining his eyes and his immobilized body.
"Time for the knife" I announce.
"Noooo", he moans.
Stupid cop, always assuming the worst. He doesn't even know what I mean! Anyway, his worst imagination could not begin to fathom my next little game.
I walk over to my dresser. There I have a little toy knife. I got it as a souvenir when I was visiting Ireland. It's a replica of an ancient Celtic knife, with heavy wooden handle about five inches long with a short three inch blade.
The blade is a little odd -- it's very thick on the top side, and honed with a sharp wedge on the bottom. I inspect it a bit, making a show of it. Because it's a souvenir I've never thought of actually using it. The blade in the light shows a very light sheen of dullness.
This is definitely a knife that will inflict pain ... and damage. Maybe that's what the Celts used it for.
I return to the officer. I toy a bit with the knife around the pink cream puff that's now his ass. A quick circle there and I could yank his intestines right out. Intriguing, but I'm not ready yet for that much blood.
Just a few inches away, resting on the top of his upturned pelvis, are those nice egg shaped balls and limp cock of his -- like a bowl of fruit or something. Now here is more of a prize, perhaps with less blood.
I go to the dresser again, and return with a pair of spare shoe laces. I tie one very tightly at the base of his cock and balls.
"Noooo", he moans again.
Officer Roy is in heavy acceptance now.
I tie the second lace just a half inch from the first, so there are two gates on Officer Roy's cock. His cock is now puffing up with the blood inflow exceeding outflow. I grab his sac above his balls, and pull them down so the skin is a shining halo around them.
I poke the knife right in between, creating a small half-inch cut in his sac. Then by twisting my hand, I pop his balls out, first one, then two. They now hang outside his sac, attached only to their little umbilical cords.
As a male, one lives with a set of balls every day, always getting caught up on a zipper or pinched when you get in the car. It is strange how unusual and erotic a set of bare balls looks when you get the chance to see them uncovered. Officer Roy's balls are a healthy gray-pink color, with fine masculine blood vessels covering the surface. The cords are a miracle of red and blue blood vessels, white nerves, and milky colored cording.
There is a small amount of blood which I dry with my towel. With the towel in hand, I clamp over his right ball, drying it off and holding it. I slowly pinch with my fingers as I pull to stretch the ball-cord.
Feeling his ball being crushed and pulled at the same time, Officer Roy screams,
"Aaaaauuuuuugggghhhh!"
I repeat the treatment with his other ball, and get much the same results.
I use the knife to cut off four inches from the end of one of his shoelaces. With that, I tie a small tourniquet over his right ball-cord. With a second piece I take care of the left ball-cord. Officer Roy's unclothed balls are now getting no blood.
His dick is sticking up now, colored and angry red. It is as big as it was when he came earlier. The restricted blood-flow must feel like fire to him. I gloat at the thought
"Your dick is on fire," I snigger.
He cranes his neck to see if it is really true, and sees the red.
"Please stop!" he pleads.
"I'll stop soon," I chortle.
I pull down on each ball in turn, stretching the cord to the limit. He gasps and tenses, straining the cords in his neck. As he relaxes just a little, I am very satisfied with his struggling, especially with his tensing then quivering of those flat abs.
Suddenly it feels like I'm a puppeteer. With a marionette, you hold the stick and the puppet moves. With Officer Roy's balls, I pull one of those super sensitive orbs and his whole torso roils. For I don't know how long I squeeze and claw, stretch and thump his balls, I fillip them back and forth so they swing back and forth and bounce off each other like steel balls.
I enjoy studying his muscles as they stretch and striate, bunch and bundle, as it twists and squirms. I delight in the music of his screams become hoarser and quieter, punctuated every so often with a loud wa-wa, like a trumpet player capping and uncapping the mute on his horn.
Finally the novelty wears off and I'm getting itchy to go to the next step. Quickly, I clutch the knife to saw through his cock between those two laces -- the lower lace to keep his blood from spraying all round. The upper lace, of course, is to capture and hold his cock and balls together and keeps his cock still fat and hard.
I slowly strop his veiny cock with the knife, enjoying watching his body tense again -- watching his belly tense as he gasps and holds his breath. It's a radical change from his twisting. He's now very careful not to move, not to make my hand slip, hoping against hope I won't slice his cock off.
I get up from his butt and sidle up to the top of the bed. I hold the blade up close to his face and he stares at it cross eyed, looking down his nose like an eagle watching a mouse. I slowly strop his cheek, shaving his five o'clock shadow. His face twitches despite his trying to be perfectly still. I dry shave his jaw and throat, stroking his Adam's apple as it bobs nervously.
I shave his cheeks again, sliding the blade right up to his eye before pulling it back and sniggering. I bend over and kiss his cheek. Tears are dripping out the corners of his eyes and I hear very soft sniffling.
I push myself up and look down at him. I grin and he tries to smile back at me, the corner of his mouth quivering. I snigger -- he's broken. I can't imagine what's going on inside that pig brain of his. I half wish I had some kind of contacts so I could sell him into butt-fucking hard labor slavery. But I don't and I want to get on with it.
I slap his face and snigger,
"Time to become a girl, boy!"
His face crinkles and he whimpers, blubbering something I couldn't understand. He wails like a baby. I pick up the knife and sidle back down, grab his bloated cock and dangly balls, squeeze them together. The balls are too slippery-squirmy so I take the time to stretch his sac open and poke them back in. He gasps and whimpers and his whole body shivers and I grab his cock and balls together again.
I line the knife up between the two laces and repeat myself,
"Time to become a girl, boy!"
And before he can blubber I jerk the knife, sliding it so it cuts through cock and ball root like cutting off a fat and juicy turkey tail. I sidle back up his side again and blood his fresh shaved cheeks with the bloody root of his cock and balls like it was a fox tail. I saw it in one of the Exorcist movies or something like that.
Of course, he was whimpering like a baby now, sobbing and gasping and hiccupping all at the same time. It's so damn sexy I can't stand it. I shove two fingers up his nostrils and grab his nose and hold it tight with one hand, setting the cock and balls down next to his neck and grabbing his chin with my other hand, jerking his mouth as wide open as I can, twisting his head to face my throbbing cock.
"Suck me off!" I demand sternly.
He half looks up at me, at my eyes with a glazed expression, clearly in shock. Tears are streaming from his eyes, across his nose and dripping across his cheek, the other eye's tear disappearing into his hair. His breathing is shallow and sniffly.
I shove my cock in and his tongue struggles to push me out. I thrust my hips forward and ram my cock against the back of his mouth, against his throat. He tries to bite down -- maybe reflex, maybe deliberate. Either way, it's fun holding his mouth open like that, my fingers nearly ripping his nostrils the way it feels. But his jaw is getting hard to hold open so the better part of valor is to pull out before my hand slips off and he takes a bite out of my hot dog.
I slap his face and demand,
"Stop trying to bite -- one nip and you die, boy!"
I make sure he can't see it as I pick up his cock and balls and poke it at his half-open mouth,
"Say 'ah!' boy!"
He opened wide and I inserted his cock while pushing his chin down with the heel of my hand. It's really awkward but it's going to be fun. He gags again and I jiggle the cock. His eyes remain on me, and in his shock he is unaware of the substitution. Why should he be, the dick on his lips is still warm and hard.
I let my hand slip off his chin and ram his cock in and out, sniggering to myself as I thrust my hips forward and back, mimicking my thrusting his cock in and out. He gagged harder and bit.
Soon as he did, I could feel it through my fingers in his nostrils and I forced a little yelp, then moaned like I was cumming. Holding back a snigger, I panted,
"Oh yes, yes! Officer Roy, I know you hate me", I say. "Punish me. Bite my dick, chew it, bite as hard as you can! Chew it! Abuse it. Take out your aggressions on my hard cock, you bad man, you!"
Just the kind of perverted thing he'd expect. His eyes narrow as he ponders my words, and then with a vengeance does exactly like I told him. He bites savagely. Just for effect, I scream and quiver and stiffen, like he really bit my cock. I slap his face and snarl,
"No! No! You're castrating me!".
He bites down harder. His eyes close in concentration. I can see blood oozing from the cock into his mouth. He grinds his teeth back and forth. I start to move the little cock around, and can see that he has nearly bitten though it.
"Bite and swallow Officer Roy!" I order in a suddenly strong voice. "Eat this little officer cock right down"
He stops as he chokes on the blood. Looking down he sees my hand, now covered in blood, with the stump of his cock, shrunken sack, and two dangly balls still attached -- they'd pushed out of the sack again and dangled like blood streaked gray kidneys.
He eyes my chest to my stomach to my clearly hard and very intact cock. As he sees it, he realizes that in his throat is the top of his own former cock-head, not mine. He has bitten his own cock in two with his teeth.
"HHHHHNNNNNNNNMMGGGGG," he cries and sucks his cock-head into his throat.
He's unable to respirate with the cock stuck in his throat. I stuff the stump and the rest into his mouth forcing his jaw apart and stuffing his cheeks like a chipmunk.
He tries to spit them out, but he has lost too much breath trying to bite. He needs to breath in, but his mouth and throat are blocked with his own mutilated cock and balls, his nostrils still blocked by my fingers.
He throws his head side to side the best he can, trying to jerk my fingers out his nostrils, trying to spit his cock and balls, what's left of them, out, trying to cough out the cock-head lodged in his wind-pipe.
And with asphyxiation approaching, I realize it's all coming to a head, it's time to end my little game. I've just had too much fun here with the officer -- I want to draw it out, but also want it to come to the climax, like fucking -- both ... but realizing it all has to come to a head. (A little joke here.)
I stroke my own cock with my blood-lubricated hand. I've been hard as a rock for over half an hour, and with the exception of the non-climactic fuck of his mouth and throat, my cock's just been bobbing in front like a hungry snake.
I can feel the inexorability of my own cumming in just a couple strokes. My stomach muscles tense and begin to cramp, but my woodie is not to be denied as it jets powerful jets of cum over the cop's roiling body -- in death throes. Ropy spurt after spurt after spurt. Oh what a delicious feeling!
And before the feeling is gone, I plunge the knife into Officer Roy's muscular chest, between his ribs, just above his heart. I rock the blade up and down, then twist as I withdraw it. The effect is instantaneous. A gush of blood spurts from his ruptured heart and soaks his chest hair.
I hate that much blood, and throw the towel over his chest to soak it up. The officer has passed out. Without a beating heart, he shouldn't live more than a couple minutes max.
His lungs rattle as his chest collapses, air whooshing out softly -- real spooky -- like something out of a movie, not like breathing at all -- like his soul was somehow fleeing his body. His tense thighs and calves relax, his belly smooths out, sinks a little. The pain and fear on his face smooths out and he looks like an innocent baby-faced boy.
Laid out on my bed still and dead, he is still one damn handsome man ... as long as you can ignore his distended butt and bloody wounded crotch and those genitals stuffed in his mouth.
I unlock the handcuffs and, wrapping the bed blanket around the body, prepare to move him back to the garage. The blanket is standard cheap WalMart fare and there's nothing else to identify me. I carry him back to the car trunk and stuff him in. This is not an easy task, but the last step is required so I manage the strength. I drive him back to his car, and dump him out on the road -- let the city wonder why one of their finest is found next to his car with his dick in his mouth.
The events that allowed me to force officer Roy to sever his own cock-head with his teeth are so extraordinary that I find it hard to believe. I wish I had kept the pieces of his cock and his balls in my freezer to remember, but my memories are probably vivid enough to last even without some token remembrance.
I was on my way home, late one night, after a party with a few friends. I live in a rural area, so I go a little slow at night because of the deer in the road. Also, I only drink cola or iced tea at parties, because I don't want to drive drunk.
So I was driving along, maybe 45 miles per hour in a 55 zone, as I said, there are a lot of deer around here. And in my rear view mirror I see a set of headlights approaching really fast. I slow even more, and pull a bit to the right side to let the ass-hole past.
Instead of passing, the car pulls behind me and a set of cop-lights go on. Red and Red, means he is a local cop. Staties are Blue and Red. I'm in a bit of a panic, but I think I have everything OK. I have insurance, I checked my lights last week, I'm going ten miles under the speed limit, and I'm sober. I pull over and wait.
The cop wastes no time getting out and stumbles up to my car.
"Need medical..." he stammers.
And then he collapses right by my car. I can see that it is officer Roy, from the local police. I open the door and look down on him by the domelight. He is sweating really hard, breathing heavily, and a little flushed. But I don't see any blood or anything. He is moaning and trying to get up.
"Reaction" he says, his hands convulsing a bit. "Allergic...".
I open my back door, and help him get inside. He is in pretty bad shape and can barely get to the seat. Luckily Officer Roy is not a very big man. I get the door closed, and get in the driver's seat myself. No plan in mind. The hospital is twenty miles away, well past my house. I sigh, why do these things always happen to me.
Officer Roy is a young cop, maybe twenty-five or so. Unfortunately he has taken to our heavy-handed local police department like a fish to water. He will stop and search any car driven by anyone under age twenty-five in hopes of finding an open bottle or a joint. He will stop and verbally abuse anyone driving a clunker car, because he knows they are poor and can't bring him to court.
The worst part is that he terrorizes the black family on Wells Road, saying their fifteen year old daughter is his girlfriend and fucking her two nights a week. They don't dare say a word, because the police department in this town is their own control, and if Roy got offended, the black family would not live long.
At least Roy is a handsome cop. He is what I would call a USMC type -- all muscles and no rounded parts. He works out a lot, but does not have very much definition in his chest -- no half-mound pecs. His abs, though, are perfectly muscled and flat.
As I drive, I start thinking about what it would be like to have sex with a guy like that. He's not really my type -- I like 'em older, hairier and rounder, but certainly would be spicy. I feel the incipient hardon tingling in my pants, and a plan starts hatching in my brain.
I look in the rear view mirror. Officer Roy has apparently passed out laying sideways in the back seat. I can't see him breathing. He would be no fun if he died this soon. I look again, and can see that his chest is moving with shallow breaths. Perfect, I say, as I turn into my driveway.
My garage door opener works fine, and I'm sure that my neighbors did not see the officer who is laying on the seat. Just two minutes more I whisper, to immobilize him. I'm already making up a story if he wakes up, something about stopping at home to get an ambulance because I thought he needed CPR.
With the car parked in the garage I push the button and the automatic door slides closed. I get out and open the back door.
His handcuffs are on his left side, up to me. I reach down gingerly and take them off his belt. Slowly and quietly I cuff his hands in front of him. After that, I work my hand under his other side and unsnap the holster, grab his gun and put it in my back pocket. He starts moaning a little and looks up with glazed eyes.
It's all or nothing time now.
"We're at the doctors's house", I shout, "we have to go in so the doctor can help you!"
I grab his arm and he starts to get out of the car. He stares uncomprehendingly at the handcuffs, but is so dazed that he continues to stumble forward. We go though the garage door, left down the hall, and into my bedroom.
As we stumble in the bedroom door, I turn the lights on full blast. Poor officer Roy looks like a deer in the headlights. I throw him on his back on the bed, pull out his gun, and say,
"Hands over your head copper, and you won't be hurt".
I like to lie.
His comprehension about the handcuffs is more clear, and he raises his hands over his head. Here is the other lucky thing. I have a hook installed in the center of the headboard, with a clipping carbiner already installed. I like to play with a little fantasy S&M with my boyfriends, and this hook aids my imagination.
With a single motion, I clip the chain between the cuffs to the 'biner. Officer Roy jerks up, but it is too late, his hands are now hooked helplessly to the heavy headboard.
I put down the gun as he continues to struggle. I grab a climbing rope and make a quick slip knot. As he kicks up his foot, I grab the right one and slip the loop over. With the rope now attached to his ankle I run it up to the right post on the headboard, and twist two half-hitch loops over the top. That secures his right leg up in the air. I throw the rope over to the other side, and walk around.
His struggles are more limited, with his right leg stuck in the air. I grab the rope and loop around the left post, and then make double loops for another half hitch. I make them big, because I have a moving target. I loop over his left leg and pull the free end.
The hitch tightens and his leg is caught. There is too much slack, though and his left leg kicks freely around. I take the free end of the rope and tie it again to the left post of the headboard. I use a bowline knot, and his left leg is now tied as high as his right.
I'm out of breath. The whole solution is not very elegant. A slip knot, two half hitches and a bowline. But the result is interesting. A full grown uniformed police officer tied helplessly to my headboard. His legs up high, his crotch bulge, with full nuts, and his butt sticking up there for the taking.
Time to relax. I go upstairs to grab a couple beers, one for me, and one for Roy. I come back down. He has been struggling, but to no avail. The handcuffs hold tight, officers always trust them, and you can't just untie your ankles with no hands.
I gulp down the first half of my beer. What a joy to see that USMC body in that blue uniform helpless on my bed. I put my finger over the hole on my beer, and shake the can. The foam rises, and with my thumb I direct the spray over officer Roy's face. It looks almost like cum as beer foam covers his square jaw and clean-cut features.
He spits and curses. He is getting over his allergic reaction and becoming more aware of his surroundings.
"You are assaulting a uniformed officer", he says. "Do you know of the punishment when you are caught?"
"Mr. Roy", I answer, "You are going to have to face the fact that your medical emergency caused you to slip. No one knows you are here, and no one will ever be able to trace you. Now if you want to make things easier on yourself, you will obey me completely".
"Why should I obey you" he says. "I'm just going to turn you in as soon as you release me".
Sometimes police men are stupid. They need stupidity in return. I respond by turning the beer can up over his chest, pouring beer down his dark blue shirt. I pour down to his crotch, where the last of the beer soaks his groin area leaving a scum of foam encircling his bulge.
"Oh dear, now your clothes are all wet," I say with the emphasis on the sicky cunty sweet sound of wet. "Whatever will we do?"
My desk is on one side of the room, and there I find a pair of desk scissors. I start with his shirtsleeve, cutting in to the top of the shirt.
He struggles.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm drying you off", I reply. "If you don't hold still, I'm going to slip and cut off something important!"
"Up yours" he says.
"That is not language becoming of an officer, Officer Roy", I reply. "Besides, as this evening progresses, you will find the opposite may well become true".
Officer Roy appeared to ponder this. As I said, our local Policemen are not exactly brain surgeons. I, however, remained a shirt surgeon and continued to carefully cut his shirt. From each sleeve into the center, then grabbing both sides of the front, ripping the sides apart with the buttons flying. With the sleeves cut, the shirt lay in tatters on the bed.
Like most Policemen, Officer Roy wore a T-shirt. A V-Neck style, most appropriate. One of the sexiest things about policemen is that they wear so much clothing.
The same treatment for the T-shirt, cut from the sleeves to the center of the chest. With the T-Shirt, one must also cut from the bottom of the shirt right up the center. Soon, the T-Shirt was opened, off his chest, and over his shoulders, lying flat against the bed.
As I said before, Officer Roy had a compact tan chest, with a youngish smattering of hair in the center. His nipples were medium red, and stuck up a bit, showing that someone in his life got off on pinching them. I pinched one...
"You get off on your nipples, huh copper".
"Uuugh" said Mr. Roy.
You could tell he hated to be touched by a man. More than he hated to be hand-cuffed and tied to a bed.
Yet there he was, now shirtless. A USMC shirtless officer, still pantsed, butt-up and helpless before my eyes.
I grab the second beer, and take a sip. His pants are just too much. His butt is pinched by his position, and his crotch is just a big bulge begging to be released.
"Officer Roy", I say. "I want you to realize how much I am in control here."
I raise my arm, and bring my fist in a full arc right onto the center of his crotch bulge.
"Aaaauuuuuwwww" he screams, trying to contract to the pain. "Nooooaa aaauuuwww".
Officer Roy can be so articulate at times.
I'm feeling evil, so I raise my hand and smash his nuts again, and again. His face turns red, and he is struggling to breath. I'm a little detached, because he is going to feel much worse by the time I am through with him. He should feel happy that he is in such little pain, compared to what he will feel for the rest of the remaining hours of his life.
He calms down to a groan, and I start with the scissors on his pants. Slowly cutting up the inseam on both legs, right up and on one side of the crotch. With both legs cut, and the pants now dangling to each side of his raised legs, I have to put the scissors down and unbuckle his leather belt to finish the job. Belt unbuckled, I unzip down to my cutting, and the dark blue pants fall free.
No surprise, but he is wearing white jocky briefs. These guys are just so straight it is sexy! The scissors make quick work of them, and finally officer Roy is naked, legs up, hands tied, on my bed.
His dick looks pretty average. It's shrunken ... and his balls are retracted -- all shriveled up and trying to hide. His pubic hair is deep, rich dark brown and tightly matted. He has barely a thread of hair running from his pubic mat up to his belly button. His abs truly are worth it, however -- hard and muscled, not deep grooved, but still taut-stretched the way only a twenty-five year old can hold them.
Scissors aside, I grab my beer and sit. A dab of beer on his ass-hole serves to clean it and to wet my finger as I test him. He is a virgin. Clean and smooth and very, very tight.
"That won't last" I say.
"You touch my ass again and you die, cock-sucker!" says the cop.
"You're in no position to give the orders," I snigger. "Besides, I need to show you who is the cock-sucker now!"
He grimaces at me as I get up and shuck my clothes. I wave my now-hard dick in his face.
"Open up dearie," I snortle.
He clamps his jaw shut, lips tight. Just to have fun, I swat him a couple times across his cheeks with my hard dick.
"If there is no safe harbor here, my voyager will have to explore new territory".
Under my bed is a can of Crisco, which I reach for and grab a small finger full. I rub it on his naked sphincter, massaging the muscle. With the digit dead center, I press my index finger in. I smirk -- I'm finger fucking a cop!
And he is resisting. Big surprise.
"You gotta relax and push out a bit copper ... otherwise this is really going to hurt", I say.
"You mother-fucker..." he snarls.
"Are you a mother?" I chortle. "You don't look the type".
"Fuck you!"
With my left hand I grab his balls. They are medium size -- also virgin, meaning that they are not bulgy or anything. I grab the sack and pull the balls down, then squeeze firmly.
"Copper, you're going to open up your ass, or I'm going to squeeze these balls ... one of the two".
"Try me," he snarls.
I squeeze.
He gasps hard, loses his breath. I might as well have punched him in the stomach.
"Open up".
He clenches his jaw. I squeeze harder, his face starts turning red and he is losing his breath.
We play like this for two, maybe three minutes. As tears stream down from his eyes I let up on his balls.
"Take two breaths, and then push out your butt like you are taking a shit" I say.
I let him take three breaths, then push two fingers in his butt. They enter. He is broken.
With two fingers in, I can explore. His prostate is pretty low, and already hard. Probably from the ball squeezing. That means I will be able to get him to cum. I'm really not evil, but the thought of making a copper cum against his will, in the way that I plan, is a heady and toxic thought.
After two fingers, three is easy to slip in. He is still opening using his muscle control. That is nice.
"Just lay back and let it happen," I instruct softly.
"You're going to kill me" he says, matter of factly.
I guess he is pretty much recovered from his reaction, and is back to thinking more clearly.
I smile and pull out. Sitting, sipping my beer, I work for a proper reply.
"You are going to beg me to kill you," I say smiling.
"Then kill me now", says officer Roy.
"And miss all my fun?", I ask. "Push out hard"
I jam four fingers up his virgin hole. He tightens up. I pull out forcefully and his butt goes pop. It had to have hurt, even though I only had three fingers in him.
"Listen copper. You better take me seriously now, because if you don't I will make things much more painful", I say.
To make my point I get back the scissors in my now greasy right hand, and with my dry hand I reach up and pinch one of his tits up. I pull his tit until it is stretched three quarters of an inch above his chest, then neatly slice the tit off with my scissors.
It looks like a gumdrop in my hand, and his chest is now bleeding from the half inch or so hole where his tit used to be. Officer Roy is between panic and bluster,
"Why did you do that?" he stammers.
"Just to show you I'm serious," I snort. "Suck my dick".
With that I present him a second time with my dick. He opens his mouth slightly, and I move my dick head to his lips. Then he clamps his jaw tight, and I can see I am getting nowhere fast.
"You're a dumb fucker Officer Roy", I say as I reach for the crisco.
I slather a big gob over my right hand and wrist.
"Just a dumb fuck copper".
I reach down for his butt with my greased hand. One finger, two -- he is open that far. Three is a push, and four is a wall. I start working on that wall. He groans -- it's hard to tell if he's enjoying himself, however reluctantly, or it's just pain.
His problem now is that his butt pokes up, and I can get my weight right over my wrist. My entire two hundred pounds is now dedicated to wriggling past the wall of his sphincter. The muscle doesn't have a chance.
I'm in no hurry, and it takes fifteen minutes, I'd guess, for my knuckles to reach the middle of the hard muscle. He is alternately moaning and crying now. Sweat is pouring off his chest and his face is red from the pressure of resisting.
Suddenly, I am past and forward as his crushing sphincter betrays him and accepts the narrowness of my wrist over the width of my knuckles.
"Aaaaawwwwww" he screams.
He is breathing rapidly trying to get used to the pressure.
"Fuuuuucccccckkkk".
I'm as hard as a rock -- you would be too if you had your fist buried in a young police officer's virgin ass. I snigger to myself again ... what a joy to explore the slippery tight canyon within the tanned and muscled legs of this hemi-demi-semi-god. His sphincter is clamped so tight, I wonder about losing my circulation.
No, it will be fine. I move my hand up and around a little, and he gives up a little as his sphincter gets accustom to my fist.
"Time to cum", I say, as I apply my knuckles right onto his prostate.
The intense pressure has immediate effect as he starts pissing straight into the air. As he pees, his dick gets harder and starts to rise. I work my knuckles further against his prostate.
With each stroke, his dick gets bigger and redder.
"Fuuuuuucccckkkk" he groans as his cock starts peeing cum -- peeing and then shooting, milky then clear.
His sphincter is relaxed now as his genitals give way to the pleasure. I'm proud and happy, because I always like it when my kind attention gets my partner to cum -- especially a straight boy -- or one who thinks he's straight. An epiphany.
I let him relax a bit, recovering from his exertions. Then it is time for more evil. I narrow my hand and, bracing my body against his leg, I pull out of his butt with a single quick backstroke. Splurp!
"Hhhuuuuuuaaaaaa!" he gasps, almost in reverse.
His eyes are bulging and I can tell that his insides got a good pull off my exit. His rectum is slightly distended making a little pink cream-puff around his formerly virgin hole.
I grab a gob of grease, and frost the puff with a generous dab of whiteness. Then press my fist slowly back in. It only takes a minute to get back where we were, his sphincter clamped around my wrist.
I brace myself again, and pop my wrist out.
"Pop goes the weasel" I snigger, trying not to, trying to be more conversational.
"Hhhhuuuuuaaaaaa," he whines, his eyes full of tears. "hhuuuuuuaaaaa".
Two more times, and I can slip my hand in as fast as I can jerk it out. Time now to try for depth.
With each punch into his gut, I work for another half an inch. His eyes are glazed over and his cries accelerate to a pitched screaming. High screams when I punch in, breathy moans when I pull out. Punch, Scream ... Pull, Moan ... Punch, Scream ... like rowing a boat.
Deeper and deeper, my fist is now engaged halfway to the elbow. I stop for a minute with my arm to it's depth. Bend my wrist a little right and left -- to clench the muscle of my forarm so it pushes against his sphincter and prostate.
"You're an expert at handball, Officer Roy," I taunt. "Lookie, I have my whole arm up your butt."
"If I ever" he makes out. "If I ever get free, you..."
"Oh save it for your dreams, officer Roy. How many people do you know have ever slipped a pair of your own handcuffs," I puff. "I guess you'll just have to grin and bear it".
With that, I draw my wrist out, getting another good groan out of him. Poor guy, his anus is now very distended, lifting a good three inches above his butt. A red-pink bubble of angry pain, centered upon the hairless tan of his muscular butt.
I grab a towel and clean off my arm. My eyes examining his eyes and his immobilized body.
"Time for the knife" I announce.
"Noooo", he moans.
Stupid cop, always assuming the worst. He doesn't even know what I mean! Anyway, his worst imagination could not begin to fathom my next little game.
I walk over to my dresser. There I have a little toy knife. I got it as a souvenir when I was visiting Ireland. It's a replica of an ancient Celtic knife, with heavy wooden handle about five inches long with a short three inch blade.
The blade is a little odd -- it's very thick on the top side, and honed with a sharp wedge on the bottom. I inspect it a bit, making a show of it. Because it's a souvenir I've never thought of actually using it. The blade in the light shows a very light sheen of dullness.
This is definitely a knife that will inflict pain ... and damage. Maybe that's what the Celts used it for.
I return to the officer. I toy a bit with the knife around the pink cream puff that's now his ass. A quick circle there and I could yank his intestines right out. Intriguing, but I'm not ready yet for that much blood.
Just a few inches away, resting on the top of his upturned pelvis, are those nice egg shaped balls and limp cock of his -- like a bowl of fruit or something. Now here is more of a prize, perhaps with less blood.
I go to the dresser again, and return with a pair of spare shoe laces. I tie one very tightly at the base of his cock and balls.
"Noooo", he moans again.
Officer Roy is in heavy acceptance now.
I tie the second lace just a half inch from the first, so there are two gates on Officer Roy's cock. His cock is now puffing up with the blood inflow exceeding outflow. I grab his sac above his balls, and pull them down so the skin is a shining halo around them.
I poke the knife right in between, creating a small half-inch cut in his sac. Then by twisting my hand, I pop his balls out, first one, then two. They now hang outside his sac, attached only to their little umbilical cords.
As a male, one lives with a set of balls every day, always getting caught up on a zipper or pinched when you get in the car. It is strange how unusual and erotic a set of bare balls looks when you get the chance to see them uncovered. Officer Roy's balls are a healthy gray-pink color, with fine masculine blood vessels covering the surface. The cords are a miracle of red and blue blood vessels, white nerves, and milky colored cording.
There is a small amount of blood which I dry with my towel. With the towel in hand, I clamp over his right ball, drying it off and holding it. I slowly pinch with my fingers as I pull to stretch the ball-cord.
Feeling his ball being crushed and pulled at the same time, Officer Roy screams,
"Aaaaauuuuuugggghhhh!"
I repeat the treatment with his other ball, and get much the same results.
I use the knife to cut off four inches from the end of one of his shoelaces. With that, I tie a small tourniquet over his right ball-cord. With a second piece I take care of the left ball-cord. Officer Roy's unclothed balls are now getting no blood.
His dick is sticking up now, colored and angry red. It is as big as it was when he came earlier. The restricted blood-flow must feel like fire to him. I gloat at the thought
"Your dick is on fire," I snigger.
He cranes his neck to see if it is really true, and sees the red.
"Please stop!" he pleads.
"I'll stop soon," I chortle.
I pull down on each ball in turn, stretching the cord to the limit. He gasps and tenses, straining the cords in his neck. As he relaxes just a little, I am very satisfied with his struggling, especially with his tensing then quivering of those flat abs.
Suddenly it feels like I'm a puppeteer. With a marionette, you hold the stick and the puppet moves. With Officer Roy's balls, I pull one of those super sensitive orbs and his whole torso roils. For I don't know how long I squeeze and claw, stretch and thump his balls, I fillip them back and forth so they swing back and forth and bounce off each other like steel balls.
I enjoy studying his muscles as they stretch and striate, bunch and bundle, as it twists and squirms. I delight in the music of his screams become hoarser and quieter, punctuated every so often with a loud wa-wa, like a trumpet player capping and uncapping the mute on his horn.
Finally the novelty wears off and I'm getting itchy to go to the next step. Quickly, I clutch the knife to saw through his cock between those two laces -- the lower lace to keep his blood from spraying all round. The upper lace, of course, is to capture and hold his cock and balls together and keeps his cock still fat and hard.
I slowly strop his veiny cock with the knife, enjoying watching his body tense again -- watching his belly tense as he gasps and holds his breath. It's a radical change from his twisting. He's now very careful not to move, not to make my hand slip, hoping against hope I won't slice his cock off.
I get up from his butt and sidle up to the top of the bed. I hold the blade up close to his face and he stares at it cross eyed, looking down his nose like an eagle watching a mouse. I slowly strop his cheek, shaving his five o'clock shadow. His face twitches despite his trying to be perfectly still. I dry shave his jaw and throat, stroking his Adam's apple as it bobs nervously.
I shave his cheeks again, sliding the blade right up to his eye before pulling it back and sniggering. I bend over and kiss his cheek. Tears are dripping out the corners of his eyes and I hear very soft sniffling.
I push myself up and look down at him. I grin and he tries to smile back at me, the corner of his mouth quivering. I snigger -- he's broken. I can't imagine what's going on inside that pig brain of his. I half wish I had some kind of contacts so I could sell him into butt-fucking hard labor slavery. But I don't and I want to get on with it.
I slap his face and snigger,
"Time to become a girl, boy!"
His face crinkles and he whimpers, blubbering something I couldn't understand. He wails like a baby. I pick up the knife and sidle back down, grab his bloated cock and dangly balls, squeeze them together. The balls are too slippery-squirmy so I take the time to stretch his sac open and poke them back in. He gasps and whimpers and his whole body shivers and I grab his cock and balls together again.
I line the knife up between the two laces and repeat myself,
"Time to become a girl, boy!"
And before he can blubber I jerk the knife, sliding it so it cuts through cock and ball root like cutting off a fat and juicy turkey tail. I sidle back up his side again and blood his fresh shaved cheeks with the bloody root of his cock and balls like it was a fox tail. I saw it in one of the Exorcist movies or something like that.
Of course, he was whimpering like a baby now, sobbing and gasping and hiccupping all at the same time. It's so damn sexy I can't stand it. I shove two fingers up his nostrils and grab his nose and hold it tight with one hand, setting the cock and balls down next to his neck and grabbing his chin with my other hand, jerking his mouth as wide open as I can, twisting his head to face my throbbing cock.
"Suck me off!" I demand sternly.
He half looks up at me, at my eyes with a glazed expression, clearly in shock. Tears are streaming from his eyes, across his nose and dripping across his cheek, the other eye's tear disappearing into his hair. His breathing is shallow and sniffly.
I shove my cock in and his tongue struggles to push me out. I thrust my hips forward and ram my cock against the back of his mouth, against his throat. He tries to bite down -- maybe reflex, maybe deliberate. Either way, it's fun holding his mouth open like that, my fingers nearly ripping his nostrils the way it feels. But his jaw is getting hard to hold open so the better part of valor is to pull out before my hand slips off and he takes a bite out of my hot dog.
I slap his face and demand,
"Stop trying to bite -- one nip and you die, boy!"
I make sure he can't see it as I pick up his cock and balls and poke it at his half-open mouth,
"Say 'ah!' boy!"
He opened wide and I inserted his cock while pushing his chin down with the heel of my hand. It's really awkward but it's going to be fun. He gags again and I jiggle the cock. His eyes remain on me, and in his shock he is unaware of the substitution. Why should he be, the dick on his lips is still warm and hard.
I let my hand slip off his chin and ram his cock in and out, sniggering to myself as I thrust my hips forward and back, mimicking my thrusting his cock in and out. He gagged harder and bit.
Soon as he did, I could feel it through my fingers in his nostrils and I forced a little yelp, then moaned like I was cumming. Holding back a snigger, I panted,
"Oh yes, yes! Officer Roy, I know you hate me", I say. "Punish me. Bite my dick, chew it, bite as hard as you can! Chew it! Abuse it. Take out your aggressions on my hard cock, you bad man, you!"
Just the kind of perverted thing he'd expect. His eyes narrow as he ponders my words, and then with a vengeance does exactly like I told him. He bites savagely. Just for effect, I scream and quiver and stiffen, like he really bit my cock. I slap his face and snarl,
"No! No! You're castrating me!".
He bites down harder. His eyes close in concentration. I can see blood oozing from the cock into his mouth. He grinds his teeth back and forth. I start to move the little cock around, and can see that he has nearly bitten though it.
"Bite and swallow Officer Roy!" I order in a suddenly strong voice. "Eat this little officer cock right down"
He stops as he chokes on the blood. Looking down he sees my hand, now covered in blood, with the stump of his cock, shrunken sack, and two dangly balls still attached -- they'd pushed out of the sack again and dangled like blood streaked gray kidneys.
He eyes my chest to my stomach to my clearly hard and very intact cock. As he sees it, he realizes that in his throat is the top of his own former cock-head, not mine. He has bitten his own cock in two with his teeth.
"HHHHHNNNNNNNNMMGGGGG," he cries and sucks his cock-head into his throat.
He's unable to respirate with the cock stuck in his throat. I stuff the stump and the rest into his mouth forcing his jaw apart and stuffing his cheeks like a chipmunk.
He tries to spit them out, but he has lost too much breath trying to bite. He needs to breath in, but his mouth and throat are blocked with his own mutilated cock and balls, his nostrils still blocked by my fingers.
He throws his head side to side the best he can, trying to jerk my fingers out his nostrils, trying to spit his cock and balls, what's left of them, out, trying to cough out the cock-head lodged in his wind-pipe.
And with asphyxiation approaching, I realize it's all coming to a head, it's time to end my little game. I've just had too much fun here with the officer -- I want to draw it out, but also want it to come to the climax, like fucking -- both ... but realizing it all has to come to a head. (A little joke here.)
I stroke my own cock with my blood-lubricated hand. I've been hard as a rock for over half an hour, and with the exception of the non-climactic fuck of his mouth and throat, my cock's just been bobbing in front like a hungry snake.
I can feel the inexorability of my own cumming in just a couple strokes. My stomach muscles tense and begin to cramp, but my woodie is not to be denied as it jets powerful jets of cum over the cop's roiling body -- in death throes. Ropy spurt after spurt after spurt. Oh what a delicious feeling!
And before the feeling is gone, I plunge the knife into Officer Roy's muscular chest, between his ribs, just above his heart. I rock the blade up and down, then twist as I withdraw it. The effect is instantaneous. A gush of blood spurts from his ruptured heart and soaks his chest hair.
I hate that much blood, and throw the towel over his chest to soak it up. The officer has passed out. Without a beating heart, he shouldn't live more than a couple minutes max.
His lungs rattle as his chest collapses, air whooshing out softly -- real spooky -- like something out of a movie, not like breathing at all -- like his soul was somehow fleeing his body. His tense thighs and calves relax, his belly smooths out, sinks a little. The pain and fear on his face smooths out and he looks like an innocent baby-faced boy.
Laid out on my bed still and dead, he is still one damn handsome man ... as long as you can ignore his distended butt and bloody wounded crotch and those genitals stuffed in his mouth.
I unlock the handcuffs and, wrapping the bed blanket around the body, prepare to move him back to the garage. The blanket is standard cheap WalMart fare and there's nothing else to identify me. I carry him back to the car trunk and stuff him in. This is not an easy task, but the last step is required so I manage the strength. I drive him back to his car, and dump him out on the road -- let the city wonder why one of their finest is found next to his car with his dick in his mouth.
