Calluses Pt. 01: Friction

His hand left my hard cock hanging, wiping the excess precum against my bare ass cheek to dry. I didn't want to believe he was done already. He pulled his fingers from me then, leaving my hole swollen and stretched and empty. I heard myself moan. It sounded disappointed. I wanted -- I needed to feel his fingers inside of me again, fucking that sweet spot until I came. I'd never entertained the idea of having something in my ass until it was actually there, and now it was the only thing on my mind -- as if the rest of the experience hadn't been a form of exotic psychological torture beyond any excuse or redemption. "But..." I heard myself say.

"We're done for now, boy. I've got places to be." He slapped my ass one more time, even harder than before, and the sudden pain brought me out of my lust-infused haze. My thoughts came crashing back into my conscious mind, flooding me with dread and shame and all the potent "what-ifs" of the day.

He pulled my t-shirt back over my head and carefully worked it down the length of my torso. I felt his hands on my belt again, pulling my boxers and jeans up over my aching ass and whatever marks he'd left on it, until any signs of the lewd acts he'd forced on me were hidden beneath blue denim and black cotton. He bent over me and pressed his hard, uniformed body into mine as he stuffed my swollen cock back into my boxers and zipped up my jeans. I got to smell him again, and this time I knew I liked it -- loved it. Wanted it.

My cock got even bigger before he finally managed to button up my jeans around it. I felt his beard and his smile as he kissed the back of my neck, making me shiver like mad. "Don't worry, stud...I'm gonna miss you too..."

In moments I was gently hauled from the back of his cruiser and pulled to my feet. The day was growing dim as the hidden sun sank deeper into the cloud cover, reminding me of all the miles I still had to drive before I'd be back in the plastic world of college life, where I was already coming up with ways to pretend that none of this had ever happened.

The cop brushed me off, straightened my t-shirt before his hands sank lower. I tensed, readying myself -- but he was only closing my belt. My hips jerked towards him as he yanked the strap through the buckle, taking his time to feed it through the belt loops around my waist. "I got your cell number when I looked up your license," he said casually as he worked. His hand shoved my license and insurance back into my pocket, tracing the wide mounds of my denim-covered ass it left. "I'll contact you with everything you'll need to know. You'll be coming to see me, okay? I've got a house all set up for this sort of thing. How's that sound?"

I only nodded, slumped against his car, arms aching behind my back.

He came in close and pressed the thick meat of his hairy forearm into my throat. Not choking me, but coming close...and bringing my eyes up to meet his. "I'm serious about this, Michael." My stomach dropped as his gravelly voice said my name -- but of course he'd seen my driver's license. "I expect you to keep your part of the deal. Even if you start thinking that facing the music won't be so bad in the end, remember this: I know where you live. I know the cops where you live, and they'll believe anything I tell them about you. And I know for a fact that more than a few of them would just love to teach you a lesson about slandering a fellow officer of the law...a hard, nasty lesson..."

He grinned, teeth wide and mostly white. His massive hand was cupping my sore ass, squeezing it through my jeans where he'd slapped it, sending a tender quake up and down my spine. "But I wouldn't like that any more than you would. I'd rather have you all to myself. Besides, I don't think it'll come to that; I bet you'll be thinking about me all week. I know I'll be thinking about you..."

He let me go and pulled me off the car. He stepped behind me, and with a metallic click the handcuffs were gone.

My arms hung limp for a moment before I remembered how to use them. I brought them up, rubbing my wrists. I heard a car door slam shut, heard the engine rumble to life...and then he was gone in a cloud of exhaust fumes. I looked up, watching the blue police cruiser disappear into the darkening clouds in the east.

My ass was still aching, inside and out. My boxers were soaked through with a sticky wash of precum. My cock was still hard, still throbbing and pleading for someone to end it all. I knew it wouldn't matter how much I jacked off. Nothing would ever come close to what his fingers had done to me, and I'd be left dissatisfied in the extreme. Something had changed inside of me. A flip had been switched, but I didn't know it yet. Couldn't process it. Didn't want to.

Soon enough I was back to wallowing in self pity, running over all the evil little details of my assault as I drove back to the dorm sitting in a puddle of my own drying seed. No matter how many times I repeated the events of the afternoon in my mind -- willing myself to feel anger or disgust, trying to convince myself I'd truly been raped in the end -- it always came back to the same place. His fingers -- three of them -- fucking deep into my deliciously stretched ass. Crushing tides of pleasure pulsing from deep inside my guts with each controlled punch of his knuckles, growing more and more intense until I thought I was losing my mind...and then I did...

It was dark by the time I arrived back at campus. I'd had plans that night, but I couldn't remember what they were. I parked my car at my dorm and grabbed my suitcase out of the trunk, keeping my head down as I rushed inside, totally convinced anyone who looked would see the sex and submission all over me.

My roommate, Kevin, was at his desk when I walked in, already unpacked, but it shouldn't have surprised me. He was always at his desk, a chronic and obsessive studier, so I should have expected to see the back of his stuffy blond head...but I hated him for being there, because all I wanted was to be alone.

"What's up, man?" he asked, without turning around. He rarely bothered to turn around; half the time, I was pretty sure he didn't even remember my name. Not that I wanted him to just then...

I ignored him, went straight into the bathroom we shared, and locked the door behind me. In seconds I'd torn off all my tainted clothes, and threw myself into a steaming hot shower. I needed his smell off of me. I needed his fingers inside of me. I came three times in the shower, explosive blasts that covered the walls and nearly made me black out. I even fingered myself for two of them, but it wasn't the same. I couldn't find that spot again. I had too much control, and no leverage to go deep enough. I wanted his muscles to hold me down again, to give me no choice. I wanted his black eyes to watch me cum and feel nothing but carnal, hungry lust. I wanted to smell him...

Kevin beat on the door before long. He needed to brush his teeth, he said, but I could tell he knew what I was doing. A fresh wave of shameful humiliation swept over me, making my cock hard all over again...

I was still horny when I went to bed, ready to pass out from total exhaustion. I did just that, eventually...but not before my phone lit up with an incoming text, from a number I did not know.

Hey there college boy. Friday. As in, end of the week. Fair warning. Let me know you got this.

Got it, I typed with trembling fingers.

Good boy, he replied, almost immediately, and my stomach dropped down past my hips.

I went to sleep with an aching erection I didn't dare touch, and I dreamed of being filled with warm mineral water. With hot bacon grease. With the giant, veiny cock of a leering, lecherous monster covered in warm, black fur...