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Mounted Cops – Part 3

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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.

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Mounted Cops – Part 2

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Three Mounted Police Stories

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

2 – Trooper Greg’s Story

By Alex Ironrod

Copyright 2021; All rights reserved

A line of sleek horses passed by, their riders’ firm, tight-breeched asses rising and falling at the trot as I crouched behind the hedge, secretly watching. At the rear was a large black stallion, mounted by a tall, broad-shouldered officer in sharply creased uniform shirt and tie, tight breeches with a thin red stripe and gleaming tall black Dehner boots and spurs – the man I hungered to serve.

It was becoming an obsession. Here I was, a member of the Hunterville Police Department for three years, spying on this powerful Master Sergeant. I was desperate to join his Mounted Unit, to worship and lick the leather of those shining boots, to perform whatever sexual services he might demand. I’d found out what was needed to join the small, mounted troop. I’d had some experience with horses from my summers on my uncle’s farm as a teenager, but I knew my cowboy ways wouldn’t pass muster.

So I’d been taking riding lessons twice a week, punishing my butt on an English saddle and achieving a hard-on, just thinking about getting between Master Sergeant Alex Brand’s strong thighs.

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Mounted Cops – Part 1

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The Mounted Police Stories

Three Stories Of Different Mounted Cops, Booted, In Bondage & Fucked

1 – Kevin’s Story

By Alex Ironrod

Copyright 2021; All Rights Reserved

He was exactly what I was looking for – a broad-shouldered 6 ft hunk, with dark hungry eyes. I was finishing seminars in Boston for mounted police units, and we were touring the Boston PD stables. Naturally we were dressed in our best working uniforms. As Master Sergeant of Hunterville PD Mounted Troop, I was wearing our light tan tailored uniform shirt, tight tan riding breeches, my tall black custom Dehners, which hugged my legs, and my spurs.

I knew I looked good, filling out my uniform in all the right places. He was obviously a stableman, a junior in the ranks and older than most, but his overall was clean and creased, and his boots had been polished that morning. His smoldering eyes followed me, watching how the light slid across my shining boots and flashed on the tips of the spurs.

I smiled and walked over to him.

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An ‘Aggie’ Man and the Texas Ranger – Part 3

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By Alex Ironrod

The sound of the chinking spurs and the thud of the barn door told the leather-bound Aggie Jack Thomson that Ranger Brad Steenbeck was back; he jingled his spurs in response. “Wait, boy, while I get things into place,” snapped the ranger. He heard something heavy being pushed into the open space, and then Brad, clad again in tight black leather chaps, high Dehner boots and different western spurs, came into his limited view.

“Right, let’s get my young stallion ready to be finally mastered.” Jack was untied from the post and clumped in his Dehners, enmeshed in leather from harness to chaps and boots, still bound and gagged, to a padded bench, and then forced down on it. His booted and spurred feet were strapped far apart to the bottom corner of the bench, and his body pulled so that his aroused penis slid into a hole cut for the purpose.

Then his wrists were loosened from around his neck and shackled to the opposite corners of the bench. Two straps forced his chest and waist into the leather-like top of the bench, and the reins from the bit gag were shaken loose around his head. Brad walked around, checking the bindings and stroking his butt and the horsehair tail plug growing out of it.

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An ‘Aggie’ Man and the Texas Ranger – Part 2

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By Alex Ironrod

Something woke Jack Thomson from his troubled doze. He struggled, but his arms remained outstretched, roped. Instead he only succeeded in tormenting his prick, tied to the saddle horn, and his ass hole with its invasive thick plug. Unable to see or hear much through the thick leather of the hood, or to move his hobbled legs, he wobbled in the saddle atop the wooden saddle rack.

The leather creaked and then he heard the ching of those damned spurs of Ranger Brad Steenbeck, whose voice seemed far away, “Wake up, kid, time to get moving.” His penis was released, then his legs and finally his arms. But the Aggie still couldn’t see anything through the leather across his face, and his mouth was sore and dry from the tight gag. “Come on, try to dismount.” Jack could feel Brad’s arms supporting him, as he willed his tired muscles to move, after his all-night torment. He finally slid out of the saddle, to be held by the ranger, who untied the hood and the leather gag.

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An ‘Aggie’ Man and the Texas Ranger – Part 1

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By Alex Ironrod

This story contains adult-oriented material, involving sexually explicit, non-consensual behavior between men.

Copyright 2021 by Alex Ironrod. All rights reserved.

This story is posted here with permission.

Jack Thomson was pissed off, pissed at himself. He’d done in the transmission of his car on a rock sticking out of the dirt on the back road. It was his own fault for showing off to Mary-Louise. He’d invited her to the parade at Texas A & M, and he’d dressed up in his cavalry uniform – khaki breeches with a wide flare, spit-polished brown boots and his uncle’s Prince of Wales spurs, with new straps – his right as a senior. He knew his 6’ frame looked good in the khaki shirt, tie and the Sam Browne belt; he’d strutted round the parade ground with his boot cleats ringing loudly and his campaign hat at just the right angle.

Mary-Louise had been properly impressed, according to his best friend, Tim Dixon, and so he’d stayed in uniform to drive her back home in the hills outside College Station. They’d made out in the back of his Chevy, but he had to be back for duty by 7pm, so he’d cut it short, and, following her directions, tried the short cut through the dry and dusty hills back to college. Now it was late afternoon; he was stuck, and he hadn’t bothered to tell Tim or the others where he was going. He kicked at the tire with his boot in exasperation.

“You need some help?” a voice helloed from behind him. Jack swung round; a man sat a tall horse on the nearby hill. “Got a problem with your car?” “Yes, sir, wrecked the transmission.” “Hold on,” and the man urged the stallion down the slope and trotted towards him. Jack watched him approach and dismount with a jingle of spurs.

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Black Leather Cops and Revenge – Part 5

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By Alex Ironrod © 2021

PART FIVE- THE RETURN

“OK, boyo, I’m going to seriously bruise that fucking bubble-butt of yours with this whip. I’m not forgetting you can’t see it with that hood and blindfold on. But you can feel these knots trailing down your back right now and tickling your ribs. Right? Just nod. Good. Now I want you to count the strokes as I lay them on you.

Yes, you’ll have to shout through the gag. Here comes number…ONE. Let me hear something. Shout louder next time. TWO. It’s no use trying to pull yourself loose from the ropes. I’m a master at knots as well. THREE. And I like my boys stretched good and tight for thrashing. FOUR. I still can’t hear you. Shout, damn it! FIVE. We’re getting you warmed up nicely. SIX. And let’s try a couple round the front. One to get those nipples erect, and one for your cock – although that’s already at attention.

“You’re sweating – and groaning – and wriggling – that’s good. I like that. Now comes the main event – my seven-inch ramrod at your door. Shit, donut stiffen up. I need your fucking chute relaxed to receive me. That’s right, push back and welcome me into your warmed-over hole. Come on, for Christ’s sake, this is Master Jim giving you a fuck, not some Nelly queen from the nearest leather bar. You told me you’d been ploughed before, so let me in and stretch your passage. No, you can’t buck me out, and I’m coming in all the way.

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Black Leather Cops and Revenge – Part 4

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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].

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