A Journey Into Submission
Voluntary Enslavement

The Cop

By: Dawson Spear
(© 2012 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Chapter 3

From Charles Green's Point of View.

This was one fine piece of ass. I can't remember when I have enjoyed a hole as much as I was enjoying this fuck. I mean, I had a little white boy of a cop on the end of my prick, dancing, begging, whining and whimpering. What more could you ask for?

He threatened me with going to jail for ever, and I replied, "Maybe, but I am going to have a fond memory of a fine piece of white boy pussy when I do." My cock has always produced a lot of pre-cum and frankly I have become spoiled as a result of my natural given talent. When I fuck someone, I don't use lube except what God has supplied; in other words I only use one of three: spit, pre-cum and the sperm produced by the guy I am about to fuck. That is it. As a result I put the head of my cock up against him and let it rest there for a minute and then started to rub the head up and down over his hole, always stopping at the entrance so as to sort of gather the excretions at the entrance. This effort accomplished two things it relaxed the asshole I was about to convert (or in the case of someone whose asshole had already been converted to reaffirm its conversion) from asshole to pussy. I knew this guy was a secret sub; was deep in the closet; was simply waiting to be discovered, so I was gentle as I slowly let my cock head introduce itself to Chris' back passage. Carefully and gently I flexed my hips when the two were matched so that just a fraction of the head started the process of spreading the lips and stretching out the pleats. I knew that regardless of how gentle I was, how careful and slow I was in taking him he was going to experience some bleeding as a result of tearing at the entrance. It is not unusual for the first several times a guy's asshole is converted to a pussy that he suffers some bleeding and tearing; after that he can naturally accommodate his lover. I had prepared him to the best of my ability and he seemed to accept my instructions about pushing out; as a result my head made a fairly quick beginning to the entry. One of the reasons that I wanted him up on his knees until I was all the way in was so that my also being on my knees I could visually keep tract of the entry process.

As I put the head of my cock at the lips of his pussy I allowed my pre-cum to soak in and gather; by wiping my cock head over the hole and in and around the area it made my body give up pre-cum at an ever increasing speed; his hairy body also assisted as my cock head was very sensitive to the hair that it rubbed across; an additional side benefit was the foreplay and subconscious erotic feeling that it gave to my partner. When I felt that the area was wet I started the introduction of the natural lubricant into the sleeve. It took a while for me to stretch the anal ring, but stretch it I did. The pleats spread open, and I used my hands to spread his cheeks so that I could look down to verify the process. He cried out in pain as the head of the battering ram tore and plundered his sphincter muscles; I could feel the tearing as his skin was stretched to the maximum and then simply gave up and split. I stopped all forward pressure and in fact retreated ever so slightly as my cock coughed up more lube. I reached down, taking my shaft in hand; I moved it around in a circle while just a fraction of an inch was in the ring, spreading the lubricant evenly over the entry and tunnel. Then I again flexed my hips forcing the continued conquest of his virginity; the busting of his cherry; the rape of his ass hole. Quarter inch by half inch my cock ever so slowly reached up into him, possessing him, assuming ownership and dominion. In and out, a fraction of an inch each time until my pubic hair was up against the creamy white of the cheeks of his ass. Finally I had arrived.

I stuck my tongue into his ear and whispered, "In prison when a guy like me busts another guy's cherry the busted guy belongs to the taker, and the taker controls the pussy. I just busted your cherry and now what used to be your asshole no longer exists, and when I cum in you it will be your pussy and that pussy belongs to me." He shuddered in surrender and I simply lay still and allowed his colon to become accustomed to my invasion; I wanted him to become comfortable; my goal had now become to make this arrangement more than a one night stand. For the first time in my short homosexual life, I wanted to make love to a man, not to just fuck him. To help with that, I pulled out and rolled him over onto his back.

I pushed my cock back into him slowly to avoid as much pain as I could; I raised his legs onto my shoulders. In and out I started; his warm glove making me feel right at home; I realized that I would not last that long which fit into my plan of invasion and conquest. I shifted my position so that my prick was entering from a different angle; I felt my head bump into and then over the bump of his prostate gland.

I thought that his surrender was complete, but I was wrong.

I stopped when I heard him start to cry. "What is the matter now?"

He continued his whimpering "Please don't, please, please, I beg you don't do this to me."

"Guy, look! A lot of guys get corn holed; it is not going to kill you. Just lie there and let me get my nut because I am going to breed you and then I will let you go."

From Chris Parry's point of view.

"You don't understand. If you continue I am going to cum. If I cum as a result of your raping me it will completely destroy me. I will have nothing left. I already can't make it with a girl because they laugh at my cock; it would be wrong of me to make it with you; I could never show my face at the Patrol."

He lay there looking down into my eyes, not moving while I was speaking, never interrupting me or talking. He did not put me down or make fun of me, which was strangely comforting. He leaned down and kissed me, his tongue pushing its way into my mouth; I found myself kissing him back; my arms went around his neck. Then he moved around and again the angle of his entrance changed yet again but this time without hitting or pressing on whatever part of me he had been touching. My urge to ejaculate slowed and then it was there in the background but without the threat that it had been. His strokes became faster, harder and more urgent until I felt him shudder, moan and hold himself deep in me. I was bread; I could feel his sperm shooting deep within me; flowing out to fertilize me; to plant his seed and to put the final touches on his consumption, domination and ownership of me.

He was sweating, dripping his perspiration down onto me, constantly staring into my eyes, never letting me look away. I returned his gaze, stare for stare and then I realized that I could not have broken our eye contact if I had wanted to; his stare was hypnotic and consuming. I realized that I had been licking up the drops of his sweat.

Suddenly he blinked and I snapped out of my fog. I was repulsed by what had happened and what he had done to me. I lifted up with my hips and pushed him with my arms causing him to roll off of me on to the ground. He lay there looking over at me and I jumped up looking for my clothes. He stood as well, walked over to my car and took the roll of paper towels I had in the trunk and told me that I might want to bend over and let him use some of the towel to keep me from leaking into my underwear and pants. I snatch the piece of paper towel from him and bent over wiping myself and realizing that my hole was gaping open. He reached over gently and softly pushed a piece of paper towel up into me, smiling as he did so. I yelled at him, "Don't touch me you rapist; you have done enough to me. When I get dressed I am going to call for back up and you are going to jail for assaulting a police officer, rape, kidnapping, grand larceny auto and anything else I can think of." I realized that his sperm was simply flowing out of me and down my legs. The paper he put into my rectum stopped the flow.

His response was chilling: "Go ahead. Here is your portable radio. Call them. When they get here I am going to tell them that you pulled me over, broke my tail light, and by the way while you were sleeping I picked up the piece of my tail light that has the paint from your stick on it. You then forced me to have sex with you or in the alternative you were going to make some other false allegations against me. I will tell them that you did so because of your prejudice. My proof of this? There are no marks on you; you have a gun and I don't and my sperm is in you so they can perform a DNA test to confirm. I wonder what your homophobic State Police brethren will think about you then."

From Charles Green's Point of View

You know, now would be a good time for me to tell you in a little more detail why I like fucking guys better than girls. You can divide the reasons into two kinds: first there is personality and second there is sex.

Any guy who has either been married or has entered into a long term live-in relationship with a woman knows that women think differently, act differently and are different emotionally than guys. I don't like guys that are all girly and frilly; those guys I pity because they have the emotional and psychological makeup of a female and the body of a male and that is not what I am talking about. I want a guy who is a guy; not a girl dressed up in a guy's body. The body part is the second part of what I am trying to explain, and it is the first part we are talking about. I like a guy who acts like a guy to the world because it is the same way I am. That does not mean that he farts in public or has no social graces, it means that things have a different priority; watching a football game is more immediate than cutting the grass. The things they like to do, talk about and see are all basically the same as my priorities. I still hold the door for my partner or date, pull out their chair and they give up the right to make decisions because I am the top and they are the bottom. There is also the issue of dominion; my say is the final say. So they look like a guy, act publicly like a guy, but they at the same time — if confronted with the situation — have to acknowledge that they are dominated by me; that they are subservient to my control edicts.

The one attribute that connects the two divisions into one is the desire for sex. Females are not in the mood twenty-four/seven. I used to have to ask for sex. In all the time that I was married, and even before, I never had a female want to blow me just to please me or themselves; I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times that my wife or female companion asked for or even suggested by non-verbal expressions that we fuck. How many of you bi-guys ever had your wife or female friend offer you a blow job? Not many. And then how many of those times did they give you a quality blow job and swallow your sperm showing that they liked it?

Second is the physical side of things. This part is easy compared to the other, probably because it is possible to confirm this part with the five senses: they look different. Every straight or bi-guy will acknowledge that a pussy is exciting but not to look at. I mean the damn thing is ugly compared to a cock and balls. From the point of view of smell there is really nothing to say beyond the fact that a vagina just plain smells bad. Touching is also something that is relatively simple but is divided into two parts: a cock and testicles are firm, taught and yet at the same time soft, fragile and delicate; secondly is the feel of your cock in a male pussy or mouth. It is just warmer, softer and more confining; it just plain feels better in a male pussy than a female pussy. In the case of a blow job a guy knows what feels good, is better at not scraping your cock and is able to deep throat more easily. From the taste side, this category is divided into two parts: the physical attribute is the plain taste; a penis versus a vagina. Both are used for the same thing: the excretion of urine and orgasmic juices; a guy who is on a normal diet has a sweet taste, pure, clean and satisfying; the female orgasmic fluid is bitter and has a strong odor. I don't know why I thought that 'sound' played a role in it because as near as I can tell neither one makes any noise.

And then, if I am being truthful, there is the control aspect. He is not aware yet of this part of the equation. The absolute control of another male is the ultimate trip; the dominion, the power and the thrill of breaking down of a man so that regardless of how lewd, demeaning, or abhorrent to simple decency or for that matter even the physical harm done to the male that is being transformed into a subservient partner creates a love that cannot be described in both persons. The top knows that the bottom places complete control of all activities in his life in the dominate partner's hands, and that responsibility is such that he would never allow any harm to come to his mate. The reason for the demand that the sub perform these otherwise disgusting acts is so that he never says no and he never hesitates to carry out the top's decisions.

From Chris Parry's point of view.

I stood there taking inventory around me. I was standing naked on a dirt road except for the piece of paper towel I had used to wipe up the mixture of ass slime and sperm that had leaked out of my rectum and the piece that had been inserted into my gaping hole. I was standing on my rain slicker that had been placed on the dirt and we had been lying on the inside of it. Some of the fluid I had leaked spotted it as well. My penis was still rigid and standing straight up with some pre-cum that had leaked out glistening on the head. I was wet with the sweat that had been extruded by my body during our physical coupling as was he. My chest hair and the hair on my legs were matted against my skin and my back felt the chill of the night air from the evaporation of his sweat.

I considered the underlying implication of his words. Obviously the criminal charges would become public and would become the "Breaking News" on the morning news shows from CNN to Fox and everything in between. The newspapers and tabloid magazines would be all over me and our patrol office. All the guys, much less my family and the people in my home town would all know that not only had I been sexually assaulted by another male but, in my case, by an African male. It was not just a sexual assault but that I had been anally raped and that he had ejaculated into my rectum; that some of that sperm had been collected (I wonder how they did that short of their having to insert something into me) and a DNA test run to confirm it was his. That simply could not happen; I would have no part of it.

Having made my decision and knowing that not only had I been literally fucked — but it had been done to me in a figurative sense as well — I could only hope that he had no sexually transmittable diseases. I said, "Get your damn clothes on and get into the car. I am going to take you back to your car and if you so much as breathe a word of this or if I see you again I will use every means available to get you."

I then took him back, dropped him off and went home for the night.

To be continued...

Posted: 02/03/12