By Hunter Perez
“Are you comfortable back there?” Nicky asked through the mesh separating the front of the police car from the back.
“Not really,” I responded. “I assume I’m not supposed to be.”
“You got that right,” he laughed.
I wasn’t quite certain how I should be feeling. Sitting with arms handcuffed behind your back creates a multiple number of issues, which are not helped by being nearly immobilized with a tight seatbelt. I kept shifting sideways and trying to inch forward, but I could never find the right position where I didn’t feel pressure in some part of my body.
Part of me was angry at the stupidity of thinking with my dick – whatever pleasure that was sparked by allowing myself to be handcuffed was erased by the discomfort of my inability to get into a relaxed position.
Yet at the same time, part of me was aroused by the absurdity of the situation. Nicky turned into a truly gorgeous specimen of masculinity, made all the more exciting by his law enforcement authority. Being his prisoner, if only for a brief period of amusement, created a sense of excitement that was truly arousing – perhaps too arousing, as I was also dealing with an erection pushing against my jeans.
I remembered the time back in college when Nicky had me handcuff him so he could service me while I controlled him. I wondered if that was what he had in mind by turning tables in this manner. I then began to recall some stories I read by the writer Joshua Ryan where guys get tricked by sexy cops and correctional officers into getting arrested and sent to prison – those stories seemed so wild in concept, but now I could see how someone could fall victim to such chicanery.