By Alex Ironrod © 2021

CHAPTER FOUR – THE REVENGE

Colin and I, Jim Barnes, became part of Tyrell’s elite team. I discovered they were highly respected as an efficient and effective law enforcement group, who took no shit. That was why no-one harassed the sergeant, and  why he got his pick of new recruits. He’d got it all worked out – cruisers and bikes by day; bikes only by night – which was very unusual. The HP station operated normally in the daytime, with a small office staff and a full complement of officers. At night there was rarely any workers – only in emergencies. Tyrell was in charge; the captains and lieutenants were content to leave it so, as long as there were no complaints. He kept the basement double-locked, claiming it was a workshop with expensive equipment. Indeed it was, but not the type of equipment in a normal workroom.

Colin and I soon got to know the rest of the group. The women office workers were pleasant and efficient; we, and the sergeant, made much of them and we joked and worked well together. The cruiser drivers and the daytime motor officers seemed straight, mainly family men, although at least one had a gloved hand badge. The night shift was smaller and more exclusive. Basically it was four motor officers – Tyrell, Witkowski, Foreman [Colin] and Barnes [me].

Smartly filling out our gleaming black leathers and boots, we made an impressive appearance. We worked only at night, 40 hours a week. It was easy duty. Our district was large, but mainly rural and incident-free. The whole team would meet early on Friday mornings for a briefing and pep talk from Tyrell, who commanded easily. I judged him to be about 35 years old, with a strong muscular body, short dark hair, immaculate uniform appearance and about 15 years of experience. He knew his way round the command structure and didn’t seem to put a foot wrong.

So we settled in. Colin and I agreed to share an apartment nearer the station and relaxed in each other’s arms when off-duty. Tyrell liked to mix up the duties to keep us on our toes; for the first couple of weeks, he played it by the book. Patrol; food; patrol; food; patrol. Occasionally he demanded his rights – a quick fuck or suck in the mealtime.

But normally he kept the workroom locked, except at the weekend. Then he could relax, and we would have an “off-duty party” – or gang-fuck. The basement door was opened, the equipment was dragged out and we would play – with one another, and a few special “guests” whom Tyrell had approved. Nothing as intense as the initiation weekend, but we were encouraged to use the sawhorse, the black sling in the corner, the floating beams, the hoods, the whips and the chains – and the full length mirrors the sergeant had installed.

I was surprised at how easy it was to become accustomed to being whipped and fucked, and how easily you became hardened by it. Tyrell picked on me, reckoning I liked it rough, and beat and forced me accordingly. I took it out on Witkowski, whom I pronged regularly and who seemed to enjoy it.

We ate sparingly but drank gallons of Tyrell’s special health drink – non-alcoholic [of course], white, thick and salty; it tasted like diluted cum, but kept our pricks healthy and hard.

One thing, and one thing only, was not allowed. No-one fucked the sergeant. You could tie him up [if you were quick and agile]; you might even get him to 69 you, if he was in a good mood. But his ass hole was inviolate – even virgin, as far as I could tell. And that is what gave me the spur for my revenge.

After about two months, I told Colin my idea; he was dubious at first, but, after we kicked it around from different angles, he agreed to take part. It required detailed and coordinated planning and a certain degree of luck. We needed a quiet week and some additional supplies.

I asked Tyrell if the next party could be, exceptionally, on Thursday evening, as it was my birthday and I wanted to celebrate that day. I offered to be his toy for the night, with some new surprises. With a gleam in his eye, to my surprise, he agreed. “We’ll take one long food and games break that night”, he ordered, “but we must remember we have the weekly briefing at 0800 on Friday morning”. I planned accordingly, offering to buy the food and health drinks myself.

By Thursday evening, I was both excited and strangely calm. The four of us went out on patrol in a celebratory mood, joking as our boots crunched across to the bikes. Tyrell selected me as his companion, slapping my leather ass and ordering me to shove a butt plug into my hole, as he had ideas for the lunch break. I smiled grimly, pushing the plug home [easily, now], and we rode up and down the freeway with my plugged hole to remind me of my revenge.

Then we all clattered down into the basement in our high boots, with our jackets zipped up against the cold outside. The black leathers reflected the colored lights I’d installed for the party, gleaming back at one another in the tall mirrors. “Let’s eat first, and then play”, I suggested. “OK, but we’ve got some presents for you”, Witkowski burbled. As we ate and gurgled down the health drink, the officer produced the gifts. I was impressed and touched – a shiny black double dildo “for you and Colin to cum together”, a smart new whip with a four-foot length and, from the sergeant, a gleaming leather hood with its own inflatable gag and choke collar.

“I want to try it out”, exclaimed Tyrell. “Later”, I replied, “I’m going to allow you to give me my first unbound fuck. I’ll just lie across here and you can take me, without the trouble of tying me down”. The sergeant grunted but unzipped his leather breeches and tickled his growing cock, while Colin took Witkowski into the other corner by the sling.

“Come on, sergeant, give it to me neat”, I called, and he obliged. His tool went in and out, and up and down and then slowed down until it gradually stopped. I managed to heave him out of me and slipped him to the ground, pulling up my pants. He was out cold. “You should watch those health drinks, sergeant, you never know what people will put in them”. Over in the corner, I found Colin had Officer Jake out in the sling. “Already; let’s go”, I whispered, “I reckon we’ve got about 30 minutes”.

We pulled the sergeant to his feet, pulled his gloves and helmet back on, took his handcuffs from his belt, crossed his wrists and locked on the cuffs, raised his arms above his head and attached them to the same chain on which I had first suffered. Colin pulled his feet wide apart, anchoring his boots to the rings in the floor, while I yanked the chain taut so that just his boots taps rang on the concrete.

I undid his breeches and shoved them down to his knees [“no underwear tonight”, I thought]. I tweaked his member, already beginning to stir and leak again. “I thought of using the new hood on him”, I mentioned, “but I want him to see and experience all of my revenge”. “Let’s use it on Witkowski. He’s only the tool – oops, pardon the pun”, countered Colin.

And we both laughed, a little too hard..

So we tackled Officer Jake second, together pulling him out of the sling and across the floor. With Colin holding him upright, I took his cuffs, and, climbing on a chair, hauled up his arms and fastened him in position immediately behind the sergeant. “Not too close; we’ll move him up later”, I suggested, as Colin manacled his boots together, leaving him swinging. I double-checked the sergeant’s bonds – tight with little give and reached for my new whip.

“Five minutes before they start waking up. I forgot the hood on Witkowski”, I worried. Back on the chair, Colin slid the new hood over the officer’s big head and laced the back thoroughly, smoothing the leather over his face before adding the choke collar and then the gag and blindfold. He was now a mass of gleaming black from leathered head to gleaming boots.

Checking my watch, I moved behind Tyrell, whip in one gloved hand, my prick in the other as I stroked it out of its black leather nest. In turn, Colin took up a position behind the officer. I reached out and cracked the first blow across the sergeant’s butt. He stirred slightly, and after I swung twice again, he was definitely showing signs of life. So I reached in my pocket and moved in front of him. “Here, get a whiff of these poppers, sergeant, before I really lay into you”, I commanded.

Tyrell inhaled deeply without realizing. His eyes opened wide, and he stared around wildly. He tried to move and couldn’t, as I smiled and kissed his mouth. My prick responded and so did his, so I nudged them together. “I’m going to get my own back for what you did to me – and add a bit more punishment”, I growled.

The sergeant roared and shook in his bondage. “No-one can hear you but us, as you once told me – and now I’m going to thrash you”. I laid into him, leaving red weals at first in parallel lines below his jacket. Soon I was too hot to care, and the whip fell where it would, flicking round onto his prick and balls. Tyrell shouted and cursed and groaned and whimpered, but I’d woken the lust-beast that was hidden deep inside me and my body, not my brain, controlled me.

I moved in behind Tyrell’s now raw and bloody buttocks and whispered in his ear “I’m going to fuck – or is it rape – you now”. I slid my prick to the entrance of his rosy ass hole, as he shuddered. I reached my hand around and grasped his member, which was oozing pre-cum. I smeared some across his open mouth and face, producing a further groan. Then, taking pity on him, I reached again and edged my lubricated fingers, one at a time, into his hole. Two digits went in and smeared around, as he bucked in his chains and shouted aloud. “No use, sergeant, I mean to fuck you, and fuck you hard. The smears of cum are to make it easier for me”. And, with that, I drove in; the passage was narrow – indeed it was virgin territory- and the sphincter muscle would not relax.

I pushed again, and he bellowed; I slid back to the entrance, moved my hands back to the front, fondling his cock, then rammed in again more determinedly. He breathed more harshly, but the muscle relaxed, and I slipped through and ascended the shaft, until I was completely home. His body shuddered and struggled, and groans caught in his throat.

“I’m hurting, you young bastard”, he ground out. “Now you know how I felt the first time, but now I enjoy it”, I answered. And I began to build momentum, feeling sweat streaming down his back, as mine did across my chest. My arms embraced him, forcing him ever closer and our leathers squeaked together. I pulled his face round to mine and kissed him, biting his lower lip until I drew blood. He murmured more incoherently, as I forced the tempo, splitting his chute, banging my body against his, crashing our boots together.

My ramrod was enjoying itself, building up the tempo, as my hand molded his hard prick. Then I smeared another layer of pre-cum across his face, forcing my fingers into his mouth. “Try a taste”, I crooned, “Before I fill you full with my juices. Look at yourselves in the mirrors.” He still twisted and fought the chains, wrenching his hands and booted feet in their bonds. But I knew from my own experience, they would not break. My body, flushed with heat, was burning into him, as my prong began its final ascent. A primeval scream escaped his parched lips, as I drew myself tight against him and spewed my seed into the virgin receptacle.

Shudders ran through both of us, and his prick suddenly released its own arc of cum, spraying over his highly polished boots and leather breeches. “Now, you fucker, you know what it’s like to be violated”. His stentorian breathing slowed, his head fell, and the proud sergeant whimpered.

“I haven’t finished yet. There’s a second course”, I murmured, stepping out from behind him and shaking off my tool. Colin had been quietly warming up Officer Witkowski, whose anxious prick stood out proudly, while its owner snorted through his gag and hood.

A minute of further ministrations caused shudders in the big man, so we moved him into position, with his tool entering Tyrell’s hole. Colin and I each darted in and pinioned one of Witkowski’s boots to the floor rings and then tightened his arms chain. The officer grunted happily through his gag and leaned into his feast, humping his penis up into his sergeant’s almost-virgin chute. Tyrell jerked up again, groaning loudly as a thicker prick fought its way in.

I joined the two of them more tightly together with a two-inch belt around their waists and Witkowski’s cock slowly sank its 8-inch length in to the hilt, as the sergeant jerked and pulled in place, trying vainly to get rid of the fresh intruder. Their black boots thudded together, as Officer Jake ground his pole up and down the narrow space. Still the sergeant only groaned and gurgled, as he was split further apart. I tightened the encompassing waist belt and added a chest strap to force their shining jackets together.

As a final gesture, I brought Witkowski’s arms forward and laced Tyrell’s prick and balls between his massive hands. The sergeant tried to get his tool away, but the binding was too tight. This encouraged the officer, who not only rubbed the penis happily, but excitedly drew himself up and launched his own shot of cum deep into the virgin slot.

Tyrell growled incoherently, and, as his subordinate’s fingers continued to massage his member, gave a hoarse cry and spewed his man juice over the clutching hands and up onto his carefully polished jacket. Both men hung gasping in their manacles, as I laughed at their humiliation, and Colin shook his head.

I took the birthday double dildo and jammed in deep into Tyrell’s drooling mouth. “Here, chew on this ‘til morning. Neither of you is going anywhere and Witkowski’s prick is going to stay in your hole for the next few hours and keep it warm and open. I doubt that you can push it out, but, maybe, the friction will make him come again. Watch yourselves in the mirrors. I’m sorry I won’t be here at 0800 when the whole team comes to find their noble sergeant [that elicited a growl]. Don’t try shouting, or they’ll be here even sooner. Goodbye, you fucking – and I do mean fucking – bastard. I hope never to see you again”.

And we left them there, in full uniform, with their breeches down, impaled together.

We had our escape plan ready. We jumped on our Harleys, grabbed our bags at the apartment and sped off into the night. We kept going across the states, heading for Chicago. I figured we could get lost more easily in a big city, and, with the help of the Highway Patrol computers, it had been fairly easy to obtain fresh IDs. I clamped my knees in their boots and breeches to the warmth of the engine, as the adrenaline rush slowly faded, and dawn came up. Yes, I’d had the revenge I had wanted and worked for, but why did I still feel unsatisfied and unfulfilled?

We settled in South Chicago and soon found jobs – not the best, but we had no references in our new names. Colin and I slowly drifted apart. He had retained his gentler, more detached attitude to leather and life, but I found I needed something aggressive and violent. My sexual encounters became more predatory and transient. I tried to keep away from leather bars, in case the sergeant was looking for us, but I found myself being drawn back again and again. Tyrell had trained me too well. The innocent of a year ago had been replaced by a leather top who needed whips and chains to cum. Or had I always wanted that, and he had only shoved me through the door.

That’s my story, and I keep one eye on the door and the whip in the bedroom, in case the sergeant comes calling. And what will I do, if and when he does?

To be continued …

Alex Ironrod granted permission for this story to be posted here. You can find much more at his website — alex-ironrod.com — and on his author page at Amazon.