Rogue Leathercop 01

The intercom buzzed and the Captain immediately set aside the paperwork he'd been reviewing and pressed the Speak button. "Yes?"

"He's just coming in now, sir," the young officer at the Duty Desk reported in a low whisper.

"Stall him for two minutes until I get down there. But don't let him know we're on to him." CAPTAIN SIR sighed as he pushed back from the desk and quickly made his way down the hall towards the stairs that led downstairs to the Duty Desk. This was not going to be pleasant, but there was nothing to be gained by prolonging the situation. And on top of that, they didn't want the bastard to figure out that he was being stalled and maybe make a break for it. He was here now, and he was going to stay here, and he was going to get what he deserved.

He knocked on a dark wood door to his left and swung it open without waiting for a reply. A man in a short-sleeved leather uniform shirt trimmed with a gold band on each sleeve sat in a high backed green leather chair in a corner of the room. He was about to get up, but CAPTAIN SIR waved him back into his seat.

"It's going down now," he said to the nervous leathercop. "Just be ready to come down when you hear the bell, but don't show your face until I call your name. Understand?"

The man nodded and took another long pull on his cigar. The Officer's Smoking Room was usually the Captain's private space, reserved for unwinding with his men during off duty hours, but tonight he was using it as a waiting room where STAFF SERGEANT AMBERSON, a Cellblock officer and a serving officer with the metropolitan police, could stay out of sight until he was needed. The Captain stepped back out of the room, closed the door behind him and continued down the hallway.

"Frack," he thought to himself as his vibram-soled WESCOs thudded down the stairs. "This is the worst thing I've had to do since taking office."

There'd been the usual shitty tasks of paperwork and forms that daily clogged his in tray, but by far the worst jobs were the messes involving his men, the leathercops who used the Cellblock, and the clients they used here. There were the usual frictions that occur between aggressive Type A personalities sharing limited space and resources – while the Cellblock occupied a both halves of a converted three-storey duplex, there were still times when leathercops competed for the same inmates, equipment and spaces. Sometimes tempers flared and conflicts needed resolution. Throwing oil on troubled waters and pampering 'roid-inflated egos that occasionally got to thinking they were bigger than the system were the real challenges of his position, and he'd been lucky there'd been nothing more serious than some pissing matches and a couple of short term suspensions in the eight months since he'd been elected Captain.

Tonight was different, though. Tonight he had to take care of a rogue leathercop.

There was nothing about this situation he looked forward to, and he was damn disappointed that it had happened on his watch. It reflected badly on him that one of his men had fouled things up so badly and it was all he could do to hold his rising anger in check as he thought about the mess the bastard had made for them. The potential for catastrophe was very real. If not dealt with quickly and eradicated completely, it might even result in the closure of the Cellblock, and worse, real criminal prosecution for not only the perpetrator now being stalled by SARGE D at the Duty Desk, but maybe even for some of his men. Maybe even himself. Bile rose in his throat as CAPTAIN SIR paused to pull himself together at the bottom of the stairs. He braced himself for the ordeal ahead and pushed open the frosted glass door that lead out into the Duty Desk area.

"Evening, gentlemen," he said in his most neutral voice. The three leathercops positioned around the counter quickly stood at attention, clicked their heels and saluted, as Cellblock ritual mandated they do when the Captain entered a room. CAPTAIN SIR responded with his own hasty salute and rattled off a quick "As you were, men." He surveyed the area and nodded to each of the leathercops in turn.

There was SARGE D, the spunky muscleboi with the shiny shaved sides of a perfect military high and tight visible below his black leather Muir cap who manned the Duty Desk. On the other side of the divide there was THE PROSECUTOR, a particularly brutish bull-massive leathercop CAPTAIN SIR had conscripted to help with the takedown. And there was Jerry, the pretty boy bastard with the thick pouty lips who'd thought he was such hot shit and smarter than the rest of them, who'd betrayed their trust and risked the very existence of the Cellblock. Fraking bastard.

The Captain's anger rose in him at the very sight of the Judas leathercop, but Jerry could still bolt if they didn't do this right, so he held his ire in check, but promised himself he'd make the bastard pay for what he'd done, oh yes, he was going to pay with interest before the night was over. His smart ass pretty boy days ended now. We'll see who's the smartest man in the room tonight.

"You got that paperwork for me?" he asked, returning to the unpleasant task at hand and holding out his palm for the printout he knew SARGE D had prepared for this occasion. SARGE D handed over the two page printout. "Thank you," the Captain said, pretending to read over the first sheet, then flipping over to the second page. A puzzled look crossed his face, and he looked up at Jerry.

"There's something about this printout I don't understand," CAPTAIN SIR put to Jerry, "Can you explain it to me?" Jerry reached across the counter for the form, but the Captain ignored the outstretched hand and casually walked through the swinging half door that separated one side of the Duty Desk from the public side to stand next to Jerry.

SARGE D moved discretely to the filing cabinet near the Duty Desk gate in anticipation of the coming takedown. From this position his hand was close to the buzzer that activated a bell up in the Officer's Smoking Room, and he could also quickly move to the PROSECUTOR's side to help take Jerry down.

"Now please, Duty Officer," CAPTAIN SIR said, and almost immediately a muffled bell sounded somewhere in the building. He handed the two-document to Jerry as though the bell meant nothing and passively watched Jerry's face for any sign that he understood what was happening.

The first page was a series of dense numbered paragraphs covering sections of the Cellblock's Code of Conduct manual, and Jerry skimmed it quickly, a look of confusion on his face, a look that quickly changed to shock when he turned to the second page and saw what was printed there: a facsimile copy of the blackmail note he'd written to S SGT AMBERSON of the metropolitan police, a real police officer who played their way, who enjoyed the sights and sounds and power of leather and all the Cellblock trappings, who had trusted the men of the Cellblock with his secret and his career and who now found himself threatened by it.

"DO IT!" the Captain shouted before Jerry had a chance to do more than look up in shock from the incriminating document. The PROSECUTOR shot into action, grabbing Jerry in a chokehold while forcing his head forward from behind. A couple of quick punches to the face slowed down and confused the captive, but didn't stop him from resisting. CAPTAIN SIR grabbed Jerry's hands and SARGE D jumped into the fray as well. Jerry struggled fiercely against his captors, but three against one were not very good odds.

"Sergeant, will you step in here please?" CAPTAIN SIR called loudly over his shoulder in the direction of the frosted glass door, and Jerry's intended blackmail victim stepped into the room.

Jerry swore loudly in fear when he saw S SGT AMBERSON coming towards his, and struggled even harder to get away, to no avail at all.



S SGT AMBERSON removed his gun from his holster and smashed Jerry across the face with the full force of his anger. A splash of blood from Jerry's smashed nose sprayed across the room and spattered the clean white wall. CAPTAIN SIR held out a restraining hand to prevent a second strike – for now. This was only the beginning of their vic's punishment, and the Captain wanted to make sure Jerry didn't pass out before he experienced everything he had coming to him. But that didn't mean he wasn't happy to see the traitor hurt. Far from it: it was all he could do not to hit the bleeding man himself.

"The one thing you NEVER do is betray an Elite!" CAPTAIN SIR shouted into Jerry's rapidly-bruising face. "They're the top of the heap here, and nobody. NOBODY messes with them! You knew that from day one, and you agreed to this when you signed on to the organization. Frack this one up and we frack you up. It's as simple as that. AND YOU'VE FRACKED THIS ONE UP BIG TIME, BRO!"

The Captain shook his head in disgust. The 'Block had three categories of members. The primary dynamic of the organization were a small group of LEATHERMEN and LEATHERCOPS who took one side of the POWER/CONTROL CONTINUUM, and the much larger group of SUBS and BOIS who they forced to take the other side. Into this mix were thrown a third category: active members of any police force or law enforcement agency who wanted a chance to explore some of their … 'other' interests that technically fell outside the acceptable limits of the law. These were the ELITES (also called LEOS – for Law Enforcement Officers), and they warranted special consideration and respect from all other 'Block members – leathercops and bois alike. Physically their rank was marked by a gold braid lanyard worn over their jackets or shirts, or by an armband with a gold stripe. But none of the regular masters and inmates needed to see the gold lanyard or armband to know they were dealing with the real thing. There were only ever a few of them in the 'Block at any one time, but when they were here, the place practically sizzled with their energy. Elites were for the most part major cocky bastards who strutted their state-sanctioned superiority in the Cellblock's halls and play spaces in and out of gear. They were top dogs here and they knew it.

Almost two weeks ago S SGT AMBERSON had called CAPTAIN SIR to request a private meeting to 'discuss an urgent private matter that affects us both' he'd said over the phone. A morning meeting the following day revealed an ugly truth: someone in the organization was trying to shakedown the policeman and threatening to release video of him doing extremely compromising things with a taser and a nightstick to a captive and contorted victim. S SGT AMBERSON'd brought along two blurry black and white screenshots that had been included with the blackmail note, and the cop and the Captain had examined them closely to glean what information they could from the images.

S SGT AMBERSON recognized the boi in the images as the play partner he'd selected ten days earlier, he was sure of that because of some of the equipment being used on the body strapped to the bondage board, and because of the setting – it was clearly the Captain's recently-opened private dungeon behind the public one in the basement level of the Cellblock. This play space was supposed to be off limits to members unless access was approved and arranged by the Captain, but clearly someone had managed to get into the space, and worse, plant a spy camera there.

CAPTAIN SIR and S SGT AMBERSON took the photos with them into the private playroom and tried to match up the camera angels with a possible camera location. It only took minutes to locate the little bastard carefully duct taped on top of a wooden support beam.

Now that they'd found the device, the next step would be to identify the perpetrator. They'd laid a trap of their own, positioning two motion sensitive cameras elsewhere in the room focused on the no longer secret location of the spy camera used to take the incriminating video file used to blackmail S SGT AMBERSON.

The Captain then sent out a notice to all members that the private playroom would be undergoing a few changes the following week and advised anyone planning to use the public playroom during this period that they might want to arrange dungeon time around the construction work that might interrupt their dungeon activities. This should bring out the Judas, they thought, because he'd want to remove the incriminating recording device before it was discovered during the rennos.

Sure enough, the ruse worked. Within 48 hours an alarm notified the captain that the motion-sensitive cameras had been triggered. A quick review of the camera tapes revealed the perpetrator, and that's what led to this evening's takedown.

SARGE D returned to his Duty Desk station while the PROSECUTOR and S SGT AMBERSON duck-walked the struggling Judas downstairs and into the private space Jerry'd broken into just a few days before. CAPTAIN SIR followed close behind. They crossed into the Captain's private space and CAPTAIN SIR turned to seal off the room from the rest of the 'Block. What was about to happen here was going to happen totally in private. Not even SARGE D could see inside this room on any of his Duty Desk monitors upstairs.

The heavy panel rumbled along its metal track and stopped with an ominous thunk as it slid home. The Captain then pulled down on the rocking steel arm bolted to the centre of the panel. This caused six three-inch bolts to shoot out from the top and bottom of the door into matching slots in the ceiling and floor, locking the watertight panel into position. He then spun the metal wheel above the rocking arm, locking the arm into the down position, and then threaded a heavy metal chain through the metal bar and through the spokes on the wheel so that neither could budge, then locked the two chain ends together with a brass padlock that could only be unlocked by a key he wore on a key ring hanging from his Sam Browne.

The three men and their Judas were sealed in together until the complicated locking process was reversed, Locked away from prying eyes and cameras, no one would ever know what happened in here. If there was no proof that anything happened here, then technically NOTHING happened here.

Jerry looked around him as best he could through his battered and puffy eyes at the angry men who surrounded him. This was a bad place to be. A VERY bad place to be.




CELLBLOCK DUTY DESK

Rogue Leathercop 02

Under intense interrogation Jerry admitted he'd left the disc with his roommate for safekeeping, which meant CAPTAIN SIR had to put together a recovery team to retrieve and destroy the incriminating files.

The roommate managed to get away from them briefly, but they eventually caught up with him a few blocks later:

CELLBLOCK DUTY DESK.

Rogue Leathercop 03

THE INTEL

"Captain, I got something I think you might wanna see, said SGT Amberson, throwing a file marked "POLICE-CLASSIFIED" across Captain SIR's oak desk. "Think this might sort out that little fag downstairs."

Reading the notes Amberson had highlighted, Captain looked up. "You mean that rich lawyer you hooded last night is Jerry's brother? And that helps us how?"

"HE is in the closet AND married."

"Hmm, interestin. What you thinkin, some old-fashioned "protection?"

"Even better. I wanna see the look of surprise on its face when we take it's hood off, and that faggot Jerry is butt-fukking his brother. That's what I'm thinkin."

"How's that gonna work. They're both subs."

"Well, FLEX you got a plan, ain't ya, Coach."

"Sure do.", the massive cop grunted in typical bodybuilder growl, deepened by steroid use.

"Got a little money-making venture for the station and for training the newbies that I wanna develop - and that faggot would make a a good guinea-pig."

"Hmm - Money? Tell me more, big man," Captain sat up in his chair at the mention of cash.

"FORCED MUSCLEGAIN. By ANY means. Loads of hard gainers constantly offer me literally thousands of dollars beggin to me to bulk em up. One even said "at gun point - blindfold!". And THAT got me thinkin. Try it out in the back basement - sign a disclaimer and force-feed the fukkas, funnel the protein down their neck, three workouts a day every day for a month. Forced insulin and GH injections, roid stack and synthol."

"And when I heard about Amberson's little discovery, I thought we ALL got a solution. And Jerry's trick money will fund the experiment, of course."

"By the time I've finished with him, the arrogant little fukka will be so jazzed on his new beef, a top conversion will be EASY. Seen it a million times before. Give em a some roids and synthol, and they think they're fukkin Hulk Hogan.

"Mask the fukka up, and set him on that closet GIMP, who'll blow any big muscleguy anyways. Unmask the fukkas and, hey presto, welcome to the family!! They"ll think they're in Alabama!"

"Fukkin hilarious!". Captain roared. "And the CCTV will make a good marketing presentation for you, Coach, and BIG protection money for you Amberson - for the rest of those fukkas lives."

SARGE 'WOLF' MACK ON CELLBLOCK DUTY DESK

Rogue Leathercop 04

THE CONVERSION

The former sub peered out, bleary-eyed, his blindfold removed for the first time in days. After being gang-banged, his head was kicked in by the SARGES, and his nose broken twice.

Then suddenly the beatings stopped, to be followed by weeks of endless blindfold workouts, and kept in gym gear from neck to ankle, not allowed to see his body. And the gym, like his cell, had no mirrors.

Force-fed protein shakes funnelled down his neck, hundreds of injections all over his body and balls, agonising night-long vac-pumping, and then handcuffed and blindfolded to a prison bed often with protein-shake vomit running down his chest when not being forced to bone-breaking workout.s with a gun at his head. And after being chloroformed one day, he came to, with what felt like knife-marks all over his chest.. Most disgusting of all was the forced cigar-smoking and deep-hauling, resulting in a lot of the protein vomit, and his now coarsened rasping voice..

The only time he was not blindfolded, was when the Officers recruited him into brutal sub punching and forced subskull and ass pounding, himself beaten later if he didn't get hard, or shoot his load in the subs - like he once used to be.

Now he was instructed to take off the gym sweats. in Sergeant Flex's cum-splattered posing mirror, for one second he did not recognise what he saw. He thought there was another bodybuilder standing next to Coach FLEX, with a smashed up boxer's face staring back at him, covered with a heavy rough beard sprouting out of what was left of a neck, buried in bulging bull-traps.

In the dark Jerry had felt his arms, pex and stomach had gotten bigger, but looking back at what he thought was himself he saw the heavy bulk of a wrestler, or an off-season powerlifter. His body was no longer shaved, bronzed, lean and shiny, but hairy, and inked with what he now realized were still-raw backstreet tats, and a deep posing tan that made him look a Latino WWE wrestler. Pendulous off-season pecs, with the word "TOP" scrawled on one, had tracks of greasy roid acne and gyno man-nips.. His chest had been inflated from 40 to 49 inches of part-bulk, mostly-muscle, with some definition given by painful synthol injections all over his torso. His arms had pumped from defined 15 inches to 19 off-season inches bulging with synthol, pushed out sideways by bulky lats that. gave him a dramatic V, capped by cannonball delts covered with site marks.

During his mysterious month of forced muscle gain/torture his trainer/torturer Sergeant FLEX had ruined his looks, like he said he would. There was no trace left of his "pretty-boy Abercrombie looks" - just some fucking ugly thug. He was unrecognisably muscular, but an ugly Shrek, victim of some weird experiment that had backfired. He didn't understand why.

Jerry started crying, shaking uncontrollably.

Surprisingly, FLEX changed his tone. Lighting a 'gar, he put a heavy arm round the now-thug's shoulder. "I said no-one would have ya now, but look at ya now bro, you"re frackin YOOGE buddy. All the pussy's gonna wanna piece of this musclecop, yeah? That's why we put all the hard work in, to show ya what it takes to be a real man, bro. Ya 250 pounds of FUKKING COP BEEF buddy. Ya one of us now!, Sergeant Jerry!"

The lunk stopped sobbing, and turned to FLEX. Really? 250 pounds? And one of the Sarges - they're not gonna kill me?

Vain to the last Jerry realised there was a way out, and he may as well make the most of it. Hell, the Cellblock cops have a sweet life. And all the forced fukking and beating which didn't do anything for him had started to turn him on a bit......

"Come on COP, flex ya beef - show me what ya made of buddy".

Jerry shakily lifted one arm up, amazed by the size of the ham-sized limb in front of him. Squeezing it up, he smiled tentatively over to FLEX, as the bowling ball blew up instantly, enhanced by skin-straining synthol. FLEX smiled back; "And the other one".

Jerry flexed both biceps and squeezed harder this time, surprised amazed by the sheer weight of his arms. Jerry impressed himself with the V of lats that he'd never had before. The rookie builder checked out the thickness of his pecs, as they twitched and flinched as he moved his arms.

FLEX, already topless to intimidate the rookie, joined in the gun show. "Come on, man, MOST MUSCULAR" he shouted, demonstrating a crab shot in the mirror, 320 pounds of veined bulging beef, flexing and twitching, overblown bull-traps threatening to engulf his grinning 'gar smoking head.

"FFFUKK YEA:" the rookie replied in admiration of his now fellow musclebud, Sergeant Jerry was all too easily slipping into the mindset of the ugly MUSCLECOP he had morphed into, aroused and impressed as he imitated FLEX's posing, turned on by his own comparable muscle mass, becoming more arrogant and hard with every newly flexed muscle.

Jerry's painfully pumped and sliconed bullIcock was by now fully pumped, dripping with arrogant self-discovery.

"DO IT MAN" Flex roared, by now with his jock off, flexing his favourite most muscular/cock pose - a crab flex whilst jacking his 10 inch cock with both hands. Side by side, puffing cigar smoke, the two meatheads most-musculared, and flexed their torsos, squeezing muscle and cock in the same pose, roaring louder and louder with each stroke.

"Fuckin BIG MUSCLE, MAN! Shouted Jerry at the mirror, glorying in his image, and psyched on roids.. "Fukkin COPMUSCLEGOD!"

""DO IT, COP, FUCK THAT JIZZ OUT" roared the twitching ball of bullmuscle next to him that passed for human..

"Fukkin.......

"POWER!!!!!!!!!.........."

Roaring in unison the muscle-crazed hulks splattered the cum-stained gym mirror with roided jizz.

"FFFFUUKKKKKIN MUSCLEMAN!!!!". Jerry shouted, still pumping test out of his heavy vacced cock, and lumbered right up to the mirror nodding with self-congratulation as he flexed a bi, and savoured his VANITY.

FLEX sidled up to the rookie, and suddenly whacked him cross the pex. Grinning at the startled rookie, FLEX flexed a side chest with his cock still standing to attention and snarled:- "Come on BIG MAN, punch these pex. Give me what ya got, COP."

Drunk on power and roids,, Jerry smashed a paw into FLEX's granite CHESTBEEF. A wall of muscle stopped the rookie's fist, as the musclebull merely smiled back.

"ALL ya got, FAG? Harder!!!! FLEX puffed up a massive 62 inch lat spread. The rookie punched the huge musclecop on his brick-like abs, landing his full 250 pounds on his roid-gut.

Looking at the their 600 pounds of raw masculinity in the mirror, the two neanderthals punched and flexed, smashed and posed, displaying their invincibility, arrogance and raw power....

SARGE 'WOLF' MACK ON CELLBLOCK DUTY DESK.

Rogue Leathercop 05

THE TRAP



Other bikes were parked in front of the signless, windowless building. SARGE "ACE" AMBERSON kicked the bike's stand into place, and ordered the gimp to dismount, as best it could.

"KNEEL!" was the next thing it heard, hooded and blindfolded under the helmet. It dropped nervously down onto the gravel.. The gimp realized things were now serious.

Adjusting his crotch after dismounting, ACE took a leash off his cop belt and chained it to the collar of the hood, and with one hard tug nearly pulled the gimp off its knees., as it stumbled trying to stand up. It walked following the sound of its new MASTER's boots crunching on the gravel..

GIMP noticed the drone of distant traffic fading, changing to the ringing of the steel tips of ACE's boots on what must be the metal floor of a passageway that led deep into a building. And from the exciting smell of cigar smoke, GIMP realized ACE had lit the cigar he had been chewing as he rode the Harley.

Padding behind, GIMP heard ACE's boots suddenly stop as the unlit passage came to a dead end. GIMP heard the rattle of keys on ACEs cop belt, and the clang of what sounded like a metal gate and then another creaking door.

ACE yanked GIMP through the gate as the door slammed shut behind. Excited and terrified, GIMP realized there was no turning back.. ACE had kept the location and even entry to the building secret.

HELMET OFF" ordered ACE in a different, menacing voice. Gimp struggled, barely managing to slide the tinted lid off and drop it on the floor.

"STRIP". Already shivering, GIMP unzipped the rubber top. Before he even got to the rubber shorts, they were ripped off in tatters by ACE.
GIMP's pitiful cock sprung out, shrunken by fear.

"HANDS ON HEAD".

GIMP quickly raised its paws up to the hood..

"AGAINST THE WALL" barked ACE; as GIMP was too slow moving it was slammed face first against the brickwork...

"LEGS APART" growled ACE,. kicking them wide open with his WESCOS, as he put the sub in an arm lock. Expertly cuffing the vic., the leathercop barked more orders.

"EYES DOWN. DON'T MOVE.!"

GIMP heard the rattle of keys again, and the sound of hinges opening and closing. GIMP's heart was racing as it stood blindfolded and naked, for what seemed like an hour, not knowing what was happening behind. All it could hear was the creaking of leather, the thud of boots on the floor followed by the sound of zips and snaps fastening and, most terrifying, what sounded like a weapon being cocked

GIMP suddenly heard the sound of boots approach it, and the weight of an arm on its back as the hood's eye-patches were ripped off from behind. ACE took the arm band and all the money in it., and put it in his Langlitz jacket. GIMP realized this was becoming more than a fantasy cop shakedown

"TURN ROUND" growled ACE, with a voice now completely unrecognisable from before.

Through the slits in the hood GIMP could see the glow of ACE's cigar clamped in his jaw.. But GIMP also saw ACE was now wearing a different uniform. A peaked Officer Cap with different insignia., with the brass-tipped visor pulled down onto his nose, eyes shielded by black Aviators.. ACE was wearing a unfamiliar breast badge, stripes and decal on his epaulets, and was adjusting a white lanyard of high rank. GIMP also noticed a nightstick and holster had appeared on a heavily tooled-up cop belt. And in the other gauntlet was gripped a heavy, black bullwhip. ACE had even changed his Harley WESCOS to high shine COP DEHNERS. They must have been in one of the metal uniform lockers that GIMP could now see lined the corridor walls.

GIMP felt as if looking at a different man to the one he met at the EAGLE - a Paramilitary Officer or vigilante COP. But this made GIMP want even more to worship the authority and power of the uniformed, muscled COP - to be near HIS maculinity. GIMP's asshole and throat were hungry for the COP's cock. Confused by awe, desire and fear, GIMP wondered what was coming next..

The Leathercop turned a wheel-lock and slid a heavy door open. Blue cigar smoke floated across shafts of light streaking into the corridor, as GIMP was lead through the doorway, handcuffed. From behind the Leathercop's wide shoulders GIMP saw what looked like a signing-in desk manned by a heavily muscled leatherclad cop behind a grille. The Cop thug, lit up from above by a single overhead bulb, was wearing similar leather shirt, cap and decal as ACE, with a stogie jammed in the corner of his mouth. Behind were a rank of CCTV screens and hanging on the grille various straps, gags, instruments and hoods identical to the one GIMP was wearing. The Sergeant stood up to salute ACE, then shook gauntlets.

"Signin in a civilian.". The Sarge handed a clipboard through an opening in the grille.

"Number -. 050511"

"Any valuables, BOSS?"

The LEATHERCOP grinned, patting his chest pocket. "Nope. No valuables".

SARGE passed a cockcage through the grille, as ACE swiftly locked it on the gimp, handing back the key to SARGE.

"Brand ready, BULLITT?"..

The thug, grinned back, as it passed a long cattle brand through an opening in the grille.

The GIMP started squirming at the sight of the iron brand red on its end, and tugged on the cuffs.

"Wanna hand, BOSS - brandin it the old-fashioned way?".

The GIMP started freaking out as it saw the red metal coming towards it.. "KEEP STLL, PIG" shouted ACE.

Lurching through a gate in the grille, in one brutal move BULLITT headlocked the gimp, crushing its neck with a massive veined bicep - instantly subduing the struggling vic for its MASTER..

ACE took the brand and landed it on the gimp's arse as it braced itself for the heat, flinching with the cold metal - realising with relief that the red "glow" of the metal was only ink..

"Now property of the Cellblock" barked ACE..

SARGE BULLITT pressed a button under the counter. GIMP following ACE through a sliding door and down a passage. ACE turned left into a large room, with a pool of light in the centre, around which were arranged high-back leather chairs in front of another bank of screens. The familiar blue haze of cigar smoke hung over the group.

ACE's boots crunched as HE approached the chairs, GIMP pulled behind on his collar. From behind ACE's wide Langlitzed back three Leathercops became visible in the chairs, smoking cigars with their boots resting on stools, watching what GIMP thought was cop porn..

As the clink of ACE's nightstick against his SAM BROWN got louder, two of the COPS suddenly booted their stools aside and stood up to salute ACE.

"At ease, men", ordered ACE clasping the gauntlets of the Officers. Both cops were in identical full Langlitz uniform and breeches, booted, Muir Capped and armed. GIMP was sweating with desire - realising he was about to serve a leader amongst men - the fantasy MASTER and COP he dreamed of. GIMP's shrivelled cock started to grow, but painfully restrained by the metal cock-cage. Unlike the bulging uniform codpieces of the three powerful Leathercops he hoped to serve...

A third cop remained seated, visible from behind only by the peaked cap towering above the back of the black leather chair, cigar smoke curling above.. ACE walked round to face the cop, seated as if on a throne. To GIMP's excitement he saw a collared naked sub lashed to the chair between this Leathercop's boots, servicing his cock, while the uniformed Officer sat back enjoying a cigar, whisky and cop porn

The cop reached up a gauntlet to greet ACE.

"Evenin' CAPTAIN". This cop must be an equal to ACE, thought GIMP....

SARGE 'WOLF' MACK ON CELLBLOCK DUTY DESK.

Rogue Leathercop 06

THE STING

Three or four Cops in varying rank of leather uniform barged into the room led by Sergeant FLEX.

"So where's that little fukka then FLEX?" Captain SIR demanded, angrily.

FLEX laughed. "Here BOSS"

One of the cops lumbered forward and, wheezing, straightened up in a lat spread. The bare-chested sweating thug wore a Sam-Brown shoulder strap squeezed between hairy swollen pecs, two leather collars as bicep straps; with a bloated roidgut spilling over straining breeches barely containing a massive powerlifter's arse. And the pumped cock had burst open one of the cod's poppers. The grinning goon's greasy pex, and stomach were inked with prison tats, with his bulging Syntholed biceps, traps and delts peppered with roid acne and site marks.

A shining shaven pate topped a flushed stubbled mug, with a drooping handlebar tache trailing down to a swollen-veined neck. Captain didn't recognise the dark-skinned lunk in cop shades. Was it that new Latino Prison Officer? Captain couldn't tell, but he knew one thing - he was one ugly fukker.

"Howdie BOSS" the lunk said saluting, in a cigar-raddled growl.

"FLEX!?! What the FUCK'S going on?". Captain demanded, sitting back down in annoyance with the time waster. "AND WHO'S THIS MEATHEAD?"

The goon removed its Aviators with shaky, iron-blistered paws. A smashed up nose and the puffy, scarred eyelids of a loser cage-fighter completed the look of this shuffling, protein-farting goon, belching cigar smoke.

"Sergeant Jerry reporting for duty, SIR!" the goon barked, inflating his chest further, whilst adjusting his crotch.

Something about the broken, rattle of the voice tipped Captain off.

"Jesus H Christ!!!!!!. Is that you Jerry, ya little fag?". Captain realised, suddenly realising to get on board with the elaborate hoax he now vaguely remembered. "Yeah, You look awesome bud. A REAL COP"

Completely oblivious to the joke, the roided goon high-fived Captain back beaming with pride., and pumped out a double bi, turning his head and nodded smiling arrogantly at its left bicep blowing cigar smoke on the fat, syntholed-swole peak.

Sarge FLEX winked at Captain: "Show the Captain what ya made of bud" as FLEX mimed a most muscular to Jerry, joining in as the goon squeezed out a crab shot. FLEX nearly split his 62 inch leather uniform shirt down the lats, popping open the snap on the collar. Jerry displayed his gurning muscle with his mentor, getting visibly hard with arrogance as his cockhead started to show over the top of the regulation codpiece.

"WHOA there, big guy, there's plenty of time for THAT later" chuckled CAPTAIN, "we got some nice training material for ya to play with."

"HELL YEAH" "this COP's in the mood to do some SERIOUS DAMAGE" the rookie top roared, grabbing his crotch.

Captain pressed a button that opened a door behind his desk leading to the private elevator to his personal. Dungeon, christened in last week's retirement party.

As the four Sarge's wide shoulders squeezed into the elevator, Sgt Jerry, fukked on roids and whisky, was excited to try out his new mass and COP role.

"Mask on, Bud" Captain ordered handing Jerry an executioner's half-hood. "COOL, SIR" the eager thug chuckled.. The other Officers all wore regulation Aviators and Muir Caps with gold insignia of high rank, and hand-made finest leather real-gold-braided uniform shirts, tailored to the cops muscular proportions - though FLEX's shirt was more rectangular than "V" shaped.

In the dark room the four LEATHERCOPS saw a naked hooded figure in the dark, strapped to a St. Andrew's Cross, facing a mirrored wall.

"Stand straight, PIG" Captain ordered. The pig straightened up at the sound of heavy cop boots approaching.

GIMP was terrified and excited at the same time, knowing the exquisite pain and pleasure coming to him, yearning to serve and feed from the COPS pure unbridled masculinity.

Captain and FLEX sat in two leather thrones and lit a cigar, while Sgts Amberson and Jerry approached the sub.

Amberson gave Sarge Jerry some boxing gloves to wear. "Show us your right hook, COP". Sgt Jerry sidled up to the pig, and with one straight-shot, punched it in the kidneys. A muffled scream came from the zip-hood..

"Nice one", the COPS nodded to each other. Without stopping Jerry continued to rib-punch the sub, admiring his sweating muscle in action in the mirror behind, and how his new untested strength made the sub buckle under the force of his massive arms.

"Feel that POWER, fag!" Jerry barked pounding the punchbag. "You COP meat, now boy." The sub mumbled in agreement.

Amberson handed Sgt Jerry a bullwhip. "Do your worst, COP"

"Hell yeah", grunted the sweating lunk., taking off the gloves, and grabbing the whip. Without any warning, J lashed the waiting sub. "Take this, PIG"

Jerry brutally flogged the moaning painpig, aroused by his new strength, the noise the whip made with each stroke, and how the pig's back arched in reaction to his dominating strength, flinching but not resisting.

Jerry enjoyed admiring his new self, unrecognisably massive, in executioner half-hood, with heavy biker-tache drooping below, his hairy inked pex glistening with sweat.

"Feel my power, PIG!" Jerry roared, as he admired the thickness of his new syntholed guns rising up then crashing down.

"Fukk it up COP", the other cops hooted, as thy slowly jakked their inches, enjoying a cigar and the training session. Sgt Amberson had taken his cod off, and was holding his heavy inches in his gauntlet. Amberson took his PR24 from his Sam Brown, and handed it to Jerry.

"Open that hole up, COP!"

Jerry snatched the baton, and in one brutal move buttfukked the screaming pig.

"Right on, COP" congratulated Sergeant Amberson, shaking the grinning rookie thug by the gauntlet. Jerry turned round and pulled out the baton.

"YOU want a real man inside ya PUSSYBOI!"." Jerry roared, throwing the baton down and grabbing GIMP by the shoulders and pumping its ass with his siliconed 9 X 8 pole. "Take this COP COCK, worm!"

Jerry pounded the moaning sub, lifting it off its feet with each cock-thrust, and crushing his pecs into its back, rocking the cross out of its sockets..

Jerry lifted his arms and flexed a double-bi in the mirror, still with cock in the sub's chute.

"WORSHIP THIS MUSCLE, pig", Jerry roared. GIMP mumbled praise through the ball-gag. "BIG MAN can't HEAR you, FAG." The gimp mumbled its praise louder.

"I"m gonna breed ya FFFUKKIN CUNT!!!" Jerry roared, shooting his first roid-load into the subs bruised ass. Jerry roughly pulled out, as Sgt Amberson high-fived the rookie cop. "Good work, Cop", he smiled, cigar in mouth, shaking the rookie interrogator's hand with his gauntlet and patting the thick-set thug on his broad back.

Sgt Amberson took a cigar from his cop shirt pocket, and lit Jerry's cigar.

"Cheers Man, feels fukking good, bud" Jerry grinned, pulling his gauntlets back on, cupping a clenched fist in the other gloved hand. "Gonna try these bad boys out". Jerry grinned through the cigar smoke, curling his bicep back and forth.

Sarge Jerry sidled up to the hanging sub, and roughly wrapped his 19" bicep round the fag's neck, as taught by SARGE BULLITT. The 10" glowing Jeroboam blew smoke into the sub's nose holes. "You this COP's pussy fag now boi, yeah?" The sub shook as it nearly passed, out slowly choking as bicep peak began to cut cut off its airway. Jerry punched the sub in the ribs with the other gauntleted fist to bring it round, then blew smoke into the holes as it struggled for air. "Take the smoke FAG!" Jerry ordered.

"EXCELLENT!" the other cops hooted, congratulating the rookie.

Sgt Amberson by now was hard, his pumped inches sticking out, and had taken his uniform shirt off. Amberson's chest outmuscled the rookie's - 52 inches of ripped, lean mature pro-muscle, expertly and expensively perfected by Sarge Flex, as exhibited in the competitions mandatory for Cellblock Officers. Boulder shoulders tapered to a roidgut tucked into flared Officer breeches. The sub didn't stand a chance between these two walls of muscle.

"What ya say to a good old spit-roast, Sarge?" Jerry grinned at the Leathercop. "Hell YEAH, buddy."

Amberson uncuffed the sub from the cross, and in one move slammed it face down onto the fuck table.

"Which hole you want, bud", Amberson knew which hole suited his plan. "Try its skull for size, Cop."

Amberson's massive, and seasoned pumpcock now stood fully erect, more impressive than the rookie's month-old vacced tool - expertly pumped and siliconed over many years. The glistening, brutally veined muscleweapon stood out menacingly next to the other attachments on Sarge's cop belt, by far the most dangerous and impressive of all the weapons of pain. Amberson's cockfukk was the most feared part of his repertoire.

As he pulled open the cheeks of the sub, he gripped his steel-hard member with the other gauntlet and firmly guided it into the loosened cunt. Sarge slowly but implacably forced the muscleweapon into the subcunt who let out a deafening scream. Through years of expertise, and reacting only with a puff of cigar smoking curling out of one corner of his unsmiling mouth, Amberson merely acknowledged the sound as signal that HE had broken the ass ring, and, task completed, to calmly carry on driving his weapon with one continuous, thrust till holstered right to the base., for the fullest cock pleasure as he deserved, as a Senior Officer and Interrogator.

Jerry was in awe of Amberson's mastery, total control and ruthless, unsmiling, emotionless professionalism, as if Sarge took no pleasure from his "work" - except the arrogant pleasure a professioinal torturor derives from the total power and dominance of a lesser mortal - with sexual gratification coming almost solely from Amberson's evident arrogance.. This Alpha-male self-belief, (called a "God-Complex" civilians) was shared by all the Senior ranking Officers of The 'Block....

The power-crazed rookie, spurred on by Amberson's display, bent his head down at the exhausted sub's head and barked right in its face:

"You want this COP COCK, faggot." Jerry waved his member in front of its eyeholes. The sub mumbled loudly. Jerry unzipped the hood's mouth hole. Before the sub could draw breath and respond Jerry was brutalizing its throat with his cock.

The thug forced the heavy cockhead into its mouth and then pounded it into the back of its neck, forcing his full length right down into its gagging throat.

Amberson grinned at the rookie. "Feel good bro?"

"Hell yeah - oh FFFFUKKKK yeah!" Jerry roared on the brink of shooting a second load in the sub's skull.

"Look at your Master, pig" ordered Amberson as he reached over and pulled off GIMP's hood off just at the moment Sergeant Jerry blasted his roid-load into GIMP's guts..

Jerry pulled his still dripping member out of GIMP's skull, as threw his head and arms up, flexing and roaring as his rampant cock pumped the rest of his load over GIMPs face.

The hoodless gimp cried out:

"Sir, YOU are the FUKKING BIG MAN, SIR - Breed this faggot cunt, SIR!!!"

GIMP gurgled through the cum pouring out its mouth, able at last to speak and see without the hood, looking at musclethug looming above and the bloated cock shooting jizz in his face.

Sarge Jerry looked down at the unhooded worshipper's face below his pex. He stopped moving as his face turned white.

"DAVE!!!!? Fuck, is that you. - It's me, Jerry. You're FUKKIN GAY?!!!"

The sub, covered in cum, still with Amberson inside him, looked quizzically at the thug, and for a moment of disbelief, paused, and then cried out..

"Jerry - Oh my GOD....Don't look at me......What the fuck happened to YOU?!!"

The other Sarges hooted with triumph and high fived each other as Captain Sir turned on the lights.....

SARGE 'WOLF' MACK ON CELLBLOCK DUTY DESK