By Chained Muscle

You’d made it in the force if you were invited to one of the police commissioner’s private gala evenings. Most younger invitees were a bit perplexed. Not allowed to bring a wife/partner? Yawn. But your boss made it clear that this was a full suit event, smarten up and look good son or you’re on the beat till you retire.

But like most events you dread, this was one for the memoirs. A real night of fun amongst the boys.

There were usually two convicts on show, and newbies to this never understood why these guys, some of the worst perps they’d ever met, were so subservient, submissive. They didn’t understand that the crims’ behaviour this evening was being closely monitored and marked, and this would reduce or increase this evening’s punishment. The men took round trays of drinks, buck naked, and they allowed the suited cops to play around with them, toy with their cocks, dish out ballplay and punishment. All with a grin of sorts. Some of these guys were tearaways, and used to it anyway. Some would balance their tray of martinis on one hand, stand with their legs wide apart and almost invite the guys to dish out the pain to their testicles. Getting into the boy fun was good, and reduced your `sentence`. Others would stand rigid with their tray in one hand as a cop wanked them, brought them close, and sent them away – to return again for another edging. Nothing like a drink being offered to you by a naked gangster with a dribbling cock.

Another guy would shoot in a cop’s marguerita, whilst reciting `I’m yours officer, forever`. Later, when the drinks had lubricated the small crowd of boys in blue, the naked men would kneel and service one or two of the guys’ dicks. A useful service if your wife was pregnant or not giving it to you for any reason. But most men were waiting for the finale. The chandeliers would dim, and the two men would be chained up in an ornate ormolu X-frame for the whip. The whipping was taken slow and leisurely. Some of the cops would step up and give them `a dozen of the best for my buddy`. By that time all the cops had loosened up and were just in their trousers and polished shoes. The swish of the whip, its satisfying smack on the broad shoulders of naked sweating guys, the soft lights and the drink all had an effect. Waistbands would be loosened. A guy needed release. Maybe your best pal was with you at this event. If you jacked each other off while O’Malley was taking the lash then hell, why not? It was not unusual to see two young cops wanking and kissing as the guy they’d risked their life to bring in was screaming under the whip. There was a dry cleaning service available as you left, with regulation blues to go home in. The force looked after its men.

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