Disclaimer: This story is basically a fantasy involving humiliation, mild violence, and sexual activity between young men. If you find such material offensive or in violation of the laws of your state/country, please don't read any further.
For the first of Dave's adventures see "Carried Away" Nifty Archives (Authoritarian).
(c) Art M. Hill ArtHill579@aol.com All rights reserved (2004). If you enjoy this story, please email me.
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I was out of breath by the time I reached the intersection. Damn! It was a lot farther away than it looked . . . or maybe I was just out of shape. One thing I knew: I needed to put some distance between me and the house where I had been held captive for the last few hours. My lust for those hunky guys had been pretty much replaced by fear of what they might do if they caught me. I wondered what time it was. My watch was missing along with my wallet. They must have cleaned me out after they forced me into the trunk of my car and drugged me. They had already taken my money. Now they knew who I was and where I lived. Shit! Once again I vowed not to let my cock make decisions for me.
It was almost pitch black as I ran up the street. It was kind of creepy. Very few of the houses had lights on. I wondered if they had all been abandoned. This whole damn neighborhood looked run down: the armpit of Santa Maria. That made me laugh, but I quickly stopped when I got a sharp pain in my ribs. They were still sore as hell from where Jeff had kicked me. As a matter of fact, my whole body ached. I walked more slowly as I reached the corner.
I looked across the street and saw a convenience store-gas station that was open. I needed something to drink. My mouth tasted like a damn sewer from the rim job I'd been forced to give to Chad, not to mention swallowing all of Jeff' s piss. For a minute I thought I was gonna heave, but my stomach settled down as I walked toward the store. Damn! My pockets were empty. How was I gonna buy something to drink?
Walking into the store I thought I could probably lift a soda or bottle of water. There was only one clerk, an old guy who was trying to juggle the gas pumps and take care of a pretty fair line of customers. I passed the refrigerator case and looked longingly at a frosty bottle of Snapple ice tea. Nope, didn't want to be seen opening the cold case and then walking out of the store without buying anything. I didn't need to get caught shoplifting on top of all my other problems (like getting my car back!)
It was easy enough walking down the soda aisle, pulling a couple of diet Cokes free from a ringed six-pack, and stuffing them in my pockets. I cut down the candy aisle and added a few of Snickers bars for good measure. Good thing I was wearing my baggy pants: the attendant didn't even look up as I pushed out the door.
Just as I left the store I had another piece of luck. There on the opposite corner was a sign for the 101 Freeway. I looked ahead and saw another sign with an arrow: "Freeway Entrance -- South". Yes!
I walked a short distance up the freeway ramp and got ready to stick out my thumb, not unaware of the irony of how things had changed in just a few hours: Now I was the hitchhiker! I decided, however, that the best thing was just to try and get home. Tomorrow I could report that my car (and wallet) had been stolen. I could tell dad (and the cops) that I had accidentally left my keys in the ignition . . . and my wallet on the seat . . . when I had stopped at the mall to meet Allen. When I came out the car was gone. Right!? I'd, ah, think of something to explain where I was for the rest of the day! I popped one of the soda cans. Even though it was warm it tasted great. I drained it before burping loudly.
I must have stood there for about forty-five minutes before I even saw a car turn onto the freeway ramp. I got the idea I might be in for a long wait, especially after that first car whizzed past me without even slowing down, almost amputating my thumb.
I had been ignoring a growing need to piss after downing that whole can of soda, and decided I should relieve myself before a ride came along (yeah, I was still hopeful). There were some low bushes along the freeway ramp. They didn't give me a whole lot of privacy, but they'd have to do. I quickly pulled out my cock and emptied my aching bladder. Yeah, that felt much better. Just then a car slowed down and honked. Startled, I turned around with my dick still in my hand. A couple of drops of pee fell from the end. "Fuckin' pervert!" the passenger yelled at me as the car speeded up and tore onto the freeway. Oops!
Twenty minutes later another car appeared on the ramp. I was determined to get this one so I stood up straight and put on my best smile. This guy had his high beams on and just about blinded me. But the car was slowing down. Then I felt a raindrop hit the top of my head, followed by another. The air was heavy with the smell of ozone. A storm . . . another few minutes and I would have been drenched. Really good that car was stopping.
The car had pulled over to the side of the road about ten yards in front of me. The driver honked his horn, and I began walking in that direction, still blinded by the headlights. Just as I neared the car the passenger side door flew open and I saw a figure emerge. "Gotcha, faggot!" he said. It was Jeff!
I turned around and started to run toward the freeway, maybe with the idea of flagging down a passing car and escaping a beating or worse from my tormentors. But I had barely got ten feet when Jeff tackled me from behind. He grabbed me around the waist and let his weight bring both of us down, him on top of me. "Ufff!" I hit the ground heavily, the roadside gravel digging into my bare arms.
"You queer son of a bitch!," Jeff shouted quickly grabbing one of my arms and twisting it painfully behind me. Then with an almost gloating tone he continued: "Bet you're really glad to see me, huh, faggot?" I started to struggle, but he was clearly in control. He pressed all his weight down on top of me, pushing my arm up even higher until I thought it would break. I groaned in pain.
"Okay, okay," I squeaked. "Stop it, I give."
He held me there for a moment longer, obviously to show me who was in charge. Then he let go of my arm although he continued to sit on my back.
"So Jimmy-boy," he said, "thought you were gonna get away from us? Stupid faggot. Nope, we got plans for you, baby."
"Whatdaya mean, plans?" I asked, not liking the sound of that. Like I said before, I was sure that Erik and Chad were in some kind of trouble with the law. Now I figured that the other two were probably their accomplices. I had no interest finding out what kind of shit they were into, but it looked as if I was going to find out anyway.
"You'll find out soon enough," Jeff said mysteriously. "Now let's get you back to the house." He laughed. "Erik and Chad can't wait to see you."
As we walked up to the car, Jeff following me closely, I was surprised to see it was my car. Well, at least they hadn't stripped it--yet! I couldn't see who was driving, although I figured it was probably Wade. I started to reach for the rear door handle when Jeff stopped me, wrapping a strong hand around my wrist.
"Oh, no you don't, fag. Back in the trunk."
"Please don't put me in the trunk again, Jeff. I promise I won't try to get away. I can't stand it in there. I almost suffocated before."
"Yeah?" Jeff said, unimpressed. "That's cause you had Erik's jock down your throat, fruit. Pop the trunk, Wade," Jeff hollered. Then to me again: "Now get in or you'll be wearin' your nuts for a necklace." He balled his fists menacingly.
I let out a sigh of defeat and, as the trunk suddenly opened; I climbed in and scrunched down. Before he slammed down the hatch he fumbled for a minute and then turned on a small flashlight which he immediately shone directly in my face, blinding me again. The rain was starting to come down in a heavy shower.
"Here," Jeff said, "take this pill."
"What is it," I asked suspiciously.
"Don't fuckin' question me you son-of-a-bitch," he yelled. "Just open your damn mouth and take it." He made a fist again.
Reluctantly I opened my mouth as he produced a small white pill and shoved it way into the back of my mouth. I tried to ignore his grimy hand.
"Now le'me see ya swallow it," he demanded, watching me closely.
Obediently I gulped down the pill (dry), then opened my mouth to show him that I had swallowed it. Satisfied, he slammed down the hatch, plunging me again into total darkness. I heard Jeff mumbling as he circled the car and got back in. The car started to move as the radio came on full blast.
I went sliding painfully to the far side of the trunk as Wade banked the car at a crazy angle and floored the accelerator. The crazy bastard must be going back down the entrance ramp in the wrong direction! My suspicions were confirmed when I heard a loud blast from a horn and a quick swerve as Wade, no doubt, avoided an unsuspecting motorist traveling in the right direction. "Fuckin' son-of-a-bitch," I heard Wade scream. Then to Jeff: "That fucker is lucky he' s goin the other way or I'd beat the shit out of him. Damn faggot!"
Wade made a long skidding turn--back onto the surface street, I presumed--and then started to accelerate. I felt a sharp jolt like we had run up on a curve followed by a metallic crash (the freeway sign?) Just then I heard a siren start wailing, while Wade screamed, "Fuck!" It must be the good old CHP: who says you can't find a cop when ya need one!? I was saved!
Just then, however, the siren started to fade. Um, no, it was me. I felt an irresistible drowsiness overtaking me like I hadn't slept for a week. At the same time I totally relaxed, enjoying the most wonderful feeling that seemed to be hugging me all over. I heard the rain pounding on the trunk: it must have been pouring outside. Suddenly nothing seemed to matter: not Jeff and Wade, not the CHP, not the fact that I was locked in the trunk with a maniac driving my car through a driving rain storm . . . It must have been the pill, I thought, as I drifted off with a smile on my face. Yeah, it felt so cozy in here with the rain beating down outside . . .
Wack! I felt a sharp slap across the face. "Wake up, punk," shouted a harsh, unfamiliar voice. Another slap, this one harder, brought me to full, painful consciousness. I opened my eyes and tried to focus. I felt hung over and my vision was blurry. Automatically I groped around for my glasses.
I was lying on some kind of uncomfortable bed or cot gazing up at somebody dressed in black. I still couldn't see his face clearly. "Here, put these on," the voice hissed impatiently. Yep, they were my glasses, but one of the arms was badly bent. I carefully tried to straighten it out without snapping off the end. One of the lenses had a big scratch on it that hadn't been there before.
"Hurry it up," the voice said more insistently, "I ain't got all night to waste on you, fuckface!"
I looked up and now could see that it was a cop, bending over me. As he straightened up I saw that he was tall--at least six foot three--with dark hair in a short buzz cut. The way he was filling out that uniform he looked as strong as a gorilla. He must have been about 28 years old and he looked royally pissed.
There was a moment of total confusion. Then it started to come back to me: being surprised by Jeff as I had tried to hitchhike home after he and his buddies had abused and imprisoned me; being stuffed into the trunk of my car and taken for a wild ride, getting drugged again and then hearing that police siren . . . Suddenly I relaxed: I was saved! But why was this cop frowning down at me? I hadn't done anything wrong. I was the victim here. As I looked around for the first time, I was even more confused: Why was I in a jail cell?!
"Ah, officer . . . thanks for helping me out. Ya know those two guy stole my car and locked me in the trunk. They drugged me and robbed me." Just then I noticed another cop sitting at a desk outside the cell, staring at me. He looked a little younger than the first one, maybe a rookie, but with the same beefy military look as the other guy. I continued my explanation of what happened, although for some reason I felt distinctly nervous.
"Well, kid," said the first cop, cutting off my narrative: "I've known Wade and Jeff since high school. We played football together." He smiled. "Your story don't mean shit to me. All I know is that I found you wanderin' around town, high as a kite . . . and I found this in your pocket." He held up a small plastic baggy with some white powder in it.
My eyes just about popped out of my head. "That's not mine," I said. "They forced me to take some drug. Then they locked me in the trunk of my own car. They must have planted that stuff on me later on when I was asleep. I swear I' ve never seen it before. That's the truth."
"Oh, I don't think you know much about the truth right about now. You're in here for possession with intent to sell an illegal substance." The second cop stood up from the desk and moved toward my cell.
I started to panic. "No!" I said, my voice rising. "That's a damn lie! Those guys are criminals. You should arrest them. They were hitchhiking before and I picked them up. I don't know anything about what they're into."
"So you don't know anything about what they're into, but you say they're criminals. I'd say you better get your story straight, asswipe."
My mind started to clear. I had never mentioned Jeff and Wade by name to this cop. If he found me wandering around the streets, high on some kind of dope, then how did he know . . .? Suddenly I started to feel very uncomfortable. These guys all knew each other. Sure, they were school buddies. Very convenient that two of them were cops . . . for them, that is: not for me! And they weren' t CHP, they were local cops--translate "good old boys"!
I happened to glance up at the clock on the wall: 3:30 AM. Hell, these two goons must be on graveyard. There's probably nobody else here. They can do whatever they want with me and nobody else will know . . . or care, especially if they label me as an out-of-town junkie.
Suddenly, interrupting my thoughts, the cop standing over me reached down and pulled me to my feet like I was a rag doll. Damn, this guy and his buddy could fuck me up good if they wanted to. They were like two professional wrestlers. Right then and there I decided to be as polite as I could. No sense antagonizing them.
"Strip and get up against the wall," ordered the first cop. The other guy had already come into the cell and was leaning casually against the wall.
I looked at the cop in disbelief. "Whatdaya mean, `strip'?" I stuttered. " What's going on here?"
"I'll tell ya what's goin' on here, punk," he said. "I need to search you. You could have more drugs on you: strapped to your back, tucked between your balls, or up your ass. Now move it!" he ordered, reaching for his nightstick as if he was daring me to start some trouble. "Everything off!"
While I started nervously unbuttoning my shirt, the first cop turned to his buddy and said: "Hey, Stew, get me a pair of them latex gloves from the cabinet, will ya?" As "Stew" went out to get the gloves, the first cop gave me his undivided attention as I unzipped my pants and shoved them down to my ankles. I sat down on the bed to remove my shoes. A minute later I was stark naked, feeling terribly exposed.
"Okay, now up against the wall; assume the position," the cop barked.
"There ya go, Mike," said Stew. "Happy hunting" he chuckled. After Mike had snapped on the tight, latex gloves he pinned me against the rough, concrete wall, spread-eagled. "Now stand still," he said to me harshly. I think I was shaking, whether from the sudden coldness that hit my bare skin or my precarious situation, I wasn't sure.
"Now, let's see what we got here," Mike said, trying to sound clinical. He took his time, running his fingers through my hair before inserting his forefingers into my ears and rotating them roughly. He laughed as I yipped in surprise.
Slowly he worked his way down, feeling in my armpits, then poking and prodding along my back and down to my ass. "Pull open your ass cheeks," he said, " you should like this part."
"What?!" I said, feeling more and more uncomfortable.
"You heard me!" he said, giving my bare ass a smack with one gloved hand.
Again, feeling terribly vulnerable, I did as he said. He paused for a moment as Stew squeezed some kind of lube on his latex-covered fingers before he thrust two of them brutally up my ass.
"Owwww!" I yelled. "Take it easy!"
"Shut up!" Mike said as he slowly pushed deeper. He circled up inside my chute like I was getting a prostate exam. I felt my cock start to stir and stiffen. Damn! Not now.
Abruptly he pulled his fingers out of my ass with a loud pop that made both of them start laughing (so much for professionalism!) "Man, you got a tight pussy there, boy," Mike said. "You ever been fucked?" Stew started laughing harder. When I was silent Mike slapped my ass again. "I'm talkin' to you queer. You take it up the ass?"
"N-no, sir," I stammered, blushing furiously.
"I'd say you don't sound too sure about that, boy," Mike continued. "Turn around, I need to pat you down in front."
Slowly I turned around, furiously concentrating to make my cock go down so he wouldn't see my hardon, but it was no use. Although drooping a bit because of my embarrassment and fear, it still stuck out at half-mast.
The cops noticed immediately, their mouths turning up in simultaneous smirks. "Oh-ho!" Steve said. "Looks like our little buddy here likes to get his pussy poked."
Mike reached out and grabbed my left nipple, pinching and twisting it hard. In spite of the pain my cock got even harder and even started to leak precum.
"Yep," Mike commented, "looks like we got ourselves a fuckin' faggot here, Stew. Whatdaya think we should do with `im?"
"Wait a minute," I said shakily. "Why are you treating me like this? I told you that those two guys--Wade and Chad, and two other dudes--kidnapped me and drugged me. Why don't you believe me?"
"Ya see," Mike continued, "that's not the story they told us. They said you fuckin' propositioned them. Told em you wanted to suck their cocks real bad and offered em drugs or money in return. Now I've known those two guys all my life. We're buddies. So tell me something: Why should I believe you instead of them? I don't even know you . . . except that it sure looks to me like you' d suck anything in pants. That right?"
I was silent. I mean, what the hell could I say with my dick stickin' out and dripping? A second later I let out another yell as Mike flicked my cock hard with his index finger, making it bounce off my stomach, leaving a sticky spot of precum there.
"Let's try `im out," Stew suggested. "Hell, my girlfriend's been away on vacation with her folks for almost two weeks now. I could use some good head, and this queer looks like he's good to go." I could see that his uniform pants were tented from just thinking about a blowjob.
"Why the hell not?" Mike said. "He sure ain't goin' nowhere. Might as well put `im to work while he's here."
He laughed. That was all that Stew needed to here. He advanced on me, pulling down the zipper on his uniform pants. "On your knees where you belong, faggot, " he commanded. Mike grinned and winked at me.
I slowly sank to my knees as Stew stepped up to me. He immediately grabbed the back of my head and pushed it into his crotch. The pungent smell of his balls, hidden behind a pair of dark blue boxers, made me think that he probably hadn't showered since his last shift. I also discovered that he was pretty excited as I came away with precum on my face after rubbing it over the tented material sticking through his fly.
"Yeah," said Stew, "get to know my big dick, cocksucker. You two are gonna be real good buddies in just a few minutes." He unbuckled his belt, allowing his uniform pants to drop down and bunch around the tops of his boots. Then he ordered me to pull down his boxers. As I did so I saw a nice six inch cock spring into view, six inches and it wasn't even fully hard. "Start with my balls, fag, give `em a good once over. I wanna feel that hot tongue of yours cleanin'
me up real good."
I had to admit, "Officer Stew" sure was one fine specimen! As I gripped his muscular thighs it was like holding onto a couple of tree trunks. I looked up at him as he towered over me, obviously waiting for me to get started. He stared down on me with a slight smile of anticipation on his face.
I took a moment to look at his big cum-filled balls and then gently sucked one into my mouth. It did taste a bit funky, but man, it was so warm and smooth. And I wasn't the only one getting excited. "Yeah! That's it!" Stew whispered in response to my sucking and licking, as I gave equal time and care to each of his big nuts. Mike, fascinated by my technique, moved in close so he could watch, rubbing his own swelling equipment at the same time. Stew was starting to moan.
I had just started moving up Stew's now rock-hard shaft (I figured about eight inches, fully erect) when a familiar voice broke my lustful concentration. " Here's our little lost friend!" It was Jeff.
(To be continued)