"CHIEF" had been preparing for his investiture as Cellblock Captain, training with IFBB Pro Sarge FLEX. STEVE had been cycling the finest medical-grade stack and GH, no expense spared, supplied by Sarge "Chemical" Ali which had accelerated STEVE's gains in the most efficient expert way possible. STEVE had gone from a respectable off-season 52" chest to a ripped 58" in two months. At his Master's age of 40, CHIEF expected to be the perfect physical specimen forever. His God Complex was perfect reality. And looking at his physique in the gym mirrors, he saw no reason why he shouldn't be worshipped by other men, as an immortal.
Having hit his target weight of 285 after FLEX's funnel-feed, STEVE decided to treat himself to a pillion-fuck.
He put on his cop helmet, and lit up a slow-smoking gar with leather gym gloves, and swung a massive glistening quad over the decommissioned Cop Harley. Steadying the Hog with one arm, CHIEF picked up his gymslave with the other, placing it between his crotch and the gastank on his now bulging posers, facing HIS massive pecs.
CHIEF steadied the Hog with both legs and splayed the slaves legs over his 31" quads and, in one move, rammed his cock up its chute. The bucketfanny's screams were drowned out by the roar of the bike starting up.
Surrounded by his biceps and massive shining torso, the little pillionfuck was barely visible to other drivers. STEVE enjoyed a cool, leisurely ridefuck and cigar, shooting pre-cum with every bump in the road.
Riding up the drive of his mansion, to his waiting staff, he didn't bother to unholster, and dismounted with the fucktoy still on his tool, striding into his entrance hall ready to receive his cigar servants and fucktoys kneeling open-mouthed ready to take roid cum as the leathercop flexed his post-gym mandatories in his massive hallway mirrors designed for this purpose...
STEVE's incorporation as Captain was the following night. Voted for by the other Sarges and Officers, STEVE had raised the required $100,000 through protection rackets, extortion rings, blackmail and escort agencies. The other Sarges had failed to raise the hundred grand bond, on top of the $2,000 monthly Officer's subs they were expected pay through "financial ventures" - normally extortion, blackmail or ca$h slaves' "fag-tax".
STEVE's designated area of expertise was "Finance" and thus had virtually guaranteed him the Captaincy. STEVE had connections with various leads in the Force, underworld and big business, mostly though blackmail and extortion. He part-owned a string of gyms, and what could only be euphemistically termed "security services", and had never really worked, usually getting other people to do the work and creaming off the profit.
Cptn's "financial" career had started at 17, by letting Coach blow him and then blackmailing him.
This is how he bought his first Harley, and got his steroid bill covered. Progressing to doorwork, STEVE made many police contacts, and plenty of ca$h worshippers from the fag bars.
It was through these dubious cop contacts he got his first, and only, salaried job as an auxuliary Police Officer. But when he blatantly used his badge to expand his already extensive protection racket, targeting the illegal fag bars he used to work at, one of the more politically-connected fag clients complained, his position was discretely terminated. Not to mention that had a habit of fukking criminals in back alleys before arresting them.
STEVE however was not sacked, but "retired", as the unfortunate Cptn at his local station had also blown the handsome, muscular young top. And for years to come STEVE was to exploit this "special relationship", and the intel he had stolen on other officers indiscretions - and the underworld tconnections he had blatantly courted during his brief, inglorious police career, which, as in many officer's cases, blurred the line between criminal and legal activities.
The idleness and entitlement that marked STEVE's police career set a pattern for a lucrative, leisurely future.
In effect, STEVE continued his civilian leathercop career as if it were his former police career. Buying a part-share in the local leatherbar, he worked ocassionally on the door, mostly to remind the police closets who secretely frequented the establishment of his intel on them, and a good number of the civilian clientele too.
His Doorman's Langlitz uniform was a continuation of the decal of his former employ, whose uniform he had kept, and had regularly upadated by a reluctant staff Sarge back at his old station. STEVE's proprietory, controlling presence at the bar inflated his already bloated ego, and provided him with an endless stream of willing, cashpaying victims. Most of these got little more than a lick of his boot, while STEVE got his rocks off on the sheer POWER of his exploitation, normally jakking himself off later with what as to become the love of his life:- his mirror.
Wearing the uniform on his cop issue Harley to visits to his "protection clients", and to the few nights of idle posturing on The EAGLE's door, STEVE's leather gear, closely and deliberately reproduced his former cop uniform (which he still wore on the first shakedowns on unknowing clients) and became his daily and most enduring work dress. He even wore it on surprise visits to the office premises of some late payers, to the confusion of unknowing colleagues, assuming the police were making a community safety visit, which to some degree STEVE was.
By his early thirties, STEVE had amassed a good income and real estate, through exclusively targeting more frail and malleable older clients, who had left him permanent legacies in suspicious circumstances, always brushed aside by his connections in the local police force.
By this time STEVE had given up the doors, as his cash empire was self-funding. And by now his competition-level physique, had guaranteed him highest-paying worshippers, who usually paid with more than their money for their one-off, indiscretions. And it was this worship that increasingly was becoming STEVE's sole interest in life.
CHIEF was attracted to the notorious exclusivity of The CellBlock, well-known in the inner circles of the police, by its rumoured military, cult-like set-up appealing to STEVE's innate fascism and developing GOD complex. Although essentially a dominant, predatory and lone ALPHA, CHIEF appreciated the elite camaraderie and lawless entitlement of his brief, civilian cop career, and the competition of like-minded (near) equals.. Brief trips to the leatherbars he bounced at did not deliver the level of regimental brotherhood and entitlement afforded to high-ranking militia.
The Block's paramilitary command was an elite squad drawn together from a corps of like-minded current or former LEO leathermasters, seeking to recreate, or continue, their empires of absolute power, - sexual, financial and physical.
All the Officer class of The 'Block thought they were firsts amongst equals, and arrogant show-offs by nature. This made for a constant level of testosterone-fuelled tension, banter bordering on the violent, and rampant empire-building. CHIEF had ulterior plans for The 'Block - not disimilar to the more megalomaniacal Sarges, if they admitted it, to convert The 'Block into their own personal worship cult and fund-raising religion.
With his growing megalomania, his GOD complex, derived from years of unfettered adulation - even "worship", had become the sole, secret interest in life, a secret he intended to be made public once he took over The Block. His first edict would be to elevate his status from Captain to Commander.
CHIEF was primarily nominated by his "business" partner and trainer the IFBB pro Sarge FLEX, who shared most of CHIEF's ALPHA beliefs - and a GOD complex that was prevalent amongst The 'Block command. CHIEF joined the ranks of The Cellblock as a pre-elected "Elite", ex-forces personnel, by bigging-up his short-lived, inglorious Cop career. CHIEF soon earned the white shirt of Sarge through the ease with which he "raised funds" - effectively bribing the grateful Captaincy with an impressive $100K endowment, and thus receiving a specially created rank of "Sarge: Finance". And Sarge FLEX, CHIEF's trainer, a seasoned, discrete escort, gave a glowing, and self-serving reference.
Outside a group of hero-worshipping cadets, CHIEF had few friends on what he considered HIS level - and who he hadn't fukked. Sarge FLEX was one of them. They had a mutual friendship of trainer/supplier and fixer.
CHIEF provided CHIEF with a superior training regime, as the copthug was too lazy to build muscle the hard way, rather through a scientifically efficient program using all of FLEX's decades of strength knowledge and chemical connections. Decades of abuse of the finest steroids, GH, 'slin and fat burners had given CHIEF a year-round competition-level physique from barely a weekly visit to the gym. And CHIEF supplied FLEX with rich sponsors, and police and underworld protection for his own chain of gyms and roid dealers, as well as keeping his well-known sexuality a secret from the board of the IFBB, terrorized by CHIEF and his henchmen "colleagues".
CHIEF, like all ALPHA MALES had his own Posse of fawning disciples.
These younger Leathermen were all but hero-worshipped the older, more experienced Cop-Thug. CHIEF would lecture and brag endlessly to his troop of followers - like a group of closet worshippers, in addition to the real, kneeling muscleworshippers he charged for this pleasure. These Leathermen started dressing the same way as their hero, in Langlitz, striped breeches and Wescos, imitating his flattop, and smoking his brand of cigar. Some of the more muscular guys even had the privilige of spotting CHIEF at one of the many gyms he part-owned with Sarge Flex. CHIEF was Top Dog in his pack, proprietorial, back-slapping and bragging, lecturing his disciples on his exploits and achievements, boring anyone who didn't secretely hero-worship the thug.
Most of The Posse, clearly idolized CHIEF, both wanting to BE him, and some to be WITH him. Some guiltily jakked off thinking about their leader. From years of exploiting the devotion of others, CHIEF was well aware of this secret and, megalomaniac that he was, took great pleasure targeting the self-styled Tops amongst the Posse, isolated on quiet nights at the gym or leather bar, and raping them, inappropriately manipulating his friendship purely to feed his ego, and increase his POWER over them.
Few rejected his advances, but some disappeared out of shame over the compromise of their sexual role, and a relationship ruined by the egotistical Leathercop. Exploiting the silent secret they all shared, CHIEF was to nominate some of this Posse to join The Cellblock, guaranteeing a power base for his domineering EGO.
One of the many perks of the Captaincy was the salary that came with the job, and CHIEF's tastes bordered on the Presidential. He had a separate Langlitz uniform for every day of the week, and three choices of cop boot for each of those days. As well as countless, subtle updates in Police and Highway Patrol uniform supplied by his former colleagues, CHIEF owned a decommissioned Police Harley, an Officer patrol car and Hummer. This was in addition to his own collection of 6 Harleys, one Trike, a Bentley convertible and an Indian.
The upkeep of this, and his Mansion in the suburbs, was more than adequately covered by his various "business ventures", tributes and legacies - but CHIEF's extravagances continued, a part of his magisterial power. Hell, even his weekly Martinez Bazuka cigar bill was $1000. CHIEF liked nothing more, and expected nothing less, than a kneeling worshipper presenting a wad of cash before HIS Dehner boots, and still took great pleasure in the occasional midnight cop-shakedown on the side of the highway performed over his Highway Patrol Harley.
For his induction ceremony CHIEF had treated himself, visiting Langlitz in person, to order new uniforms to fit his newly-acquired mass. For his presentation CHIEF had asked them to use stiff, high-shine steer hide, and had supplied gold-plated snaps, buckles and fastenings, and real silk for the lining and a specially designed cod fitting for the flared Ranger breeches. The cod, unlike his usual jutting cock-funnels, was more like a revealing posing pouch. The thinnest lambskin, polished to look like silk, tightly cupped CHIEF's pumped 10 inches, showing every bulge and contour of his helmet and low-hangers.
Instead of snaps, the cod had a central pleated seam which afforded easy access to his tool. Langlitz balked at this detail, and even CHIEF had to pass this work on to Mr S, downtown.
SARGE 'WOLF' MACK ON CELLBLOCK DUTY DESK.
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