Leder butt

CELLBLOCK DUTY DESK

Couples

Nobody wants to be alone over the holidays.













Merry Christmas!

CELLBLOCK DUTY DESK.

Leathercop seat of power

Sometimes there's nothing like a good leather throne for kikin' back














And fukkin'




SARGE WOLF ON CELLBLOCK DUTY DESK.

Officer Freak 03

He parked up behind FLEX's hog behind the plain brownstone in a quiet suburban street. Aleksey was now hungry to bloody the sidebar hanging from his Sam Browne, itching for a victim.

As he stood behind FLEX's Langlitzed width in front of the intercom, the Duty Desk Sarge, BULLITT, was surprised to see FLEX with another unscheduled Officer, specially one that big. As he buzzed them into the dimly lit Duty Hall, Bullitt at first barely recognised the baby-faced Leathercop under the brutal uniform and leathered bulk as the famous Russian genetic freak he'd jakked over nightly in FLEX magazine.

"Meet our newest recruit - Officer ALeks...- "

"OFFICER FREAK!" Barked the young Russian, who had already got the measure of the 'Block, and his role there.

.BULLITT raised an eyebrow at FLEX, who was smiling in admiration at the famous youth's arrogance..

"Got our newest recruit his decal SARGE?"

"Sure FLEX - obviously he's ready for it"

"I'm ready for some pussy!". Officer "FREAK" retorted. And some rape" he grinned tapping the new PR24 impatiently in his gauntlet.

"We will together. First come into The Officer's Mess, Officer FREAK".

"Yes, Segeant FLEX" smiled FREAK fitting into the Cellblock protocol immediately.

The two leathercops were greeted by Commander CHIEF, who had been contacted ahead by FLEX.

"Welcome to The Cellblock Officer...."

"Freak" replied the young man, saluting his new leader. "I look forward to joining comrades on patrol".

CHIEF took some shining decal from a table. "Here is your Officer Badge and lanyard. Wear them with pride and do The Command proud, big man. Help yourself to the Officer's mess facilities. And SARGE FLEX has some R + R laid on for you. He HAS made you aware of our policies on Officers' sub property".

"No problem Commandant, here is 3 thousand dollar. My muscle already earn plenty".

"Yes, so I hear" Commmander Schulz nodded to FLEX, having seen the article in FLEX magazine and Sarge Flex's repoirts of a long list of worshippers already paying over the odds merely to lick the musclewonder's boots.

"First I need to exercise my fists"

"I thought you might, bruder" said FLEX. "Follow me to Cell No.3. There are some punchbag's for you to abuse."

"I mean....."

"I know exactly what you mean Bro", laughed FLEX patting FREAK on his wide leathered back. "Follow me and see".

Lighting a cigar, the two cop partners' steel-capped Dehners clattered down the stairs. Opening a metal cell door, FLEX signalled with a shining gauntlet.

Officer FREAK walked into the Cell, to see two heavily muscled pain pigs blindfolded and bound to chairs, already erect with anticipation.

FLEX handed FREAK some knuckledusters from his Langlitz gun pocket. "Your new property Bruder. Enjoy yourself. We will watch you on tv..."

As Freak uncipped his cod and slid the knucks over his gauntleted whip-hand, FLEX left the cell, closing the door behind him to the dull sound of metal landing on meat...



SARGE WOLF ON CELLBLOCK DUTY DESK.

Meat tenderizer

Couple of Bros were hanging 'round the Officer's Mess this morning, talking about wank images, and we started comparing notes on stuff that worked as meat tenderizer way back when.

Turns out old muscle mags were our most constant companions in our youth. Tomorrow's Man, Physique Pictorial, Strength and Health, Iron Man, Muscle and Fitness, Flex, Muscle Mag International - they all gave us hours of fantasy. And their modern counterparts still do. Here's some images from way back when.






The late Gilbert III published AMAZING artwork in Muscular Development. His pix are still spunkworthy.








Hard to miss the bodacious tatas, eh?

And no adolescent porn collection was complete without AT LEAST a few old Toms:






So why not toss a load in honour of the 'Golden oldies' that started us down the path to the men we are today?

Cigar Night 04

Presentation

CHIEF blew smoke on the glowing embers of his cigar, hardly noticing the slaveskull blowing his 10 inches. CHIEF gestured to one of the tongueshines, who sat up on all fours. With its bootpolish-tongue still out CHIEF casually dropped the still glowing ash off his Methuselah into the human ashtray's mouth. "Ready MUIR?" the Commander shouted.

Immediately the lights went down. Sarge FLEX, who had been absent from the proceedings, appeared on stage, barechested but in still in breeches, and grabbed the ceiling mike.

"Gut evening COMMANDANT - men. Tonight we have a very special guest - Last night's Olympia champ Ray Butler will guest pose. In view of this special honour, if I could ask to put away your toys and behave HAHAHA."

The ranks of Officers grumbled, but realized the secret signal indicated was a civilian in their midst, and that nefarious activities, such as slave fucking, had to be suspended for an ulterior motive. Even CHIEF briefly unsheathed his cock from its skull-holster and forced it back into his cod, putting his gold-trimmed Cap over his pouch to hide the tent. And in the interests of deception, his three slaves standing up, briefly, by his sides. All the other Officers also removed their caps, to hide their decal.

Ray Butler, who had competed with FLEX many times, and beaten him twice at the Olympia, had heard a rumour that FLEX was a member of a biker gang, with its own gym. It was idle curiosity that had led him to agree to accept the handsome appearance fee. FLEX had met him at the door of the ordinary-looking building barechested and wearing leather biker pants with a funky-looking flap at the front. This did not put him off, as he had seen FLEX arrive at Gold's on his Hog wearing these, and nothing else, many times before.

In the smokey dark he could make rows of bikers, heavily uniformed like police, who looked big enough to be amateur builders, with barechested smaller guys standing next to them, some in posers - presumably straight from the in-house gym. Odd that all these guys smoked cigars. There was also a big biker guy sitting on the stage (maybe the leader of the gang?) with some other gym guys standing next to him (maybe other guest posers?).

"Maestro - musik, bitte". FLEX called, as the favourite posing music of all bodybuilders, the Krautrock Rammstein classic "Du Hast Mich" boomed out. Butler for an instant looked puzzled as FLEX chuckled to himself as the music started for Butler's freestyle routine....

Butler performed his routine in the black shiny leatherette posers he wore when he won the Olympia as a request from FLEX "so the guys really know you Mr Olympia HAHA". He was also asked not to oil up, as their would be no shower facilities.

In keeping with the all-male, testosteroned atmosphere, Butler performed a more macho rendition of his prize winning-routine, to loud roars from the bikers especially when he flexed his trade-mark barrel-chest lat-spread. But oddly he was more deafened by WOLF's whistles whenever he did a rear shot...

Halfway through the second rotation, Butler noticed out of the corner of his eye two guys come on the stage behind in what looked like riot police uniform. For a split-second he thought one was FLEX, wearing uniform, and carrying some rope...

Suddenly the spotlight went out. Butler heard the two cops rush him from behind and a powerful whack on his torso, as he was wrestled to the ground face down on the mat. Before he could move, his arms had been pulled behind his broad back as he felt the cold metal of cuffs on his wrists, and rope being rapidly tied round his shoulders arms and back As he kicked his legs, he felt them forced down and cold metal clamping his ankles. When he tried to shout out, he felt a metal gag snapped over his mouth, rendering him speechless. The 275 pound 5'10" Pro was pulled up to his feet, by the equally powerful cops.

When the lights came up the world-famous Pro was completely bound. In the audience he could see the bikers were actually some kind of police force, now all wearing peaked caps, and shades. And he thought he saw one with one of the naked guys blowing him.

Butler had been expertly roped by SARGE ACE in barely 1 minute flat. A nasty 4-legged spider gag had being swiftly inserted in the muscleman's spluttering mouth, which ACE had recently brought in from his sideline porn business. The Pro was trussed up in bastino, struggling desperately, unaccustomed to his musclemass being overpowered.

SARGE FLEX reached up for the mike. The meathead beamed from ear to ear.

"Not so big now, BLONDIE" roared FLEX, swaggerring up to the humiliated pro. FLEX's voice as different as he had a voice modifier in his riot mask - part of Cellblock Riot uniform: helmet, flak jacket, kevlar gauntlets, PR24, facemask, shades and Kalashnikov, badge hidden by a black leather patch.

"Won't be coming first now. Guess, what - I AM a bad loser boi" the psyched out riot cop growled through the mask. "I always thought you were a cheating buttboi, and now we will all see it BLONDIE."

Butler was turned round by SARGE ACE and OFFICER FREAK, the newest Officer from Russia - only 18 but already the same 275 pound mass of Butler.

"CHIEF, on behalf of the Command, I give you your presentation.". FLEX, ACE and FREAK saluted the big man on the throne. Butler was kicked to the floor in front of the Commander's boots.

"What hole would you like, BOSS?" Laughed FLEX. "And what one can I have...HAHAHA."

"I need a new fuckskull, FLEX" CHIEF smirked. The Pro's head was lifted of the mat. Butler saw the biker chief was wearing a peaked Officer cap. On demand, CHIEF punched his sheathed cock again through his cod-pouch slit. His frightening massive weapon stood cocked sticking out of his leather breeches, twitching and salivating hungrily with cock-spit.

CHIEF reached forward with a heavy gauntlet. And smiling down at his cheering posse, plunged stabbed the pro's skull with one hard cock-blow. The pro's muffled screams were drowned out by FLEX, FREAK and ACE's roars, as they stroked their cock meat ready for their part in the presentation rape. One by one, the cops fukked the world-famous pro.

When the ritual was finished, the bound muscleman was put to a final, humiliating use.

"ACE, pull the panels from under CHIEF's throne," SARGE MUIR called over the intercom. A low, flat cage had been built in the podium under CHIEF's throne. The mumbling bodybuilder was unceremoniously bundled in head first like a dog.

"You can keep him there ready for when YOU want to fuck him CHIEF!" laughed FLEX. The Commander was truly sitting on top of the (MR) World....

Two punchbags were lowered from the ceiling....CHIEF was invited to try out some right hooks. After five minutes., the bags were unzipped, revealing the two heavily-muscled, bruised pain-pigs., tumbling onto the mat.

"Our newest Officer FREAK's tribute". MUIR announced. Some of the SARGE's upstaged, thought they best keep an eye on the young giant..."

SARGE WOLF ON CELLBLOCK DUTY DESK.

Leather and Law update

A June 'Block posting mentioned the notorious Leather and LAW DVD, which shows totally fierce LEATHERCOPS at extreme play during a BLUF/Leather & Law weekend at the late Club Vagevuur in The Netherlands.

The hardcopy version of this DVD has proven virtually impossible to purchase in shops anywhere in North America or England. The BLUF site advises you to send an email to video@vagevuur.org to order a copy there.







CELLBLOCK DUTY DESK.

Cigar Night 03

Commander's Presentation

The music remained low, as the gathered Officers counted their spoils, and bragged to each other, as they multi-fukked the various ca$h$laves who had just presented tribute

Fresh whiskies and cigars were ordered in readiness for Sarge Muir's Commander presentation. This took the form of a live demonstration.

The partition opened again, the light almost completely blocked out by COMMANDER "CHIEF" SCHULZ's leathered mass. All Officers stood to attention, kicking their subs out of the way, and unsheathing their cocks out of the fuckstools.

The Station Commander walked through his command of saluting Officers, and shook gauntlets with his Sergeants. "At ease, men."

CHIEF made his way to the boxing platform at the back of the gym area, the steps creaked under his 300 pounds of muscle, leather and steel. CHIEF took his place on his throne which had been moved, from his private playspace in the basement, and signalled for a cigarslave.

Three naked massive muscleslaves climbed up to CHIEF, and knelt before him. The first offered CHIEF's box of custom-made, limited-edition 140 Bazukas for his inspection. CHIEF took one out, savoured the aroma, and handed it to a second kneeling slave, who prepared the end with an large-gauge gold cutter. Bowing its head, the kneeling slave offered up the trimmed cigartribute to its Commanding officer who, putting the cigar in his bearded mouth, signalled for the third kneeling slave to stretch up to light the thick stogie with double matches, as CHIEF rolled the costly cigar in HIS lips, puffing out noxious blue fumes.

With a single motion of a gloved finger, two slaves then dropped to CHIEF's boots, greedily licking the edges of his gleaming size 13s, as the third assumed its position, face-first between its COMMANDERS breeches, opened mouth ready, close to CHIEF's already tenting pouch bulge. Entirely through practised cock-control, CHIEF's bloated cockhammer fully pumped up and punched its way through the access slit in his leather cod-pouch, the cock-helmet fisting the waiting pussymouth.

CHIEF had spent hours side-by-side with SARGE FLEX in front of the gym mirrors practising cock control as part of their posing routines.

This cockslave had been purchased especially at the last Cellblock slave auction for the cock-capacity of its throat, gag-reflex control and fellation technique.

Cocked and loaded, CHIEF gestured he was ready for HIS presentation and what Sarge MUIR had devised for the entertainment of the Command.

SARGE 'WOLF' MACK ON CELLBLOCK DUTY DESK.

Bar Bell Bar: Declassified entry

COMMANDER "CHIEF" STEVE SCHULZ liked prowling the highway at dusk on his decommissioned cop bike, looking for hitchers to have some sport with before hitting the roadhouse. (This was his most profitable means of sourcing slave material from the parade of new-in-town escorts, runaways, out-of-towners and illegals who had crossed the border stateside. The dumb ones always fell for his out-of-date cop bike, and even the leather version of the uniform, fitted with codpiece for easy access.



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.)



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.