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 4

From Charles Green's point of view.

I knew that my plan would work. There was no way this guy was going to come out of the closet (hell, he did not know yet he was even in the closet) voluntarily much less as a result of reading about it in People magazine and on CNN. I decided that I wanted Chris. While I never thought about it in these terms I had picked Chris for my partner; now I had to convert him and make him my subservient partner.

I decided to put my newly found information to use. First, I did some research into the apartment complex that he lived in. It was a fairly large complex of one, two and three bedroom apartments in a nice middle income families, non-commissioned (sergeants) soldiers stationed at Hunter Army Air Field, law enforcement types, firemen and me. I rented a 3-bedroom unit as far away from Chris' unit as I could find. There was a pool, tennis court and community room area. Although there was no Community Director to organize and run planned activities; notices were posted on a community bulletin board. I became involved in as many of them as possible provided that they met during the times that Chris was on duty. I purposely stayed away when we might run into each other. About a month after I moved in and when I had become established and known around the complex I decided to no longer worry about his schedule; not only that but from what I had seen in his car I knew that it changed every 30 days or so any way.

A couple I had met called me and asked me if I was interested in getting a date and joining them in cooking out at the grill at the community room. I agreed, showed up with a bottle of iced tea, a bottle of wine for them and a steak saying that my date had come down with something. There were about 12 of us standing around drinking (me — sweet tea) and cooking steaks to accompany the covered dishes everyone had brought with them. Across the way next to the pool I saw Chris; damn if he was not as fine as I remembered. I could feel my cock start to chub up in my shorts. I did not stare and pretended that I had not seen him. I remembered back to when I was deep inside him and had changed the angle of my cock's head so that it bumped up against and rubbed on his prostate; how he had cried because he was on the verge of being made to cum without anyone having touched his little stub of a penis. I had purposely stopped my efforts directed towards his achieving an orgasm when I realized he was about to ejaculate. I had wanted to leave him sexually charged, sexually frustrated, full of sperm and hormones and his having to go home and beat off. What do you imagine that he was thinking about as he flogged his weenie? I hoped it would be me.

What I could not figure out in my own mind was why he had made the impression on me that he had. Yes, he was physically a good looking guy; but I had fucked a fair number of good looking guys. Yes, he seemed subservient, demurring and willing to be dominated; yes, he was hairy; yes, he was a good fuck; and yes, he had all of the things that I looked for, but was I ready to settle down? Did I really want to 'retire' from playing the field for a redneck cop from north Georgia? My answer I decided in an internal conversation was I really was not 'taken' with the guy, that I wanted to fuck him some more and to keep my options open in case it worked out. I am glad there was no one to debate or contest that issue.

At any rate my plan seemed to be working. Now it was only a matter of time before our group spilled over closer to the pool and those guys would be incorporated into our group. About fifteen minutes later several of our group went over to swim, ended up talking to the few people over there including Chris and they joined us. As is usually the case there was plenty of food for the 4 people over there and it was clear that Chris was stag like me. I purposely kept away from him but every time my eyes roamed he was looking at me. I smiled but made a point of shifting my gaze. Finally someone brought him around and introduced him to the people with whom I was standing. He was shaking hands and it came to my turn; I smiled and said no we had not been introduced and held out my hand. He gave a nervous smile and took my hand; I squeezed but not too hard and not to limp; he did the same. At one point he walked over to the table set up as the bar to reload his cup; I made my move, purposely when there was a third person there. I walked up and said, "They said your name was Chris. Right?"

His look jerked up when he heard my voice. "Yes."

"What do you do, Chris?"

"Uh, uh, I'm a Georgia State Patrol Officer."

"Oh, that must be interesting," I said as the other person standing at the table turned and left. I followed up by saying, "I did not know you lived here. How long have you lived here? I have never seen you before."

He sputtered, "Longer than you? What are you doing here?"

"I live here and have for more than a month."

Someone else walked up to the bar and we turned and walked back to where we had been standing, just as dinner was announced. The couple that had asked me came up and asked if I was ready, and seeing that I was, theye asked Chris to join us at the table as there were four seats. He could not refuse without seeming to be rude.

We fixed our plates and sat down. He was seated to my left and I purposely kept my knees and legs from touching his, but when he moved his legs he bumped into mine. I did not move my knee and we sat through dinner with our knees against each other. The couple asked Chris about his unit and she offered to assist Chris with the purchase of a piece of furniture he was thinking about buying. She insisted on going up to his unit to look at it so as to be sure what he was asking. As the two of them were getting up her husband said come along and keep me company while these two talk furniture. I went up to Chris' apartment and entered. When Chris and the woman had come to some conclusion, and agreed to talk on Wednesday or Thursday (Chris' next days off) she and her husband made their way to the door to go home. I made no effort at leaving, and instead said so that they could hear me, "Chris, do you mind if I stay and have another glass of tea?"

There was no way for him to refuse me. I was alone with Chris.

From Chris Parry's point of view.

I had spent the most miserable month of my life. I could not even carry on a conversation with myself without getting into an argument. Being alone was the worse; at least when I was with someone else I had to carry on a conversation with another person instead of bantering back and forth with myself. The worst time was at night; I would get into the bed, alone of course, and close my eyes. All I could see was Charles; hell I had even looked up his name and started calling him by it as if he were present. Frankly it might have been best if he had been there; at least that way I could figure out my feelings. Every time I thought of him I got hard; I leaked pre-cum constantly; my underwear was stiff from my leakage.

Leakage; that word; it had rained about a week after my rape and I had put my rain slicker on; there was the spot from where his spit, pre-cum and sperm had leaked out of me, run from between my legs and onto the inside. Before I could stop myself I leaned down and smelled it; I swear I could still smell him. One time I had even felt in the crack of my ass to check to see if I was wet as I had been.

Alone in the bed at night, naked with my bull nuts full of sperm, and trying to get my two fingers on the shaft of my cock I would surrender and admit that he had excited me; admit that my body wanted more of him; admit that he had converted my asshole to a pussy. There was no question that he was hung like a bull; I might have the nuts but he had the cock and it had torn me that one time and had taken several days to recover.

I would have these random thoughts like if we got together and did it on a regular basis would I tear every time or would I be able to accommodate him. That was the kind of thought that was driving me crazy; the guy was a rapist; I was not a homosexual; the guy would never be seen in these parts again as he did not want to be seen anywhere near me. Why did I want to submit to him? Why do I remember so vividly his smell - a clean, muskie smell; the smell of a clean man's sweat? How is it that I can remember licking the drops of perspiration that fell from his body onto me as he exerted himself when fucking me.

And then there he was; and now here he is; in my apartment alone with me. I could not resist saying, "So are you going to rape me again?"

To be continued...

Posted: 02/03/12