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Robber Tames Cop in his Continental

Category: Gay Male
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I breathed on my new chromed nametag and polished it on my sleeve. I had been promoted: Sergeant Lincoln Lovel. I attached it to my blue uniform shirt, checked myself out one more time in the mirror, and walked outside to the police car in my driveway. Life is good. My utility belt gleamed, newly polished; my buttons all glittered; even my service pistol shone like it was gold-plated. And I had sergeant’s stripes on my sleeves!

My wife Cheryl waved to me from the house. My son Jan grinned at me as he walked over to his own car, a babe-mobile yellow Corvette. It was finals week; he was about to graduate from college.

I backed the police cruiser out into the street, carefully avoiding my personal pride and joy, a shiny red creampuff, the famous ’87 Lincoln Continental four-door convertible. I loved that car, a big, shiny, movie-star cruiser with a virgin-white top. It was the only four-door convertible produced since the ’30s, unique in every way. My buddies thought opening both doors on a side–the front opening to the left, the back suicide-door opening to the right–looked like the automotive version of a big cunt: red, flaring, and open.

That car and I went way back; it was my pride and joy. For a long time my son thought the Lincoln Continental was named after me. As a college student, my wife lost her cherry to me in that car. A few years later, as best I can figure, my son Jan was conceived in that car one horny night at a drive-in movie. And something else: that car held my biggest, most closely guarded secret.

In the trunk of the Lincoln was a red tackle box with a bulletproof padlock. Inside it was a secret so terrible that its discovery would destroy my whole life.


It all began four years earlier. I was a city cop, and my son Jan was about to enter university. But even sending him to the local college was a financial bind for us, so I took a part-time job as a bank guard, wearing my City Police uniform but paid by the bank.

One momentous day, I was helping one of the clerks unload some boxes when five black men with masks burst into the bank brandishing weapons. They caught me off-guard, like an idiot, took my gun, and herded me into the cage with other employees and customers.

To cut a long story short, the robbers succeeded in getting the money and dragging five of us with them as hostages. They pushed four of them into their Toyota, but there was no space left for me. “Where’s your car, cop?”

They rifled my pockets and found my keys. Damn it, I had a special keyfob for the Continental–a picture of the car itself in a round plastic disk. Shit. Three robbers drove off in the Toyota with the other hostages; two of the robbers went with me to the parking lot, found my red Connie, shoved me in the back seat beside one holding a gun, the other hopped into the driver’s seat, and we sped away.

As we drove along, I memorized the route. We ended up at an old warehouse at the far side of town. Then began the hell. With my uniform, I would get the major portion of the abuse–just as well, it was my job to protect the public, right? But the abuse was beyond my wildest imagination.

Once all of use were inside, they slid the warehouse gates closed, secured the other hostages in another locked room, then the five thugs turned on me. I expected a beating, but to my surprise–and horror–they set about stripping my clothes off.

When I was naked, they threw me full-length onto the back seat of the Continental, and one of them handcuffed my wrists to a metal loop in the seat mechanism. Then they took the hoods off. I recognized none of them, but I memorized their faces.

One started stripping down. Another got into the front seat, turned the key, and lowered the convertible top. Oh, shit, so they can watch. I was very, very worried.

The first guy stood looking down at me, having just thrown his shirt off, his last article of clothing. I gulped. He was big. Black as night. Prison tats. About 6’2″, physique shaped like a comet–long legs, slim hips, medium waist, wider chest, and big, broad shoulders. Big muscles. He’d done a lot of breaking rocks, swinging a sledgehammer all day in the sun.

I looked down. From a black garden of coarse thorns and vines, a giant black Sequoia tree jutted out of his crotch. It was thick as an Idaho potato and–God!–long as a Serengeti elephant’s trunk. I’d seen guys with their pants down in police locker rooms for 10 years, but I had never seen anything like that guy’s cock. Out of automatic respect, I softly sucked in a deep breath.

The guy was the king of any locker room. He was uncircumcised, which made the huge organ end in a taper like an artist’s paintbrush, but outlined underneath was a cockhead so wide it made the silhouette look like a spoon.

I was in trouble.

The other four rolled me over onto my belly, swiveling me around on my handcuffs, and shoved a big flour sack under my hips. I knew what was coming and wished to hell I were dreaming–or at least drunk. The white leather back seat of the Continental, once the epitome of luxury, became a Beverly Hills torture rack. A rolled and pleated nightmare.

The thug crawled in. “Allow me to introduce myself, man. I be Mr. Barron, and I’m your new owner. I get through with you, cop-boy, you going to get a new motherfucking outlook on life. Think about it, pig, soon you be my new bitch, begging me for this big Afro-meat.”

“You son of a bitch,” I growled, “I’ll see you in hell!”

“Oh, no, man, I be taking you to heaven!” With that he maneuvered himself over me, avoiding my flailing legs, then, blocking my legs with his, he mounted me–Oh, hell!–the touch of the hairy bastard’s chest and belly on my back was like sandpaper! But the skin of my back was the least of my troubles: his cockhead, almost a planet in itself, nudged at my asshole. He let out three deep grunts, a sort of “1-2-3–” and he sank that elephant cock up my ass!

I screamed. No shame in that: the pain was incredible! His big cockhead turned my rectum into a garage door! Never had such pain! How in hell do gays do it? My asshole was so stretched and agonized, I could feel every pulse of blood in his throbbing cock, transmitted through my ass-ring in another jolt of pain.

Fuck, it hurt! He had to have injured me deep inside, and that was felonious assault. God, it was assault with a deadly weapon! “I gonna treat you right, man,” he purred in my ear. “You be lubed up, and so’s this big cock. Relax now, man. It gonna come to you. Try to relax. You gonna like it.”

I was in such agony, I could hardly talk, but I managed, “You motherfuckers–I ever get loose–kill you!”

“There, you see? While you’s all upset and hollering, I sank in a couple more inches.”

What? Yeah, I feel it–a fullness in my guts. The pain was still the same, though. Oh, my poor asshole, will I ever be able to shit again–or worse, will I ever be able to keep from shitting? I wished I was dead; no, I wished that motherfucker was dead!

I crouched there, motionless, avoiding even the slightest movement because it brought more pain. He, too, lay still on my back, leaving me frozen in pain.

He was frozen in triumph, the bastard. “How about that, I got me a cop’s cherry! Maybe you jail a bunch of people from now on, but you never gonna forget me. You always know I own this ass of yours.”

“I won’t forget you, you son of a bitch. I’ll see you in the penitentiary if it’s the last thing I ever do.” If nothing else, I had to be grateful that he held still for some reason. The pain was fading somewhat. I couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t thrusting into me–was that how Blacks fucked with those big cocks of theirs, one stroke?

Nope. With another stab of pain, he slid in a few more inches, and I realized I wasn’t even past the insertion! God, he’s not even in me all the way! My ass was on fire, and I seriously worried that by the time he got all 12 inches up inside, I would be bawling like a baby.

But that’s how it went for what seemed like hours–a grateful pause to let the pain go down, a thrust that took it back up again, over and over until finally the elephant trunk was in me to the max, and the rank-smelling hairs of his crotch tickled against my ass. My arms collapsed, and my head fell down to the cool leather of the Continental’s upholstery, leaving my ass still elevated on my knees, an even better angle for his cock. He moved his legs outside mine, controlling me, and his cock sank in even deeper. “I be in you, man, to the nuts. You mine now. You my bitch.”

The fucker! I swore myself an oath that once I got him in a pair of handcuffs, I would show him a little police brutality. The only thing I could say about the situation was that the longer he took, the more the pain faded. In fact, gradually it didn’t hurt much at all.

Somehow he knew that (I wondered how). “Okay, man, now you ready, and I gonna breed your ass!” With that, he withdrew that giant cock, sliding the big meat out of me in a long, smooth, juicy slide that played over my asshole like a violin bow, and Oh my god in heaven!

It was the most ecstatic sensation I’d ever had! I was fucking stupefied, and I couldn’t hold back an astonished gasp, “Oh my god!”

“Yeah, you be getting’ into it now.”

Oh, shit! I was so embarrassed, my face flushed hot. But it didn’t matter. His next fuck-lunge sank the monster cock back into me, and slowly and smoothly, as the big thing reamed past the taut rubber band of my sphincter, it wasn’t exactly pain any more, This new invader had somehow changed into a smooth, shiny torpedo, and to my fucking disbelief, it felt good!

“How you feelin’ now, man?” His voice at my ear reminded me I was being raped. “Let’s just check you out.” His right hand dropped from my shoulder, where he had braced himself, and he reached underneath. He grabbed my cock.

Jesus Christ, I’ve got a hardon!

“Yeah, feel that, man? You be getting’ into this, all right. You big cop, down deep inside, you just a pussy, ain’t you?”

Damn, I was humiliated, suddenly glad I had no backup. I would never live this down if anybody ever found out.

Gradually his fuck-strokes sped up until he thrust in and out of me full length each time, and–I bit my lip in shame–it felt wonderful! Like hypersensitivity out of control, almost like jacking off too long. As a kid, a couple of times I kept stroking myself even when the orgasm was over, but I couldn’t stand it–my cock was just too sensitive. And that’s what Barron’s cock sliding through my ass felt like, my asshole was just too sensitive–but he didn’t stop, and I was helpless.

The result was a high-frequency sensation almost like an orgasm but without the buildup, peak, and fade-out. It was constant, super high-level pleasure I could describe only as orgasmic but endless, a constant, wavering sensation as long as his aircraft carrier of a cock passed through my port.

When I caught myself liking it, I bit my lip! Have some decency, you depraved fucker! You’re being raped by a Black felon, and you’re wallowing under him–and suddenly I realized it: Ohmigod! I had been automatically rutting back at him, thrusting my ass against his invading cock. Ohhh, shit!

“Look at this boy! My cop homey be fuckin’ along with me!” The other four bastards laughed, and I was so ashamed I hoped he would break something inside me so I could bleed to death.

And the son of a bitch was merciless. He got me so horny, I couldn’t deny it. The best I could do was fight against showing it, but I constantly caught myself lifting my ass for him, thrusting back against him, even–oh, I felt like shit–I caught myself clenching my asshole around his cockshaft, anything to heighten the sensation from that wonderful organ.

Wonderful organ?? What in hell are you thinking, Officer Lovel? Are you this Black man’s whore, or are you an officer of the law?

And then he stopped. In mid-stroke. Froze in place behind me. I wondered if my brother cops had arrived and were aiming guns at the bastard. Fuck, what a position to be rescued in!

But I heard no shouts, no orders to “Get on the ground!”

Why did he stop?

I gnashed my teeth as I realized I missed the delicious friction. In fact, I couldn’t stop myself, my ass automatically lunged back against him, skewering his cock into me a few inches. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” he crowed, and my face got so hot, I had to be blushing purple. “We got us an eager, horny cop here. He be pushin’ hisself back on this big, black dick.”

I’d never been so humiliated in my life. My own goddamned body had betrayed me!

“What me to continue, man? You want more of this big meat?”

Fuck, it just keeps getting worse! I was silent, forcing myself in fury to hold still.

“Hey, man, you gotta tell me what you want. Without you tell me, I ain’t doing no more with your ass.”

I couldn’t believe it. Once the movement of his cock into my ass was the worst pain I ever felt. Now that his cock didn’t move through me, the agony was unbearable! He brought his mouth down near my ear. “You want me to go on fucking you, man?”

I was so ashamed, I had to turn my face away, but I couldn’t help myself: I nodded my head yes.

When the huge black cock started pumping me again, I got such a thrill, goose-bumps prickled all over my body! Automatically I lunged back at him, and again in my ear: “That’s it, man, enjoy the moment. Ain’t nobody gonna know about this but you and me–and my bros–but there ain’t nothing you can do, so you might’s well make the best of getting a big, black cock.”

Then he bit my earlobe. Damn, that felt good, and suddenly I had a new horror. Oh, no, oh my god, he’s going to make me cum! In a panic, I felt that first slight tremor in my balls. My testicles cinched up closer to my body, and my cock got that “start your engines” feeling. No, oh, for god’s sake, NO!

I tried desperately to think of something else, anything to derail the growing climax, but the constant, insistent pleasure spreading out from my asshole was a prairie fire incinerating anything it touched. Helpless, I tipped my head back, my eyes rolled up in my head, and I shuddered as a tsunami of pleasure swept over me.

Unbelievable! Explosions of pleasure thundered in my groin, and the stretch of my asshole around the chief’s thickness became a ring of electricity, high-voltage ecstasy. Pinpoints of rapture, little mosquito-bites of bliss pincushioned over every square inch of my skin!

Out of my mind, my head fell down between my arms, and I found myself looking straight back at my rampant cock–just in time to get bursts of sperm so powerful they shot all the way to my face! My own jism landed in my slack-jawed mouth!

And they didn’t miss that. “Hey, looka there, cop-boy’s a goddamn cum-slut! Drinkin’ he own jizz!” Again my face burned in shame, and inside, deep down, I was scared: God damn, I like it! Never had an orgasm like this, Never!

I was still purring along in the afterglow when Barron, still thrusting into me, murmured in my ear, “Y’all cummed yourself from my fuckin’? Beat me to it, did you, boy? Watch this!”

With that he got it on, hip-slamming me violently, raising the level of my afterglow back up to thumping pre-orgasm–What? I’m 35 years old! That’s imposs–

–With Barron’s teeth biting into my ear, he got his gun. Big power-surges of his swimmers shot up my ass, every blast jolting me back into another orgasm! Trembling like a racehorse at the starting gate, I cummed again. Another tidal wave of unspeakable pleasure swept over me.

When I finally came down enough to think coherently, I was amazed. A double-orgasm! Never done that before! Totally exhausted, I slumped down flat on the seat, actually glad to feel the comforting warmth of Barron’s body against my back (and his sweat, too, goddamn it, I loved his sweat on me!). I couldn’t help myself: I was so fuck-crazy (and grateful), I clenched my asshole again and again to heighten his pleasure as he came down from the mountain.

Again I heard his voice in my ear, a soft, deep bass, strangely comforting: “You a fuckin’ natural, man. Never had me a piece of ass hotter than yours.” He looked down into my eyes, but I turned my head away in shame.

Shame, hell, you hypocrite! You are proud you did him good, and you turned your head away because you’re shy with your lover!! Get a grip, asshole! You just got raped!! I forced myself to turn my face back to him.

He smiled at me. “Don’t get knotted up, man. We are what we are. Now y’all know what’s inside.” Couldn’t deny it, the sound of his cave-echo voice close to my ear, intimate, sharing between just us two, had me purring under his weight.

Damn, the guy had brought me down from rage and frenzy, calming me down like a jockey soothing a stormy horse. As his cock softened enough to slide back out of my ass, it came out with a schlucking sound, and suddenly my once tight-packed guts felt empty. Abandoned. I gulped; I wanted the big cock back inside.

I was so relaxed I was almost asleep–certainly fuck drunk. “Still going to arrest you,” I murmured. “Can’t rape a cop.”

Again that dark-coffee voice: “Can’t rape the willing, my man.” My belly wallowed in a mess of my own sperm on the back seat of the Lincoln. I was covered in evidence for the defense. His voice dropped to a whisper. “C’mon, man, tell me. You liked it, didn’t you?”

Why the hell not? I turned my face up to his and whispered, “Yeah.”

Then he kissed me!

Astounded, I stiffened at first, but those warm lips against mine melted my last firewall–I know what’s inside–and I kissed him back. As a cop, I figured I was a captive anyway, might as well roll with the flow–who knows, maybe I might find a way to escape. As a man, I felt as if he’d just removed a medicine ball from my shoulders–I felt free. Wonderful.

The big, black thug had just taught me more about lovemaking than I thought existed. Nobody had ever turned me on that much. In fact, when his tongue pressed against my teeth, I opened my mouth, and when the big, soft tentacle entered my mouth, the bastard drove me into another motherfucking orgasm!

As I spurted out more jism, polishing the leather upholstery, my mind was blown. This is impossible! Three climaxes without a touch on my cock!

When I wallowed slightly to the side, he spotted my spouting cock. He broke the kiss, chuckling.

Again the Voice: “You done cummed again, man. What was that, three times now?” He kissed my lips again, then, “Proves you my bitch, man. Only bitches get multiple-orgasms.” He kissed me again, deep, tongue-probing, wallowing his face over mine, owning me, controlling me, making me his.

I was breathless. I felt owned! And worse, I was weirdly okay with that. When he finally finished, I crawled out of the Continental on rubbery legs. My whole life was turned around.


Three days went by, and I was fucked so many times I lost count. Day and night. Barely taking time to eat. After Barron broke me in, I was passed from one to the other of the kidnappers. At the end I could have identified any of them even with his mask–as long as I could see his cock. Hell, they had fucked me so many times, I could identify each man by his humping techniques.

We had long, long ago passed the point of any self-respect on my part. They had turned me into a cum-slut, and I couldn’t deny it. Gradually it was comfortable to accept it, to suck any man’s cock who was nearby, to lie back and lift my legs for any kidnapper who tapped me on the shoulder, and–the biggest step–to tell them I liked it:

“You really like this big cock, don’t you cop-boy?”

“You know I do, you bastard. Don’t make me keep sucking you. When are you going to fuck me like you know I want?” I couldn’t believe my own ears. I was in another world. But as long as it lasts, I’m going to enjoy it. Only two things can happen: they kill us, or we are rescued. Until then, I’m helpless. I can do nothing but enjoy all these big black cocks. They never did anything sexual if the other hostages were around, so it was our little secret–actually my five big, black, cum-spurting secrets.

On the fourth day, a SWAT team broke into the warehouse where they kept us. The perps were arrested and trucked off to jail. The other hostages and I were taken to the hospital for check-ups. My blood ran cold as I rode along in the ambulance. What if they can tell, somehow, that I’ve been fucked at least a dozen times a day since I got here? What if they detect sperm in my asshole? Oh, shit, what if they take my temperature, and the thermometer comes out of my mouth dripping jism?

When we arrived at the hospital, I began the “I’m okay, I’m okay, don’t need any medication, no check-up. No pains whatsoever. They did nothing to me. They fed us well enough. I’m in perfect health, take care of these civilians.”

It worked. The hospital let me go, and my wife and son met me with hugs and kisses. Cheryl was so glad to see me she was crying. Jan gave me a big hug, and in an eerie way I noted what a strapping young man he was. Handsome. Well built. Attractive. He would be a lady-killer in college. He was actually more like his mother: sensitive, careful, and thoughtful. But he was built like me: hard and masculine.

That I even noticed that worried me. How much have I been fucked up mentally?

The police department gave me a week’s vacation, so I spent a few days at home lounging around. And life was back to normal.


I was restless. Couldn’t relax. Cheryl had always been a horny babe–we had sex all the time. It was almost a game between us to get in a quick fuck when Jan was outside with his friends, in the garage with his car. Nearly every time he took a shower, I laid his mother on the kitchen counter.

Back home from the kidnapping, I had sex with Cheryl a few times, and I performed okay–but the orgasm was “okay”–just okay. Not the earth-shakers I’d gotten used to. My asshole ached. It itched. It needed the stretching exercises again.

Desperate, I searched the internet for dildos–would’ve gone to the local porn shop to buy one, but I couldn’t afford to be seen buying such a thing. While searching the sex-toy sites, something hit me between the eyes: a do-it-yourself dildo kit that created a rubber reproduction of my own (or somebody else’s) cock.

That got me thinking. I sent off for the kit, ordered rapid shipping, and spent two days on pins and needles, pacing back and forth, watching the mailbox. When the package finally arrived, I hopped in the Lincoln, drove outside of town, and opened it. The kit was a long, wide tube I was to fill with a soft rubber mixture. My cock (or whoever’s) was to be thrust into the soft rubber-mix and held there until the mixture solidified. Once the mold hardened, another rubber mixture into it would produce an exact, hard-rubber version of the real cock.

The next problem was to figure out how to get the kit to Barron for the mold.

To my delight, it turned out that Barron made a plea-bargain, and in return for showing where they stashed the stolen money (and other confessions), he would get off easier. I broke the speed limit getting back to the station, begging the chief to let me accompany the perp on the cash recovery. I don’t remember exactly what I said, some psycho-babble about “getting closure from the kidnapping incident,” and the chief fell for it–I was there when they let Barron out of jail. We drove over to the warehouse neighborhood in two cars, and then I began the real psycho-bullshit. I talked to the lieutenant about “a moment with the perp” to collect more intelligence, to ask questions with the insights of being a kidnapee.

Again a miracle. They let me step into a room in the warehouse with him, a room with only one door–no chance of his escape–and the room had no windows.

He was grinning. “Good to see you again, man. How’s that man-pussy of yours? Aching for me, is it?”

I gave him a little smile, and he grinned wider. “Uncomfortable, ain’t you. Feeling shy around me?” I could feel myself blushing. “That’s just natural, bro. You my bitch now. You look up to me as the man.” Ohmigod, he’s right!

I brought out the package from a backpack, and took a deep breath. “I want you to let me make a copy of your cock.” Dammit, my voice sounds weak and squeaky like a girl’s!

He guffawed, slapping his thigh. “Well, I be damned, boy, you really got it bad!” I felt like shit, but what kept me standing there was that if I could just make it through this latest humiliation, I could comfort myself in privacy, reliving the greatest sexual experience of my life.

He took the tube from me. “Sure, what the hell, man. Give me that big thing.” He winked at me. “Maybe you could wet me down and fluff me up a bit before I fuck this tube of glue.”

“We got to hurry, Barron.” I dropped to my knees, pulled open his orange jailhouse jumpsuit, and started sucking. The smell from between his legs was powerful. Sweat and a rotten, unwashed crotch, of course, but something else: a deep, penetrating aroma. Something familiar. Barron’s balls. Big, powerful dynamos. I felt myself getting weak.

His cock was so huge, I couldn’t mouth the whole cockhead, but I sucked all over it. Damn, I love this. A blob of precum oozed out. Yeah! Salty. Tangy. I got nervous–a huge desire was building in me to blow him to climax.

Luckily he hardened fast. I back off, and he thrust that magnificent cock into the mold-tube. We stood there for a couple of minutes as the rubber hardened, then I pulled him back out, stashed the tube in my backpack, sucked and licked over his cock to clean him up, then banged on the door for them to let us out.

For two years, my sex life with Cheryl continued “as usual,” but my truest, most final orgasms occurred in the Continental. Once parked outside of town, I fetched my Barron-copy from the heavily locked tackle box in the trunk, then lay naked in the back seat, my legs raised up high, the big cock once more cramming my ass, and a fantasy about servicing the big bastard drove me to groaning, cum-shooting completion.

Then Barron got out.

One afternoon, off duty, in the driveway washing the beloved Lincoln Continental, I heard the Voice behind me. “That tight ass of yours still looking good, bro.” I froze.

“Turn around and let me look at you.”

I turned. Barron looked good. He’d done some weightlifting in prison. Muscular arms. Even broader shoulders. My eyes dropped to his crotch. “Yeah, you been aching for that, ain’t you?”

Caught, I raised my eyes sheepishly. Damn, why does this guy always make me feel like a little kid?

He smiled. “You fretting because you feeling like a bitch, all shy and clumsy around me?” Fuck, he hit the nail on the head! “That’s natural, man. You a natural ho. All you dream of is getting a big male to breed you”–

–“That’s not true! You raped me.” I gulped. “Okay, I liked it, but now it’s over!”

He laughed. “Then why you get a big ol’ rubber copy of my dick?” He moved closer. “Ain’t as good as the real thing, is it?”

I was silent, burning in embarrassment.

“Was it!”

I took a deep breath. “No.” My voice was tiny. A whisper.

“So where can we go so I can get me some more of that good cop ass?” He looked beyond me at the Continental. “Well, I be damned, ain’t this the scene of the crime? Why don’t you just hop in the back seat of this big ol’ Lincoln, and I’ll show you what you been missing?”

“Not here!” I hissed.

But he was in control. God, I really am his bitch. Twenty minutes later, the Continental pulled into a grove of trees outside of town. Twenty-five minutes later, I lay writhing on the back seat, skewered again, blissfully, painfully, wonderfully stretched out around the master’s staff, panting and begging him to go faster.

He was still the chief. Every ejaculation of his inside me catapulted me into mindless ecstasy–I didn’t know how he did it: maybe like long-barreled cannons have a longer range, maybe his cock blasted cum-wads straight against my prostate–all I knew was that I cummed helplessly, my balls at the mercy of his spurting cock.

Incredible. Sex with Cheryl was never half the delirious pleasure I got from submitting to Barron. “Yeah, white boy, you really my bitch, ain’t you.”

I looked up at him, my eyes half-closed, purring in the long, wonderful afterglow he always gave. “Yeah.” I said it completely: “Yeah, I’m your bitch.”

After I sucked his cock clean, we drove back to town. “I been thinking, my cop-bitch, maybe you could get me a job. I see that college got an ad out for janitors. You put in a good word for me there? Maybe you’n me get together so’s I can lay you over a classroom table.”

I smiled. “Yeah. I’ll go check it out for you.”

With some pleading from me, the college gave him a janitorial position, and I prayed that my life would settle into something I could control. I arranged to meet Barron three times a week in empty classrooms, where, just as he said, he laid me on the professors’ tables. Everything seemed to “settle.” Two months later, I dared to think I had the best of both worlds.

Then Barron exploded a hand-grenade in my head. After a doggy-style session, wallowing on my back and biting my ear as he had his way with me (and making me sputter so much cum in my orgasm, I got it all over my uniform pants–Sonofabitch! I’ll have to wash this out in the men’s room!), the Voice purred into my ear, “You know, you horny ho, your ass be actual tighter than your son’s.”

I was hit in the head with a baseball bat! Could hardly breathe. Barron pulled out and rocked back onto his knees. I rolled over and looked up at him. “Jan? You got Jan?”

“Hot young meat. Came up behind me when I was mopping floors and asked me if I wasn’t the guy who kidnapped his old man.” He smiled, and his cock actually lurched at the thought. “Once I knowed who his old man was, I turn on the ol’ charm.” His cock began to harden and rise as he spoke. “The acorn don’t fall far from the tree, man. Next thing I know, your boy be riding on my dick like he trying out for a bucking bronco contest.”

I don’t remember much of what else he said. The ceiling had just fallen in on me. Barron pulled his pants up and left the room. I lay there, a cop in uniform lying in a pool of his own jism, wondering how, oh how was I ever going to put Humpty-Dumpty back together again.

Dinnertime at home that night was a nightmare. It all came from my head–I was the only one in the room who knew “everything,” but still I sat eating like I was under water. I could see people, but I couldn’t hear anything. I could speak, but only nonsense came out. Even the chairs at the table, chrome-tube frames with white plastic seats and backrests, reminded me horribly of the white leather back seat of the Continental. Cheryl looked over at me. “Are you okay, Lincoln? You look a little sick. You feeling all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired, I guess.”

She gave me that Look. “Maybe,” she said from lowered eyelashes, “you need a little”–slight pause–“exercise.”

I looked up. “Yeah. Maybe you’re right.” Anything to get my mind off my son Jan spreading his legs under the rutting 12-inch cock of Barron.

After dinner, we moved into the living room to watch TV. Ten or fifteen minutes later, I heard a knock at the door. Jan answered it. A moment later he came back into the living room. His face was white. I looked beyond him.

Ohmigod! It was Barron.

“Good evening, folks. I be thinking I come over and get acquainted.” Cheryl suddenly recognized him and gasped. Barron spoke quickly, “Ma’am, your husband he kind enough to get me a good job over at the university”–he looked over at Jan–“and your boy he good enough to show the ropes.” He smiled broadly. “I come over to thank y’all.”

I stood up. “Just a minute, this isn’t the pla–”

–But I was too late. Barron had pulled open his fly, and out flopped that gigantic cock. Somehow, in the inner sanctum of my own home, it looked even more garish, evil, and mega-, maximum erotic! It had never looked so incredibly powerful and seductive.

I knew my lines–You’re under arrest for indecent exposure–but I stood there frozen like a mouse staring into the eye of a cobra. I glanced over at Jan. He, too, stared at Barron’s weapon. He, too, glanced occasionally at me, his mouth open in astonishment.

I looked at Cheryl. Like a doe backed into a corner, staring at the lion.

Then I heard the Voice. Powerful. Loud. Commanding. “Get over here, cop-bitch, and wet this down. We got things to do here tonight!”

My throat was dry as sandpaper. “No,” I squeaked. “You can’t–”

–“Get over here!!”

My goddamned legs were not my own! I swear to god I did not walk over there, but somehow my legs moved one before the other, and I found myself in front of Barron, staring down at the thing that controlled my life. My knees collapsed under me, and I was face-to-eye with it.


Nobody could give him a blowjob, of course, but as usual I licked and sucked all over it. After a minute I bumped heads with Jan. He had stripped his clothes off and knelt naked next to me, licking up and down the other side of Barron’s huge dong.

He did me first. Pushed me onto my hands and knees and rammed his throbbing dong up my eager asshole–while I was forced to look across the room into Cheryl’s stunned face. Her eyes grew even wider, and I understood why–Jan’s mouth swallowed my cock as he lay under me, blowing his own father.

The Voice had further orders. “You been watching, all passive, long enough, honey. Come on over here and let me show you what you be missing.”

I figured Cheryl would jump up, run to the phone and dial 911, but to my astonishment, she stood up, unbuttoned her blouse, and dropped it to the floor. Her bra followed. Then her pants. Then her panties.

Barron pulled his cock out of my ass–I cursed myself for wishing it back in me–and he reduced me even further: “Suck my cock clean, boy. Can’t fuck your wife’s clean pussy with something’s come out of your ass.” And under the eyes of my wife and son, I sucked my own ass-juices from the cock of the man about to turn me into a cuckold.

And that he did. Cheryl was apparently in a spell of rage at me, dismay at Jan, and fascination with what I knew was the biggest penis she’d ever seen. With the shortest foreplay I ever saw (I always had to go through all the steps), Barron lay back on the couch while my wife impaled herself on him, screaming in pain and passion.

She ended up purring, kissing his mouth while he squeezed her titties viciously. Her pussy stretched out like a sewer pipe as she leaped, bounced, and wriggled on him. She couldn’t hold onto the kiss, but he gripped each tit until he finally let out a loud growl. He was cumming in her, and just like me, she went into an orgasm from the high-pressure blasts of his sperm. Holding still but trembling, out of control, Cheryl’s eyes rolled back in her head, and she let out a long, high-pitched scream. When she finally fell back, white Barron-jism drooled from her spread-open snatch.

Jan gaped. So did I.

So began a life of nonstop sex. We were Barron’s harem.

On Jan’s birthday, Barron lay on his back, my panting body stretched out full-length over him, his cock plugged into my ass. “Like this, do you, cop-bitch?”

I murmured a purring sound, nibbling at his jaw.

“Jan boy, c’mere!”

He instructed my son to mount me from behind, and although my ass was already “occupied,” he ordered Jan to cram himself in there, too! A new horror. Is there no end to the humiliations?

I thought my days of searing pain were over–I had stretched permanently to accommodate the chief, but with both my men up my ass, I was back in the World of Pain. But I was a slut to the bone: I liked the pain. It was like gasoline on the fire of my orgasm. As Jan rammed his collegiate pride up me, he drove me into my specialty, a climax started from action in my ass. I was a hands-off, cum-spurting police officer spewing my jism all over the parolee’s belly, out of my fucking mind with pleasure that both men were trying to impregnate me.


These days, as a token of my encouragement of his rehabilitation, Barron is a regular visitor to my house. I have a new definition of “normal.” Barron shows up for dinner, then we lock all the doors and lower the blinds. For the rest of the night, Baron Barron, as he calls himself, rules our roost. Cheryl has drunk so much of his cum, she’s forgotten what mine tastes like. I’ve fucked Jan so many times, I’ve forgotten what fucking Cheryl is like. Barron has fucked me so many times, I’ve forgotten about anything except keeping him satisfied. I’ve sucked Jan’s cock so often, my teeth are whiter.

And by now, both Barron and Jan have double-fucked me so many times, I can sit on a fire hydrant and fall all the way to the ground. Cheryl’s into triple-fucking. She routinely takes all three of us at once.

A Great, Gettin’-up Morning is coming, though. Cheryl is pregnant with Barron’s baby. They both smile at me. They know that deep inside, I wish I carried Barron’s child.

I am his bitch, after all.

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