A Good Citizen
by Wrestlr
7.
The day was Joe’s twentieth birthday, and he had been a full citizen for a few years by then. He had been out celebrating and drinking beer with the guys. As he sauntered down the night-dark streets toward home, he fingered the full-mounded crotch of his work pants, and he almost wished he had stuck around to mess with the gang in the back room of the bar. Hell, he had already gotten his rocks off with most of those studs. Maybe he should find a new bar with new faces, new bodies, new pricks and asses.
He turned a corner and almost ran into a tall hulk of a man in the blackness—a Civil Security cop!
“Crap!” Joe gulped. “You scared the shit out of me!”
“Identity, please.”
“Sure.” Joe dug his identification card from his hip pocket, offered it so that the policeman could scan the microchip planted there.
The man took the card, flicked his scanner over it, and compared Joe’s face against both the official photograph that came up on the scanner and the one on his identification card. In the reflected glow, Joe could see the man’s dark, short-clipped hair, his angular features, the crisp uniform framed to powerful shoulders and bulging chest, the name-tag—Hello! My name is Bill!—and the embedded subliminals that made Joe feel a little disoriented and passive.
“What’re you doing out so close to curfew, Joe?” the officer asked, turning off the scanner and returning the card.
“Been at a bar drinking with the-guys, celebrating my birthday. I’m headed home.”
“Good enough.” Bill wet his lips, gazing at Joe in the dimness. “Well, happy birthday. Sorry I scared you, pal.”
“Hell, the police are our pals, right?”
“Damn right.” Bill chuckled easily. “I’d be hitting one of the bars myself if I hadn’t been given duty tonight. Get a little action?’
“No.” Joe had never had much to do with the police, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, wary. “Things were kinda quiet.”
“They must’ve been, if a good-looking stud like you didn’t make out.” Bill clapped Joe on the shoulder. “C’mon. I’ll walk a ways with you.”
“Okay.”
They started down the dark, deserted street, and Joe felt a nervous tension in his guts. Bill looked plenty rugged, built like a tank, friendly—too damned friendly, maybe.
“We’ve been having some trouble down here by the park,” Bill said casually, his hand still on Joe’s shoulder. “A gang of pre-citizen punks, running loose, breaking curfew, breaking a few laws too.”
“Yeah? I didn’t hear anything about it.”
“They jumped a guy last week. Took him in the bushes and beat him up, really worked him over.”
“Oh.” Dangerous emotions, dangerous intensity, sometimes violence. Joe remembered when he had been a pre-Adjustment punk at the mercy of every hormone and emotion that surged bigger-than-life through him, though Joe found of course that he no longer recalled how intense those feelings had been. He felt the policeman’s fingers stroke across his back, outlining the shifting muscles beneath his shirt. “Uhhh—what happened to the guy?”
“They stripped him, used their belts on him, got him by the balls, humiliated him, made him suck cock, fucked his ass.” Bill’s voice was thick in his throat, and he took an audible breath, then shrugged. “The guy will be okay; no serious injuries and an Attitude Adjustment will help him deal with the stress. Those punks—I guess they dig rough-sex.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Hell, this isn’t like the old days. There’s nothing illegal about studs getting their kicks together, right? But they’re taking it too far. When we catch them, they’ll be hauled in and given an Attitude Adjustment too. That’ll fix them right up. Sure, they’re a little young for it, but it’s for their own good. We gotta stop them from growing up to be sex-rebels, right?”
“Sure.”
“I figure you know how to defend yourself.” Bill let his hand slip down Joe’s back and patted him on the butt, buddy-like. “I bet you could take care of yourself if those punks jumped you.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Joe wondered what the hell Bill was hinting at. Nothing, maybe. Or maybe the rugged cop expected Joe to suck him off, and he felt strangely excited by the thought of letting the subliminals do their work on him, being forced to kneel in front of the uniformed stud, licking the sweat off his nuts, sucking his cock, doing whatever he ordered, maybe even getting fucked. But that last part—Joe shook his head slightly at the thought: Hell, no!
They reached the blackness of the park, and Bill gripped Joe’s upper arm. “I usually stop here to take a leak,” the officer muttered. “If you’ve been drinking, you must need to take one, too.”
“Yeah.”
Numb, more aroused than scared, Joe obeyed the cop, going with him into the overgrowth bordering the park, a dimly lit clearing, hidden from the street, both of them opening their pants and pulling out their dicks, standing side by side and pissing, golden sprays arching into the darkness. From the corner of his eye, Joe could see the uniformed male beside him, the shadowed features, the burly physique, the large, thick-hanging cock jutting from the open fly.
“You’ve got plenty of meat there,” Bill murmured, admitting he had been checking out Joe’s rod.
“You do too.”
Joe felt as if he were having a wet dream, both of them milking the last droplets from their dicks, Bill’s hand coming across to grasp his cock, and Joe reaching over to grip the cop’s massive prick, both of them just standing there and pumping each other’s rod, the youth-citizen and the cop.
And then Bill was moving around in front of him, his fingers groping into the youth’s spread fly. “You don’t wear shorts under your work pants,” Bill muttered. “I like that—cock and balls hanging loose.”
“You, too.” Joe’s hands moved into the man’s crotch, and he felt rigid dick and sex-tight testicles and male-nakedness under the cop’s uniform trousers. “Damn good.”
They faced each other in the darkness, each fingering the other’s blazing hard-on, and Joe shivered with mounting tension. He had heard about guys who were forced to suck a cop off, maybe to get out of an arrest or because the cop just felt like giving a citizen some grief, and he knew he would do whatever the huge, shadowed man demanded—and do so willingly.
“You like this, huh?” Bill whispered, popping open the single button still holding Joe’s work pants about his waist and shoving them down. “Yeah, you like getting your rocks off with a real stud.”
“Yeah.” Joe unfastened the policeman’s belt and let the cop’s trousers drop on his massive thighs. “Dammit, Bill—”
“Maybe you’re one of the punks who worked that guy over here in the park,” Bill mumbled as if talking to himself. “That’s the kind of action you really go for, huh? Making a stud grovel, kicking him, whipping him, making him suck your horny cock, fucking his damn ass.” He took a deep breath. “Play with my nuts, dammit! Squeeze ’em a little.”
“Okay.” Joe grasped the man’s large testicles and fumbled them in his palm, then pressured warily.
“Harder!” Bill hissed, covering Joe’s hand with his own and pressing the fingers tighter. “I can take it, dammit!”
“Yeah?” Joe muttered, clamping down on the sensitive organs. Maybe this was Bill’s scene: to have a guy pound on his balls and then take his revenge. Yeah, the horse-hung cop could probably beat the hell out of Joe in a fight, until Joe groveled for mercy.
Bill dropped his hands to his sides and gritted his teeth, and Joe realized that the man wanted the pain. Shit, the rugged policeman wanted to be the one doing the groveling! Angrily, Joe used both hands, dragging the slippery nuts apart, twisting them in opposite directions, increasing the agonizing pressure, and Bill’s cock quivered iron-hard. Yeah, Joe realized with a grin, the rugged stud was really turned-on! Joe squeezed even harder.
“I give up!” Bill hissed, head down. “Anything you say, sir!”
“Damn right!” Joe snapped the man’s testicles between his fingers, ignoring Bill’s whimper of pain. “Get to work on my cock. Suck my dick, dammit!”
“Yes, sir!”
Bill sagged to his knees and buried his face in Joe’s crotch, caressing and licking and sucking willingly, and the youth held the cop’s head in place, pumping his cock into the choking mouth brutally. Shit, Joe told himself, he did not give a damn. Yeah, he had expected to be forced to service the rough-and-tough policeman, but Bill was going down on him instead. Maybe all cops were phonies like Bill.
Joe felt the man’s hands rise beneath his shirt, stroking his muscled torso hungrily, and when he looked down, he caught a glimpse of the cock-sucker’s massive prick bobbing and glistening with heat. Deliberately, Joe brought one foot forward and dug the toe of his shoe into Bill’s exposed balls and—
Dammit, the bastard was shooting his load!
Joe watched the uniformed stud quiver in ecstasy and saw the pearly cum spurt and splash on his shoe, and he face-fucked with even greater fury. Finally, Joe creamed, pouring a torrent of sperm down Bill’s throat, but for once, Joe clamped his jaw shut and did not bellow with pleasure. Hell, he was just getting his rocks off, like a thousand times before.
And then the sex was over. Bill swallowed the last of Joe’s male-juice and slowly sank back on his haunches, gulping for breath, and then he bent down to lick his own cum from Joe’s shoe. “Thank you, sir.”
“Sure,” Joe said neutrally as he reached down for his pants and hoisted them on his hips. “Any time.”
“Friday night,” Bill said eagerly, and he looked up, his eyes glowing. “I’m off-duty, and we can get together—strip down—whip my butt—fuck me—anything you say!”
“Yeah, okay. Friday night,” Joe replied casually, already understanding he had no intention of keeping that appointment, and he turned toward the bushes, buttoning his pants. “See you, Bill.”
“Yes, sir!”
Joe strode back to the street and headed for home. And with each step, he felt more angry at Bill. Shit, he had always thought cops were rough-and-tough bastards strutting around in body-tight uniforms and making everyone obey them—and Joe had been willing to do anything Bill ordered—but Bill had wanted his nuts worked on until he broke, had sunk to his knees, lapped at Joe’s balls, worshipped his erection, shot his own load all over Joe’s shoe before Joe got his rocks off, licked up his spilled cum afterward. And Bill wanted more, to get stripped and whipped and fucked—
“Hell, no!”
Joe had been twenty, but he swore he would never mess with one of those phony studs again—and he sure as hell had not gone back to the park on Friday night to meet Bill.
And he had steered clear of those The Police Are Your Pals phonies, until that warm spring morning when the police had come to arrest him, and Joe had gone down on the burly, horse-hung cop named Whit, sucking him off, and—and—
“Whit!”
Joe woke up in the empty, darkened cell. How had he gotten here? He did not remember leaving the interrogation room. The machine must have really fucked with his mind this time, Joe decided, making him relive memories even when he was not hooked to it.
The overhead light was out and did not come on while Joe laid in the darkness, and eventually he was able to fall asleep again.
He awoke again when the light came on. The tray of food was left inside the door panel, but Whit did not come to cuff Joe’s wrists and march him naked down the hall for more questioning, more of that damned machine; and Joe did not know what time it was, what day, how long he had been in jail—or even why he was there. Instead he laid in bed and tried to sleep.
And the nightmare became complete.
Joe was black-haired and well-built and good-looking, and when he strolled into library after classes, all the guys grinned at him because they were his buddies. He went to the study table in the corner, and Ron was there, reddish-blond and older and wiser than Joe remembered. And as soon as Joe sat down, Ron slouched and stretched one leg to shoe-probe Joe’s crotch.
“Cut it out, Ron. You’re giving me a hard-on.”
“Everything gives you a hard-on, buddy. That’s what you get for wearing jeans and no underwear.”
“Maybe.” Joe looked down at himself, the unbuttoned shirt falling away from his matured torso, the swelling prick outlined beneath the taunt worn school jeans—no, his work pants—he was a full-fledged citizen, and he wore work pants now. “I guess you’re right.”
“You know it!” Ron pulled back and got to his feet, openly displaying the hardened column bulging inside his pants. “Let’s strip down and get our rocks off, right here, right now.”
“What? Someone’ll see—”
“Hell, nobody gives a shit.”
Joe looked around the library, and all the young men were naked and messing around together. He stood up, and Ron was in front of him, already bare-chested, his jeans shoved down on his thighs. He ran his hands over Joe’s muscled physique as his clothing was peeled away, and then they were jerking each other eagerly.
Joe looked down at the fingers curled about his rigid dick, then at the pulsing erection in his own fist. The column stretched and expanded until the massive, glistening crown met his, and when he looked up again, Ron had disappeared and Whit was in his place, rugged and uniformed. “You’re under arrest, Joe.”
“What for?”
“Who cares. I don’t give a damn.”
Joe dropped to his knees and nuzzled the policeman’s huge, exposed genitals, and he felt a strong hand on the back of his head, urging him forward. He inhaled the heated scent of maleness and took the powerful erection into his mouth and throat hungrily, and he slid his fingers beneath Whit’s uniform to explore the curves and hollows of his muscle-taut body.
“Make love to my meat, you cock-sucker punk!” a deep voice growled. “Worship it!”
Joe wrenched back on his haunches, and he was in the school shower room with the brawny, hairy-chested coach standing over him.
“Coach?”
“Shower up and haul your butt into my office, Joe—pronto!”
“Yes, sir.”
Joe got to his feet and climbed beneath one of the shower sprays, and he was so damn horny that his balls ached. He lathered and toyed with his rigid prick, and when he turned, Jonesy was soaping himself on the other side of the room, football-player-built and throwing a hard-on.
“Ready to trade blow-jobs again, Joe?”
“I forgot ... You were the first stud I ever went down on.”
“Honest?” Jonesy chuckled. “You sure sucked like an expert. Tony says the same thing.”
“Tony?” Joe grinned self-consciously. “I forgot about him, too. And Steve and Vince and Louie and—”
“Fuck ’em and forget ’em, huh?”
“Something like that.” Joe wet his lips, confused. “You still see Tony?”
“Hell, we’re buddies ... Partners ... Know what I mean?”
“No!” Joe did not want to hear such sex-rebel talk. He rinsed off the soap foam hurriedly, and then he was in the towel room, drying off—and Whit was standing there, watching him coldly.
“Confess, Joe.”
“To what?” he answered in frustration. “I still don’t know why you arrested me!”
“Bullshit, Joe!”
Joe remembered that the coach had ordered him to get his ass into the office, and he hurried to obey that order, hustling from the towel area and through the locker room. Steve and Louie and Vince and all the others were there, cock-swinging naked and ready-to-go as always, as he passed.
And Joe went on to the coach’s office. The blinds were closed over the windows, and Lefty sat at the desk, pounding diligently on his keyboard. The youth was naked, lean and trimly muscled, and he looked up with a wide smile spread across his face. “Howdy, Joe.”
“Hi, Lefty. What’re you doing here?”
“Workin’ up your confession,” Lefty drawled, slouching back and tugging his arrow-tipped dick. “Did Whit fuck your tight little ass in the locker room?”
“Uh, no.”
“Ain’t that somethin’! Could be he’s lost interest?”
The door opened, and the coach stumbled into the room, naked and handcuffed and cooperation-collared, followed by Parker and Chet.
“Horny, farm-boy?” Parker asked Lefty with a smile.
“I reckon so.” The youth stood up and stretched, and his rigid cock jabbed lance-like from his crotch. “Writin’ up Joe’s confession somewhat stirred me up.”
“Everything stirs you up, partner,” Chet snickered.
Without a word, the coach bent forward across the desk, his tight-rounded tail offered, and Chet stepped up in front of the coach and thrust his broad-crowned prick against the man’s lips. The coach nuzzled the thick cock willingly while Lefty moved in behind him to pierce the coach balls-deep with a single, wrenching thrust—and when the coach opened his mouth to scream, Chet plugged it with his hard dick.
“Mighty pleasin’!” Lefty exclaimed, rocking forward to embrace Chet. “Only, I surely do wish we was sharin’ Joe this way, partner!”
Joe drifted from the office, and the locker room was filled with his school friends, stripped and brawling and sexing their rocks off in a dozen different ways. Joe watched Tony fuck Steve, and he remembered sucking the rugged, swarthy football player’s massive prick, and Joe remembered screwing the blond swimmer’s slick, warm ass. Ron and the student body president were trading hand-jobs. The others thrashed together, laughing and groaning and seeing who could shoot the most cum and the farthest. Joe’s cock throbbed with heat, but he felt like an outsider. He sauntered to his locker, only to blink with surprise when he saw the short young man standing there.
“Mike!”
“Hey, buddy.” Grinning and naked, Mike stepped forward and locked up to Joe in a tight hug. “Horny?”
“You son of a bitch,” Joe sighed as he wrapped his arms about Mike and held him just as tightly, prick-to-prick. “I missed you. No shit!”
“We fit damn good.”
“Yeah.”
“I want to fuck you.”
“You said that before,” Joe murmured, stroking the chunky stud’s powerful back and bubbled butt. “You wanted us to stick together, but you disappeared.
“No, Joe. When I came back to the apartment, you were the one who was gone, along with all of your gear.“
“Whit came and arrested me.” Then Joe frowned, puzzled. “No, wait—you disappeared at least a year ago, and Whit didn’t arrest me until—”
“I want to fuck you, partner,” Mike repeated, finger-marking the cleft in Joe’s ass meaningfully. “Let’s go back to your apartment so I can get my dick up your ass.”
“Okay ... partner.”
Naked and cock-stiff, they walked through the deserted locker room, and Joe wondered where all his school buddies had gone.
Outside the gym, the street was night-dark and empty, and Mike had an arm around Joe’s waist, and Joe rested one arm across Mike’s shoulders, matching him step-for-step and not giving a damn that they were both bare-ass naked and showing hard-ons. Hell, no, if Mike did not care, then why should Joe?
They reached the park, and Mike led the way into the bushes. In a dim-lit clearing, a gang of punks had a policeman pinned down and were stripping him, and Joe recognized all of them: the cop named Bill, and Louie, and Vince, and Jonesy, and Tony, and all the guys from school! Joe watched the youths rip off the rugged stud-cop’s uniform and maul his naked body, twisting his testicles and pinching his taut nipples until he whimpered in pain, and Bill’s rigid cock quivered excitedly as he rolled over on his hands and knees.
Mike tromped forward, picked up Bill’s belt, and brought it down across the crouching man’s back with a vicious snap.
“Yeah, partner!” Bill hissed, smiling. “Harder! I can take it!”
Mike flogged him slowly, mercilessly, and Joe saw the livid welts rise over the groveling cop’s back and butt. Bill crawled forward and licked Vince’s swollen dick, sucked Tony’s bulging nuts, buried his face in the spread valley between Jonesy’s ass cheeks.
Mike strutted back to Joe, bright-eyed and grinning. “Let’s get back to your apartment, buddy!”
They left the park, Bill’s hoarse groans echoing behind them.
“Mike,” Joe murmured, unsure, “Bill called you ‘partner.’”
“I know what turns him on. We started shacking up together after you disappeared.”
Joe was entering the state-assigned apartment he had never shared with anyone, and Mike hustled into the bedroom and sprawled back on the bed, adult-muscled and boy-faced and cock-hard. And Joe fell on him, pawing at his male nakedness, licking, sucking, wanting to get Mike so damn hot, wanting to please him, to satisfy him, to get fucked. “Anything, partner!”
“Yeah, buddy?”
Joe saw the excited gleam in Mike’s eyes, and Joe held him down, tongue-smoothing the silky hair on Mike’s heaving chest. Joe watched his fingers outline the wide, taut nipples and creep lower over Mike’s stocky torso, and he smiled as he saw Mike’s huge cock had slapped up hard against his flat belly.
“You sure are hung, little guy.”
“That’s what Whit says.”
“Whit?” Joe let his hand cup the young man’s pulsing genitals. “You know Whit?”
“Sure. We’re buddies.”
“I thought you and Bill were—”
“Whit’s rooming here with me.” He looked across the room, grinning. “Hi, buddy.”
Joe followed Mike’s gaze and saw Whit standing in the doorway, burly and uniformed, a heavy pair of handcuffs and a cooperation collar dangling from one hand.
“You’re under arrest, Joe.”
“Yes, sir.”
Joe went to the man and offered his neck and wrists, and Mike started laughing as the collar and the cuffs were clamped in place.
With Mike’s laughter echoing in his ears, Joe followed Whit from the apartment and down the concrete-floored corridor to the interrogation room.
Lefty sat at the desk, stripped and youth-built and prick-hard as he pounded on his keyboard. “Howdy, Joe.”
“What’re you typing, Lefty?”
“Your confession.”
Parker came from the shadows and viewed Joe’s blazing hard-on with a fatherly smile. “Joe needs some exercise. Take him into the other room.”
Joe was shoved through the door to the torture chamber, and he found himself in the sex room of the neighborhood bar, dim-lit and swarming with naked men eager to get their rocks off.
“Horny, Joe?” Ron stood in front of him, hunky and grasping Joe’s rigid cock. “I’ve never known a stud who could shoot a load of cum as hard as you do.”
“I’m always ready!” Joe answered, gripping Ron’s erection eagerly. “Let’s go, buddy!”
“That’s for beginners,” Jonesy snickered, taking Ron’s place. “I’m gonna suck your meat, buddy!”
Joe watched the rugged football player drop to his knees to suck cock, and Jonesy’s mouth felt so damn good—but Joe could not cream! Yeah, he was balls-aching hot, but his juice just would not shoot!
“I know what you need,” Coach growled, moving in behind Joe. “Bend over!” Joe rocked forward, supporting himself on Jonesy’s muscled shoulders with his handcuffed hands, and he felt the coach’s strong fingers spread his ass cheeks. He braced himself for the brutal penetration, and then the man was licking his sensitive, exposed opening, then trying to tongue-fuck it. Shit! Joe thought. Coach never did that before!
Whit had arrested him, and here Joe was, handcuffed and collared and stripped in the local bar with Jonesy sucking his cock while Coach rimmed his ass! Joe felt the hot, prick-tipped tongue drive into him, reaching impossibly far into his guts, and he raised his head to find Tony looming in front of him, rugged and swarthy and horny. Joe opened his mouth and went down on the silent athlete, and Joe sensed he was surrounded by sex-hungry maleness—and his always-ready dick still would not pop its load—and he heard Mike’s laughter.
A troop of policemen marched in singing the latest The Police Are Your Pals jingle, and they hauled Joe to the back of the sex room. They hung him up with his arms stretched over his head, and he could see the other studs getting their rocks off in the shadows. Then Whit was coming toward him, bare-chested and solidly muscled. Without a word, the burly cop drew his belt from his uniform trousers, took careful aim and swung it mercilessly at Joe’s exposed butt.
Joe screamed, and his cum gushed and flowed down the walls as he passed out.