by Mark Alders
Peter gasped.
Casey nodded to Bruce, signalling for him to let Peter go. He had retracted Peter’s foreskin, his head nice and moist, as was to be expected from an intact man. He then rolled his own foreskin so he replaced what he retracted, stopping when he reached Peter’s coronal ridge.
When he was satisfied he was docked properly, he asked, “Is Randy Piper in the Gym?”
“Yes.”
Bruce looked at Casey, coming to pat him on his shoulder. “Damn, that’s some freaky weird thing to witness, but it sure does work. Now, we’ve got the information we need, separate from the dude and let’s get on with getting our perp.”
Casey shook his head. “I can’t. Not yet.”
“Why not?” But his partner didn’t ask the question in any defiant way. More curiosity. After all, Bruce had even less an idea how his abilities worked than he did.
“I…I mean, both Peter and I, we’ve got to blow our loads. I can’t explain how I know, but just trust me when I say, it’s got to be done. I think it’s got something to do with the memory thing.”
Bruce glanced down at Casey’s cock, at their join. “How long will that take?”
“Not long.” He massaged the connection of their skin more vigorously. Sure enough, Peter was a grower, as he suspected. His cock had more than tripled in size, the dorsal vein bulging to feed the growth, his now fully engorged head stretching Casey’s foreskin to its limit.
“Might as well ask him some more questions then. Get the most out of what you’re doing. I’ll stand watch to make sure the other guard doesn’t raise an alarm or something. The last thing we need is for Randy Piper to get spooked and flee the scene.”
“Sure thing,” Casey said. He returned to masturbating Peter, milk him for his cum so he would soon slip into the bliss of forgetfulness. Besides, the tingle of orgasm had already begun to spring to life within Casey. His balls had tightened, too. “Will you take us to see Randy Piper?”
Peter nodded. “Yes. He’s been spending a lot of time in his basement, lately. I could pretty much guarantee he’s in there tonight?”
“What happens in his basement?” Casey’s breaths were short now, his actions more vigorous as he edged closer and closer toward climax. His foreskin tingled so much, even with all the manual stimulation he performed, he couldn’t ease the sensation. Peter must be getting a full dose of the magic he generated. No wonder the man was willing to help them even after the docking would be complete.
“You’re amazing, Case.” Bruce was no longer standing guard. He was behind Casey, watching proceedings with interest, patting him on his back to encourage him even more. He loved how his partner did such a thing. He felt complete. Like they really were a team.
Peter groaned, knocking Casey from his thoughts. The guard was showing the same signs all guys got when they approached climax. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes wide, his muscles tense. Casey knew his interrogation would be over real soon.
“He takes what he calls his play things into his basement,” the guard stuttered, hissing though his teeth, delight clear in his voice. With those words, Peter shuddered.
Heat coursed over Casey’s cock’s head, warmth which was welcome. The man had ejaculated. He had his cue, so he let go, too. Casey came, every muscle aiding his release, relieved the interrogation was over.
Soon the dock was broken. Casey was unable to keep a hold of his foreskin over Peter’s big head, namely because of all the cum which the guard had released, but also because Casey’s foreskin couldn’t stretch any more to accommodate both of their fluids.
“What are play things?” Bruce asked.
Peter pulled away, cum dribbling onto the floor, some landing on his boots. “They are rivals of his and employees who disobey him. Anyone really. Still, whoever goes in to be played with never usually comes out.”
Casey said, “Put your dick away. I think I’ve heard enough.”
Peter nodded, stuffing his still erect cock into his pants. “The entrance to the basement is off his private garage, over there at the south end of the building.” The guard’s face then went blank. “Say, what am I doing here? I’m supposed to be with John. When did you guys arrive? What’s happened?”
Bruce glared at Casey, flicking his gaze toward his groin. In that moment, he realised he still had his cock exposed. Sure, it was now soft, ready to be put back into his pants, but if Peter saw it now, the whole interrogation could be ruined. He’d report such a thing for sure. What’s more, his foreskin no longer tingled, so another docking to make him forget again wouldn’t be possible.
Casey stuffed his dick away and zipped up. Peter didn’t notice, more because his mind would still be numbed by the effects of the docking. That and the fact he would have a wet, sticky feeling in his pants for no apparent reason. Poor bloke. Casey could only imagine his confusion.
“You were about to show us the south entrance,” Bruce said.
“Is Mr. Piper in trouble?” Peter asked, genuine concern imbued in his voice.
Bruce nodded. “We’re not sure, but we’ve got to check it out.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll call for backup.” He pressed his radio talk button, one which rested on his right shoulder. “John, meet me at the south of the building in ten minutes, Mr. Piper’s private garage entrance. Over.”
A crackle pierced the air. “Sure thing. Are those cops still with you? Over.”
Bruce gave Peter a gesture which conveyed in no uncertain terms he should remain silent. Peter understood. “Just meet me there. Over.”
Casey said, “Thanks. We don’t know who’s involved, so trust no one.”
“So Mr. Piper’s in trouble then?”
Bruce said, “Just get us to the entrance, we’ll do the rest.”
Chapter Seven
Randy didn’t seem to take notice of Jason’s screaming, or the incessant cursing he unleashed when he caught his breath back, creating words he normally never used. Seemed his torturer was more interesting in having his fun first, the determination and joy in his expression more than enough evidence of such a thing.
The man continued to clamp him, cover his cock and balls in the metallic objects. Jason wept, unable to form a coherent sentence. The pain from each pinch on his genitals were worse than those on his chest and stomach. He writhed in agony, the stinging sensation didn’t subside as quickly as it had done before.
Then Randy stopped.
If Jason didn’t know any better, he’d swear he heard an alarm sounding. He wasn’t sure, namely because of the cloud of pain which had dulled his senses, and because he knew Randy would more than likely work his way through the cabinet of tools until he was beaten, whipped, and prodded to death. Glancing over to the man in the stocks proof of such a hypothesis. He was sure the man was dead, or if not, within the last few breaths of his life, anyway. Poor fucking bastard.
“You…finished…already?” Jason asked with a slur, summoning all his will to do so, trying to be as defiant as he could. He spat again. Unfortunately, the globule missed his torturer.
Randy’s said, “Silence, filth.” To emphasis those words, he struck him across his face with his hand. “Someone approaches. Let’s just hope it’s our dear friend, Constable Casey and his faithful companion. I am so in the mood to have a lot more fun tonight.”
“You’re…a…fuckin’ cunt.”
Randy had taken out a whip from the tool cabinet, one with barbs, placing it onto the floor in front of the container. A container now empty of clamps. “Oh, come now, my man, don’t fall apart on me just yet. Surely you must appreciate what I have done to you. I mean, since you sucked on your mother’s teat, who else has given you this much attention?”
Jason didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Randy had disappeared from his sight. He heard him walk up the steps. The door closed. He imagined his torturer had to check out why the alarm had been tripped. He breathed a sigh of relief. Not that he could escape, not that he held any hope of living much longer, but s
till, to be rid of the sight of the sick fuck Randy was a small pleasure.
The lights flicked off. Darkness surrounded him once more. Welcome darkness.
* * * *
Randy fumed, the door to his dungeon slamming behind him to emphasis his foul mood. He hated interruptions to his fun. The last time he got disturbed, his play thing died before he could witness the event. He loved to watch his victims in their last seconds of life, see the breath leave them, their eyes dull. What was he paying John and Peter for? To sit around and look pretty?
If the alarm had been tripped for no good reason, if Casey and his partner weren’t the reason for being summoned, then he’d make sure his security guards would feel the full extent of his wrath. The next inmates of his dungeon.
When he came to a hall, the last part of the private area to the gym complex, John came into sight. He looked flustered.
“What’s the matter?” Randy snapped.
“It’s Peter, sir. He’s been compromised.”
“Explain.” Randy listened with interest while John told him of Casey and his partner’s arrival. A smile formed on his lips. His cock stirred, too. Seemed he was going to get some more action tonight, after all. How delicious.
“…So that’s the sum of it, sir. He’s bringing them to the south entrance as we speak.”
“You’ve done well, John, and you will be rewarded for your loyalty. Now, put into plan the course of action I instructed you about earlier.”
John saluted. “Yes, sir.”
He watched his guard head for the secret door. His plan was simple. When the cops were inside the building, their backs turned and unawares, John would rush out of his hiding place and ambush them, using the tasers on them Randy had acquired from one of his latest enterprises. The plan was to dispense with Casey’s partner. He was then instructed to escort Casey to his office. Randy would deal with the man himself, personally.
Randy came to his office once he was satisfied John was in place, that his plan had the best chance of working. He opened the door to his private sanctuary, the smell of cigars and old wood struck him.
He had to get prepared. Casey would be here soon. His anger had subsided now he knew why the alarm had been tripped. John had done well. The man would receive a substantial pay increase, perhaps even a bonus. Pity Peter wouldn’t be a help anymore. Oh well, he’d make a perfect accessory to the fuck harness after he had put Casey into it. He liked to have more than one victim in his dungeon at a time, anyway. Jason was the only one left alive down there at this point in time. Not a good situation as far as he was concerned.
When he had retrieved his gun, made sure it was loaded, he sat back in his leather chair. Now he would wait.
* * * *
Casey got a strange feeling, right in the pit of his stomach. What’s more, his foreskin tingled, so much so, many times he had to scratch himself but not look too obvious he was scratching himself.
“What you doing, buddy?” Bruce whispered, leaning over to say those words into Casey’s ear. Thankfully they walked side by side. Peter had taken the lead.
“My foreskin’s tingling.”
Bruce seemed taken aback for a moment. “What does that mean?”
Casey looked him in the eye. “I’m not sure, but every time it does, it means I’m ready to question any perp. Perhaps it’s like a pre-emptive warning or something. I don’t know.”
“So what, you’re like Spiderman?”
“I suppose.” Casey shrugged his shoulders. “But I don’t think the tingling is to alert me to any impending danger, as such. Then again, it could be. I’m not sure.”
“Perhaps it just means there’s a good looking bloke in the area and your dick picks up on it like some sort of radar. I mean, I seen the file photos of Randy Piper. He’d give my Maria female wood, for sure.”
“Yeah, he’s a looker. Pity he’s a psychopath.”
Bruce clicked his fingers. “Perhaps that’s what you’re hood picks up on. The guilty blokes.”
Before Casey could answer, add any more to their rather interesting conversation, Peter turned. “We’re here. The entrance to Randy’s private quarters is through that door.”
Bruce barged past the security guard. “We’ll handle it from here. Case, show the man the warrant. About time we stopped pussy footing around and arrested this dirty perp. From what you’ve told us already, Peter, we’ve got enough reason to haul his sorry arse in for questioning.”
A look of confusion crossed Peter’s face, his eyebrows knitting. Casey waved the papers in front of his nose. “What did I tell you?”
Casey patted the guard on his shoulder, emulating Bruce. “That he’s got a dungeon and the folk who get to go in there don’t get to come out. If you ask me, that all sounds like murder. If there’s a body in there, we’ll have even more evidence.”
Peter opened his mouth, closed it, then said, “I don’t remember telling you any of this.”
Bruce snorted. “Case is a genius.” With those words, ones Casey loved to hear, he tested the door handle. It was unlocked.
“Seems funny for a door to a private area to be unlocked, doesn’t it?” Casey asked.
Bruce turned to look upon him, his eyes glinting, a smile on his face which made him look frightening. “Oh, you can bet you’re nicotine inhaler we’re walking into a trap. Isn’t it fantastic?”
Casey couldn’t help but let out a nervous chuckle. “How do you know?”
“You trust me, don’t you?”
“With my life.”
“Good.” Bruce un-holstered his weapon. “Then believe me when I say, get ready for some action.” Bruce pulled the handle and burst open the door, running into the building.
Casey followed.
Inside, there was a long hallway, well lit and clinical. No objects obstructed their path. In fact, nothing could be seen at all except for a door at the far end and one to the right, also at the far end.
Silence found Casey’s ear.
His foreskin tingled even more, almost to the point of hurting. What the fuck was going on? He had never experienced the tingling this bad before. Why was his foreskin doing it now, of all times. He scratched his groin, breaking the quiet.
Without turning, Bruce said, “Your hood still tingling, buddy?”
“Worse than ever.”
“Perhaps it’s a warning tingle, you—”
Bruce couldn’t finish his sentence. From God knows where, and while Casey was momentarily distracted with scratching himself, the security guard they had come to know as John, pounced on him.
“Bruce!” Casey bolted to action, running toward the two men who were locked in a bear hug and rolling around on the floor.
Bruce’s weapon flew from his hand, careening across the polished tiles to end up at the doors at the far end of the hallway. Although, his partner wasn’t defenceless. He had John in a head lock within a matter of seconds. A heartbeat after that, and even before Casey could get to them proper, he had pulled him around so that he was facing the ceiling, Bruce underneath him.
“Join with him, Case! Join with him!”
Casey got to them. It was true, he could dock with John, Bruce had got him into the perfect position. “It’s called docking, you know,” he said, coming so he was kneeling at their feet, already at his zipper.
John continued to struggle, to no avail. Bruce was too strong, too well trained. “Okay, whatever it’s called, just do it. I don’t fancy having this bloke on top of me much longer. He stinks like some cheap hooker.”
John yelled out something incomprehensible. Bruce brought one of his arms around so he could silence him, put a head lock on him while restraining him with the other. The hold on the guard wasn’t as tight as Casey would have like, the man kicked and thrashed like a child wanting to get out of eating his greens, but still, he had to perform the docking.
He went to Johns pants, unzipped him and found his cock all with one fluid motion. The man was well endowed, not too thick, not
too long, and with a long foreskin, too. Perfect to dock with. Then again, what guy wasn’t?
The man continued to struggle. Casey had his cock ready, too. All he had to do was make the connection, touch foreskins, to steady the man, so Bruce didn’t need to keep restraining him for dear life.
“Can you hurry it up, Case? My arms are killing me, here.”
Casey shuffled closer, parting both Bruce’s and John’s legs so he could get into position, make sure the connection could be made without having to lie on top of John and make matters even more difficult for his partner. Sure, he was getting beaten on his sides by both of their limps as they flailed, but still, he had to accomplish what he set out to do. For his partner’s sake at the very least.
As he was about to make the connection, his now erect cock in one hand, John’s, flaccid yet easily accessible, in the other, Bruce yelled out, “He’s got a weapon. Duck, Casey.”
Casey hadn’t seen how, but John had managed to get an arm free from Bruce’s hold. Perhaps keeping him silent and holding onto him was too much. Whatever the reason, Casey reacted. He didn’t know how, didn’t fully comprehend what instinct caused him to act, but he did as Bruce instructed. He ducked, just in the nick of time, too. Taser wires zoomed past him, cutting the air so very close to his right ear. Any closer and he would have been stunned, his partner left to his own devices, he’d be certain. In fact, he was sure there was a touch there. Thankfully, not the metallic probe part—the part which conducted the charge of the device.
