CHIEF found the material fell into three categories; the compliant ones whose natural role in life was as property to be sold, begging to be crushed under the boot of a Dominant. The second were sexually compatible, but needed physical "training", to surrender their rights as COP property. The third, and the category that gave CHIEF the best sport, were the "incompatibles" neither in sexuality or role. These required constant incarceration, physical domination and sexual humiliation. Their sell-on price was slightly affected by their "origination", but had no effect on their end-purpose: PROPERTY OF DOMINANTS. And tonight CHIEF's inches were, as usual, straining the top clasps of his uniform breeches (on the look-out for hitchers to fuck and abduct.)
Roaring past the Faultline, CHIEF saw a twink in shorts thumbing down cars but quickly stop seeing the copbike drive past. CHIEF quickly did a u-turn across the lanes of traffic - even flagging some cars to slow for what they thought was a cop on urgent police duty.. Pulling the growling bike right in front of the kid, CHIEF, faceless behind gleaming copshades, chewing an unlit stogie, grunted from the corner of his beard.
"You need a hand, son?". The twink, nervous of what the frightening cop might do, spluttered a feeble excuse. "I'm l-lost, Officer, and lost my money."
CHIEF dismounted, swinging a heavy leathered thigh over the cop bike, his boot crunching under his weight as it hit the kerb. CHIEF adjusted his bulging codpiece with a gauntleted hand, the other gauntlet motioning the kid towards him. The twink stood back a bit with fear. CHIEF placed his muscled forearm round the kid's shivering shoulders. "So where you heading son?"
(When CHIEF collected prey on the road, he would usually "try it out" over the Hog in a deserted layby and take it, cuffed to the Harley seat bar, to his Pacific Heights mansion to be incarcerated in his basement holding pen.
If this was full, he would stop by his business partner "BOSS"'s bar-gym, to be stored in Big Ron's kennels. Usually he would end up trying out the merchandise with his biker bud.)
CHIEF's Harley roared to a stop in front of the roadhouse bar. On the roof a neon sign spelling the name "Bar Bell Bar" shone through the fog, with a neon bodybulder flexing above.
(This was also the logo for "BOSS BIKES", owned by Sarge Ron "BOSS" Oldman, who ran a successful chain of Harley dealerships, chopshops and members-only gym-bars, catering for the ex-LEO biker fraternity who required certain facilities in the company of like-minded men when on the open-road. BOSS was one of the founding-member Sergeants of The Cellblock, in charge of Motorcycle Supply and Technique. More importantly he, like "CHIEF" was one of three slavetraders licensed to supply slavematerial to The Cellblock, along with Sarge "OVERSEER", who held the title of Sergeant at Arms for "Property".)
CHIEF hoisted the twink off the back of the hog with one arm, and strode into the roadhouse, saluting the massive doorman, also dressed in full leather cop uniform, who stood to attention before CHIEF. As Timmy trailed behind CHIEF he saw that the smokey bar was full of off-duty cops who looked like bikers and leathered bikers who looked like cops, all smoking large-gauge cigars.
CHIEF introduced Timmy to one of these cops, whose biceps strained his leather uniform sleeve.
(BOSS Ron was a competitive bodybuilder, whose profitable businesses and "sidelines" freed him up to indulge his second-most important interest. BOSS had always kept some weights out the back of his various garages, and years of training showed on the biker's heavy physique, in preparation for a Masters' competition.)
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The muscleman cupped his leather crotch and winked at the twink.
"BOSS ya FUKKIN BASTARD! Lookin HUUUUGE, BRO!!"
"FUKKIN A, CHIEF!" BOSS replied, saluting with a veined bicep which he then flexed for his bud's inspection. CHIEF nodded approval as he tested the rock-hard beef with a punch from his gauntleted fist.
"Good work bro.: FUKKIN MONSTER!"
"Cheers CHIEF MAN". BOSS squeezed a most muscular at CHIEF, nearly ripping his leather cop shirt as he winked at the blushing twink "Say, who's ya little friend, CHIEF?"
"This is Timmy - a civilian I'm helpin out" CHIEF winked back. "Keep Timmy company while I press some iron - been on the hog all day."
"Sure thing Bro," said BOSS, wrapping a heavy muscled arm round Timmy's shoulder blowing cigar smoke in his face, as CHIEF strode off through the dark smog of the bar.
Through the blue haze the twink could see a shaft of light coming from a window in the back wall which opened onto a gym, full of barechested bikers, some still wearing leather chaps as they worked out. They all looked like Mr CHIEF.
(All the Bar Bell Bars had a gym attached to the bar, for the use of the patrons after a long day on the road...)
Timmy also noticed smaller, younger guys, two at a time, helping spot the bigger men, serving them water, helping them off with shirts and massaging their muscles while they rested between sets. Some were lighting the big guys' cigars in the equally smokey gym.
(Some slaves worked in the gym, paying their way as spotters, oilers and cumbuckets, living in BOSS Ron's warren of cells below. Other slaves earned their keep in Ron's garages. The gym was locked, open only to patrons, and the gymslaves knew better than to escape.)
CHIEF appeared near the window as a gym (slave) kid helped him peel off his leather cop shirt. CHIEF picked up two enormous dumbells, selecting heavier and heavier weights, curling them over and over for what seemed like hours to Timmy. By the final set CHIEF was roaring with the pump rush, puffing cigar smoke as he pumped his biceps up to enormous veined balloons.
Suddenly CHIEF strutted up to the window, and a young kid oiled the CHIEF's pex as the big man flexed his muscle right up to the window which obviously acted as a two-way mirro.r for the benefit of the bar. CHIEF grinned with self-satisfication through gritted teeth chomping the last of his stogie.
"Your pal's a big muscleman, sonny" said BOSS, his heavy leathered arm still draped round the twink's narrow shoulders. "Y - Yes mister" stuttered the twink, startled by what he'd just seen.
"What a real man should look - you wanna be a big man like that buddy?" Said BOSS grinning, as he flexed his arm holding the glowing fat cigar. "Feel that arm - you might have one like that one day". Tim blushed, but thought he'd best oblige the other Biker. "Hard aint it?"
"See ya gettin acquainted, BOI". CHIEF roared as he strode barechested through the bar, oiled pex glistening through the cigar smoke pouring from the corner of his beard.
Flexing a massive bicep in Timmy's face CHIEF said the same words as BOSS grinning with the same arrogance:
"What a real man should look like BOI - you wanna be a big man like that boi?.. Timmy knew a second embarrasment was coming. "Now feel THAT bicep BOI" grunted CHIEF, flexing a bulging arm right up as high as his leather officer cap, making the twink stretch up to to reach.
By now the twink was flanked by the the two muscled bikers, their biceps circling the young man's shoulders, glowing cigars close to his ears.
(BOSS nodded to CHIEF with approval, having checked out the material while CHIEF was in the gym. The short-ass twink would make good money for them, handy size as a pillion-fuck or fuck-stool. Now it was time to try out the merchandise.)
Suddenly BOSS tilted his capped head down to Timmy's face, nearly burning his eye out with the long cigar. Sniffing loudly, BOSS's tone changed. "You realise you're breakin' the law sonny, under-age drinkin'?"
"B-But..." spluttered the twink.
"If ya can't pay the fine on-the-spot you're gonna have to pay my partner another way". BOSS nodded down to CHIEF''s crotch, as he pulled off his leather cod to reveal a throbbing cock, now glistening like his pex with pre-cum. Without a chance to explain, Timmy felt a heavy gauntlet push his head down forcing him onto his knees.
"Please don't make me do this - I'm straight."
"Yeah, so am I, buddy. Now open up son", CHIEF grunted as he rammed 9 inches straight into the twink's spluttering facehole. CHIEF winked to BOSS, and grinned to his other Cellblock buds in the bar, all now watching the inevitable skull fucking, gloves reaching down to their cocks, jakking in appreciation of CHIEF's straight rape.
"Tight hole" grunted CHIEF with pleasure, high fiving BOSS with one gauntlet, the other clamped like a vice on the twink's skull.
(Think this one would make a good cumbucket, BOSS?"
"Unless it's good under a bonnet, then will buy it off ya bro!. Let's check out its pussy for size HEHE!")
BOSS reached down to the twink's ass, as the pack of thugs hooted: "DO IT - DO IT!!!"
BOSS lifted up the twink's ass with one gauntleted hand, its skull still impaled on CHIEF inches, and ripped off the twink's shorts, revealing a twitching hole. "Sweet pussy BRO" roared BOSS high-fiving CHIEF, as the other cop thrust dripping cock-beef into the manhole.
("Looks like we got a use for this slave bud!")
As the cops pounded the straight kid to the cheers of the pack of copthugs, CHIEF's inches became more and more bloated with 'roid-fuelled arrogance. The twink slowly choked on the pumped cockbeef and dickcream, its body twitching, then suddenly flopping unconscious off the two cops' members.
FFFFUUKKK YEAH! MUSCLESNUFF! Roared the gang of bikercops, as CHIEF and BOSS double-fived each grinning with satisfaction as the twink's body twitched on their cocks.
"Oh Man, this is the BEST BIT BUDDY" laughed CHIEF as he unsheathed his 9 veined inches from the twink's cock-holster skull, and walked round the back to his accomplice.
"DOUBLEFUKK IT MAN" barked BOSS, as CHIEF cocked his meatgun in his gauntlet. "Fukkin A BRO!!!!!!! CHIEF roared as he chiselled his inches next to the other cop's meat into the stretched manhole. Pounding the unconcious body, the two rogue cops laughed as they wrecked the expanding hole.
("LOOSEN IT UP FOR THE BUYER BUDDY! Think ACE is after a tight new fukkstool!")
As CHIEF and BOSS grinned at each other in the counter mirror, admiring their work, CHIEF shouted over to the barman, also watching his customer's floorshow, jakking his cock in appreciation.
"Hey BULLITT, you gettin this?"
"Sure am CHIEF" he replied, stretching a gym pumped arm over to adjust the CCTV, positioned over the counter for occasions like this, relaying the action to the Cellblock CCTV in the Cellblock's Officer's Mess downtown....
("HEY ACE, if ya watchin this, gonna charge ya top dollar for this virgin straight ass, Man!!!")
At that moment the friction of each cop's cock muscle forced hot jizz out of their cocks, spraying out through what cracks were left in the crowded BOI butt.
"FFUUKKKKK! YEAH ! ! !" The two leahercops roared triumphantly, followed by the other jakking cop goons in the bar.
EPILOGUE
The twink felt water splashing on his face. Opening his eyes he saw through blue smoke a grinning gorilla smoking a cigar, slapping his face with a heavy gauntleted paw. Realising that it was the muscled Cop, and what he last remembered before passing out, Timmy wriggled frantically and tried to run for the door.
But the twink realized its hands were cuffed, and feet shackled, and a burning feeling in its ass. And that it was in a windowless basement, chained to the wall with a heavy iron collar round its neck. In the dark corners were two other naked men, blindfold, bound and chained to the wall with dog bowls in front of them.
BOSS stretched a long muscled arm out and roughly pulled the twink back.
"Hey little buddy, not so fast". The twink was now surrounded by a wall of sweating muscle, dreading the next humiliation.
"Well lookie here lttle buddy, looks like you's a film star" said BOSS, nodding up to a TV screen on the wall.
The twink looked up at the screens which before had been showing Cagefighting and WWE. To his horror he saw himself on film splayed over the bar being double-fucked by the two cops, both grinning as they flexed their biceps into the camera.
The young guy started crying at his humiliation. "What will my girlfriend say if she ever saw this?"
"Hell, you's OUR girlfriend now, slave. (NOW SHUT THE FUCK UP, WORM), laughed CHIEF, ramming the straight's (slave's) head back down on his cock for another skulling.
("Last words you gonna say without permission, BOI. You COP PROPERTY now, SLAVE. Quicker you learn, the better. Yo' ass gonna make me some good money, BOI. Better get used to eatin' COP COCK, only meat you gonna be tastin' in a long time."
The heavy metal cell door opened. Another cigar-smoking leathercop stood in the doorway, in identical uniform, holding a heavy leash chained to the collar of the rubber dog slave on all fours at his side. CHIEF unsheathed his bloated meat out the slave's skull, and laughed at the other cop.
"Sorry ACE, couldn't help myself. Finder's privilige! But plugged it with a tail-plug to keep it ready for ya big man."
"Fukk CHIEF, you greedy bastard" ACE laughed. "Here's ya fukkin money. Five grand like we agreed. And part-exchange for this piece of shit" ACE growled, kicking the kneeling dog-sub on its back, and landing at CHIEF's boots.
"This one's gonna be converted to a punchbag, like you said, ACE. Need a new one for my office, after the last one had an "accident. HEHE."
"You're a fukkin animal CHIEF," ACE replied, as he reached down and unhooked a leathermask from his uniform belt. "Better get this one in the trunk before it gets a taste for ya jizz bro."
The last thing the new slave remembered was seeing ACE pouring a small bottle into the mask...)
SARGE 'WOLF' MACK ON CELLBLOCK DUTY DESK.
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