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soldatentreter · 9 months

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Cop Crucifixion Derby

By Allen Eagles

Cop Crucifixion Derby

The naked man paused for a moment at the top of the ramp, half-blinded by the brightness of the sun. Then, one of his guards lashed him with a whip, and he stumbled out onto the gravel track which led around the center of the stadium.

A capacity crowd at Los Angeles Coliseum roared its approval.

"The first prisoner to enter our arena," said a voice on the loudspeaker, "represents the state of Alabama. His name's Russell Johnson, he's 26 years old and until last October, when a jury in Mobile convicted him of drug dealing, he wore the uniform of an Alabama State Trooper." Johnson began his long walk around the track - a wooden crossbeam tied with barbed wire across his out stretched arms. He looked like a healthy enough specimen of manhood, with a seven inch erection jutting from between his legs, but at the same time, I couldn't help but notice the look of panic etched the agonizing death about to be inflicted upon him, and men who show their fear this openly don't usually last long on the cross.

I took out my program and wrote "Doubtful" in the space by the Alabama entry.

"Our second prisoner hails from Alaska," the loudspeaker announced over the shouts and cheers of the crowd. "He's a former patrolman on the Fairbanks Police Department and his name's Alexander Hodges. This 32 year old father of three, incidentally, has been sentenced to death on a first degree rape charge."

Officer Hodges, who also carried a wooden beam strapped across his bare shoulders, seemed to possess a more rebellious personality than Trooper Johnson. In any case, despite the weight of his burden and despite the tit-clamps chewing away at his flesh, he still had enough spirit left in him to aim a vicious kick at one of his three guards.

However, while this act of defiance brought cries of approval form many of the spectators, it also cost the officer a precious amount of blood.

"Rip his hide off!" someone shouted from the stands, and the guard who'd been kicked at immediately began to lash his prisoner's back and buttocks until they became criss-crossed with a number of dripping red stripes. A roving camera man from one of the networks now rushed forward from the press area to take some close-up footage of the scene.

I wrote the word "Troublemaker" next to Hodge's name in my program.

"From the Grand Canyon state of Arizona comes our third entry." the loudspeaker said.

"He's a part time deputy sheriff from Maricopa County who's been convicted of beating to death one of his prisoners. His name's Victor Belmont and he's just turned 22 years old."

The crowd applauded with enthusiasm the entrance of this policeman whose youth and sturdy build had helped establish him as an early favorite in the betting, but while I admired the deputy's good look and obvious virility, I also took note of the heavy growth of black hair which covered the front of his torso and which nearly hid from view the metal clamps attached to his nipples. Body hair may add an aura of manliness to a naked physique, but today it'd prove a handicap to those prisoners nailed to crosses since one of the torments to be inflicted on them was the dreaded "Ordeal by Fire."

I uncapped my pen and wrote "Too hairy" next to Belmont's name in my program.

Arkansans' entry proved to be fat and forty, while the policeman from California; who'd run over a child while under the influence of alcohol; bore dozens of cuts and bruises on his surprisingly thin body. Rumor had it he'd been savagely beaten several nights ago by some of his fellow prisoners who'd caught him trying to shave off his chest hair.

In any case, neither he nor the big bellied officer from Arkansas looked like the probable winner of this, the Fourteenth Annual Cop Crucifixion Derby.

Later in the morning, however, when the Pennsylvania entry walked naked and sweaty onto the gravel track of the arena, I knew I'd found the man to bet my money on. His name was John Mckee, he was 29 years old, only lightly haired and according to the program I'd bought at the gate, he stood six feet tall and weighed 182 pounds. While his physique may not have been as impressive as those entries from, say, Iowa or New Mexico, it had a certain toughness about it which indicated its owner possessed an unusually high resistance to pain and suffering. More importantly, Sgt. McKee; formerly of the Pittsburgh Police Department; seemed to have put himself in the proper frame of mind for the agony which lay ahead of him. As I studied this man through my binoculars, I thought he not only looked resigned to his fate, but also grimy determined to live as long as possible while hanging on the cross in order to qualify as the last survivor of the Derby.

After all, the man who lived longest in this ordeal would receive an automatic pardon and would then be rushed to a near by hospital for treatment of his wounds. Even though ten of the last thirteen winners had died in the hospital anyway, the will to endure still remained strong among all the men in the Derby, because the benefits paid to their families would be determined by their order of death in the arena. The policeman who died first, for example, would leave nothing but shame and debts to their next of kin, while those who died toward the end of the Derby would earn generous pensions for their families as well as bringing a kind of perverse honor to the states and agencies which they represented.

Since McKee looked like the kind who'd hold out till the very last, I wrote "$500" next to his name in my program.

The police chief representing Rhode Island didn't impress me, despite the length of his hard-on and the entry form the sate of South Carolina; an overweight traffic cop guilty of bribe-taking; lumbered so slowly out of the ramp that his trio of guards soon had to use their whip to hurry him along. By this time, however, the gravel track had become so slick with blood from the prisoners' lacerated feet that when the traffic cop speeded up his pace, he only succeeded in slipping and falling to the ground with a bone-cracking thud. Two of the cops' guards leaned over and flogged away at his horizontal back, but these blows failed to achieve any of the desired results. The third guard then took out his cattle prod so he could press its tip against the lawman's unprotected anus.

The crowd at the Coliseum reacted noisily to this unusual development and a squad of TV cameramen raced over to broadcast to their viewers the sight of a naked policeman getting jolts of electricity shot directly into his rectum.

"Fry his ass!" a man shouted in the stands, and soon other spectators began to take up the chant, but the cop from South Carolina could only scream and writhe helplessly on the ground as the electrical torture device was shoved deeper and deeper into his body.

Finally, the disgusted guard yanked out his prod, bringing with it a trail of reddish-brown fluid. Then, with the aid of his two colleagues, he angrily jerked the prisoner back to his feet and set him on his way again around the gravel track. Through my binocular, I could see trickles of dark, sticky fluid oozing down the inside of the cops' thighs, and on the scoreboard's big-screen monitor, I could see that those two clamps attached to his nipples had been torn off in the fall, ripping open both his tits in the process. Two steams of blood now ran down the front of the cop's mutilated torso, which was already pitted with dozens of tiny gravel wounds.

I wrote "Helpless" next to the South Carolina space in my program.

On the other hand, the next entry into the arena; a sheriff from South Dakota had the hard, leathery look of an ex-Marine about him, and despite his rather advanced age of 44 years, I decided on impulse he might be worth of bet of $250.

"Hey, sheriff," someone shouted from the sidelines, "you wouldn't look so tough when the nails go in!"

The crowd roared in unison as the Texas Ranger made his appearance at the top of the ramp. This ranger had the hulling, hirsute physique of a modern-day Clint Walker, and like the young deputy from Arizona, he'd emerged as a early favorite among the bettors in the stands. His very frailness, however, tended to discourage my betting instincts, but; I had to admire the way his swollen sac hung down almost halfway to his knees.

"Jesus, just look at the balls on that stud!" exclaimed a bald headed man sitting near me as he stared through his binoculars at the naked ranger. "They must have really shot 'em full of juice!"

The "juice" referred to by my fellow spectator had been developed after the staging of the original Derby some thirteen years ago. It seems that a combination of fear and pain had understandably shriveled the genitals of that first set of condemned lawmen, a situation which had disappointed viewers and angered police groups as well.

"It's bad enough executing police officers in public," complained one law-enforcement organization, "without making them look like a bunch of eunuchs!" To remedy this problem, a drug had been concocted which would not only force a policeman's scrotum to swell up to maximum size, but would also give him a solid-steel erection lasting or many hours. The fact that the drug caused excruciating pain and had to be injected directly into both of the policeman's testicles only encouraged it use in the Derby.

"Wish I could have been there when they jabbed him in the nuts," my fellow spectator continued, still staring at the Texas Ranger's crotch. "I'll bet he screamed bloody murder."

I now recalled that another side effect of this drug was its tendency to prevent crucified policemen from losing consciousness during their slow deaths in the arena. Thus, another complaint made by viewers of the First Derby - namely, that too many cops had simply hung from their crosses in dead faints - had been virtually eliminated in all of the subsequent derbies.

"Bet your balls are really burning!" shouted a peanut vender as the Texas Ranger passed by my section. The ranger didn't turn his head, but he probably heard the remark, as well as number of others taunts hurled in his direction.

"That stud's worth a $1000 bet," the bald headed spectator said with boastful enthusiasm. However, I simply wrote down "Too hairy" in the space next to the Texas Ranger's name.

Only two more of the remaining entries caught my eye: a blond, crew-cut state trooper from Moab, Utah, whose sharply angled erection reached clear up past his navel, and a broad shouldered M.P. who came from a military base outside Norfolk, Virginia. I wrote down "$100" next to the name of the Utah trooper and then added a question mark after the figure.

By 10:15 a.m. - Pacific Daylight Time - each of the fifty condemned policemen had made his painful way around the Coliseum's gravel track and was now standing next to one of the fifty upright poles which formed a miniature forest in the middle of the arena.

The morning was hot and the policemen sweaty bodies were already beginning to turn red from exposure to the mid July sun. I bought my self a Bud from a passing vendor and then, through my binoculars, studied the two officers on whom I'd decided to place definite bets. Both the sergeant from Pittsburgh and the sheriff from South Dakota had badly-torn feet from having to walk over all that razor-sharp gravel, and both had bloody splotches around their tit-clamps and round their V, which held their crossbeams in place. While each man had moved fast enough to avoid most of his guard's whip lashes, the sergeant had several fresh welts across his broad back and the sheriff - Sheriff Earl Canby - had a nasty cut across his buttocks and two more across his calves. Still, both men looked in good shape for this stage of the Derby, so I allowed myself a moment to admire the size and shape of their exposed sex organs.

Sgt. McKee had the longer cock of the two, and it rose upward at a noticeable sharper angle than the sheriff's. His ball-sac looked a little fuller as well, which meant his must have sported quite a "basket" back when he'd worn the dark-blue pants of the Pittsburgh Police Department. However, Sheriff Canby certainly had no reason to apologize for what he had hanging between his well muscled legs. Wit a hefty set of equipment like that, the sheriff must have been a real stallion between the sheets!

In fact, nearly all the naked policemen now waiting to be crucified seemed to possess unusually large genitals - even taking into account the swelling effects of that drug injection. I guess Derbies such as this proved at least one thing about the criminals they pursued, they also filled out their jockstraps better than any group of men in America.

I now turned my attention to the crew-cut entry from Utah - Trooper Mike Sutton - who, according to the program, was 24 years old, six feet three inches tall and 191 pounds in weight. He'd been sentenced to the Derby for "giving false testimony under oath," and he'd made his way around the Coliseum track suffering only one lash from his guards' whips. The lash cut horizontally across his buttocks which, at the moment, looked considerably paler than the rest of his suntanned body. He also had a fresh bruise on one side of his hairless chest, and I wondered if someone from the stands, in violation of the rules, had managed to throw a bottle at him.

Before shifting my gaze elsewhere, I paused to admire the trooper's reproductive organs which not glistened in the bright sunlight as if they'd been rubbed with some kind of oil.

Seeing the organs reminded me of an incident which and occurred years ago in the men's room of a Texaco station somewhere near the Kansas-Oklahoma boarder. In this men's room, a highway patrolman had dropped his khaki-colored pants so I could lick every drop of seat and grime from his dangling ball-sac. As I recall, his sac was large, somewhat wrinkled and shrouded with a layer of thick brown hairs that scratched against the surface of my tongue. I was only a high schooler at the time, but I decided then and there that the best flavors in the world must surely come from between the legs of uniformed police officers.

Smiling to myself at this pleasant memory I took out my program and studied the notation I'd make next to Trooper Sutton's name. He certainly looked as if he'd be worth a $100 bet, but I decide to delay a final decision on the matter till I'd actually seen the trooper nailed to his crossbeam.

Sometimes even the strongest and bravest-appearing men crumbled when those heavy iron spikes were hammered into their flesh.

At this point, the man on the loudspeaker began to make a brief welcoming speech, but his words were quickly drowned out by a chorus of laughter prompted by the actions of that young deputy from Arizona. Without warning, the deputy suddenly bent down in an awkward half-crouch. Then, with an explosive grunt, he spewed out a rive of cop-shit onto the freshly-mown grass of the arena floor. While everyone in the stands hooted and howled at this disgusting sight, the scoreboard flashed "FOUL!" in 50 foot high letters and two guards went to work with their already-bloody whip. Nothing, however, could move the deputy till he'd finished emptying his bowels on the ground beneath his feet.

"Make him eat it!" several people shouted from the stands, but the deputy's guards merely pushed him back toward his upright pole after he'd finished his shitting.

Through my binoculars, I saw that the deputy's inner thighs were now caked with a sticky coating of excrement which had already begun to attract a swarm of flies.

The voice on the loudspeaker then gave the order to begin the initial stage of the crucifixion. In this stage, the cops' wrists would be nailed to their wooden crossbeams, but first a means had to be devised to lay the cops face up on the ground. Most of the guard-teams accomplished this by simply grabbing their victims' ankles and then jerking them forward so that the cops were dropped suddenly on to their backs with spine-snapping force. Some of the guard-teams, however, chose to level their cops by punching them hard enough in the face to send them sprawling backward to the ground. This proved to be the method used by the three guards assigned to crucify the police sergeant from Pennsylvania.

I watched as one of these guards moved into place behind the sergeant while another guard, obviously to boss of the trio, stepped in front. This boss-guard had a wicked grin on his face and he kept grinning even as he smashed his right fist directly into the face of the defenseless officer.

The officer, now bleeding from the mouth and nose, stumbled and tripped over the second guard's outstretched leg. Then, pulled down by the weight of his crossbeam, he topple over and fell heavily on to his back, stirring up a small cloud of dust that hung lazily in the air for several seconds.

Though I couldn't make out distinct sounds through the general noise of the crowd, I saw the sergeant's mouth fly open in pain as his bloody welt were pressed into the grassy surface of the arena floor. In fact, most of the cops seemed to yell when they hit the ground, especially those whose backs and buttocks had been torn open by lashes from their guards' whips. As everyone in the stadium knew, however, the cops' torments had only just begun.

I used my binoculars to locate the sheriff form South Dakota and the state trooper form Utah. Judging from the blood on the sheriff's face, he too had been brought down by the punch in the jaw method, but the Utah trooper has apparently been felled by the grab the ankles technique. This rather surprised me, for I though the temptation to punch a state trooper in the jaw would have been irresistible, especially since the trooper couldn't fight back.

"Hey, look at that!" the bald-headed spectator said, pointing toward the north end of the stadium. "He doesn't want to go down!"

I adjusted my binoculars and saw that the entry from Florida - an airport cop convicted of drug-smuggling - refused to fall backward to the ground, despite a flurry of punches being slammed into his face by all three of his guards. Blood from this thickly-haired chest, prompting several TV cameramen to use their zoom lenses for close up shots.

"Kick him in the nuts!" someone shouted.

Finally the three guards simply jumped on top of the policeman, bringing him down by sheer weight of numbers. The crowd broke into applause was meant to commend the guards for their perseverance or the police officer for his stubborn resistance.

At 10:45 a.m., a noisy surge of excitement began to run through the stands as each of the fifty boss-guards proceeded to take out a hammer and nail from off his broad leather belt. The time of crucifixion had finally arrived! Then, at a signal given by a Derby official, the crowd fell silent in order to hear the actual sounds of the cop's wrists being hammered to the wood of their crosses.

(Contrary to popular belief, nails were never driven through the palms since the bone structures there aren't strong enough to support a man's weight.)

Once more I trained my binoculars on the police sergeant from Pennsylvania to see how he responded to the pain and shock of this latest act of brutality. I saw that he'd closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as the guard positioned the tip of a seven-inch spike against his right wrist, directly between the radius and the carpels. However, when the guard punctured his wrist with one blow of the hammer, the sergeant's eyes and mouth shot open and he seemed to let out a hoarse cry that was nearly drowned out by the sound of the remaining hammer taps.

The guard, sweating from heat an exertion, and splattered with drops of cop blood, moved to the other wrist when he repeated the nailing process. His victim, still not recovered from the impact of the previous wound, managed to keep silent this time, but a number of other policemen filled the arena with their groans and yells and curses.

"The spikes sever the median nerves in the policemen's wrists," said a voice in the row behind me, "which causes a red-hot pain to go shooting up their arms. It also causes their fingers to curl into that claw-like grasp."

I quickly shifted my gaze to the sheriff from South Dakota but saw, to my disappointment, that both his wrists had already been hammered into place. The same proved true with the trooper from Utah. However, knowing I'd be able to view all these nailing later on "instant replay," I paused to watch the guards rip off the V strands which had bound the trooper's arms to his crossbeam. The guards weren't any too gentle about doing this and before they'd finished, they'd managed to cut several bloody gashes into the trooper's skin.

A fresh wave of excitement now began to sweep through the crowd as the moment came for the horizontal cops to be raped by his trio of guards. While these rapes had always been one of the most popular features of the Derby, they'd been consistently opposed by police organizations which considered them to be "degrading" and "demeaning." Several years ago, in fact, these organizations had succeeded in making a rule change in the Derby, so that all rapes now had to be completed in a six-minute, rather than a nine-minute, period. While this might not seem like much of a victory, it had inspired police groups to begin a campaign to keep cop-killers from working as guards in the Cop-Crucifixion Derby.

I could certainly sympathize with the police point of view. After all, it seemed highly insulting to force condemned police officers to be tortured, raped and then executed by the most detested of all their many enemies, but on the other hand, the police would soon be getting their revenge since all these Derby guards were due to be killed next month at the annual Cop-Killers Barbecue being held at Kansas City's Arrowhead Stadium. At this always popular "cook-out," policemen would have the privilege of torturing, raping, then slowly roasting all those cop-killers now wearing guard uniforms, so in the long run, things would be evened out between these two highly antagonistic groups.

"The six-minute `rape period' begins now," said the loud speaker.

Unlike many of my fellow spectators, who frantically tried to take in this whole scene with a single glance, I decided to focus my attention on a single cop and his trio of guards. Fortunately, the cop in my best line of vision proved to be that hairy-chested Texas Ranger, and I managed to focus my binoculars just in time to see two of his guards jerk his legs up into a V position.

This exposed to view the ranger's firmly-sculpted ass, but I only got a quick glance at it before the boss-guard stepped in the way. The boss-guard had now dropped his pants and bent over before plunging his hard-on straight into his victim's rectum.

The ranger jerked with pain, because the boss-guard had also managed to slam his belly squarely into the ranger's swollen ball-sac, which looked as if it might split open at any time.

"Hey, look at Idaho!" a man shouted.

"They're trying to double team him!"

It took me a few moments to locate the policeman from Idaho, but when I did, I was rewarded by the sight of two Derby guards simultaneously attempting to penetrate his anus with a pair of large erections. They hadn't yet succeeded in doing so, but the agonized yell coming from the policeman's mouth clearly indicated the degree of pain he was already feeling.

"I'll bet that shot will be on the evening news," the man continued, as a CBBS cameraman hurried over to photograph the double-rape.

I swung my binoculars back to the Texas Ranger. By now, the two guards holding on to his ankles had pulled his legs so far back that his knees were almost touching his shoulders. This made his asshole an even better target that before and the boss-guard was taking full advantage of the situation by ramming the ranger's ass with a furious series of in and out strokes. These strokes quickly led to a climax which, judging from the expressions on their faces, must have been quite pleasurable to the guard and quite distressing to the ranger.

Quickly the other two guards took turns riding the lawman's upturned ass. As they did so, the boss-guard amused himself spitting into the ranger's eyes and rubbing his soiled cock back and forth across the ranger's nose and mouth. (He never actually inserted his cock inside the ranger's mouth, however, for ranger still had a full set of teeth.) The boss-guard also seemed to be talking to his victim and while I obviously couldn't hear the words, I imagined them to be something like "How's it feel having cop-killers' sperm pumped all the way up your shitty cop-ass?"

A bell soon signaled the end of the "rape period," and I lowered my binoculars to take in the panorama of fifty naked, gasping, spraddle-legged police officers trying to recover from the shock of being gang-raped on cost-to-cost television. At the same time, I couldn't help but wonder about the ranger's colleagues back in Texas. Had they gathered around a TV to silently watch him being fucked in the ass by a trio of sadistic cop-killers? Did some of them feel themselves growing hard as they say those big erections sliding between their brother officer's buttocks? Or had they decided to disassociate themselves from his shameful ordeal by refusing even to view it?

Cops tended to be very secretive about questions such as these, so probably I'd never learned the answers to them.

One more task remained before the half-crucified cops could be hoisted onto their crosses. This task involved the insertion of "butt bombs" deep into the rectums of the condemned men. Butt-bombs are round, gelatin coated objects about the size of tangerines which contain at their centers a packet of concentrated, highly-caustic powder. After being shoved by hand inside the policeman, the gelatin coating on these bombs begins to slowly dissolve so that, several hours later, the packet of powder comes into contact with the tender linings of the officers' intestines.

The resulting pain is said to be indescribable and it always produces a flurry of screaming and squirming from even the most stoic of victims.

Butt-bombs had been developed about eight or nine years ago to enliven the late-afternoon hours of the Derby, when TV ratings generally start to decline. They also tended to weaken the crucified cops, so they'd be likely to die during prime-time rather than in the hours around midnight when most of the nation's TV sets had already been turned off.

In any case, insertion of the butt-bombs had quickly become an established feature of the Derby, and all around me people now began to shout things like "Ram those bombs in there!" and "Split 'em open!" and "Here they come, coppers!" I looked through my binoculars as once again two guards roughly pulled on the ankles of the Texas Ranger, bringing into sight the blood-smeared curves of his ass. A TV cameraman then blocked my view for a moment, and when he moved to one side, I saw that the boss-guard had already wedged the butt-bomb against the ranger's exposed anus.

"Begin the insertion!" the loudspeaker ordered.

I watched the smiling boss-guard press his right hand forward. The ranger struggled and tried to kick free as he felt the gelatin orb forced past his anus, but the two men pulling up on his legs held firm. Within seconds, the boss-guard had his bare arm rammed elbow-deep inside the lawman's body cavity where the butt-bomb would now be held securely in place by its sticky coating.

At this point, the arrival of fifty fork-lift trucks diverted the crowd's attention to the far end of the stadium. These specially adapted trucks would be used to elevate the cops' cross-beams into place atop the vertical poles, and since this usually turned out to be tedious operation, I decided to leave my seat and pay a quick visit to one of the betting windows.

Apparently many other people had the same idea, for the lines at all the betting windows proved to be exceedingly long. I therefore made use of one of the computer tellers to place my three bets: $500 on Sgt. McKee of Pennsylvania, $250 on Sheriff Canby of South Dakota and $100 on Trooper Sutton from the state of Utah. Then, after a trip to the men's room, I bought myself another beer and glanced over the display area, where a series of souvenir stands were in the process of being set up. Most of these stands hadn't opened for business, yet, but the one devoted to South Dakota paraphernalia already had some of its stock on display, so I stopped by to take a look.

"How about some of this?" the salesman offered, holding up a half-pint bottle of urine. "Came straight from Sheriff Canby's own bladder."

"Expect to sell much of it?" I asked.

The man shrugged. "Depends on if the sheriff makes it to the Top Ten," he replied.

I didn't buy any of the bottles containing Sheriff Canby's urine, nor did I purchase any of the other "souvenirs" collected from him during the "Hell Week" period preceding the Derby. It wasn't that I didn't dabble in Derby memorabilia, but I knew I'd have plenty of time for shopping later, during those long afternoon hours when the temperature at the Coliseum was expected to pass the hundred-degree mark. Therefore, after chatting a few more moments with the souvenir salesman, I began to head back toward my seat.

"Nailing of the feet will begin at exactly 11:30" warned a loudspeaker on the wall.

In the first few Derbies, each policeman's feet had been nailed side-to-side to the wood of his upright pole. Since this required the use of a pair of seven-inch nails, however, the practice was changed during the times of metal shortage so that only a single ten-inch spike pierced each policeman's overlapped feet. Now, of course, all those metal-shortage restrictions had been eased, but the Derby never returned to the two-nail technique because it had been concluded that one large nail driven through both feet simultaneously actually caused more pain than two smaller nails driven individually through each foot. Most people seemed to agree with this decision, but it did not present a problem for the boss-guards in the Derby. While each of these guards had been trained on how to position the tip of the iron spike between the second and third metatarsals, they often found it difficult to pound the spike through all those squirming layers of skin and bone. This meant that in each Derby, a few of the boss-guards messed up this part of the job, resulting in some policeman's feet being seriously mangled in the nailing process.

Since cops with mangled feet usually died early on the cross, I watched anxiously through my binoculars as two of the Pennsylvania guards too hold of Sgt.

Mckee's calves. (Like the other cops, McKee now hung by his wrists from his elevated cross beam.) These guards then crossed the sergeant's legs at the ankle so they could place his left foot flat against the pole with his right foot firmly on top of it.

"So far, so good," I muttered to myself, seeing how tightly the guards wee holding on to their victim's legs. Then I watched as the boss-guard carefully pressed the tip of his spike near the center of Sgt. Mckee's foot.

Once more the crowd fell silent in order to hear the cries of the policemen as their feet were split open by the passage of these solid-iron spikes. The crowd wasn't disappointed. After the loudspeaker gave the signal, all the boss-guards swung their hammers in unison and the entire Coliseum suddenly echoed with the sounds of fifty naked police officers screaming in agony.

These screams sounded considerably louder than the yells produced by the nailing of the wrist, but this was to be expected. Test on criminals proved that a nail driven through both feet caused at least three times as much pain as a nail driven through the wrist.

Besides, a wrist could be securely nailed to the wood with just three or four blows from a hammer, where as feet required eight such blows - and each blow reportedly sent a shock wave of pain burning like fire through every fiber in the victim's body.

The expression on Sgt. Mckee's face certainly seemed to bear this out. As I watched him through my binoculars, I saw him bang his head frantically against the wood of his cross, with his mouth forced so wide open by his screams I could even see the glint of filings in his back teeth. The sergeant was obviously in utter torment, and yet the nail was still only half-way through his feet!

I couldn't get a good view of Sheriff Canby since he now faced the opposite side of the stadium but I could see in profile a spike being hammered through the overlapped fee of Trooper Sutton. The trooper, not surprisingly, was howling in anguish as his metatarsals were brutally split open, but otherwise I thought he seemed to be holding up pretty well. His muscle tone looked good, he wasn't vomiting and his horse-sized cock still thrust up from his groin just as firm and eager as it must have been on his wedding night. I began to regret that I'd only wagered $100 on this entry.

People who had bet on the entry from Wisconsin, however, couldn't share my confidence. The scoreboard soon flashed onto its screen a close-up shot of the feet of this entry; a plainclothes detective from suburban Milwaukee and I saw at once that his chance for extended survival had been sharply diminished. Apparently, his boss-guard had driven the spike in at the wrong angle, or perhaps there was a defect in the nail itself. In any case, the nail had torn its way horizontally through the detective's right foot and had emerged just below the knob of his ankle bone. The boss-guard was now in the process of trying to pull out the nail with the claw end of this hammer so he could pound it through again in the proper fashion, but the damage he's already inflicted obviously could not be remedied.

Another problem occurred with the police sergeant who represented the state of Kentucky. The boss-guard had successfully pierced the sergeant's right foot with a nail, but the sergeant had then somehow kicked himself free, ramming the blunt end of the nail squarely into the boss-guard's face. A brief struggle then ensued, but I could see that the bloody-faced guard had now gotten control of the situation once more. With the help of his two colleagues, he took the sergeant's impaled right foot and placed it atop his undamaged left one. This time, he swung his hammer forcefully enough to finish the job without further incident.

The Kentucky police sergeant had screamed without shame as the hammer and nail did their work, and part of this screaming may have been due to the realization that his feet had been fastened so far down the cross that he had little opportunity to move his legs or flex his knees. Not only would this lack of movement soon cause painful muscle spasms, it would also hasten his death by making it more difficult for him the breathe.

This meant that the wife and six children he'd left behind in Kentucky would probably not inherit any winning share from this year's Derby.

I noted with relief that Sgt. McKee's and Trooper Sutton's feet had been nailed to the cross high enough so that their knees could jut outward. Thus, as the day wore on, they'd be able to straighten their leg muscles, thereby increasing their ability to exhale air from their lungs. I hoped that Sheriff Canby had been crucified in a similar manner, but I couldn't be sure till I walked down on to the field later in the afternoon.

At the moment, however, there wasn't much to do and since the sun was becoming decidedly hot, I decided to venture out of the stadium for lunch at a nearby restaurant which a friend had recommended. As I'd expected, this restaurant featured a large-screen TV set behind its bar tuned to the Derby and a noisy crowd of people had gathered around it to compare notes on their bets.

I didn't pay much attention to the TV, concentrating instead on my food, and this proved to be a wise decision. It seems that when the TV camera moved in for a close-up one of the crucified cop-the patrolman from Alaska, I think-the cop unexpectedly puked a chunky stream of fluid directly toward the camera lens. The people at the bar giggled and groaned at this stomach-turning sight but I simply went on eating my beef Stroganoff, undisturbed by all the commotion.

"When they start heaving up their guts," said a well-dressed young man at the bar, "you know they're beginning to hurt." "I hear they force-feed them lots of greasy food right before the Derby," another man said, "to make sure they'll do lots of vomiting."

"That's right," the first man agreed, "and they make 'em drink about a gallon of water so they'll have full bladders then they're nailed to their crosses."

"And we all know what that means!" the second man chuckled, apparently amused by the thought of all those cops erupting into golden showers.

Back at the Coliseum, where the clock now read 1:27, I walked briskly past the rows of souvenir stands and chased away two little kids who'd taken over my seat during my absence. Then I took out my binoculars and gave a quick once-over of the current situation. Although the cops had only been hanging on their crosses for slightly more than two hours, their naked bodies clearly showed the ravages of the tortures to which they'd been condemned. The exposed portions of their skin, for example, had been reddened and blistered by the merciless rays of the midsummer sun, and each policeman now glistened from the Amazons of sweat which came flooding from all portions of his anatomy. This sweat which came flooding from all portions of his anatomy. This sweat gave the cops' bodies the attractive look of liquid bronze, but I knew it also represented the onset of serious dehydration and, besides, it served to attract hordes of flying insects to the center of the arena. These insects, quickly discovering that they wouldn't be shooed away from such a delectable feast of flesh, literally.

blackened the air in front of some of the policemen's faces, and I knew that many of these insects were now busily exploring inside the nostrils and underneath the eyelids of their unwilling hosts. More bugs flocked around the policemen's crotches, drawn by the rich smells and liquids which collected there.

Through my binoculars I found the Texas Ranger and noted that a solid layer of hungry insects had now completely covered the tip of his still-solid erection. Some of these insects had surely worked their way into the ranger's piss-tube by this time and the thought of having real bugs actually crawling around inside a man's dick almost made me cringe.

Then I focused my gaze on Sgt. McKee of Pennsylvania and saw to my initial disappointment, that his physical condition had dramatically deteriorated over my lunch break. He seemed to be having trouble lifting up his sagging torso in order to empty out his lungs, and the trail of half-dried vomit which ran vertically down his chest showed that he must have violently regurgitated at some recent point in his ordeal. The sergeant also seemed to be trying to spit insects out of is mouth, and I feared this was costing him both valuable energy and moisture.

On the other hand, Sgt. McKee's sex organ was still thrust into the air at a 45 degree angle, and he'd learned how to "stand" up on the nail that ran through his feet, thus helping his lungs to function. I took these signs as a hopeful indication that my $500 bet on the Pittsburgh police sergeant would not be wasted.

I still couldn't get a good view of Sheriff Canby from South Dakota, but Trooper Sutton - all things considered - also appeared to be in good shape. At least his pecker hadn't yet begun to wilt, but I was worried about his balls. They looked even more swollen than when he'd first entered the arena, and they'd also begun to turn a sickly shade of purple. The pain these balls were causing the trooper must have been enormous and I didn't like the thought that this pain might be sapping the trooper's all-important will to survive. At least his sac hadn't split open yet, which would provide an early entry for all those ravenous bugs now crawling on its surface.

I spent the next few minutes making polite conversation with the young couple seated in the row ahead of me. This couple had driven down from Oregon to spend their honeymoon in Southern California and I learned that the Cop-Crucifixion Derby, along with a visit to Disneyland, had constituted the high points of their trip to date.

"We have a little money on the cop from Oregon," said Wayne, the good-looking husband who'd just graduated from dental school. "Sort of supporting the home team, you might say."

Wayne's bride then said something about having fears the Derby would be "grim" and "depressing," but apparently Wayne had dispelled these doubt by assuring her that policemen were so big and tough they didn't feel pain the way ordinary people did.

I nodded but said nothing on this point. Nor did I state my belief that the slightly paunchy, 52 year-old entry from Oregon probably wouldn't make it past five o'clock in the afternoon. Instead, I turned my attention to the workers who were bringing onto the field a supply of buckets and long-handled brooms. Their arrival meant that the first stage of the "Ordeal by Fire" was about to begin.

By now, most of the people who'd left during the lunch hour had returned to reclaim their seats, so the Coliseum was once more near capacity as the buckets and brooms were distributed to the boss-guards.

Many spectators now wore sunglasses and sun-hats to ward off the heat and glare, and the smell of suntan lotion suddenly seemed as strong as the ubiquitous odors of hot dogs, popcorn and beer.

Another odor now began to blend with this mixture; an odor something like kerosene.

This latest scent came from those buckets which were filled with a gummy, flammable substance especially concocted for this phase of the Derby and nicknamed simply "sauce."

"Prepare the right armpit," the loudspeaker instructed over the growing excitement of the crowd.

I watched through my binoculars as the boss-guard assigned to the Texas Ranger dipped the bristles of his broom into the bucket of sauce. Then he lifted this broom by its long wooden handle and jabbed the bristles into the exposed armpit of the Texas Ranger. Since the sauce had the consistency of rubber cement, it now clung in glistening drops to the patch of black hair which grew in the ranger's pit.

"Use lots of that there deodorant!" someone shouted in a hillbilly accent. "All them cops stink really bad!"

This remark prompted some laughter on the part of my fellow spectators, but the Texas Ranger didn't look amused. He just shook the bugs from his eyes and then glared down at his right armpit, as if he could somehow stare away the flammable material clinging tenaciously to his fur.

"Light your matches," said the loudspeaker.

The boss-guard then teased his victim a bit, holding the match in front of the ranger's thigh. The ranger gritted his teeth but didn't cry out. The boss-guard then teased his victim a bit, holding the match in front of the ranger's face and pretending to jab it into his eyes before finally moving into the crook of the ranger's right arm.

At a signal from the loudspeaker, the boss-guard touched the burning match to the ranger's pit and instantly this hair-filled hollow exploded into a miniature ball of flame. The Texas Ranger let out a howl and pressed forward against his spikes in a valiant but futile effort to escape from this latest torment. Damn, but he looked beautiful - every muscle straining in that big, hairy, sweat-soaked body of his.

Other cops were straining and yelling too, as the flames ate into the flesh of their right armpits, but the cops' reactions were measurably less than when the spikes went through their feet. For one thing, they now had less energy to spend, and for another, the fire in their armpits compared to their other torments must have seemed like a relatively minor irritation. These armpit burnings did, however, serve to satisfy audience demands for "action" in the Derby, and I noted that my fellow spectators watched with rapt attention as the boss-guards then dabbed the flammable gunk into the policemen's left armpits.

This time I watched Sgt. McKee's face as the match was touched to his lush undergrowth. The sergeant let out a good yell as the flames scorched the flesh of his armpit, but he'd realized he had worse pain yet to come. In fact, the most graphic evidence of his suffering came in the form of a strand of saliva which now drooled out of one corner of his mouth. Crucifixion was certainly a foul and distasteful way to die, and I was glad I'd gone to lunch before sights such as this tended to dampen my appetite. Adding to my feelings of disgust were the odors of burned hair and flesh which soon came drifting into the stands.

"Nothing like the smell of roast pork!" chuckled the bald headed spectator. He clearly didn't smell my aversion to the smell of scorched cop-flesh, but the young bride in the row ahead of me took a perfume-sprinkled hanky and held it up to her nose.

I cast a quick look at Trooper Sutton, who seemed to have weathered the armpit burnings in good shape, but I couldn't help but be concerned over the slight droop now evident in his erection.

It had been suggested several times in the past that a second dose of drugs be injected into the policemen's testicles about halfway through the Derby in order to keep their sacs swollen and their dicks rigid. I tended to favor this idea, along with the suggestion that the policemen's eyelid muscles be slit so they couldn't be shut against the glare and dust and insects of the arena. However, I had mixed feelings about the plan to force every condemned policeman to enter the arena with a nightstick securely wedged up his ass. What if the cop should fall backward and drive that nightstick clear through his guts? He'd probably die right there on the gravel track, thus depriving the audience of the pleasure of watching him squirm on the cross for hours of glorious agony. I was also opposed to the suggestion that the cops' mouths be propped open with wooden sticks throughout their long ordeal.

True, this would allow all those nasty insects to freely crawl over the cops' tongues and down their parched throats, but it would also hamper the cops in using their voices and I, for one, greatly enjoyed listening to their screams and grunts and curses not to mention their occasional pleas for mercy.

Still, the search went on to find new ways to torment and humiliate the policemen in the Derby, since it was generally agreed that these big, powerful men could always absorb just a bit more pain. Now, for instance, the cops on the crosses were about to experience a "chestburn" as part of their Ordeal by Fire.

I watched as the Pennsylvania boss-guard ran the sticky bristles of his broom down the from of Sgt. McKee's chest, leaving behind not only a layer of sauce but also two dozen or so small vertical cuts. Soon, however, I turned my attention to the thickly-haired Texas Ranger who'd emerged as the heavy favorite among the bettors. As the boss-guard brushed the flammable sauce onto the ranger's torso, I once again decide that the bettor would be proven wrong in this matter.

You see, when sauce is applied to a smooth chest, it only forms a thin coating on the skin which burns off in a flash when a match is put to it. However, thick growths of chest hair tend to capture and retain more of the sauce and through my binoculars I could now see large clots of sauce clinging to the ranger's fur. These clots would cause the fire to burn longer and more intensely than on a smooth chest - thus causing additional pain and damage to the victim.

Sometimes these burning clots would break free from the chest and roll down toward the victim's crotch or even along his bare legs, inflicting still more agony and shock.

Sure enough, when the boss-guard touched his match to the chest of the Texas Ranger, his chest turned into a raging forest fire that swept its way from the lawman's collarbones clear down past his navel. Naturally, the ranger let out a shriek as he felt his chest being roasted like a marshmallow over a campfire, and he jerked his head violently to one side to avoid breathing in the rush of smoke and flames. Forty-nine other policemen were doing pretty much the same thing, for a chorus of masculine screams now filled the Coliseum and probably carried over into the surrounding parking lots as well.

(If past experiences were any guide, someone would edit tapes of these screams into one of those novelty hits like last year's popular "Scream, Piggy, Scream!")

It was all over in a few seconds, of course, but after the puffs of blackish smoke had drifted away from the forest of crosses, I saw what a toll these few seconds had taken on the crucified cops. They now squirmed on their spikes like insects pinned to a display case, all the while groaning and whimpering and looking down at their blackened tit-clamps and blistered flesh. As I'd expected, however, the smooth-chested cops like Trooper Sutton of Utah seemed to have come out of this torture in slightly better shape that their more hirsute colleagues.

(No wonder the Cop from California had tried to shave his chest prior to the Derby!)

One cop, however, did not come out of this ordeal at all. A metallic white shield - about the size of a dinner plate - suddenly popped out of the top of one of the crosses and a distinctive whistle blew loudly for a solid twelve seconds. At 2:06 p.m., after hanging on the cross for less than three hours, that over weight traffic cop from South Carolina had become the first policeman to die in this year's Derby.

Moments later, the whistle blew or the cop from Wisconsin; the one whose feet had been so badly mangled in the nailing process. Though it would be several days before autopsy reports would be released, I figured this cop had died on the usual cause of cross-death: asphyxiation. According to medical authorities, the weight of the body pulling down on the outstretched arms and shoulders would tend to fix a crucified man's breathing muscles into an "inhalation state." To effectively exhale the stale air piling up in hi lungs, a man would have to push up on his nailed feet, despite the excruciating pain this produced. Since the cop from Wisconsin could hardly push himself up in this condition, he'd probably slowly suffocated.

Axes were produced from somewhere and the guard-teams from South Carolina and Wisconsin began to chop away at the bases of their crosses. After much sweating and cussing, the three guards from South Carolina managed to push their cross backward so that the fat traffic cop went crashing face-up to the ground. The Wisconsin cop soon followed.

During this momentary lull in the action, a TV cameraman stepped forward to record the sight of a dead cop being removed from his cross, so I watched the proceedings on the screen of the Coliseum's scoreboard.

First the trio of South Carolina guards removed their sweaty, blood-spattered shirts.

Then, using the claw-end of their hammer, they pulled the spikes out of the dead cop's feet and wrists. The gore and bits of flesh clinging to these spikes wouldn't be wiped off since the spikes would be sold at auction after the Derby, and bloody spikes always fetched higher prices than clean ones.

Finally, the guards grabbed the South Carolina cop by his swollen ankles and dragged him face-down toward one of the exits. As they did so, they made sure to keep his legs spread at a comic angle, and when they came to that pile of excrement produced by the young deputy from Arizona, they managed to drag their victim's face straight through it.

"That cop's going to wake up in hell with a mouthful of shit!" shouted the bald-headed spectator.

The crowd around me laughed as the carcasses of the cops from Wisconsin and South Carolina were dragged unceremoniously through the exit and into an underground lab where their bloated genitals would be removed for later sale. While both men had died far too soon to win any Derby prizes, at least their male organs would bring a good price since they hadn't been charred in the last stage of the Ordeal by Fire.

The cocks of policemen killed in the Derby were sold in mummified states to private collectors or to museums specializing in the bizarre and macabre. The cops' testicles, sold separately or in pairs, often would up being auctioned to exotic restaurants where they were served in various forms ranging from "toasted" to "fried." Last year, however, a health-food company had bought up most of the supply of Derby testicles in order to use them in a medication called "Essence of Manhood" which was designed to help impotent men.

At this point, the loudspeaker announced a half-hour break before the conclusion of the Ordeal by Fire, and since the heat of the summer sun was now reaching its mid-afternoon peak, I decided to leave my seat again for a visit to the exhibit area.

Wayne, the bridegroom in the row ahead of me, offered to tag along.

"God, what a stench!" he muttered as we climbed our way up the aisle. "And I guess it'll get a lot worse when they set fire to their, you know, their crotches."

"Probably so," I agreed.

"Did you know there's an aroma-disc you can buy called "Burnt Cop" that's supposed to smell just like a policeman after his armpits and chest have been set on fire?"

"I prefer Pine Forest myself," I admitted.

It turned out that Wayne wanted to buy his wife a souvenir so we spent a few minutes at the Oregon booth looking over the various items which had been collected from the Oregon cop during "Hell Week."

(Hell Week actually lasted only six days and it comprised that period immediately before the Derby when all the condemned cops were jailed together in a special facility with cop-killers again being used as guards.

During this period, the cops were confined in hot, windowless cells and forced to wear nothing but handcuffs and jockstraps. They were denied normal shower and toilet facilities and were constantly subjected to numerous forms of humiliation and abuse.)

Wayne wanted to buy a sample of the cop's sperm which had been "milked" out of his balls with a pump and sealed into a glass tube, but he found the price too much for his honeymoon budget and he didn't seem interested in the bottles of souvenir urine.

(He said he didn't know what to do with them once you got them home, and I didn't mention my recipe for cop-piss cooler.)

"How about this?" the vendor asked, holding up a nightstick encased in a clear plastic tube. "It was stuck up Officer Benson's rectum once a day during Hell Week and it'll only cost you $400."

Wayne didn't buy the nightstick or the used jockstrap or the handcuffs Officer Benson had worn during the days before the Derby.

However, he did purchase a series of 8x10 glossies showing the Oregon cop in various poses - mostly of the pornographic variety.

"I like this one," Wayne said, showing me a photo of Officer Benson being forced into a 69 position with another naked cop. "And this one too," Wayne continued, holding up a photo of Officer Benson getting his balls emptied out with a sperm pump. "But here's my favorite," the bridegroom concluded, pointing to a picture which showed the officer squatting down over the open drain in his cell floor. The officer was in the process of taking a very messy shit while two of his guards, grinning like excited schoolboys, were pissing hard yellow streams into his face.

I suggested he buy a photo of the guards injecting juice into Officer Benson's left nut while the officer screamed in agony, but Wayne considered this too violent for his tastes.

I then did some shopping on my own while Wayne visited the nearby Listening Room.

(In this room one could tune in and hear the actual sounds being picked up by the microphones built into each cross.

Occasionally one might hear something interesting in the way, but most of the time it was simply a chorus of groans and moans and mumbled prayers.) Since I wanted a souvenir of each of the three policemen I'd bet money on, I visited the booth from South Dakota and arranged to buy the tit-clamp that was currently fastened to Sheriff Canby's right nipple. This clamp would be delivered to me after the Derby, and I specified that it be ripped off the sheriff's tit and not simply unclamped. At the Utah booth, the vendor allowed me to sniff the pouch of the jockstrap worn by Trooper Sutton during Hell Week, but the $4800 price-tag put it out of my range.

"Look, it's got all these piss stains on it," the vendor pointed out. "That's because the guards wouldn't let him pull down his jock when he wanted to take a leak, so he had to piss right through it. And see here? These are genuine cum stains."

I admired the crusty surface of the jock and though about the hot set of state trooper balls which had so recently been squeezed into its confines. Then I reluctantly put it aside and instead bought a glass tube containing about two teaspoons of Trooper Sutton's semen.

"That makes a great topping on a baked potato," the vendor advised.

At the Pennsylvania booth, I bought a poster showing three guards shoving Sgt. Mckee's head into an overflowing slop bucket. The poster had the words "Dinner Time" emblazoned across the top, but while I enjoyed this touch of humor, I bought the poster primarily because of the way it showed off Sgt. McKee's naked physique.

I also bought a thirty-minute video tape of "highlights" from Sgt. McKee's Hell Week experiences, including of course, the injection of juice into his testicles. I planned to watch this tape later at one of the stadium's video rooms, but now the time had come to find Wayne and return to my seat in Section 36.

"I met this fellow dentist in the Listening Room," Wayne said after we'd checked our purchases into a locker. "He's going to contact the Derby Committee next year about getting permission to pull out all of the policemen's teeth, just before they're crucified."

"Without using Novocain?" I asked.

"That's right," Wayne chuckled. "He'll just use chisels and pliers."

By the time I got settled in place again, my watch read 3:07 p.m. and the stadium thermometer registered 98 degrees. It felt at least five degrees above that figure and it was due to get even hotter since the guards were preparing to set fire to the condemned cops pubic hair and sex organs.

I looked through my binoculars and saw that Sgt. McKee's dense pubic patch already gleamed with a thick coating of sauce, as did his still-erect penis and his dangling ball-sac.

I suspected the boss-guard had skimped on the sauce when he dabbed the sergeant's chest so he'd be sure to have lots of it to use on the sergeant's groin.

The sergeant, quite frankly, didn't look in very good shape at this pint in his execution.

His skin had been blister by fire and by the heat of the sun, his body looked dehydrated by excessive sweating, his tongue lolled out of his mouth, his scrotum seemed on the verge of splitting open, and the cloud of insect surrounding him was doubling in size with each passing hour. Still, his hard-on had not yet begun to droop, and there were plenty of other cops in the arena who looked just as wretched as he did - maybe even worse.

"Oh, God! Not my nuts!" I heard a voice cry, and I soon picked out the speaker as being that young deputy from Arizona who'd once been a crowd-favorite but who'd rapidly fallen into disfavor after that shitting incident. Obviously, he didn't like the idea of his "meat" being barbecued for the amusement of the crowd, by his pleas to be spared from this torment made him look not only cowardly but foolish as well.

The deputy's boss-guard already had his match lit and attached to the end of his broom-handle, and when the signal came from the loudspeaker, he touched this match without hesitation to the tip of the deputy's hard-on. The deputy's genitals and pubic patch went off like an atomic bomb, forcing the boss-guard to jump backward to avoid being singed by the flames. Similar explosions wee also occurring between the legs of forty-seven other cops, accompanied by a chorus of full-throated, masculine screams.

"They'll be yelling in soprano after this," someone joked as the roar of pain began to subside.

A new wave of smoke and sicking odor sweep over the stands, but I managed to focus my binoculars first on Sgt. Mckee and then on Trooper Sutton. Both men had suffered enormous pain during the brief but intense fire-storm, and both men's crotches now looked surprisingly similar: a long but deflating cock hanging down like a piece of scorched rope over a ball sac that resembled an over ripe eggplant. The triangles of pubic hair which had once grown in profusion above these crotches had been reduced to little more than ash and stubble - sort of like two fields of dry brush after they'd been swept by lightning fires.

At lest their sacs hadn't split open from the sudden heat, though both of them now seemed to be oozing thick, yellowish fluid from cracks in their surfaces. The genitals of the other cops hadn't held together as well. A pack of television cameramen, for example, now jostled for position in front of the cop from New Hampshire. It seems this cop's sac had literally exploded after being set on fire, and his exposed testicles now quivered between his knees at the ends of two rubbery-pink cords. The scoreboard quickly flashed a close-up view of this grizzly sight, prompting the young bride ahead of me to squeal: "Ooooooo! How gross!"

Other cameramen had gathered around the cop from Indiana whose ball sac had also been ripped open by the hellish inferno which had recently consumed it. Unlike the cop from New Hampshire, this one wasn't screaming. He simply hung limply from his nailed wrists with a glazed look on his face, and I figured he wouldn't last another fifteen minutes.

One cop didn't even last that long, a whistle and a white shield rising from the Louisiana cross indicated that its occupant had just arrived in cop-hell where the tortures Satan might inflict on him couldn't be any worse than the ones he'd just experienced in the Los Angeles Coliseum.

Within the next few minutes, cops representing the states of Rhode Island, Delaware, Kansas, and Hawaii also died, and several more cops were only hanging on by a thread. This sudden death toll struck me as being normal for the period immediately following the Ordeal by Fire, and I expected another wave of deaths to occur after those butt-bombs started "exploding" inside the condemned cops' guts.

My chief concern at the moment involved Sheriff Canby of South Dakota. I hadn't gotten a good look at him in several hours and I wondered how my $250 bet on him might be faring at the moment. Thus, I was unusually glad when an usher touched my shoulder and said the time had come for me to pay a visit to the playing field.

As the usher led me down to the gate which opened onto the field, I noted the envious glances being cast in my direction, and I felt a surge of pleasure that all my hard work at the magazine had gotten me a field pass for this occasion. Of course, such passes were available to the general public, too, but at a price that put them out of most peoples' reach. In fact, as I reached the gravel track, I spotted less than forty individuals converging on the center of the field.

"Tell Nebraska his cousin's got $2000 bet on him!" someone shouted at me.

As I crossed the track with its blood-spotted carpet of gravel, a glint of metal caught my eye. Bending over, I picked up one of the tit-clamps which had been torn from the chest of the South Carolina cop after he'd tripped and fallen during his walk around the arena. A generous slice of tit-flesh still clung to this clamp which I hurriedly slipped into my pocket before some Derby official could come along and confiscate it. I then looked around without success for the other clamp, but apparently it had gotten kicked over into the grass where it'd be hard to spot.

Pleased with my good fortune, I then headed across the turf toward the crosses. God, did it feel hot....and the stench! It smelled like a mix between a barbecue pit, a locker room, and a dirty toilet.

A crowd of people had formed in front of the Texas Ranger, so I by passed this area and went straight to where Trooper Sutton hung in exquisite agony from his cross. This cross looked a lot bigger when seen close up, and it must have measured more than twelve feet tall because my face barely came to the level of the State trooper's toes. I now noticed with surprise that both of the trooper's toes were missing their nails.

"What happened to your toenails?" I asked, shielding my eyes against the sun as I looked up the trooper's blackened torso toward his once handsome face.

"Got ripped off during Hell Week," Sutton replied in a strained but still audible voice.

"I'll bet that hurt," I commented. "Did you yell?"

The trooper grunted, which I took to mean "Yes."

"I have a $100 bet on you, "I went on, "and I bought some of your semen in one of those little glass tubes. Tell me, does it hurt to have cum pumped out of your balls?"

"Everything hurts," the trooper rasped.

Then, without warning, he suddenly squirted a stream of urine out of the charred tip of his pecker. This action made the trooper groan in pain as hot liquid suddenly surged through his insect-bitten tube, and it made me jump hurriedly out of the way.

Actually, I shouldn't have been taken by surprise since these golden showers predictably occur shortly after the conclusion of the Ordeal by Fire. It seems that the injection of juice into the policemen's testicles effectively prevented any urination for the first few hours of the Derby. Then, after those crotch fires had burned away the top layers of skin on the policemen's genitals, the effect of the juiced dissipated and every surviving cop suddenly felt the urge to empty his overflowing bladder. In fact, all around me I could see, hear, and even smell cop after cop shooting off his last reservoir of yellow fluid. Most people on the field carefully avoided these showers, but I saw several men standing directly under the flow, laughing and splashing about like kids. Well, I guess it takes all kinds.

"Damn bugs," I said, shooing a squadron of flies away from my face. "How do you stand' em?"

The trooper groaned and then, with a cry of anguish, he straightened his legs and pushed himself upward on the cross so that his entire weight now pressed down on that single spike hammered through his feet. The pain shooting up through his damaged nerves must have been horrendous, but I knew the trooper had to do this in order to keep on breathing. The trooper stayed in this upright position for about ten seconds, all the while gasping air in and out of his lungs. Then, with another cry, he let his body sag back into its suspended posture. I now noted several trickles of fresh blood beginning to make their way down past the trooper's feet toward the base of his cross. With a start, I realized this blood must be coming from the welts on the trooper's back. Every time he slid up and down, the rough wood of the cross reopened these wounds and scraped off even more of his skin. By the time the Derby came to an end, the flesh of this man's back would be hanging in ribbons.

"Keep your chin up, Trooper." I said with a chuckle as I prepared to move on.

"Remember that $100 I've got riding on you."

As I walked over to the next cross, two more "death whistles" sounded, almost simultaneously, and the loudspeaker announced that the entries from Missouri and Oklahoma had just died. I paused for a moment in front of the cop from New Mexico, whose physique I'd already admired from a distance.

"This may not be of much comfort to you, "I called up to the tortured lawman, "but you're just about the best hung cop in the whole damn Derby-or at least you were. I only wish I could have sucked on that big tool of yours before it got burned to a crisp."

The cop glared down at me through a fog of insects but didn't say a word.

"Wish I could have sucked on your balls, too," I went on. "They must have been a real tasty mouthful. And those tits of yours look like..."

"Fuck you, " the cop interrupted.

I laughed. "You're the one who's going to be fucked," I said. "After your dead body gets hauled into the lab, all those lab workers will line up for a chance to corn-hole your ass while it's still warm."

"Damn you," the cop growled.

"And they'll use your mouth as a toilet," I added with a smile as I headed off for Sgt.

McKee's cross.

Sgt. Mckee was standing up on his spike when I arrived and obviously in no mood to chat, so while he took a number of labored breaths, I told him how I'd staked $500 on his becoming the winner of the Derby. Then I said how I'd watched him being nailed to his cross and later being subjected to the Ordeal by Fire.

"I curious about something," I continued.

"Which hurt more - getting your wrists nailed, or getting your armpits set on fire?"

"Armpits," Mckee managed to gasp, still standing up on his spike.

"That's what I figured," I said. "What about this - did getting your feet nailed hurt more than getting your balls barbecued?"

"About the same," Mckee replied. Then he sagged down again on the cross, wincing as he did so because of the splinters being driven into his already-lacerated back.

I talked to the sergeant a bit longer, trying to encourage him to endure his pain as long as possible. Then I walked over to the Nebraska cop and gave him that message about his cousin's $2000 bet. The Nebraska cop, who had a long strand of reddish fluid dangling down from his dick, didn't bother to thank me, so I told him how I planned to buy his nuts so I could feed them to my dog.

This seemed to rile the cop and - who knows? Maybe his anger extended his life on the cross by another half an hour or so.

That's what the nearby boss-guard thought.

"The ones who get mad live longer," he said, wiping the sweat from his face. "It's the ones who just hang there and bleed who'll probably die first."

I gave the boss-guard an appraising glance, noting that he looked unusually young-maybe 22 or 23 years old; and surprisingly handsome. I found it hard to believe he'd been convicted of killing a cop.

Then, almost reluctantly, I found myself wondering what he'd look like chained naked to a horizontal spit while rows of hungry flames licked up at his body.

The boss-guard seemed to be reading my mind. "Ever been to one of those Cop-Killer Barbecues?" he asked, almost shyly.

"Only seen them on TV," I replied.

"I hear those cops can keep a man alive and screaming for six or seven hours while they roast him to death," the boss-guard went on.

"I hear they can make things even worse if they've got a special grudge against you, so I've been real careful to follow the rules here. Ain't that right, cop?"

The Nebraska policeman didn't answer, but he seemed preoccupied with a wasp which had just landed on his lower lip.

"Of course," the boss-guard continued, "I fucked this guy's ass, but that's all part of the Derby - you know what I mean?"

"How was his ass?" I asked.

"Really sweet," the boss-guard grinned.

"And even snugger than my fist, but that's the way cops are: big dicks and tight holes."

I nodded. Then, noting that my allotted time on the field was already half over, I turned away and walked in the direction of Sheriff's Canby's cross. As I did so, I heard one of the cops let out a blood-curdling shriek, and I knew his butt-bomb must have just broken open inside his guts. The crowd naturally roared its approval and the scoreboard obligingly flashed a scene of the unfortunate officer - the one from Alaska - writhing so frantically on his spikes that his cross actually swayed back and forth.

I picked up my pace, wanting to talk to Sheriff Canby before his own butt-bomb began to eat away at his intestines.

The sheriff looked like hell, mainly because of the mutilated eyeball which now hung against his right cheek, suspended by a greasy looking nerve. He also stank to high heaven, mostly because of the traces of vomit which still clung to parts of his burned over chest. The odor of stale urine also drifted about him, as did the strong smell of male sweat.

"What happened to your eye?" I asked, holding a kleenex up to my nose.

It took some effort for the sheriff to answer, but he didn't seem to mind my curiosity.

Perhaps I helped take his mind off his pain.

"A crow did it," he managed to reply.

"About 12:30."

"Damn! I was out having lunch about then.

Did they show it on TV?"

"I guess so," the sheriff replied.

"Well, maybe I can catch it on a re-play." I then told the sheriff about the money I'd bet on him and about how I thought he still had a good chance of winning the Derby despite having had his right eye pecked out by an inquisitive bird.

"Can you still see through that eye?" I asked.

The sheriff shook his head. Then he asked me which cops had already died, and I tried to provide him with a complete list. He seemed upset about the death of the police chief from Rhode Island because they'd been cell mates together during Hell Week. This meant they'd probably been forced to suck on each other's cock for the amusement of the guard, but I didn't say anything on the subject.

"I bought your right tit-clamp, by the way," I told the sheriff before I left. "They're going to rip it right off your chest, so I'm hoping to have a bit of your titty to remember you by."

"Why not buy my nuts?" the sheriff gasped, pushing his body up on the cross.

"Too expensive," I replied.

More cops were now screaming as the caustic substances inside their butt-bombs began to come into contact with their innards. I paused for a moment to watch the young deputy from Arizona writhe helplessly on his cross as he yelled: "My guts! My guts!"

A man behind me laughed. "They ought to play `Twist and Shout' during this part," he suggested. I nodded.

"Say," he went on. "I'm looking for a cop who's supposed to have a Green Beret tattoo on his left biceps. You see, my kid collects those things, so I want to see about buying the tattoo after it's...."

The man's words came to an abrupt halt in mid-sentence as the Arizona deputy suddenly made a farting sound so loud, it almost echoed off the stadium walls. Then the deputy started to eject a load of shit down toward his overlapped feet.

All of the cops in the Derby now seemed to be evacuating their bowels in unison, and they were doing so nosily and without a trace of shame of modesty. It looked as if Wayne and his bride had lost their honeymoon bet.

All things considered, I prospered with my betting choices in the Cop-Crucifixion Derby. Trooper Sutton, unfortunately, expired at 7:47 p.m. so I lost every penny of the $100 I'd bet on him. Sgt. Mckee, however, survived till 9:26.

I didn't actually make much money on my $500 bet, but I didn't lose any either and I had the pleasure of realizing that the poster I'd acquired of Sgt. Mckee would probably increase in value before the next cop memorabilia convent.

Sheriff Canby proved to be the surprise of the evening Despite his age of 44 years, which discouraged most bettors, and despite having lost an eye to some hungry crow, the sheriff outlived all but two of his Derby competitors. He finally died at 10:37 p.m.

after having endured more than eleven hours of incredible agony on the cross.

I was back in my hotel room, watching the conclusion of the Derby on TV when Sheriff Canby finally took his last labored breath, but I drank a toast to him because his many hours on the cross had turned my $250 bet into nearly $4,000!

The Texas Ranger died just sixteen minutes after the sheriff. This left the well-hung cop from New Mexico as the winner of the Derby, but as often proved the case, the cop died as a medical team was rushing in to extract the spikes from his body.

"I'll bet his nuts will sell for a record price." said Officer Wilson of the LAPD as I flicked off the TV set. I'd met Wilson directing traffic on the north side of the Coliseum, and since his shift had just come to an end, I'd invited him to come back to my hotel to watch the conclusion of the Derby.

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raunchyremnant · 1 year

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Emerald: With a mischievous grin, Emerald chuckled as she let Yang keep masturbating to her ass. "Just Emerald is fine. And Emerald says: 'Stop"!" With that word, the hand that was setting Yang's pace abruptly stopped. "Hehehe~ Remember, I want you to cum on my face and chest, so you can't cum just yet~" She reminded, clearly getting off a little on being so in control of Yang in this moment.

While Yang was forbidden from stroking herself for the next few seconds, Emerald kept shaking her ass to tease her. She even gave herself a spank that made her ass jiggle for a second and left a small imprint. "Mmm~ If you're a very, very good girl, I think I might let you spank it once or twice." She offered, turning around to deny Yang the view. "Though you are focusing too much on that admittedly big cock of yours. I want to see how you tease those udders you call tits for a bit while you give your cock a rest." She urged, one of her own hands going back to pinch and pulling on her nipple.

Yang knew what was coming, but it was still definitely strange to stop herself right on the edge. Regardless, she forced herself to do so, removing her hand from her cock. Yang felt herself twitch a little in denial, panting at the strange sensation. Definitely weird, but she agreed to this JOI session, after-all.

If nothing else, Emerald played the role of a dom really well. The promise of being allowed to touch that ass was definitely appealing, but she'd have to earn it. She gave a soft moan as one of her nipples was teased, and nodded. "Sure, if that's what you want..."

Yang reached up and reached up with both hands to start groping and squeezing herself. "Udders, huh? I bet I'd look pretty good in cow print..."

#nobodyofsparks #yang bang (yang)

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trueshellz · 3 years

Text

Day 19: Kuroo + dirty talk

Previous day | MASTERLIST | Next day

Warnings: female reader, phone sex, dirty talk, masturbation (f and m solo), pet names (kitten, pretty girl, baby)

Summary: The long distance relationship struggles are real...

A small jump as your phone rang, the noise way too loud in your empty apartment, especially since your animated and chatty boyfriend was away with the team he was managing. Glancing down at the phone as seeing his cute face on the caller ID as you picked it up, climbing on the bed just as he picked up, his voice echoing down the line.

"Hi, kitten."

"Hey Tetsu... how was the flight? Have you eaten?"

Small conversation at first, yes he had eaten, no he was not sharing a room with Bokuto, yes the flight was OK and no he hadn't forgotten to iron his shirt. You could hear the faint noise in the background, Bokuto and Hinata shouting over a match of some sort while Atsumu cheered them on, you couldn't hear Sakusa or Oliver but imagined them both glaring at their loud teammates. Kuroo's laugh echoing as he left the room, Shugo shouting in the background at the team, the voices getting quieter as you heard the door click on the other end of the phone.

"You should have stayed with your friends."

"I'd rather hear your pretty voice, kitten."

You could feel your skin heat, shuffling down under the covers as you heard him chuckle. A beep in your ear as he switched his video on, the sign for you to do the same. His chiseled body on screen, tight abs and sharp v-line leading down to, what you knew to be, a long cock. His hair messy as usual, black hair tousled as he taken off his shirt and threw it on the bed. You watched him lay on the bed and sling an arm over his head, biceps tightening as he did so.

"I still can't get used to this..."

Another chuckle, lower this time as he sent you a wink. "It's ok. Just do what you're comfortable with, ok?" Seeing you nod, he smiled again before you saw his hand disappear, a hum as you imagined his hand over his dick.

Taking a deep breath, you slipped your hand into your sleeping shorts, fingers meeting your slick folds as your legs flopped open. This happened all the time, you were embarassed at first even though you were the one who had suggested this, remembering how excited you were until you got to the deed.

"You wet already?" You nodded. "Good girl. You look so pretty baby, I miss ya so much. Fuck, baby. You got me so hard ya know that? Just have to hear you voice and literally can't stop myself, 'ts why I had to excuse myself earlier. Can't be sitting there with a hard on in front of my friends, can I?"

You huffed a laugh, remembering the last time you turned the camera on to show him your new lingerie set. A yelp leaving his mouth as he cut the phone, apologising via message and calling you later when he was alone. A groan making you smile, Kuroo had his head dropped back as he stroked himself, a small sheen of sweat on his chest as it heaved.

"Fuck, baby. You touching that little clit for me? Hmm? Bet you're so wet too, huh? Imagining your sweet pussy around my dick as you ride me, tits bouncing so pretty for me. Don't hold back, kitten. You know I love the pretty sounds you make, goes straight to my dick."

Biting your lip, you let yourself sink into the moment and talk back to him, seeing a small grin on his face as you told him how wet you were and how much you missed his fingers inside you. Yours couldn't reach deep enough like his did, back arching as you imagined his long fingers curling inside you as he finger fucked you. Forcing your eyes open as you heard him cum, a low groan from his mouth as white ropes spurted on his chest and stomach. The image making your pussy clench as you remembered how he looked over you, the same face as he held himself inside and filled you up.

"C'mon, pretty girl. Let me hear those pretty moans for me ok? Wanna hear you fall apart for me, kitten."

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viledreamer420 · 2 years

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The girls were all packed ready to ride to the lake, we all were I in the kitchen eating a quick snack waiting on Matt to hurry up! "Her takes forever bet you he's pumping it!" Beth said to the girls making them all giggle at the thought.

"So what you girls swimming in? I'm curious and we're not doing much else right now." I asked curiously. Looking at Tiffany with a sly grin.

She got my hint bouncing over to me proudly making her tits heave up and down! She opened her backpack and pulled out a cute blue and black one piece suit that had cuts along the sides and back and a matching sorong to wrap around her hips. I pictured how her ass would look in a suit like that as I smiled.

"oh you'll be grabbing attention in that." I told her as I watched her ass sway ass she headed to the bench by the door.

April snuck up behind me scaring me a bit as her hand smacked my butt. She opened her bag to show off a tiny pink bikini that tied together with little ribbons. I couldn't wait to see it on her tiny body!

"very cute but won't it come undone easy?" I inquired knowing the answer.

Breanna and Emily both walked over to me giggling. They both pulled the long t-shirts they were in up to their necks revealing the fact they had nothing on and would swim that's way as well! The sight of the two sluts in front of me naked has my cock starting to swell up quickly..

The girls in unison spun around giving me a perfect view of 2 nice asses before dropping their shirts back down and then they darted upstairs to check on Matt.

Beth was last up and came up giving me a long kiss before letting me see that she was going to be swimming in a one piece pink and black micro suit getting me excited!

"it barely covers all of my nipples and my pussy will clearly be on display!, And this little thread will fully show off my sexy ass too, but it's not for you today is for every one else." Beth whispered seductively in my ear as she placed her hand on my crotch giving my cock a good squeeze through my shorts.

My face showed my disappointment but I knew she wouldn't resist later in the night!

"let's go Matt! Fuck what takes you so long?" Been yelled up the stairs. I bounded up the steps telling Beth I'd go see what's the issue. She rolled her eyes and went over to sit by Tiffany.

Once I got to Matt's door I heard Breanna softly talking and Emily I could hear moaning so I opened Matt's door to see Breanna on a chair fingering herself watching as Emily was getting her pussy ate by Matt who amazingly was in his bright orange swimming trunks.

His dick was pushing his shorts out making the orange even more visible quick made me laugh to myself. Matt was to busy to notice I entered the room so I silently approached Emily and gave her nipple a pinch and she smiled as she blew me a kiss.

I joined Breanna sitting on the floor in front of her chair. I watched as Matt continued his oral attack causing Emily to buck around as she held Matt's face tight up to her clit.

The show had gotten my cock hard so I started squeezing Breanna's legs while sliding up her legs slowly. I felt her hands as she traced my ears running her fingers through my hair.

Quickly she yanked my head down into her lap smiling down on me showing me her brace covered teeth! She began to softly kiss my lips and I returned the jesture in kind.

I could smell her pungent pussy being held so close. I clicked my tongue across her braces as I fought her hold to turn my body to face hers. Once I managed my hands immediately pushed her T-shirt up uncovering her beat up fuck box.

She snapped her legs closed and shifted her gaze to Matt and Emily again. I slapped her outter left thigh hard before grabbing her knees and forcing her legs open again and to make sure my point was taken I slammed them as wide as her ligiments would let her.

The sound of my slap got Matt's attention as I noticed him pull away from Emily's pussy for a split second before Emily pulled his hair smashing his face back tight to her pussy.

I felt no mercy as my hand made a straight shot to Breanna's gaping pussy and I continued to smash 3 fingers deep into her and I began to finger slam her ass hard as I could manage.

Breanna tried to lessen her pain by shifting her hips, she made a feeble attempt to push me back then resorted to trying to push my arm away with no luck! All her attempts just made me go harder on the little slut!

After 15 minutes of my three finger assault I pushed them deep in and up and began rubbing her G-spot as I used my free hand to grab a handful of her hair and yanked her head back locking her in her chair, her body arched along her back pushing her chest up, presenting her tits for my mouth to torture!

"Why are you such a whore Bree? * I licked her ear, I mean fuck the rougher I get the wetter your pussy gets!" I said before I pressed my lips to hers and as soon as her tongue started to dance with mine, I shoved my entire hand inside her fuck hole!

Once my hand was in it almost instantly balled into a fist and I started fisting her blown out pussy! Her body moved almost in sequence when I skipped my first into her, she let out a long breath and instantly raised her legs back giving me the last amount of room needed to effortlessly plunge my fist home.

Her breathing became erratic and heavy as her orgasm began building up inside her. "First fuck me faster!" She moaned out as she grabbed my head and kissed me deep. A felt pressure building behind my fist and almost in unison I heard Emily start screaming a millisecond before Breanna convulsed and her pussy pushed my fist out fast followed by a stream of what at the time I thought was piss all over the floor!

Both girls were shaking from their orgasms but Breanna was finding it diffacult catching her breath and took almost another half hour to compose herself enough to leave the house.

We all walked downstairs to see nobody was inside so we went out the back door grabbed our bikes and went down the drive the others were waiting at the end for us.

Beth, April, and Tiffany all began to laugh at Matt as he still had a raging hard on that was still tenting his bright orange swim trunks. "Jesus what took so long of you didn't even fuck her?" Beth snapped to Matt.

"hey hey ok ok let's get the day going everyone ready? First stop is IGA for food and drinks then noon stop to the lake!" I said as I led the expedition from my GT Dyno. It took us around 20 minutes to pedal the little country store.

Between all of us we had a total of 47 dollars to spend, chips, pop, hot dogs and buns, a small bag of Kingsford, and we each grabbed a frozen popsicle.

Our total was $32 we all pooled the money together to have a good time that day so we divided up the change between us all hopped on our bikes and as soon as we started out I stopped in my tracks!

"Michael you better get your ass home mom's been looking for you!" It was Melissa my sister! "Your in so much trouble tell your little friends bye! And we'll be following you home too!" Melissa yelled at me as she opened the door to her boyfriends car and got in.

"Fuck me! I guess I won't be swimming today or any time soon I'm guessing." I told the group they all had a thing or three to say about the situation at hand. I gave the girls hugs and left the group to return home.

My sister and her boyfriend followed behind me the entire way back to my house I went slow but that didn't matter! I rode up the drive and parked my bike in the garage and gathered my courage to go inside.

Next: my household in a shell

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attackonmango · 3 years

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|Party of Five|Jean x Reiner x Reader x Marco x Bertholdt|Smut|

|This is a pretty long, disgusting and sexual one shot, that I wrote to The Take. It will be upward of a few thousand words, so I hope you like long, smutty chapters. Party of 5, right this way ;)|

"Go clean the showers, brat; you used them last," Levi ordered as he stopped by your room to assign your latest late-night chore. You tried your hardest not to groan out loud. It would help if you had listened to your roommate Ymir who told you to wait until morning.

"Aye, Aye, captain," you muttered, cursing him in your head as he left your shared quarters.

Heading to the supply closet, you grab two dozen handmade rags, a few buckets and a bunch of cleaning products.

The walk to the shower building wasn't far, thankfully. Though the sun has been down for a few hours, the summer air was still suffocating.

"I guess I'd rather be cleaning the showers than shovelling horse shit," you mutter as you pass by the smelly barn. You were laughing to yourself as you listen to Sasha and Connie argue, irritated due to the vile fumes that their masks couldn't protect them from.

As you make it to the showers, you hear laughter inside, and as you open the doors, it only gets louder.

You see Reiner, Jean, Bertholdt and Marco, chasing each other with towels. You watch as they pop each other with them, screaming when it came in contact with their skin.

As Jean and Bertholdt ran past you, Bertholdt popped you with a towel though he aimed for Jean. You cried out in pain, laughing due to shock. "Damn! That shit hurt." you scoffed, partially playing.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," Bertholdt apologized profusely as he squinted his eyes, scratching his neck. His face flushed red as he looked at you with embarrassment.

Nodding, you raise your hands to put space between the two of you, "Just don't hit me anymore, accidental or on purpose." you laugh, and he joins in shyly.

"I'm guessing Levi set you to clean the girl's showers?" he asked, creating small talk to avoid awkward silence. He was thankful you had forgiven him so quickly.

"Yea, I'm gonna be here for a while. Not as long as you guys tho, I hear it's pretty bad in there." you laugh to yourself. That rumour has been floating around for a while since training began.

"It is; we've been here since six” Bertholdt exasperated. You both part ways, Bertholdt back on the hunt for Jean.

For the next two hours, you wipe up the wet floors, clean off the mirrors and toilets. You moped and began to clean individual showers. You made sure to make everything pristine as white, exactly how Levi likes it. You didn't want to be back down here tomorrow.

Something tells you that the boys would though, their laughter and the sounds of them running echoed of the walls. They definitely weren’t cleaning. Sometimes you'd see Jean, looking for the rag he lost hours ago. Reiner and Bertholdt rough housing like usually and Marco trying to get everyone to remain on task.

Suddenly in ran Marco, wailing as he raced from Reiner who carried a sloshing bucket of clear water. “I’m just trying to get out of here early? Whats so wrong with that?” Along with “I’m sorry, is that what you want to hear?”

You watch as Marco rans in your direction as Reiner braced himself to throw the clean water. “Hey chill out! I just wiped the floor.” You scold in protest.

Reiner shook his head, adamant that he do what he planned. “A little bit of water never hurt no body.” After that, everything went in slow motion. Marco slipped behind Y/N as the water splashed down on her.

"Yah!" You cried out as Reiner attempted to splash Marco with an entire bucket of water, but he moved out of the way as cold water pierced your skin; the boy's eyes widened as they drifted towards you. Their laughing came to a halt as they started. "Oh shit, " Reiner and Marco exclaim as they still their feet.

Plenty of the water splashed into your mouth and nose, causing you to cough it up. Hacking in front of Marco and Reiner, as your eyes pricked with tears. “Assholes.” You muttered before groaning loudly.

Reiner and Marco swallow thickly as they notice your tears of distress. Too bad they lacked sympathy, as you looked too good for them to care.

"I told you guys to fucking cool it, now I'm wet," you scold them as the shirt clung to your skin. You ran your hands through your hair as you sighed, frustration coursing through you. If looks could kill, they’d be dead because you were pissed.

You pay no attention to Jean and Bertholdt as they walk over to the girl showers, not noticing the way their eyes bulged in their sockets.

You watched as a blush crept up Marco's cheeks as he looked the other direction, refusing to make eye contact, Jean's mouth ajar, both surprise and pure happiness etched on his features.

"Hello, excuse me?" you glared as your hands landed on your hips, as one side jutted out. You turned to glare at Reiner, who grinned, staring intensely at your chest as Bertholdt turned around to avoid your gaze altogether.

Suddenly you shivered, glancing down; you notice you had a white shirt on. A wet white shirt on. "Oh shit!" You cried out, hands flying to cover your breast that we're on full display.

You couldn’t turn away because they stood around you on all sides, and someone would get a eyeful of tits. The best you could do was hiding them behind your arms and hands.

You laughed nervously, absolutely flustered, "Advert your eyes." Your face flushed as you shifted on your feet. Your heart raised as the situation set in. Reiner had exposed you while targeting Marco in front of the 4 of them while they gaped at you. Glancing around, you couldn't help but notices the pitches in their shorts.

"They look great, " Jean chuckled, raising a brow at you. He felt no shame as he drank in your figure. Jean always thought you were sexy. The way your breast filled your shirt, he noticed the way they bounced as you ran.

Reiner visibly cringed, tossing his head back with laughter. "You sound creepy, horse face." Reiner stalked towards you, his eyes flickering from your chest to your bottom lip that you had sucked between your teeth, chewing it until it had gotten red. The look in his eyes weakening your taut knees.

"And you're not?" Jean shot back at Reiner, who ignored him.

"My apologies, Y/N, that bucket was for Marco, " Reiner muttered huskily as he hooked a finger under the hem of your shirt as water dripped down your thighs, tugging harshly. The way he towered over you had you reeling.

Marco loved how plush your thighs were; though he was a gentleman, he isn't innocent. He could see himself dying happily with his head in between them. He couldn't curb the pang of jealousy that washed over him as Reiner toyed with your shirt. You were petrified and enticed as he did so.

You have always found Reiner attractive, as well as the other boys in the room. You had watched thrm grow from boys to men over tge last few years. So his proximity and gaze caused heat to pool in your pants, as you drank in his Earthy scent. His cool breath wafted across your face and the cold water he dumped on you. It didn’t help as the other peered down at you like predator ready to jump on prey. But that’s what this was, wasnt it.

Reiner's next question caused your jaw to drop, "Would you let us take you right here?" You hadn't noticed how close the boys had gotten, Jean and Reiner more so than the others. Reiner lifted his hand to cup your face, his callous hand tracing stars on your cheek.

Your eyes widened as you stared in shock, stepping back until someone pulled you into them, "I-" a hand groping your hip stole your will to speak.

"I bet she would, " Jean purred in your ear, as he pressed himself against you from behind. His clothed length rutting against your full bottom, he massaged your hips, causing your mind to race. "Don't say you haven't thought about it, love, having your brains fucked out while we use you." Jean wasn't wrong; you constantly thought of having to be under them while they ravaged your body, using up whatever they pleased. You thought of all the possibilities of dirty things they could do to you. But you never thought you’d do anything with one of them, in front of the rest of them. And you definitely didn’t think you’d be with all of them at the same time.

You find yourself absent-mindedly backing into Jean, loving the way his length prodded your butt. His fingers dig into your waist as he sensually moved his hips. "See, she's eager." Jean chuckled darkly as he reaches to grab a full fist of hair. He anchors your head, causing you to stare up at Reiner through hooded eyes. "Tell him, slut." You couldn't fight it as you were filled with desire. Usually, that word would hurt your feelings, but given the situation and opportunity at hand, it made you want more than a bit of friction.

Reiner looked down at you, his eyes soft as he waits for your answer. "It is the least you could do," your lashes flutter as you pull away from Jean enough to slip your sodden shirt off. Catering to your nerves, you covered yourself the best you could until Jean pulled your hands away.

"Definitely," Reiner muttered as his hands wander your upper body. Dropping to his knees, he guided your exposed breast into his mouth. His tongue swirled around your sensitive nipple as he tugged, nibbling slightly. You feel him grin as your breathy moans escape you, as you shuddered under their touch. Jean's palms were kneading your ass in his hands. He smirked as you crumple in him and Reiner's grasp as he mutters what he plans on doing to you.

You don't protest as Jean pulled your pants down, lifting your legs out of them. They were quickly discarded since they were no longer needed, along with your panties. His long fingers playing at your entrance.

Your hands danced around in Reiner's hair as he suckled on your bust. As you moaned softly, you tried your hardest not to push his head, but to no avail.

"Slow down, baby, " Reiner muttered as he pulled away, spit trailing from his lips to your sensitive bud, his eyes dilated as he palmed himself through his shorts. "You'll get what you want." The authority in his voice caused your core to dampen; you rub your moist thighs together to ease your desire. You nodded at him, signaling you understand.

“Atta girl,” he muttered, his thumb brushing over your cheek, wiping away water. A pout falls upon your lips as he pulled away too fast for your liking.

"Take these off, " Reiner ordered, referring to his clothes as he pinched your erect nipples, moistening them both.

"Yessir," you exasperate, shamelessly; you rush to get his shirt off, drooling as the shower lights glistened on his toned chest. As you worked on his belt, your hands shake causing Jean to laugh, you groan in agitation as you couldn’t even open his belt.

. "Help her out, man, she's struggling." his hand worked faster as he slipped in another digit inside, curling them as he hit your g spot.

Heat fills your stomach as you sigh into Reiner's chest, he pats your head, telling you it okay. “Guess I’ll do it myself.”

You sigh as his hands slip in between you, the familiar jingle of his belt causing you to clench around Jean’s finger. You feel as his hands work on his belt as you took time to revel in pleasure. Jean moved his other hand from your hip to work your clit, using your slick as a lubricant. You sank deeper into his arms while Reiner worked his belt off along with his pants.

It fell to the ground, the metal on it clinking as it hit the floor. You grin sexily as Reiner stood in all his glory. "There. Now finish," he spoke curtly. Slipping your hand into his boxers, you pull them down. Jumping as his cock sprang out, hitting your face because you were sandwiched between the two. Reiner’s dick was long and thick, his tip swollen with anticipation and his tip pink with want. You trail your fingers down his veins that were prominent on all sides, smiling as he sighed sensually, dick throbbing in your hands. Your eyes cut to Marco, who stood watching, panting slightly as his hand with hand in his pants. Bertholdt stood watching; his breathing laboured as he watched with a red face, his dick hard as well."What about those two, " you mutter as you stare into their eyes.

"Don't worry about them, " Jean spoke harshly as he pulled his clothes off his skin. "We're busy for now."

"Look at you, so interested in someone else's needs." Reiner praised once more, peppering your lips with soft kisses. "They'll get a turn. Right now, we're playing."

Jean pulls your legs, spreading them out. His hand trailed down your back as he kissed your neck, leaving love bites when he can. Jean pressed on the small of your back, asking you to arch. He leaned you down, your face in front of Reiner’s dick, who cupped your chin again, his fingers brushing against your lip as you sat on your hands and knees.

"Say ah," as he patted your face, his voice tantalizing and husky with seduction, asking you to open your mouth, you almost instantly complying. He guided his dick to and past your lips, brushing his pre-cum on your plush, full and moistened lips. Licking them, you hum with delight. Wrapping your tongue around his tip, you pull Reiner by his thighs as close as you could without choking.

You shudder as Jean aligned himself at your entrance, his tip drawing circles on your clit as you buck your hips involuntarily. Your moaning sent vibration down Reiner's length.

You grew irritated as Jean teased your hole with the swole tip of himself, you push away from Reiner, enough so you could be. “Don’t leave me hanging, Jean.” You muttered back at the brunette who glared darkly. You shiver as sly laughter fell from his lips.

A scream shot in you as Jean plunged into, slamming into your sweet spot. You couldn’t help the way Jean pushed you into Reiner, causing you to gagged around him. Your nose scrunches up as more precum slides down your throat as he throbbed on your wet muscle.

Making quick use of your throat, Reiner hips began to rock in a slow, tight motion as he fucked your face slowly, one hand on the back of your head, knotted loosely in your hair. The other is under your armpit and wrapped around your shoulder, tugging you farther from Jean.

Warm drool pools in your mouth and down your chin. It dribbled down his waist, slicking his balls, the squelching of your throat and the feel of your tongue lapping him up as you hummed on his dick as Jean teased your womanhood drove him insane, as he pulled you you closer, watching your mouth swallow him up, again and again.

"F-fuck, so good." Reiner sputtered out praise, massaging the back of your head gently with one hand. It was a miracle you could breathe because the two of them weren't giving you a chance.

Marco's hand was in his pants, pumping away slowly, chasing a nut as he watched Reiner and Jean play tug of war with you and manhandled you. Listening to you cry out and moan was enough to cause him to erupt all over his hand. You groan at the empty feeling you feel as Jean pulls out. It didn’t last long though, as you squelch and pucker around him.

Suddenly you cried out as Jean pushed into your pulsating core, stuffing you even though he hadn't bottomed out. You're hogging Y/N, Reiner," Jean growled, his hands digging into your hips, pulling your ass apart. He watched part of his long and girthy shaft reappear and disappear from inside of you. "Let up, bro."

"Fuck no," Reiner breathed out, his eyes fluttering as he sighed, followed by more praise. Jean tugged you closer to him, against Reiner's needy and robust grip, pressing on your back, fixing your arch. To him, it wasn't deep enough; your ass needs to be higher. "Keep that arch, dammit."

You body lunges back and forth as they fuck into you simultaneously. You knees weaken as the realization sets in. To them, you were a rag doll, something they could use because you’d never stop them. You enjoyed it too much.

You cried out as Jean's large and heavy hand landed on your ass with a loud smack. His hands moved from your hips to your stomach; he slammed into the rest of the way and withdrew, leaving you feeling empty. Delicious pain shot through you as he pushed up back inside you.

The wetness of your mouth and your screams sending vibration down his dick, Reiner's hips to stall as he began to shake. To know that you even had this power over him caused you to clench around Jean.

Reiner moved his hands back to your head, tightening his grip in your now tangled hair. His dick hit the back of your throat as he forcefully pushed you closer to Jean, who thrust relentlessly, his head tossed make in pleasure. Reiner emptied himself down your throat, holding you in place as he forced you to take his load. "Swallow it all, beautiful." which you had no choice but to oblige; thankfully, he tasted pretty good. Sweeter than salty.

He moved a hand to your jaw, rubbing it softly as you breathed out heavily as he pulled out of your mouth with an audible pop. "Open up," he omitted quietly, tapping your chin. He wiped the wetness of tears from your eyes as you looked up at him through wet lashes, fighting moans as Jean also got sloppy with his thrusts.

Opening your mouth, Reiner looked inside and smiled constantly. "Good job, you did so well." though he was on his knees, he leaned down to kiss you right as your much-awaited orgasm shot through you as Jean's dick rubbed against you g spot, his thumb playing with your sensitive clit, the warm pit in your stomach boiling over as you spilled out onto Jean's pulsating length.

You pulled away from Reiner and cried out as Jean pulled you close to him, pinning your hands behind your back as he fucked you through your orgasm, laying you against the cold tiles that cut through your warmth. He laid on top of your shaking figure; he laid perfectly on your arch, putting all his weight on you to hold you down. Pulling out of you, Jean came on your ass, using a hand to smear it all over you. You noticed that Bertholdt finally turned around, a concerned look on his face as he held a rag, sitting in a chair.

Finally letting you go, Jean stood up smiling as he watched you lay on the ground. Walking around you, he stands at your hand. Watching your chest heave up and down made satisfaction shoot through him. "Told you that you'd like it." Jean laughed at your dazed expression, glazed over eyes and a tired and euphoric smile on your face.

Before Jean could get into aftercare, Bertholdt swooped you up as you cried out. You were sensitive, and they were pretty rough. "Aftercare is essential. Let's clean you up, baby." Bertholdt held you close, smiling softly as you looked at him through teary eyes.

He sat back in the chair, using the damp rag to wipe away the spit that covered your face, along with the nut on your ass, and also your folds, while he told you how perfect you had been, how sexy it was to watch his friends use you while your face was in his shirt. "Can you do me a favour?"

Looking up, you nodded your head, listening to whatever Bertholdt is about to say. You would speak, but you were still coming down from your high.

"Let me taste you." Passion burns in his eyes as Bertholdt licks his lips. You couldn't say no, not to that face. You hear the other boys laugh and tease the both of you.

You hide your face in his shirt as he wraps his around you, "you don't have to, but I'd like it." he muttered so only you could hear. He was giving you an out; if today had been too much, then Bertholdt hoped to do it someday along the line.

" I want to," you say hoarsely, your throat still ached from Reiner. "Let's lay by the shower," Bertholdt instructed as he covered your named body to one of the showerheads. He positioned you so that the water would hit your upper stomach. Turning it on to the lowest setting, water gently spurts out of the faucet, spraying a warm mist over your body that ached from being slutted out by Jean and Reiner. Who knew the pairing made for a devilish dicking down.

Bertholdt brought you back to his attention as he lifted your legs over his shoulders. He scooted close enough to smell your desire. He teased your clit with a light brush of his fingers. You cry out, the feeling of want to build deeply inside you.

"Such a tease," you muttered, bucking your hand against his skimming hand. Laughing lightly at you, Bertholdt teases your clit a few times before he sucked on it. Your thigh squeeze, involuntarily but Bertholdt opened your legs up. His tongue danced around your clit, rolling it between his lips as you began to moan out, your hands resting on his head, tingling as water lightly drizzles upon your arm. Bertholt put his arms around you, massaging your tummy in his hand while his tongue rubbed your clit. He sucked on every part of your pussy, that he could.

As he began to fuck you with his tongue, he dropped a hand down to run a tight circle with his thumb on your clit. Convulsing, you bucked your hips to match the flow of his tongue, working for your orgasm. Your breath began laboured as you met eyes with the other guys.

“Such a good girl, look at the way your grinding into Bert’s face,” Marco praised as you began to hump their friend’s face while he worshiped you with his tongue.

"You look adorable when you are about to cum," Reiner teased as he chuckled at your expression. You couldn't help but chew your lip with anticipation for your release.

"I can't believe you are this slutty," Jean laughed as he fucked you with his eyes.

You began to babble, at a loss for words due to their words and Bertholdt devouring you like he hadn’t ate earlier today in the mess hall

They loved to see you so vulnerable like this; it was a side not many seen since you were a seasoned soldier. But to see you mewling around through touch was enough to drive them nuts. They often all fantasized about you, they knew that they had a mutual crush on you, which they playfully argued about but it was nothing detrimental. And now, here they are, fucking you together, and jacking off to the way your face contorted and the way your body twisted, begging for more.

“Damn, if i knew, ah, that your mouth was this good, I would’ve hopped on a lot sooner.” You breathed out, hard carding through his soft brown hair.

“You taste so damn sweet,” Bertholdt muttered, his nose nudging your pulsating clit as he dipped his tongue into your core. He groaned at the way you tasted as he spread you open, licking a bold strip down your folds.

You watch the others as they pump away with their cocks in hand. Black dots cover your vision as you feel another orgasm shoot through to, Soaking Bertholdt's chin and lips as he lapped up your orgasm, his hands massaging away at your tummy.

Curses leave your lips as you rock your hip into his mouth that attempted to swallow your soul. "Ah~ Fuck!" you cried out, tears pricking in your eyes.

"It's okay, Y/N." Marco's voice echoes through you as you shook with pleasure. Reaching for him, Marco took his hand in yours, and he used the other one to brush your tears away. "You've been doing so good, now of your turn to be pleasured." he purred in your ear as he guided you through your second orgasm.

You latch onto his lips with yours, your tongue fighting to devour each other. Marco grinned at your breathy moans that he swallowed.

As your moans came to a stop, you couldn't help but lightly push Bertholdt away from your center. You were way too sensitive, and if he could have it his way then, you'd be there in that spot, all damn night.

He laughed as he laid eyes on you, you looked fucked beyond your comprehension, and your mind was still catching up. "You tasted amazing, thank you." Bertholdt pressed his lips to yours one last time to let you taste yourself.

Humming in his mouth, you hug him. You felt thankful and were in utter bliss. You've never been fucked so good before. This was your first 5-some, and you knew this was heavily frowned upon, but these four made you feel the best you have ever felt.

Reiner handed you your shorts and his undershirt so that you could get dressed. "So," he began, both of your faces glowing red and hot. "I think I speak for the guys when I say, this was fun. If you weren't satisfied, or this isn't your thing, we don't have to do it again, but we could." Reiner trailed off as the guys mutually agreed out loud. “Shit we would be more than welcome to doing this frequently.”

"It was enjoyable, a bit too enjoyable. It seems like now we are a party of 5, causing regular sex isn't going to cut it if I can be fucked with that," you laugh as you slip your clothes on. Pressing your lip to Reiner's lips and then each boy after that.

"Reiner and Jean," you call as you break away from your kiss with Bertholdt. "Next time, maybe don't fight with each other." you giggle as they awkwardly grin with knowing smiles.

"You liked it," Jean muttered as he pulled you into him, tucking you into his side as he kisses the top of your head.

"I did, now let's finish." you admitting, grabbing your things to finish cleaning before Levi makes an appearances. You ignored the shaking of your legs until you had finished. The five of you are finally at the dorms when you collapse into Marco, who carried you back.

Like you had said, it was like a guilty pleasure. You enjoyed being around beautiful men who wanted on you hand and foot. They were amazing and the sex was great too.

#attack on titan #jean kirschtein imagine #jean kirschtein x reader #marco bott #marco bodt #marco bodt x reader #reiner braun smut #shingeki no kyojin #imagines #smut #aot smut #attack on titan smut #bertholdt x reader #jean brainrot #reiner brainrot

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mypoisonedvine · 4 years

Text

ear candy || Mike Weiss x reader

summary: for a good time, call ‘candy.’ she can’t fix your life but she can distract you from it for a while.

word count: about 2k

warnings: technically not smut but definitely close enough (dirty talk/phone sex), some angst, daddy kink, a touch of degradation/objectification kink?? very subtle tho

a/n: my goal with this was to make it very dialogue heavy because I wanted it, like real phone sex, to be mostly about the words rather than anything else! so I kept the descriptions to a minimum, hope you don’t mind…

You’d heard that more established phone sex operators had companies and screeners and services to help them disguise their number. All you had was an ad in the paper and a landline, but it got the job done.

Technically, you had no way to know if a call from a number you didn’t recognize was a horny customer or something actually important, but it was pretty obvious when the phone rang at one in the morning on Friday night wasn’t going to be your bank or something.

You let it ring two, three, four times before picking up, putting on a slightly sultry voice as you greeted, “hey.”

“Hey,” the voice returned— so much more assured than you were used to, more confident and casual, nothing like the married men whispering to keep from waking up their wives, nothing like the nervous first-timers who made it clear that you were a mistake they would regret. “Saw your ad in the paper…”

“I’m glad you called,” you smiled, “what’s your name?”

"Mike,” he answered quickly. “What’s yours?”

"Hi, Mike,” you purred. “You can call me Candy.”

“I’m not gonna call you that,” he sighed, and suddenly the air of confidence was gone; not to fear or secrecy, but to obvious weakness, to exhaustion, to an ache that you wish you didn’t understand as well as you did. “Tell me your real name.”

“You don’t know that Candy isn’t my real name,” you defended.

“Yes I do. Tell me your real name,” he demanded again, though his tone wasn’t actually very demanding. You did it anyway. “It’s pretty,” he decided, a little crack in his voice making your heart twist.

“You don't sound like you're doing too good,” you noted, trying not to make it too pitying but still sympathetic.

"My wife left me."

You nodded, to no one in particular, because you definitely knew how to handle this kind of guy, even if it had been a while since one had called. "I'm sorry to hear that. How can I help you?"

"I can't stand being alone," he explained tensely.

"I can definitely help with that…" you trailed off. “I can just listen, if that’s what you need.”

“No, I... I want you to talk,” he assured, making you smirk slightly.

“Do you have a credit card, Mike?” you prompted.

“Yeah, yeah, lemme give you the number,” he mumbled, the sounds of shuffling indicated that he was searching for his wallet.

He dictated the numbers to you as you sat up and dashed to your computer, entering them in and stalling a bit until the card came back approved. “So, Mike, tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Nothing, it’s a blank slate,” he murmured, voice lilted with a smirk. “Wanna give me something to think about?”

“What do you wanna know?”

“Tell me what you’re wearing.”

“Not much, I was in bed when you called… so just a t-shirt.”

“Just a t-shirt?”

“Yeah… it’s too big for me, it’s an old Cowboys shirt my ex left behind…”

“Cowboys? You’re breakin’ my heart, honey,” he chuckled.

“You’re a Houston fan?”

“It’s a symptom of being in Houston, right now, as we speak.”

“Fair enough,” you giggled. “Maybe I should take it off then, if it bothers you…?”

“So if my calculations are correct, that should mean you’re completely naked right now.”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

You set the phone down to remove the shirt, coming back with a chipper announcement: "Done!"

“Yep,” you agreed, popping your lips at the end of the word.

“Then do me a favor and play with your tits a little bit. Are your nipples hard?”

“Yeah, they got hard when I heard your voice, it’s really sexy.”

“Good, give ‘em a little pinch then… does it make you wet, when you touch them like that?”

“Mhmm, they’re really sensitive,” you admitted.

“I bet you’d love my tongue on them, wouldn’t you? You’d like me sucking on your tits?”

“Yes,” you sighed, “please, I’d love it so much.”

“Why don’t you touch your pussy for me?” he prompted, cocky as ever.

“Tell me how, exactly,” you bargained. “I wanna touch myself the way you would touch me.”

“Two fingers on your clit— slow, smooth circles…”

You moaned a little, following his instructions. “Fuck, Mike, it feels really good.”

“I like when you moan my name like that. By the end of the night you’re gonna be screaming it for me, how’s that sound?”

“Sounds like exactly what I need.”

“Yeah, I bet so, bet you really need to get fucked. And it’s handy, then, that I really, really need to fuck something, god I’m so worked up I could just lose it.”

"Yeah? Tell me about it."

"M'hard, so hard, can't stop thinking about what it would be like to be inside you."

"I like the sound of that. What would you do to me, if you could?'

"I'd fuck you so good, sweetheart, until you begged me to stop because you couldn’t come anymore."

"Mmm, I bet so, you sound like you know how to fuck.”

“Hell yeah I do, and you sound like you need a thick cock.”

“Is that what you’re offering?” you hummed, biting your lip.

“If you think you can take it.”

“Fuck, I’ll try my best… it’ll probably be a pretty tight fit.”

“Good. I wanna fucking ruin you.”

“Oh god,” you groaned, “can I please put something inside me? Two fingers?”

“Just one,” he instructed.

You whined when you pushed one finger in and it wasn’t nearly enough to satiate your needs. “I need more, please…”

“Okay baby, just one more but go slow, I like when you get desperate.”

After a few quiet moments where you could only hear his breathing and your own needy moans, curiosity got the better of you. “Are you stroking your cock, Mike?” you asked softly.

“Yes,” he answered, the little strain in his voice making you confident he was telling the truth.

“How does it feel?”

“Good,” came another hasty reply.

“It would feel so much better if it was my pussy, if I was riding you right now.”

“I’d be so fucking deep in you,” he groaned tensely. “That’s where I wanna come, too… wanna fill you up right inside that snug little cunt.”

“Oh fuck,” you whispered. “Please, daddy…”

“What was that? I can’t hear you,” he taunted.

“I— I said ‘please… daddy,’” you repeated, afraid it would turn him off but he let out a dark chuckle that ended with a groan and a hissing breath in through his teeth.

“Fuck, that’s hot. Is that what you need, sweetheart? Need daddy to take care of you?”

“Yes, please, need you…”

“Don’t worry honey, I will, just keep fucking yourself with your fingers, and don’t come until I say so.”

You whined but didn’t dare disobey, moaning with each touch to your sensitive bud, not holding any sound back so he could hear how needy you were loud and clear.

“Please, I need to come, wanna come for you, Mike,” you begged when you were starting to worry you couldn’t hold back much longer.

“I know, but not yet… almost.”

“Please, daddy” you sobbed, weak and almost a whisper, making him grunt a little.

“Just say my name when you come, honey, and don’t stop rubbing that little clit until you’re absolutely sure you can’t take any more.”

“Fuck, Mike,” you hissed. “Oh god, I’m gonna— fuck, daddy, I’m gonna come so hard for you.”

“Good, just like that, baby, keep going,” he egged you on.

“Mike!” you yelped, shocks reverberating through your body as your back arched up off the bed. His moans encouraged you further, echoing in your ears and somehow making everything more intense. It was easy like this to imagine that he was on top of you, moaning in your ear as he filled you with his cock; your walls clenched around nothing, begging to be stretched around something, as you felt a gush of warmth seep from your entrance.

Like he’d told you to, you kept going past the peak until your hands gave out, until your body was numb with pins and needles from the intensity of your pleasure.

“Oh my god,” you sighed, “that was… I haven’t come that hard in so long.”

“You sound incredible when you come, baby,” he cooed, “think you can do it again before I finish?”

“I’m too sensitive, it’ll hurt,” you whined.

“Give it a minute, then,” he chuckled. “Did you make a mess, honey?”

“Um, a little,” you giggled. “I’m so wet it’s dripping onto the sheets now.”

“Fuck, wish I could help you clean that up,” he purred, laughing at your little gasp. “Would you like that?”

“Yeah, I bet you’d be good at it… you’re good with your tongue so far.”

“And you?”

“Me? Well, I bet no matter how big you are, I could take you all the way down my throat.”

“Fuck, honey, you’re so dirty, huh?”

“Yeah, and I really like sucking cock…” you added coyly. “Would you let me get on my knees and taste you, daddy?”

“Whenever you wanted, sweetheart, fuck… I’m close, keep going honey, you’re so fucking good.”

“Please come for me, oh my god, please come,” you moaned, “I want you to come— please daddy?”

“I will, baby, I’m gonna come… fuck, I’m so close.”

“I wish I could help you, daddy, I wish you were fucking me so hard right now, using me, making me your toy.”

“Yeah baby, you just wanna be owned, huh? Wanna be daddy’s little slut?”

“Yours, fuck, wanna be all yours.”

“That’s it, keep talking— m’gonna come.”

“Yes, daddy, stroke that cock for me, close your eyes and imagine I’m there with you, begging for your come… I want it all in me, daddy, I want it leaking out of me all night, please please please come, please come inside me—”

“Fuck!” he yelped, moaning louder than ever.

“Yes, keep going, fuck, you sound so hot,” you encouraged, “give me all that fucking come, daddy.”

A throaty, exhausted groan preceded a sigh as he began to catch his breath, making you smile pridefully.

“Shit,” he hissed, “I have to clean this up all by myself, huh?”

“Yeah, that’s the less fun part,” you sighed.

“You’re good,” he offered, voice still breathy as he panted a little bit. “Thanks, that really… that helped.”

“Feeling a little better, daddy?”

“God, don’t say it like that,” he groaned, “you’re just gonna get me goin’ again.”

“Maybe that’s what I want.”

“What you want is to take all my money by keeping me on the phone all night,” he chuckled.

“Okay, I’ll let you go,” you relented. “I bet you’re gonna sleep well tonight.”

“Better than I have in months,” he agreed.

"Will you call me again sometime?"

A little pause made you worried he wouldn’t. "Maybe we could meet up instead?" he offered hesitantly.

"Different price than talking on the phone…" you warned him.

"Yeah, I know, that's fine," he dismissed. “We’ll work that out later. But maybe you could come to my motel room?”

“I can do that,” you grinned. “You talk a big game, I’m looking forward to finding out if you can live up to my expectations.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re gonna regret saying that. You won’t be able to walk when I’m done with you.”

You laughed a little, clenching your thighs together. “Promises, promises…”

#mike weiss x reader #mike weiss smut #mike weiss x y/n #mike weiss x you

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oh-for-fic-sake · 4 years

Text

Interview With Mr Wayne

Masterlist

You visit Bruce after inning your court case to celebrate but Bruce hashad a bad day and decides tocheer imself up with a little roleplay~

Warnings: Adult Situations 18+,Smut ,Teasing ,Fingering, Sir Kink?, Panty Kink?, Desk sex, Swearing!, Overstimulating

A/N: This has been sitting on my tablet for about eight nine weeks maybe more? Finally finished it. Just been so side tracked with my other stories. But here is some Bruce Wayne smut..I hope you like it xx

Taglist: @125bluemachine125 @iloveyouyen @thefangirlsblog @itismineru @tinabean37

You quickly ran through the lobby of the tower barely remembring to swipe your card against the reader, a new addition that Bruce had installed since nearly getting caught with you in the public elevator now you had a private elevator that lead you to the left of his office in a small concealed hall next to the toilet just behind Mary's desk and it needed a card to access it wasnt much but it was something, its not like you were ever going to convince Bruce to not have sex at work...It was like asking the man to stop being a smug little shit or like asking Tim to cut out caffeine it just wasn't going to happen. You came to a stop trying to bite back a squeal, you was happy so happy, your old boss had decided to settle out of court once all the evidence was put out for her to see some of which was going to be on her record for a long time. Tom had quit once he heard about what had happened and she had gone bust and couldn't afford to go to court already processing for bankruptcy. Tom is trying to buy it from her and was going through getting a loan from the bank. Bruce had said if they didn't aprove he would give Tom the money outright just to 'piss off that bitch'. You on the other hand didn't care about that instead you was pleased with the fact that you hadn't hid behind Bruce,you had done it alone... You had won by yourself well with the help of two of Bruce's lawyers..He wanted you to use them all but eight seemed a bit over the top, either way you kept Bruce out of it. You wanted to prove that you could stand on your own two feet in some respects. Your aim was to make an example of her, to show that you are a force to be reckoned with in your own right and that just because you have been quiet up until now does not mean you'll let everyone walk over you, not anymore. You smiled in the elevator mirror pulling at your blazer shimmying your bra as the bones dug in to your ribs making you wince you'd gone dressed in a two piece pinstripe suit, smart high waisted straight cut pants the blazer had two rows of buttons giving what you called the 'old mafia' vibe and a dark plum almost black shirt stolen from Bruce's closet for...Reasons. Your high heels echoed on the marble floor as you exited the elevator rounding the corner seeing Mary sitting there balancing a pen below her nose on her lip you giggled. "Working had or hardily working?" She jumped dropping the pen on the desk turning to look at you and wolf whistled. "Well if I didn't know for definite that you were bobbing my bosses knob I'd try to peel that suit of you and have a taste myself you look delicious!" You rolled your eyes used to the womans not so subtle flirting. "If I ever get curious I will give you a call" she giggled at your monotone reply licking her lips "Promises promise's~" you huffed at her shaking your head then nodded to the full board room Bruce sitting at the head of the table looking just about done with their shit. His shoulders were tense and squared as one little man raised his voice across at him. You licked your lips taking your bottom one into your mouth biting it as Bruce held his gaze steady and smiled making the other one sit his scrawny as back down. Fuck yes, you loved boss Bruce, and Batman Bruce and Alpha Bruce fuck any Bruce...But Boss Bruce got you going like nothing else, you almost whined seeing him work, a stern gaze across the table daring them to challenge him further. Oh god you just wanted to walk in and fuck him there and then, let the others see him fuck the life out of you. You sucked on your bottom lip again trying to fight back a pitiful whine. So public sex may have become a kink since your little holiday...You'd both been caught fucking on the beach by one of the staff Bruce hired to take care of the house and when he hadn't stopped just kept rutting into you faster knowing they were stealing glances, the way his voice dropped teasing you about having an audience how he wanted you to give them a show. Ugh. It had made you cum so hard you passed out for a few seconds and when you woke he was still at it albeit slower and biting off chuckles away as you flushing so fast you became dizzy below him. "You need a drink your looking thirsty there" you snapped yourself out of your thoughts and glared playfully at the woman as she got up walking to the small corridor you'd came from, not only did it hide the new elevator and toilet but also a small kitchenette. You sighed following her taking one last glance as Bruce pointed sterny at a few of the men you could only imagine how deep his voice had gotten you shivered. "Come on before you leave a puddle! They have only just polished this shit...And I don't feel like trying to find a 'caution wet floor' sign" you groaned at her. She hopped up on to the counter waiting for the kettle to boil. You moved to lean against it placeing down Your bag and the folder holdjng your settlement details you'd brought with you to show Bruce. "Sooo where did you go off to back there? It looked...fun" you smiled at her blushing. "Just thinking of our holiday was all...We experimented, seeing him in there just reminded me" she moved adding sugar to two cups snorting at you before nudging you playfully. "Oo kinky tell me more~" "I dont kiss and tell Im afraid...Not sober anyway" she snorted at that then waved a hand at you. "Kiss and tell? psh like all you did was kiss...So no details?, not one tiny little ounce of Juicey gossip? come ooonnn!" you shook your head at her with a grin and she pouted "Oh boo! your just like him no fun at all! , I tried getting details out of Bruce and he just went red and shy...SHY! I didn't know he could do shy... So what ever you did Mama me next? please and thank you" you flushed at her laughing her off as she handed you your tea wrigglingnher eyesbrows. You both sat in comfortable silence for a few moments sippingnyour drinks. "Soo? Did you top him?" You choked spitting your tea back into the cup coughing and then turned to her gaping like a fish. "Where did?-did he tell you?" Her face lit up and she giggled around a whispered 'HO-LY SHIT!' "Oh my fuck you did! Get it girl! You teach that big boss man! You make him eat the peach?" You blushed and stam,ered tryjng to find the words to get out of this one. "Oh fuck shit look seriously dont tell anyone he'd never forgive me if that got out!" "Oh honey no! I'd never!...But no he didn't tell me I guessed, you know he did go shy so...Must have been somthing new...But kudos to giving him a taste of girl power..Enjoy yourself atleast" "Oh...well yes I was surprised I managed to pull it off..I mean Bruce is big and strong and I wasn't exactly sure the cuffs would hold when he realised what I did he got smug teasing me...Then mad when he realized I wasnt fucking around-" she squealed and bounced on the spot "Shit!? You just sprung cuffs on him?! wow Mama you got a set of balls!...Bet you paid for it" you chuckled sipping your tea. "Well.. He got his pay back...The man has more stamina then I give him credit for..." she snorted nodding shaking her head dropping to conversation seeing you were uncomfortable. You shifted before speaking up again. "So how long has he been in there for?" She peered around the side into the hall that had a veiw of the clock. "Bout three hours...They are opening a new office in central city which Bruce is fine with, it will make a few things easier...But the board want to place one of their sons as the branch manager, Bruce said no. This kid has only been here for two years and hasn't got a single promotion or anything! He isn't really any good at his job ,he only got the job by pulling strings. Bruce wants to promote someone who deserves it not hand it over to some fucking daddies boy...But true to form this guy started going ahead anyway, telling the others that Bruce agreed apparently, daddy promised this little shit the job...This tit doesn't know it yet but Bruce is about to fire him his son and two other board members for this little drama." You frowned at her "He can do that? I thought only the share holders or some shit could sack someone that high up?" She gave you a look and blinked slowly. "Honey your man is the main shareholder...He owns like ninety percent of the company....Thats why his name is on the building...On that note lets head back I wanna see this...You probably will to just remember no puddles~" you moved to swipe at her playfully as she scampered away down the hall laughing you followed snatching up your folder holding the documents of your settlement in your hands.

You turned the corner you heard raised voices and saw Bruce sitting leaning back arms crossed his head was tilted and he looked pleased with himself as the three older men and one young sprog was stangding before him each in various emotional states. The oldest one was shouting at Bruce with animated hand gestures towards himself and the young man; you assumed he was the father and son. The young man was more panicked then anything you could see from here he didnt want to be there, he wanted his father to shut up and to leave. You turned your attention to the other two middle aged men around Bruce's own age both had seemed to accept what ever had just happened. Bruce moved forward sitting staight then pointed to them saying something else making everyone in the room flinch then he leaned back holding his hands out at his sides then nodded to the door. You froze as Bruce saw you and smiled at you for a second, your view was interrupted as the now unemployed men tried storming past the desk. "Err excuse me gentlemen? I'm afraid you will need to hand in your company id's and passes..." the eldest swore and clambered over to the desk, you moved to the side with your tea and sipped it slowly. Letting the irate man pull his wallet from his pocket tearing the cards out and slammed them down then he turned to his son who handed in his id sheepishly then they both left quickly with one last snarl to Bruce through the glass. You released a breath when all four men were in the elevator and out of sight. "I always hated that man, rude and pig headed...He is elitist...Which is pretty ironic when you realise he was raised by working class parents." You snorted at her then turned to the board room as Bruce said something that looked like a threat well if the reactions were anything to go by. Then he dismissed the remaining men with a wave of his hand. Before any of them were out he had already signaled you to enter the room. You moved picking up your cup and folder then circled Mary's desk. "Ooo the board room today? I shall put the cleaners on sandby" You flipped her the bird as she laughed out loud "Fuck you Mary" you called over your shoulder walking towards the door. "If only you would my love~" you giggled at her shaking your head. You bit your lip watching as the men leaving the room all but jumped out of your way, not wanting to risk any contact with you especially when Bruce was watching them like a hawk....And in what they precived as a bad mood. The last man held the door open for you as you entered you nodded to him. "Thank you" he stuttered flushing as you smiled "Y-your welcome" he quickly left the room almost tripping over his feet as Bruce's gaze scalded his back.

You walked forward towards him as he spun his chair to face you a devious smirk on his face man spreading with his hands resting just above his crotch. "Well what do we have here?..Heels? Pantsuit? And no doubt that folder's holding the little ladies resumé..." you squinted at him playfully and recived a wink in return. So thats how he wants to play it today?. You smiled you'd play along. You moved standing taller. Prouder. "Of course Mr Wayne...Would you like a peek?" Your words rolled off the tongue in a sultry voice full of promise. He moved holding out a hand for you to place the folder in it. "Only if your offering Mrs?" "Miss Cooke with an E and if I wasn't offering I wouldn't be here I assure you" he chuckled a deep smug sound that made your knees quiver slighltly as you played along with him. He hummed flicking open the folder scanning the documents. Your heart sped up as his smirk got wider and wider untill he was grinning like a cheshire cat. "Very impressive...Your Boyfriend must be proud of you for such an acomplishment" you giggled taking a step closer to him. "I'd like to think so Mr Wayne" you grinned yourself as you saw him stiffen at you calling him his title. He quickly flipped the folder closed and let hit fall onto the huge table with a slap. "I would say most definetly...I wonder what he would think? you being here at my disposal?" you sucked through your teeth. "Well he is a man in uniform, bit of a brute at times but there are ways to placate him, I'm sure I can persuade him ~ if I think the reward is great enough" he chuckled shaking his head and gave a lopsided grin before speaking in a gravley tone low and tempting. "Oh I assures you miss Cooke it will be worth it~" you moved forward leaning on the table infront of him hands gripping the sides and leaned down bending at the waist holding his gaze before trailing down to his crotch then back up smirking. "Ha! come now Mr Wayne...There are certain things we both know money can't buy~" he moved forward to capture your lips but you dodged him swiftly. He growled and leaned back taking a quick glance to the door seeing Mary had gone...The elevator light red signaling noone was going to reach this floor until he reactivated it, a very good investment if he did say so himself!. He turned to you smirking knowing just how this will play out. He moved a hand capruting your bottom lip with his thumb you licked at him making him humm, then you pulled it into your mouth watching him closely as you wrapped your tongue around him lapping and massaging it he smirked and pressed down lightly making you moan and suck harshly. "..So a sharp tongue...Not to sharp, you mouth will come in handy" you hummed a a small giggle around his digit and bit lightly running your teeth over him as he withdrew you winked at him playfully smaking your lips at him. He rolled his eye before snapping back into 'boss mode' crossing his arms over his chest leaning into the plush leather chair rolling it back a foot or so, taking his time to drink in the sight of you. Leaning back on the table he was about to make a mess of~ the pant suit definitely accentuated your curves the top button of the jacket fighting to contain your breasts he knew were being held high by a balcony bra just below... He grunted raising in his seat trying to catch a peek of the deep cleavage the bra produced but nope...Nothing the shirt you wore was large and fit snugly but sadly there were none of the dreaded button gaps for him you use as his own private little peep show. "I can see you have the skills for the most part...However there are some...Personal aspects to the position I can't have just anybody as my assistant, they have to have a drive...A willingness to do anything it takes to get the job done...Tell me Miss Cooke could you see yourself going the distance....The whole nine yards so to speak?" You snorted at him and tried swollowing a chuckle...You tired to hold it in but you couldn't. He smiled dropping his roleplay for a second shaking his head at you but quickly you found your composure and stood straight. "I think nine is pushing it~" he frowned at you playfully and crooked a finger with a sly look. "Oh really what ever happened to 'oh Bruce its in my tummy~'" you gasped horrified as he tried mimicking a high moan...You have never said that!....Well you don't think you had to be honest when your fucking him you never really know what's coming out of your mouth... "YOU?! I have never said that....Have I?" He through his head back laughing loud echoing through the large empty space. "No but you've thought it~ I can tell...Either way my sweet little woman why don't we see if its possible~ see if you can back up those words" you shook your head blushing it was completely possible youd screamed that out at him. And the idea you could have shamed and aroused you. "...I'm sure I could handle anything your dishing out Mr Wayne." He groaned moving his hands away from his stomach reajusting himself tugging his belt. You flushed when his hand rose quickly pulling your shirt from your pants he chuckled seeing how far it fell... It was definitely one of his, that would be why there was no tugging on the buttons you smiled shyly. "Your Boyfriends?" And just like that the game was back on track. You moved twiddling the lower buttons of the shirt a little embarassed about stealing it this morning. "W-well Mr Wayne today was a big day...Its intimidating coming here, standing on my own two feet...His scent calms me down I feel safe" he smiled softly before slowly popping the buttons on the suit jacket pulling it off and letting it fall to the floor behind you he burst out laughing as the sleeves of his shirt fell down a good few inches over your hands as the jacket wasnt holding them up and longer. "Hey! Don't laugh at me!" He moved forward kissing you softly. "Sorry sweets...You just look so cute!" You pouted as he ran his hands across you slowly pulling the shirt up snaking a hand the the side zipper of the trousers and with a quick flick of his wrist the heavy fabric fell to the floor with a soft thump.

He moved back taking a moment to admire you standing in just his shirt and underwear before him. It looked like a dress how you smoothly tucked it in, he didnt have a clue he groand and bit his lip then moved. He rolled the chair back towards you and pressed you to sit on the table. You half expected him to slip his hands under your ass and drag down your panties but he didn't. He pushed both feet to rest on the egde of the table forcing you to lean back and catch yourself on your hands. "Bruce?" His eyes flicked up to your uncertain gaze he just grinned wickedly and winked at you. "Hold still Miss Cooke~" and with that he moved his hands from the bottom of your legs, running his fingertips along your calfs making you shiver as he formed goosebumps on the skin, your breath hitched when he continued dragging them along your soft thighs down towards your center. Your pussy clenched and you moaned softly almost trying to rock towards him but you held back not moving you didnt' was to fall off the table. You flushed heart racing and your pussy wept onto the cotton making you whine knowing it wouldn't be long befor he noticed. Bruce chuckled at your little whines and soft pants as he bypassed your center and cupped the top of your thighs moving to your hips rubbing slow warm circles before retracing his movements coming back to the soft pudgy thighs then up. He moved again skipping your hot wanting center and began undoing the buttons of his shirt that was draped over you stoping just under your bust and flicking it behinde you pulling it from under your ass roughly causing you to squeak as your heated skin hit the cool pollished wood. He chuckled and moved his hand cupping your throbbing center teasing the wet hole with a firm rub of his fingers squeazing you and circling the damp patch on your undies prodding shallow teasing thrusts. You through your head back and moaned as his hand continued rolling and rubbing the flexing muscles, it was incredible each and every time this man touched you but there something about him groping you through the layers of your clothes...Something taboo about being made to mess your underwear ,drenching them through. He moved flexing his strong hand squeezing your cunt. In a delicious possessive fashion. You grunted and rocked towards him the friction of your panties rubbing your clit, the warmth of his hand adding to the sensations. Your body was hot already the anticipation of things to come making you pants and breaths hitch his flicking and playing with your growing arousal smearing the small flood with his fingers dragging it across the gusset of your panties in deliberate strokes. "Ive never made you mess your panties before~ would you like that? For me to make you cum? Make you soak them through?" You bit your lip closing your eyes and gyrated your hips against him trying to chase an orgasm that was building far to slowly for your liking. You nodded clenching your fists into his shirt whining as the very first trembles began and you began hearing the your wetness againt his hand on the thin material. "Oh? You like that idea baby? For me to force you to cum? Force you to gush inside these cute little panties all over the table? The table where all the important meetings are held? Let your cum stain the wood right here? Right were I sit and work?" You nodded quickly gasping as his hot palm pulled back, you didn't have a chance to whine as he lifted it and gave a cupped plam slap to your whole wet center. The sharp slap made you jump rocking into him with a gruntal moan. He chuckled again then slapped quicker making you tremble. "FUCK! BRU-bruce! AH SH-IT PLEASE-please fuck please more~" he chuckled moving his other hand around your throat and squeezed just enough to make your breathes deeper. And slapped your pussy harder making it sting. You cried out nevertheless in lewd moans curling forward each slap left a sting that added to the warm hum of you nerves, insides protesting to being empty as they coiled and tensed. There was a knot deep inside that was pulled tighter and tighter with each movement he made mastering your insides without even touching them. A skill you hadn't truly accepted until now as he toyed with you. "Now now~ is that anyway to call out for your new boss, you should ask nicely.?.Be polite" you shook your head as he slapped again this time keeping it there and rubbed harsher and faster then before concentrating on your erect bud that pressed on the cotton. You bucked one foot slipping but bruce was quick leaning a knee on the table taking the weight of the foot keeping you open and still with a chuckle. He watched as tears began falling from your eyes...You were close so close he could tell. He tipped his hand rubbing the heel of his palm to your clit rubbing violently curling his fingers digging them over your hole pressing harder on the sensitive petals just below. "FuckFUCFUCK NOOO-I'M SORRY SIR! PLEASE MR WAYNE UGHAH AH oh-oh shit plea-please Mr Wayne please sir!" He smiled pressing his hand flat then began patting you quickly making you moan loudly. You closed your eyes pushing your hips towards him crying out as he sped up. Each well placed pat sent tremors up and down your spine you withered, legs tensing and untensing as you tried tochase the high. Your pussy grew warmer and yout breathes sharp. The tell tale signs of an impending orgasm that had crept up on you. "AH-FUCK PLE-PLEASE SIR PLEASE-MR WAYNE UGH-FUUUUGH SHIT PLEASE PLEASE MR WAYNE PLEEAASE!" He smirked and moved faster alternating his rubs and flicks with varying slaps and pinched your body tensed and arched painfully as you crieds out as he drove you higher and higher. "Thats it baby~.....Fuck you look so gorgeous, fucking incredible...Cum! I want you to cum inside those little panties all over my desk baby....Thats it all over Mr Waynes spot~ Good girl!" You choked out moans and grunts your body was shivering and your lust boiled in your tummy and finally with one final harsh wet slap you came loudly throwing yourself back at the force. Bruce barely captured you to soften your fall gently placing you to lie back on the desk ass only just on it. You cried out gyrating against Bruces still patting hand closing your eyes as your body let go falling over the edge of ecstasy. Your mind was blank...Black and there was nothing but the hot wave the full body rush that completely wiped you out leaving you very messy and satisfied.

You laid there panting looking to the ceiling with blurry eyes,you were crying softly and you was sure why. You felt the aftermath your body loose and trembling. You could faintly hear Bruces chuckles in the back ground over your harsh panting. "And that my love is how to cum hard...Shit what even set that one off?" He asked but you just hummed reaching out for him he chuckled and moved closer tugging you down the table, ass just hanging off the edge. You tilted your head up warily eyeing him and sighed flopping back down seeing him loosening his belt with one hand. The next thing you knew he had stepped between your spread thighs smooting his palms over them massaging the still trembling muscles. "Got you good huh babe?" You grunted which resulted in a kiss on your stomach from him. You frowned when he moved closer to line himself up. "Bruce I've got my-" he looked up at you winking and gave a cheeky smile hooking fingers in the side of our gusset. "I know...Wanna fuck with them on for a change...Got a thin for panties at the mineut" you flushed turning your head to the side watching his hands as theymoved to hold you. You were still far to exhausted to move. He just smiled and watched as he hooked the panties to the side. The way they moved made your pussy look plump and fucking perfect! As much as he wanted to feast on the perfectly smooth peach he had other matters to attend.

Bruce grunted letting the crown of his cock brush the wet silken folds, he almost loved this more then fucking you. The intimacy of him just ghosting your body, teasing you with his own cock watching as your tiny body swallowed him. He shuddered and dipped down finding the luxurious slit. Without wasting time he plowed into you. You grunted as he entered you pressing fast and hard you felt as your walls gave way, molding to his girth like always. You'd never get enough! This man was so incredibly intoxicating it was unreal. You moan high as he moved forward putting his weight on his cock he throbbed inside of you, the thick veins almost acting as a pulsing vibrator humming against your still tender nerves ignighting them all over again. He grunted pressing his balls to your pelvis then pulled back only to ram harder. You screeched moving your hands to his wrists as he place his heavy palms on your hips and began tugging you towards him. Soon he found his rhythm a fast unrelenting pace driven by his own impending release. You whined and melwed at ever push and pull his cock was spearin into you, massaging your g spot maing you see stars then finishingneach thrust at your cervix. The almost unbearable mix of pleasure and pain was to much and you screamed throwing your head back and forth spurred on by his growls as his voice got lost. Feral sounds come from him vibrating the air around you as he pounded away determined.

Your body was screaming, it wanted release, it wanted more..And it wanted to rest you trembled knees knocking against his pistoning hips as your insides clutched at him sucking him tighter and tighter then without warning you fell again. This time was much more intense your whole body locked almost cramping and tremblingat thesametime, you couldnt move, or speak you just looked up wide eyed as waves of ecstasy rolled over you. Bruce through his head back with a victorious shout you vaguely felt his balls rise and tighten against you ass then he released inside of you grunting and rutting as he caem drawing it out as mich as he could then finally came to a halt and fell over you.

You panted weeping quietly moving to wipe your face and press our hair back. He arched over you kissing you slow a sensually no tongues nothing lewd just open mouthed kisses pouring his love into you in the best way he knew how. He pulled back looking to you then laughed. "Wow...That was better then I imagined" you nodded agreeing with him and pushed him back. "Babe...My panties are hurting me can you?" He jumped back quickly swiftly removjn him self and tucked himself away whilst pulling your panties back over our center. He patted our mound casually making you jolt and whine. "Bruuuce! No its sensitive!" He smiled eyeing your pussy, even through the wet material he could still tell it was a very happy freshy fucking little pussy! Swollen and pink! Just how he liked it. He moved pulling your trousers to your ankles chuckling. "Two...Three at once!" You frowned for a second then your face dropped...The list. You rolled your eyes and sat up leaning on unsteady arms and watched as he rolled up the trousers pulling then up to your knees. "Okay what were they?" He smiled slyly and hooked an arm around your waist sliding you off the table onto your feet. You staggered in the heels and grabbed his shoulders as he settled your weight onto his chest pulling the trousers up over your ass and zipped them up. "Board room, cum in your panties and fuck you in your fuck me heels! Three down in one hit!" You chuckled up at him as he explained smugly he was definitely proud of this one. You turned faceing the now desecrated table and flinched. Now that was a fucking mess! You turned glaring at him motioning a hand to the puddle. "Bruce -I you? Fuck it you don't care do you?...Nope didn't think so...Fuck my legs are still like jelly!" He grinned and wriggled his eyebrows at you. "Sooo you wont get very far if I said I'm ready for round two?~" you gaped at him instantly looking to his crotch he laughed waving you off. "Not really sweets...Lets go home, we could test out the jets in the bath, its supposed to give you a 'real massage experience'" you frowned at him as he scooped ou up swiping your bag and court settlement the began leaving the room walking down to the private elevator. "Jets? We had jets in the bath since when?" He flushed as he entered the elevator pressing the garage level. "Since this afternoon...I had a new let spa bath tub fitted in our suite...Damien caught us in the hot tub and yeah-" you blinked not following for a few seconds then clicked.

"HE FUCKING WHAT!? WHEN DID HE-oh my god thats what you were freaked out about!? Oh no oh god he was me-did he see me? Please tell me he didnt?!" Bruce smiled cutely walking out of the elevatore to the car it was the lamboghini again today. "No he didnt see you I covered you but...I figured it wouldnt happen if we had somewhere else with jets so new bath" you sighed nodding as he placed you down by the car then tugged at the folder. "I'm proud of you for this, so very proud you stuck to your guns and you did it alone..You've proved with this that you're not a push over , that your a strong woman .A very very stong independent woman and I am so happy for you, but most of all I'm proud that I get to call you mine!" You smiled cupping his cheek and moved in kissing him softly. "Thank you Bruce, I want to show everyone that...That I may now be considered a kept woman...But I can fight for myself, protect myself when I need to and I'm glad you let me do that you don't know how much it means for you to let me do that" he through his head back laughing loud, you didnt understand you almost felt insulted until he calmed down and cupped your head in both his hands. "I don't let you do anything love! You can do what ever you want...Fucking let you stick up for yourself? Your free to do what ever you want...You want a business? I'll get you a bussines , you want to travel? we will! I'd do anything for you I love you...Outside of the bed you are my fucking queen, but inside the sheet? Your my very own pillow princess-OUCH! FUCK SWEETS?" You swooned he could have asked for anything then and there and youd have said yes...Until the pillow princess comment. "I'm not a pillow princess! You-just your? UGH! STOP BEING SO FUCKING GOOD AND I'D BE ABLE TO THINK! AND POSSIBLY MOVE!" he laughed ou off opening the passenger side door motioning for you to get in. You rolled your eyes and they say chivalry is dead? Once seated the smiled to yourself. That was probably the most romantic thing he'd said and he had to ruin it with his typiclal bruce smug bull shit...But then again that was your Bruce. He slid into the drivers side.and you leaned over. "Hey babe?" He glanced at you as he turned the ignition reving the car to life.

"Yes my love?"

"You said anything right?" You twiddled your fingers and then move your hand to his thigh as the car began moving.

"Yes sweets anything"

"Teach me to drive-" he squinted nodding agreeing instantly as he pulled out ontothe road. "This thing" he snapped his gaze to you. What? His precious heart, his beautiful little lover, sweet girlfriend behind the wheel of a seriously powerfull supercar? His heart almost stopped at the idea. "Are-are you sure? Its a powerful car...Don’t you want me to get you something err less-" "No I love this car its the first one you drove me around in...I want to drive it Bruce" he looked to you casually and pulled out tothe main road slowly cursing himself. He was going to refuse on the grounds of your own safty but, one look at your puppydog eyes and that was it you clapped cutely with a small 'yay'... one thing was for sure before you got behinde the wheel there was going to be some serious automatic breaking sensors put on...and a fucking speed limiter....and bullet proof windows and panels....Maybe some traker devices to...Like the one in your bracelet. "Babe I can here you thinking...Its just a car love don't...Don't go 'batting' it out okay?" Bruce didn't look at you as he drove on just a vaguely familiar hmm that meant he was pretending to agree with you...Or not listening one of the two his hmm's are all very similar.

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