I May Return



I parked my moterbike, a beautiful, black and silver harley, which I had bought four months ago, on a quiet side-street near the cafe. Thirty minutes later, I returned to find a dented panel with a tyre mark on it. My best guess is that some clumsy arsehole, driving an SUV, had backed into it, pushing the panel in with their spare tyre, which is attached to the back of these "tractors." The prick didn't even leave a note to say sorry. There's no point getting upset about it, that's the insurance company's job.

I read my policy document to see what I had to do. First thing was to report it to the police and get a report number. That seemed pointless. There's simply no way that the police will catch the guy, but that's what I had to do. Anyway, how hard could it be, right?

I telephoned the police, spoke to a constable who explained that this was a "hit and run", and that I had to report it in person, at a police station. Oh boy, hit and run: you couldn't make this stuff up if you tried. Just more inconvenience. Okay, thank you, I'll go in.

I drove to the police station, where I was ignored by two men for ten minutes. It looked like they were having a lovely chat: I could tell by their relaxed stance, and the chocolate milk that one was drinking. Ignoring me for idle chit-chat is bad customer service, and not the way to help me keep calm. I hate seeing my tax dollars not at work.

Eventually one sauntered over and asked what I wanted. I think I was polite and respectful to him, even though he had started by wasting my time, even though the whole process was a waste of my time, yet, for some reason, I felt tension between us. Still, he was professional and I had to do this. I explained what had happened. He took down the details and asked if I had a photograph of the damage. Yes, I did. I grabbed my phone, with the photo of the damage displayed on the screen, and passed it to him.

"Look," I asked, "doesn't this mark look like the side of a tire? You can see the tread. What kind of tyre has tread on the side?"

He did the two-finger zoom thing to make the picture bigger, studied it a bit, and then did the two-finger pinch thing to shrink it back down. Except he missed. He managed to slide the next picture into view. A picture of me, dressed just how my mommy made me. Boy, did I turn red? He said nothing, just stared at the screen for a second and then moved to the next picture. A nice one of my arse. I've got a nice arse, with a tight little hole. The next was a close up of my tight little rosebud. Then another of my dick, a close up, showing pre-cum stretching down. I didn't know what to do. There could be no greater embarrassment. Or so I thought...

"I think you'd better step into the back," he said.

"What? Why? I haven't done anything," I stammered.

"Obscene pictures on a communication device. You've done plenty. That's a serious felony," he smirked. "Who did you send them to? It better not have been a minor. We *will* check."

"No, no, nothing, it was just harmless fun. Please, just give me my phone back. It was nothing."

"Step this way," he said, opening the door to the back office and waving me through. "Sarge, could you come too?" he said to his colleague, he of the chocolate milk.

What could I do? We all went through.

"What do you make of this, Sarge?" he asked, showing him my phone.

The sergeant glanced at the screen and did a double-take. I've never seen one in real life before. This was a classic. I couldn't help myself: I laughed. Mistake. Huge mistake. He slapped me, and it really hurt.

"You fucking pervert!" he screamed at me, spittle flying into my face. "You little queer faggot cocksucking pervert. You think this is funny, do you?"

If I did before, I didn't then.

"No, please, it's nothing. Just give my phone back. I don't even care about my car." I was scared.

"Take him to the cell and search him," the sergeant instructed his constable.

I was marched down to the cells, pushed roughly into one, and ordered to strip.

"What? No, please, why?" I was getting angry and that made assertive. "I haven't done anything. You can't do this to me, I know my rights."

He punched me. I couldn't believe it. He punched me.

"Strip, you dirty faggot," he hissed, "or I'll give you what you deserve."

I saw red and threw a punch, hitting him on his chin, which didn't help. What was I thinking? I was in a fucking police cell. Where could I go? I couldn't run. I could only hope that he didn't hurt me too much. Besides, I'm 53 and have never been a specimen of physical perfection. This cop couldn't have been more than 24 and was built like Adonis. In fact, as I looked I started to get turned on. He was really good looking. I guess he was 6'3", with a massive chest and tiny waist. His biceps and triceps must have measured more than 20" around. You could see the veins in them standing proud. I couldn't help glancing down, and my mouth went dry when I saw a bulge in his tight-fitting trousers than went down at least 11". He dressed to the left.

After making him truly angry by hitting him, I distracted myself by leering at his crotch. He grabbed me in a headlock, pulled my hair, pushed me to the floor, and before I knew it, had my hands cuffed behind my back.

"You queer, I'm going to fuck you up now. You think you can waltz in here with some kind of attitude, and get away with trying to sneak a peak. Well I'm going to show you. You're going to get a REAL good look tonight."
He ripped my clothes from my body, tore them clean off. That's not easy to do. Try it one day. Clothes are strong, but he was stronger. Then he stripped, and, actually, it was quite sexy. He held my gaze, removed his tie and slowly unbuttoned hit shirt, starting at the collar and working down. His shirt hung open, showing his manly, hairless chest. His pecs were so huge and well defined you could rest a cup on them, and with areolas the size of an egg! He left his shirt hanging open, unbuckled his trousers and let them drop to the floor. He kicked them off with his shoes, in the one motion. There he stood, wearing just socks, boxers and a shirt. And I could see that he was turned on, too, because that 11" snake had come to attention, tenting the front of his boxers. He licked his lips for a second, then spat in my face and dropped his boxers, allowing his now free cock to slap up against his belly. He must have waxed. If my mouth was dry before, now it was absolutely parched. I was staring at a 14" monster. How could this weapon be real? I had never seen anything like it, not even from a lifetime of wanking over porn.

"You better like it," he sneered. "Kiss it."

What could I do, but comply? As I reached for it, he spun, left then right, slapping me in the face with it.

"Did I say you could hold it?" he screamed, spitting in my face again. "Kiss it. No hands, just your lips."

I kissed it. I kissed the head, then worked my way down the shaft to his nutsack. His pert, hairless nutsack, containing his two, precious balls. I wanted them. I kissed them, then licked them, down towards his taint, and then up from his taint, between the balls, contuing up his turgid shaft to his perfect cockhead. I licked around it and then swallowed as much as I could. I was gagging, and there were still two handsfull to go. This couldn't be real. He grabbed me by my ears and forced his cock down my throat. Damn, that hurt like a bitch, and I was gagging, unable to breath, panicking, with his balls at my mouth and his cock down my throat. He held my head against his groin, pushing himself harder into my mouth. This was no lovemaking; he was r****g my mouth! I had never been so turned on, but scared. I thought I would black out from lack of oxygen, but he sensed my panic perfectly, pulling back and leaving just the head in my mouth, giving me time to breath. I gasped as I sucked in the air that he had denied me. He gave me only a few seconds before plunging in again. My throat felt like it was on fire. He fucked my mouth, pulling back and plunging in, really long, slow strokes, holding my head by my ears. He could have torn them off for all I noticed. I was mesmerised by this enormous, engorged fuckstick going in and out of my mouth, and by his ballsack, swinging back and forward, slapping me on the chin with each stroke.

If I thought I could get away with this forced blowjob I was mistaken. After brutally fucking my mouth for ten minutes, he dragged me off the ground, pulling me up by my hair, and threw me, face down, onto the bed. It stunk. He spat into his hand and rubbed it into my hole; thanks for that; very kind, I'm sure. Then he slowly penetrated me in one, slow, agonising thrust. God, it hurt! I don't get fucked often, and I had never even seen a monster of this size before, far less taken one inside of me. I screamed in pain. I'm surprised I didn't pass out. He must have torn me asunder, I was sure I was bleeding.

He held himself fully inside me, his balls pressed hard against mine. As he held himself there, the pain subsided, and changed to that incredible feeling of fullness and pleasure that cannot be explained. Yes, it felt like a log had been shoved up me, but it felt so good, so full. I could feel his cock twitching against my prostate. It felt so good that I started to moan.

"You like that, don't you, bitch?" he sneered, and, pulling my head back by my hair, spat in my eyes. "Now you're taking a real man, you'll never be satisfied with your faggot friends again."

So saying, he pulled back leaving just five or six inches inside, before slammed back into me. Did I say "just" five or six inches? That's as much as I normally take when I get fucked. Most guys don't have the eight or nine inches we dream of. This guy had a lot more than a foot, and I felt it all as it went in. He pulled back again, and slammed it back in, again and again. I was so turned on, I thrust back onto his magnificent, manly meat. I wanted him to breed me. I wanted him to make me pregnant! Again and again he fucked, bringing me to my own orgasm. Even with my face in a stinky mattress, my hands cuffed behind my back, and being brutally ****d with this inhumanly large dick, even so, I came. I've never cum without stimulating my cock before. I didn't think it could happen. It can. I did. I came, and I screamed out in pleasure as I did. Hearing my pleasure, he slammed back into me for a final time, and unloaded. I felt him twitching inside of me, at least ten times, and then, even though my arse was stuffed full of him, I felt his cum dribbling out of my arse, and down my balls. My God, he had bred me and completely filled me with his cum. I spewed a second load.

He held himself in me for a minute, then pulled out and wiped himself clean with the tatters of my clothes. As he pulled out, a stream of this stud's cum squirted out. I felt it arc out and down, and splatter on my balls. I came for a third time. I was in pleasure overload. If I had died at that moment I would have been fully satisfied.

He unlocked the cuffs, dragged me off the bed, stuffed the ruins of my clothing in my hand, dragged me to the back door and kicked me outside.

"If you ever come back you'll get more of the same!" were his final words.

I still have to complete the report. I think I'll go back tomorrow. I hope he's there
发布者 MASTERDOMTM
10 年 前
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cigardad4dad
Shit- I bet the meter maids are fucking butch and their pussys would put you through your paces the same way! Helluva hot post, buddy!

Guy
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