She extends her hand and I know to bend over and hand her the denim. Then I pause. It’s a natural pause...as someone delays before jumping from a high diving board, or entering a darkened room. With my brief vacillation, Officer Benson no longer stifles her smile, instead exhibiting a full row of even and bright white incisors and bicuspids.
“Everything Mr. Devereux. At your age, surely you’ve been naked in the presence of others before...”
I peel down my shorts, bending to disguise my semi erect penis. But the subterfuge only works momentarily, for the Officer crooks her finger to beckon, and just as with the pants I gingerly step forward to hand her the last of my clothing. Without losing eye contact she tosses the garment onto the pile with the rest of my clothing.
“Very good. You accept authority very well.”
Something in her voice, the firm demeanor even while offering a compliment, brings another twinge. My mind begins to race in realizing that my manhood will soon be totally out of control. Just as I convince myself with soothing thoughts that the Officer, having found nothing, will now allow me to dress, she forcefully utters another command.
“Kneel; knees apart, hands behind your head.”
Max growls, sensing my hesitation. I comply.
“Just a cavity search, Mr. Devereux; done all the time.”
She steps forward and signals Max. The dog moves very close to my back as the tall blonde towers over my naked and kneeling form.
“Open your mouth...wide...wider.”
A flashlight appears from her broad leather belt. Soft but strong fingers peel back my lips to inspect my mouth and tongue. I am embarrassed, but worse, she presses the front of her shiny knee high leather boots against my penis as she examines. My hormone-laden system can withstand no more. My manhood rises to full tumescence. I even quite subtly thrust forward a little with my hips. She seems to notice and smiles.
“You’re not going to do well with the final cavity, Mr. Devereux. I think you’ll need to rest a while.”
Just the words I did not wish to hear. Delay and more time spent naked with the imposing but comely Officer...but gratefully, alone in the overgrowth of pine.
She steps back and looks down. Her smile broadens in viewing my angry member, its purple head reaching for the sky.
“Very nice, Mr. Devereux. A suitable respect for the law. Keep those knees well spread. Yes, that’s good. It’s part of our training to insist on a posture which inhibits sudden motion or resistance.”
Officer Benson becomes rather smug having thoroughly established her control. With Max so close in back of me that I occasionally feel his breath, the most handsome officer casually leans to rest her backside on the trunk of her patrol car, crosses her boots and casually assumes a relaxed stance with arms akimbo.
A most domineering pose, standing so far above with a threatening Max awaiting the simplest of commands to subdue me should I so much as sneeze.
Many moments pass with her staring at my penis and me most uncomfortably kneeling, yet I cannot attain flaccidity. Meanwhile the officer’s hands search her belt seeking something while I just remain kneeling.
“Well, I can’t find any gloves and there is one last cavity to search.”
Her eyes shift to the bumper of my car. She smiles evilly then snaps her fingers. Max’s ears perk as he turns his head in expectation of a command.
Officer Benson points downward.
“Lick!”
Chapter Twenty Five
Officer Annette Benson
Innovative thinking is part of our training.
I do not know where I left my latex gloves. But I cannot let my oversight allow in Mr. Willie Devereux to escape the ultimate in humiliation.
Much contraband can be squeezed into that tight rear aperture. And I will not permit the absence of gloves to result in an incomplete search.
So, I see that attached to the bumper of this rusty Toyota is an old trailer hitch, its bracket somewhat corroded with age, but the rounded, bulbous knob remains shiny with its chrome surface.
Not wishing to damage my young speeder’s rectum, Max’s large and wet tongue will suffice for a coating of lubricant. I will sit my young perpetrator atop the hitch and have him work it inward...slowly... so very slowly and gently. Any foreign objects within he will either divulge and give up to his arresting officer or he will be soon be coughing up such through his throat.
After enduring so many male jokes about girls frigging themselves on such smooth metal devices, doorknobs included, perhaps it is time to turn the tide. Yes, I like the thought. Mr. Willie Devereux can ride the rounded chrome to his heart’s content and I will have comfort knowing that his anal cavity is devoid of illegal substances.
Mr. Devereux looks on with an amusingly curious look as Max wets the trailer hitch. When adequately lubricated I begin the process of convincing the submissive little twerp that it is in his best interests to remain obedient.
“I’ll need your hands behind your back...now, Mr. Devereux.”
So compliant while I wrap the simple but effective strand of thin vinyl around his wrists. Originally designed as cable fasteners for the telephone company, the narrow bands are cheap and no known strength can break the ties. So Mr. Devereux is effectively cuffed, making his hands and arms useless.
And the reaction of his standing penis is most distracting. It hardens and seems to waggle.
“Up,” I command. And dear Max assists with one of his most vicious growls as Mr. Devereux delays. So I merely pinch both nipples and lift.
With that applied motivation, his feet and legs move with the alacrity of a Russian dancer and he awkwardly arises.
“So, I trust there is nothing back there which I should know about,” I advise as I guide him to straddle the hitch.
I laugh as it dawns on him why I had Max work to so fervently moisten the bumper attachment. My grip on his nipples slowly pulls him downward. His knees bend. I carefully line him up. Lower. Lower. Lower. The chrome meets his gluteal cleft. He moans. I laugh.
“We’ll go slowly. If there’s anything back there, I suggest you tell me now. That’s a good-sized hitch and any contraband will be pushed where you won’t see it for a long time.
“Spread. More. Lower yourself.”
Oh, the heady feeling of dominance over the male. Whereas Mr. Devereux’s excitement is obvious, that of the female is so wonderfully contained. He has no idea that under this harsh paramilitary uniform of mine is a set of panties, which are soaking.
He reacts so obsequiously. And those eyes! Max used to look at me like that when he was first trained. And look at the result. A handsome beast ready to kill for me..., instantly reacting to all commands.
Well, it seems Mr. Devereux has quite the tight sphincter. He begins to plead as the rounded metal knocks for entry at his back door and slowly parts his cheeks. But I am relentless and patiently tower over him as his weight forces open his rectum.
“It’s probably best to spread your knees Mr. Devereux. Be a good boy. There’s plenty of time, but I am sure you’d like to get done with this. It must be terrible humiliating for you.”
I coo the observation with mocked sympathy as he beseechingly begs. And I can swear his erection enlarges! With knees parted and in a seated position, I step between his widespread thighs and look down to focus on his scrotum for the first time.
How nice! Good sized testicles for a youngster of his stature. But I prefer the male shaved.
Mr. Devereux slowly sinks and I bend at the waist to ascertain the progress. Yes, given time and persistent all human flesh can stretch and in his case it has done so admirably, taking the entire bulbous sphere. But I cannot help reassuring myself. I reach down and with my superior strength separate his feet and lift such from the ground, spreading one ankle out to my right, the other to my left. His entire weight is borne by his rectum and the trailer hitch. Mission accomplished.
But what’s all the gooey fluid emanating from his erection?
I remain situated between his thighs.
“Place you feet on the bumper of the patrol car for me, Mr. Devereux. Yes, that’s a good boy; keep them parted.”
With the car resting straight in front of him and only some three feet away, the demanded posture allows me to release his feet, yet all his weight continues to be placed on his impaled anus.
My deviant mind forces me to move toward him. Once again I press my smooth leather boots against his incredibly erect manhood. And he begins to squirm so admirably. The little tyke is quite athletic, sitting with backside stuffed, wrists cuffed, physically helpless. Yet he manages to frottage his penis against my boots. The virile male beast, so driven by hormones.
I step away. He moans. The pain of penetration has transformed. The prostate seems to celebrate my forced manipulation and he experiences that uniquely male pleasure of glandular massage. It’s no wonder so many males are homoerotic, engaging in the never- ending search for the male on male comfort of stuffing each other’s gluteal clefts with their joy sticks.
I reach down and pinch a crinkled nipple. He lurches, adding to his own heightened pleasure by moving his buttocks against the bulbous hitch.
“Guess there’s no contraband,” I coo in a sultry voice. “But there seems to be something else in there.”
My teasing words cause him to attempt a forward thrust to renew the penile caress against my boots. His hips cannot move of course and his erection just stabs the air. I laugh demonically, soaking up my power. I reach for my nightstick, readily tucked in my broad leather belt.
“So, you speed; you pay a price.”
With my left hand continuing to toy with his right nipple, my right reaches down with the nightstick to find that free-swinging scrotal sac.
“And the price is that you have to show me how you ride. Yes, the daunted male... powerful...virile...erect...yet so poignantly squirming and begging for the ultimate release.
“How do you normally do it Mr. Devereux? Stroke away until the skin becomes raw?”
I begin to jiggle his male plums with my nightstick. Oh, how juicily vulnerable, dangling at the end of the trailer hitch bracket, so exposed, seeming to beseech for attention.
“So why don’t we just ride together, shall we? You the bound and helpless aroused male, and me the authoritative law enforcement officer. You have such respect for the law, Mr. Devereux; think you can obey one more command?”
Chapter Twenty Six
Willie
Just as months before at Miss Chloe’s birthday party, events become out of control. I am stripped naked, painfully impaled, bound, humiliated yet incredibly aroused with my erect penis serving to enthrall my arresting officer.
Now the uniformed beauty stands high over me, plays with my balls using her nightstick, encourages me to ‘ride’ the trailer hitch, and most disconcertingly, but pleasurably, presses her smooth, shiny leather boots against my turgid manhood.
Despite my extreme embarrassment the twinges cascade. The sizable metal bulb furnishes a strange sensation...uncomfortable, yet agreeable. And fluid streams from my pee hole.
The Officer’s left hand begins to play with my right nipple gently twisting then painfully lifting which in turn forces me to attempt to lift. This serves to produce a sensation of manipulation about my anus.
I am fucking myself!
The Officer smiles...then begins to laugh as she senses my enjoyment. Perhaps it is her control over my enjoyment that seems to so thrill her.
“Want to show Officer Benson that you’re a big boy? Hmm. You ride so nicely and seem to enjoy the decadence..., naked, cuffed, anally stuffed. Yes, Mr. Devereux loves to exhibit himself doesn’t he?”
The bizarre scene continues. And the Officer is correct. I strangely do seem to find pleasure and look up into her commanding eyes with adulation. She controls, and her control is bringing delightful sensations experienced only once before.
Officer Benson moves to press more firmly with her boots and her ‘Smokey the Bear’ hat falls to the ground. A mountain of blond hair unravels and tumbles to her shoulders and back. Her image of feminine dominance now exceeds that of law enforcement officer and I look up and gawk into a beautiful face. She smiles, seeming to understand that the truly subjugated male so enjoys his subjugation and knowing that such invariably leads to a curious adoration.
“Want to show Max how virile you really are, Mr. Devereux? Think you can ejaculate by merely rubbing my boots? Yes, I think you can.”
The nightstick rises from fondling my balls and instead begins to press the topside of my penis shaft, sandwiching my erection between her boots. She twists my nipple, thrusts her boot forward and presses firmly with the nightstick.
The whole scene is too much and I explode, drenching the black leather boots with gooey whiteness.
It feels so good, yet the shame immediately produces emotions of melancholy...to be forcibly masturbated by a woman!
Officer Benson steps back, laughing evilly. It is a sardonic laugh. She speaks as she bends to retrieve her hat.
“Well, it seems you’re not so fast off the road,” she playfully chides. At that moment a radio call comes crackling across, the speaker on her patrol car blaring to summon her to an accident.
I am both physically satiated and grateful that the ordeal is over. But Officer Benson makes no move to release me.
“Come, Max,” she commands hastily opening the rear door of the patrol car.
“I’ll write you up another time, Mr. Devereux. And I’m sure I’ll see you around the pool this summer.”
And with that she jumps into the patrol car. With the start of the engine I quickly remove my feet from the bumper. Strobe lights flash and as the siren sounds and the car rushes off, my clothes, piled on the trunk, slide off in tandem along the dirt lane.
I am left naked, impaled, with wrists bound….but with no speeding ticket and a sanguine feeling of strange fulfillment.
I do not understand myself and later her reference to the pool perplexes. The only pool I have been near in Pennsylvania is at Miss Lenore’s house.
Could Officer Benson have been one of the jeering females at Miss Chloe’s party?
Chapter Twenty Seven
Lenore
Chloe can be such an insistent brat sometimes. The long winter having instilled ‘closet fever’ we finally open the pool for the season and immediately the delightful memories of her October birthday party come to mind.
It’s a Friday afternoon and with the fine weather and the coming Memorial Day weekend we both left work early to lounge about the pool and tend to the small things that the harshness of winter has placed in disarray. Gardens need attention. The pool tile needs cleansing and for a woman of my ilk, there can be no finer way to spend an afternoon than watching a totally naked Chloe swab the pool deck. She is delectable and teases me by kneeling with thighs parted to flash her smoothly clean depilated love pouch.
“I’ll feed him every day and exercise him. We can string a walker and Judy can keep an eye on him during the day.”
Pouting, she refers to Willie the dog, of course.
Under the guise of ‘can we keep him, Mom?’, Chloe has expressed strong sentiment about Willie, now that the warm weather will bring many, many pleasant afternoons of poolside recreation.
And I must admit, the presence of a bound and naked male would certainly add spice to the weekend parties and soirees. Within the Sapphic psyche of every woman is some need for male companionship. Unfortunately for the likes of Willie the elements of such need are somewhat...shall we say…quirky?
“What about
rain Chloe? Suppose we are not here and there are showers?”
The little vixen already has this thought out. She stands and scampers off into the house, her saucy little cheeks bouncing about marvelously. She returns with a catalogue and rubber object and stands beside the lounge chair where I recline. She hands me the glossy volume, opened to an earmarked page.
I take it in my left hand and extend my right. Chloe knows to step forward as my exploring fingers work to part her smooth pink labia and slip into her vagina. While I read I caress, my kneading digits serving to temper her enthusiastic stewardship of the notion of keeping a ‘pet’. She submissively places her hands behind her back, so inviting the attention.
The marked section of the catalogue contains reasonably priced shelters for garden tools. And yes I suppose one could easily convert one to a ‘doghouse’.
“What about the body paint, Chloe? It won’t last and you’re not going to impose on Nancy to come several times per week to color him.”
Again, a well thought out answer is available.
“Perhaps just for parties, to entertain our guests. Other times he can just saunter about in the arm and leg bindings.”
“What about the nude sunbathing you so enjoy? Look at you now. You’re not going to want Willie the male pup sniffing around looking at you.”
She beams, flashing those beautiful teeth, then draws her hands from behind to hold up the rubber object. It unfurls and proves to be a rubber hood with a large opening for the mouth and nose and none for the eyes. When the time comes for feminine nudity, poor Willie will be blinded.
Well, I can tell by her preparation and her abundant wetness that the subject stimulates and her heart is set. So I hook my middle finger some two or three inches past the vaginal opening, press up and forwards and diddle firmly. Chloe spreads further, the concupiscent trollop. Someday I will count the numbers of times I frig her to the point of orgasm. With no facial expression to herald the moment, she comes serenely and has learned afterwards to squeeze my fingers with her Kegel muscles in an unspoken thank you.
The Chris Bellows' Collection Page 5