Three Mounted Police Stories

Stories Of Different Mounted Cops, Booted, In Bondage And Fucked

3 – Leather Mirror

By Alex Ironrod

Copyright 2021; All rights reserved

I groaned, my arms chained at full stretch to the walls of the stall, my uniform being cut off my struggling body. What the fuck had happened? I’d only been stationed here in the mounted detachment armory for just over a week and this was my first night duty. At six feet and 200 lbs, I can usually take care of myself. I’d been patrolling the barn, and stopped to admire myself in the full-length mirror by the door.

Yes, the dark blue uniform fitted me snugly in all the right places and the tall black leather boots hugged my thighs tightly. The spurs reflected the light as I bent down to tighten one of the straps, when he struck the first blow across my shoulders. I fell to the floor and a follow-up kick to my balls from his boot really had me writhing in agony. He had me up against the wall, and one thick cuff locked round my left wrist immediately. Then he jerked me upright and yanked on the other arm.

The cuff was waiting – solid, over an inch thick, unyielding, and I hung helpless, as he kicked my legs apart and chained each of them to metal supports in the floor. Two rapid-fire punches to my stomach and face immobilized me further, but my helmet protected my head itself.

A dark-blue-clad body swam into view, the same spandex tight breeches, the same gleaming black boots and spurs, the same uniform shirt, but his face was largely hidden by a black leather hood. It had to be another mounted policeman – but who?

“I’ve watched you, Lon Elstree, for the past week. I’ve watched your balls bounce as you mount Ebony, and I’ve watched your butt twitch as you move into a canter on the horse. I’ve watched you long enough, and, now, I fucking well mean to have you.”

Black-gloved hands ripped open my shirt, buttons flying. He had moved behind me, and the voice sounded muffled. Who the hell could it be? I’d scarcely got to know any of the other men on my shift, other than my partner Bill, in the week that I’d been here. I’d been a late recruit into the police force – not your typical candidate with my tattoos and attitude. But I’d made it through basic training, keeping myself to myself and obeying orders. The army had taught me that. Besides, I had to stay in; I had to find out who had murdered my partner, Tony, since the official enquiry was going so slowly – just another fatal gay-bashing in the park.

I heard a knife cutting through cloth, as his gloved hand pulled my shirt off my shoulders and then the fabric parted and my chest and back were bare. Horses stamped nervously in the nearby stalls, as I shouted for help. But there was no one to hear; my assailant had timed his attack just right.

Was this what had happened to Tony in the park? He had been three years younger than I, fair to my dark and we had been lovers for a couple of years. That was why I jumped at the chance of joining the mounted division – they patrolled the park, high on the back of a tall horse. Besides, I had a natural ability with horses, and maybe I could find out something about that fateful night the others had overlooked – if I survived this ordeal. He moved in front of me, the knife slicing dangerously near my cock and balls, as he slit the material of my breeches and shorts and pulled my package out, hefting my sac in his black-leathered hands, pulling on my meaty dick. I yelled again. “Shut the fuck up,” he ordered, wadding shirt material into a ball and forcing it into my mouth. The sleeves were wound tightly round my head, completing the gag.

He pushed his uniformed body against mine – slithering his arms over mine, chained to the walls. I struggled to get away, muscles twitching, body aroused by his warmth and his constantly probing fingers. They traced my tattoos – the serpent on my right arm, the dragon across my back – pulling and nipping at my skin, as I started to sweat. Then he moved in front, kissing and mouthing my nipples; then lightly biting them – one of my most sensitive areas.

I hissed into the gag. How could he know? I thought, as I bucked and fought the chains that had me tethered, binding me in place like a stallion.

The knife flashed lower, cutting along the seams of my breeches, sliding along the valley of my ass and slicing away my white briefs.

He tugged at my regulation belt, until it and most of my breeches fell to the floor. My loosened helmet went next, clattering at my feet. I tried to wriggle away from the gloved fingers, naked now except for a few patches of briefs and breeches going into my tall black boots.

“Let’s get those boots off you. I want to have you bare-ass naked before I take you,” his voice whispered in my ear. One ankle was loosened from its chain, and he had the boot (and the tatters of my breeches and briefs) off in no time. He’d obviously pulled plenty of boots off before. “Now the other boot – no kicking, or I’ll belt you in the balls again. Good – I can really see you properly, my wild one – buffed, tattooed, even cock-pierced – just ripe for me. Let’s have that gag out; I’d like to hear you scream as I prong you – just like your fuckbuddy in the park. Oh, yes, I know all about you. You’re a real Adonis, aren’t you? So much better without the uniform – a muscled , pumped-up feast for the eating.”

His leathered hands had been caressing my sweating back, slithering down to my ass cheeks, pulling them apart and inserting two fingers, as I writhed in the chains, pulling helplessly, with the iron sawing into my wrists. I moaned loudly in pain and he moved back in front for a moment, his tongue now pushing relentlessly into my gasping mouth, as one hand savagely twisted my swollen tits, while the other flicked the jewelry on the end of my prick and tickled the rising shaft. “Enough of that,” he chortled, “time for some ass action. Where’s the lube and the condom?” I was fully aroused, panting, sweating and heaving, but held firmly in my metal bondage. He zipped open those dark-blue breeches, pulling out a thick 7-inch cock and rolled on a ribbed condom. “See this spike; I’m going to impale you on it, my muscled faggot-beast. I’m going to ride you as you’ve never been humped before – rape you and rip you as you deserve.”

I groaned – didn’t he realize that my ass wasn’t exactly virgin territory. True, I hadn’t been fucked lately, and anyway I was normally the top, but I was sure the muscles would remember. Still it did hurt as he pushed in; he’d lubed his dick, but not my hole. He wanted to sink it home quickly, shoving inch by inch past my sphincter muscle into my private castle. As I took all of his pole inside me, he spread-eagled himself across me, his full weight on top of me, grinding his hips against my sweaty flanks, one black-leathered hand in a half-nelson around my neck, while the other continued to punish my nipples. He kissed and nibbled at my dragon tattoo, as he humped and thrust. I grunted and gurgled, as my passage stretched to fit the thick rod rubbing up and down, like a piston picking up steam. I yelled and humped with increasing excitement, my quivering penis thrusting against my stomach. He moved his gloved hand from my neck and pushed the fingers into my mouth. I sucked and salivated; I bucked and sweated; I hung and shuddered against his thick torso.

“Take it all, you cock-sucker, take my pole and hump it,” he spluttered into my ear, “come on, thrust back on my prick. I know you’re loving it. Christ, I can see your tattoos wriggle in time with my thrusts. I only had your buddy once, but you’re a much better built cum-bucket. Squeeze those ass muscles on my dick. You’re a great fuck in a great body and I’m going to enjoy taking you regularly, the harder the better – so wriggle on my sausage. You won’t tell anyone – yeh, push back again – caus’ you don’t want them to know you’re an ass-faggot. So let me send in a good stream of my cum – and here she blows.”

I felt him explode into me, then pull out abruptly, as I reared back and shot my own stream of jism over myself and the straw floor of the stall. He took a butt plug from his breeches pocket, showed it to me and then shoved it dry into my hole. “That will keep you reminded for the next few hours of who’s in charge, while I leave you on duty,” he chuckled as he punched me in the stomach again. As I gurgled, he unlocked the chains that held me to the wall. I collapsed, retching into the straw, and, with a kick in the balls to silence me further, he was gone, his boot cleats echoing through the barn. I still didn’t know who he was, but I was fucked if he was going to be my Master.

I groaned as I stretched, and realized I was buck-naked, with cold cum seeping round the plug in my ravaged ass. My mounted police uniform lay in shreds around me in the horse stall, while my shining Dehner boots with the gleaming spurs stood up right beside me like sentinels, surrounded by my gun-belt and helmet. It was full morning, and my Sergeant was shaking me hard.

“What the fuck’s going on here,” bellowed Sergeant Jackston, “you’re supposed to be the officer on duty, not lolling around naked in the straw? What’s happened to you? Shit, it looks as though someone’s worked you over but good – strung you up – and look at that bleeding asshole. OK, help Lon up. Send for the doc. And then everyone out of here.”

I explained first to the Sergeant, then to the Lieutenant, and finally to the Captain that I’d been checking the stable area when my assailant hit me, and that I couldn’t identify him because he’d worn a leather hood.

“Well, what about his clothes?” demanded Captain Gilyard.

“He was wearing a uniform just like mine or yours, sir – mounted police issue down to the spurs.” I replied.

“It must have been a disguise – why would any of us work you over like that? Must have been someone from your previous life that wanted revenge for something.” I bristled at the inference about my colorful past [and the tattoos and the PA in my cock I had to prove it], but it almost seemed the most logical explanation. I was put on light duties for a couple of days, so that my savaged butt could recover, and the overall bruising go down.

“Shit, Lon, you still look a mess.” I was being nuzzled by my horse, Ebony, in his stall, when my patrol partner Bill came wandering up.

“I took Ebony out for exercise yesterday. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Hey man, I’m grateful. I couldn’t have sat him myself.”

I hadn’t paid much attention to Bill before, but now I was checking out every officer. Hell, we’d only been partners for about ten days before my rape, and he seemed a cool guy – also about 6 ‘ and the same 200 lbs – good rider too, although I sometimes had problems with his Brooklyn accent, seeing I am from the South myself. Something about him seemed familiar, but I put it down to his fair coloring, blond like my former lover, Tony, who had been murdered in the park that I now patrolled, determined to find his killer.

“So, you coming out on patrol tomorrow?” asked Bill.

“Yea, I think my butt can stand it, as long as you set an easy pace.”

We were tacked up, mounted and away by 8 the following morning. Our patrol was to take us through the park on a crisp fall day, with the leaves turning red and gold. Bill set a simple walk-trot pace and there was only one incident. A perp snatched an elderly tourist’s purse, and hightailed it across the grass. The idiot didn’t realize that we were close by, and Bill galloped across the green, overtaking him easily, and forcing him to a stop. I sat a restless Ebony, soothed the tourist and admired Bill’s horsemanship. I congratulated him as we resumed patrol. He shrugged it off, and turned up into the woodlands at the north end of the park, where I had never been on horseback, and where Tony had been murdered. We rode along narrowing trails, talking quietly, until Bill turned off into a small clearing.

“Time for a break – and I bet that ass of yours needs it. Dismount and stretch for a few minutes. No one ‘s up here at this hour.” I swung down gratefully, and tied Ebony by his lead rope to a convenient tree branch.

“Get over here, Elstree,” Bill’s voice had toughened, his accent thickening, “and lick my boot.” He thrust the polished toe of his riding boot forward in its stirrup. I didn’t think I’d heard right. “Fuck you, Lon, I mean it. Get that mouth open and on my boot,” he barked.

“Why the shit would I do that?”

“Because you want it – you want to be forced – and you need some sex play.”

And he was right. I felt I was hypnotized or dreaming. My tongue snaked out to lick the polished black leather. Bill used his long riding crop to beat a steady tap-tap-tap on my helmet. Then he snapped it across my shoulders, stretching my mouth over his boot and jerking me out of my dream.

“Told you you’d enjoy it. Now work your way round the side. Relax. I want to feel your tongue working through the leather.”

A couple of quick switches across my back and I found myself obeying his orders, my tongue working, slurping, while my mind tried to compute why I, who was normally the Top, was suddenly on my knees worshipping this officer’s boot…..and liking it! I didn’t have much time for introspection. I felt the business end of Bill’s riding crop under my chin, tilting my head back until I was looking directly up at him. I could see my reflection in the lenses of his mirrored aviator glasses.

“OK,” Bill ordered as he pointed with his crop in the direction of his boot heel. “Now I want to see that mouth of yours around this spur of mine.”

Bill firmly tapped his spur with his trusty riding crop. Obediently, I trailed the tip of my tongue along his boot leather from his toe to his heel and, as if in a trance, I opened my mouth wide to accept the long, curved silvery shaft of his spur. I felt the cool metal sliding back along the center of my tongue . For a moment he allowed me to savor its harsh metallic taste. Then he slowly raised his leg forward and upward, pulling his spur free. I could see drops of my saliva moving down the silver shaft, dripping from its tip.

“Now I’ve got another job for that excitable mouth of yours. I’m dismounting. Get down and unzip my breeches. Gently, use that mouth of yours to pull my prick out and harden it with your tongue. I’m going to make you my new cock-sucker.”

Maybe it was the after-effects of the prescription pain pills I’d been taking. Maybe it was some long-repressed desire, but I found myself without any will to resist as Bill pressed down on my shoulders, forcing me to my knees. My lips instinctively circled his purple cockhead and my tongue felt for and found its wide slit, as new tastes and sensations flooded into my mouth and brain.

Bill grabbed me by my helmet, and ground his thickening tool into my mouth. The tip of my tongue stiffened as it sensed the unmistakable taste of Bill’s precum. My tongue laved his shaft, as he pistoned in and out, and I gurgled with obscene pleasure. He still carried that crop, and cracked it across my shoulders when he thought I wasn’t working hard enough on stimulating his dick, as it reached for the back of my throat. I grunted, choking on his thick penis and my first face-fuck; he grunted, pleasured and humping as he thrust to climax. His gloved hands tightened round my helmet, as I clutched the jerking muscles of his covered ass. Warm cum spewed into my waiting mouth, and I added his man seed to my list of new taste treats.

He insisted I cleaned his dick, then pulled out and wiped his diminishing tool across my face, and zipped it into his breeches. “Up, Lon, and get your reward.” I struggled to my feet, as he closed in, and his tongue invaded my mouth, which was still coated with his cum. I gasped with guilty pleasure, still reeling from this strange change in my sexual orientation.

Then we mounted up and turned back to the main trail, each silent with his own thoughts. We were finishing patrol when Bill spoke up – “Why don’t we meet for dinner this evening, to talk things through? I know this was a first time for you, but I want to see you again – sexually. I’ll be on duty later tonight, and we can play together, if we keep an eye out for suspicious strangers. Oh, and stay in your uniform – it’s more fun.”

I nodded agreement, as we clattered into the stable yard, and I looked down at Bill through different eyes, as we swung out of the saddles. He was definitely a hunk, filling out that tight uniform, smartly turned out from his polished helmet and glasses to the gleaming Dehners and spurs I had recently serviced. I groaned as I cleaned Ebony later; yes, I was drawn to him. Perhaps I was lonely; perhaps it was plain lust. So it didn’t require much effort on my part to appear in a clean shirt and breeches at 7pm. The stables were quiet, apart from the sound of horses eating, and my boot cleats echoed on the stone floor.

“Over here, Lon,” I recognized the Brooklyn accent, “I think there’s something wrong with Ebony.” I was over and into the stall in double-quick time. And I saw stars and darkness, as something cracked across my head.

“You never learn, do you, Elstree?” It was Bill’s voice, a bit muffled and completely without the Brooklyn accent, but all too familiar. He was locking his cuffs round my wrists, and hiking up my arms, so that my hands were draped over a hook dangling from the ceiling in the gloom of an empty stall. My shirt was already gone, and a thick rubber gag filled my mouth. And the man of my nightmare rape was back. It was Bill, his face covered in a thick leather mask this time, his eyes sparkling, lips parted and blond hair gleaming.

“You must want it bad to be so trusting. But so was that lover-whore of yours – what was his name – Tony? I met him that once, crossing the woodland part of the park, looking for you, I presume. He needed direction – so I provided for him – my horse, my crop and I soon had him on his knees. I was horny that night, and wanted a fuck. I forced him; he fought back, and I strangled him – accidentally on purpose. Now it’s your turn.”

Blind anger filled my brain, as I struggled to free myself, boots slipping on the stone floor. Bill laughed, but I felt nothing but rage as he began to beat me with that crop. He lashed my shoulders, drawing vivid stripes, and he shouted in triumph. I could only gurgle obscenities through the restraining gag. He moved in front, whipping my tender nipples and chest, as I tried to dodge away from him. Panting, he slowed down, unbuttoning his shirt, reaching to pull out the twitching cock pulsating in his breeches, and to bring from his pocket some shiny metallic objects.

“Oh yes, I want you to experience it all tonight, my raging stallion. I’m going to stretch and pull on those rosy nipples of yours with my gloves – before I attach these gleaming tit clamps. That’s right – pant and sweat and grunt all you want, but here comes number one – hurts, doesn’t it? – and the other – you look delicious when you shudder like that – and it hurts even more when I yank on the connecting chain like this.”

I yelled and bit into the gag; I glared at this monster – my partner. But he was flying high, his liberated prick bouncing in front of him, leaking pre-cum. He undid my belt and pulled down my own breeches.

“So, no briefs tonight – I don’t have to slice them off you this time. Pity. Well, I’ll just have to use my knife to shave your balls instead. Better keep still, or I might do you some permanent damage.”

I shuddered, sweating, then stood still in place, boots planted firmly apart on the ground, as he slowly slide the sharp hunting knife over the hairs on my sac. A few minutes later, he sighed with satisfaction, as I looked down at my newly nude balls, thrusting up and out under the ministrations of his gloved hands.

“Nothing wrong in the front – except that I want to test that tit chain again, maybe screw in the clamps a little further – that should keep you panting and squirming for the moment. Now let’s see how your ass is responding to this treatment. You don’t know how much I’d wanted to keep you butt-plugged out on patrol, but that wasn’t possible, was it?

“Why, your hole is still red and twitching from last week’s effort, but that should have widened your passage. I’ll be kind and shove some lube up there on my gloves. Hey, look at you, dancing like a puppet on a finger-fuck. You look hot and sweaty and downright fuckable. So I’m glad to oblige. Now, down with my breeches and I’m ready to have you.”

He was right; I was panting with excitement and torment; my nipples screamed in agony; my erect cock waved in front of me; his fingers forced my hole. But I also knew it was now or never – I had only a minute to try to get loose. I saw my braceleted hands were balanced on the edge of the hook above my head and my feet were free. As he came close, snarling, fumbling with his breeches, I swung my leg up and booted him savagely in the balls. He groaned and crumpled to the floor. I managed another kick to his naked ass, and then pushed my arms up high and off the hook. I was free and he was on the ground.

I shoved his head down, circling his neck with my cuffed hands and pulling back to choke him. I got astride his heaving body, anchoring his hands to the stone floor under my booted feet. And my cock, fully erect and fully engaged, sought out and found that dark hole it wanted.

There was no lube, no spit, no condom, only my vengeance, my revenge driving my thrusting rod straight up his narrow passage, forcing its angry way into the heart of him. This was the fuck of fucks for me, and I reveled in it, jerking Bill’s masked head back and using my hands like reins round his neck. He shouted and moaned, sweated and panted, but I was riding him hard, my boot cleats pounding his fingers into the floor. But it didn’t take long for my naked balls to tighten and I shot not one, but two wads up and into the bastard. He collapsed under me, as I slowly throttled him, and our heated, grimy bodies sank to the stones, Dehners and spurs clattering together. I managed to stop, as he passed out.

The rest, as they say, is history. I cuffed him and hung him more securely on the hook. Then I called the Sergeant and the Captain. Hell – it was only midnight. Bill was charged with murder, after he repeated the story of Tony’s death, under proper police procedures. Nothing was said about his bruised neck or hands, or about his raped ass. I figured they thought he had it coming. Now I’m a senior patrol officer, but still alone, although I like the look of this new 6’ 3’’ recruit with the blond buzz-cut and the tight bubble-butt. We’ll have to see – and, Tony, rest in peace.

THE END

Copyright 2021 by Alex Ironrod, alex-ironrod.com

Posted here by permission

If you enjoyed Alex’s stories, let him know at alex-ironrod@com (don’t forget the dash).