Cop Play

"You don't have to do this, Travis. You were given other options to get through the Sigma Nu hazing phase."

"But this is the most interesting one, and will give me the strongest position in the fraternity," Travis answered. His friend, Nelson, a year ahead of him at the University of Arkansas in Fayetteville and already a member of the Sigma Nu university jocks fraternity, wasn't meant to be there in the Ron's Place gay clientele roadhouse on West Poplar Street on the northern edge of the university town. As soon as he'd heard that Travis had taken the most demanding option the fraternity hazing committee had given him, he'd followed Travis to the roadhouse.

Travis was a sophomore transfer from the University of Miami, where he'd gotten into trouble for this and that in nonacademic activity, but was good enough of a lacrosse player for other universities to give him another chance. The "nonacademic activity" had focused on rough gay sex, with Travis willingly having been on the receiving end and the university shrinks not having been able to convince him this was self-destructive.

Nelson was a star on the Razorbacks' basketball team. He was a top and had matched up with Travis as soon as Travis had arrived at the university. Their relationship was complicated, though. Nelson was into Travis, but Travis was into more dangerous sex than Nelson would give him.

Travis and Nelson were at the bar, on stools next to each other, at Ron's Place, drinking beer. The roadhouse was for gays--but for leather gays. It was a favorite watering hole for gay bikers. Trim, dancer-like, prepping-looking, good-looking guys with long, frosted hair like Travis were magnets for rough-and-tumble biker types who buzzed around Ron's Place. You didn't come to Ron's Place looking like a submissive without expecting to be rough fucked--even gangbanged.

"What exactly were the instructions?" Nelson asked.

"I was to come here and piss off a couple of bruisers--and take note of and describe the consequences," Travis answered.

"Suicide," Nelson said. "Come on, let's get out of here. Surely they had something like streaking from Union to Old Main on the list."

"Yeah, but there were points. Pissing off a couple of bikers at Ron's Place gave the most points. Do this once and there won't be another round of hazing." He didn't add that it might involve rough gay sex, but that had as much reason going for it to do it as getting instantaneous respect as a bad ass and acceptance in the fraternity was.

In any event Nelson's plea had come too late. A waiter came up to the bar, said something to the bartender, and the bartender drew a draft and slid it in front of Travis. "Compliments of the two men in blue at the back table," he said, and moved on down the bar to serve another customer. Both Travis and Nelson swiveled around to take a long into the far dimness of the smoke-hazed room.

"Shit. Cops," Nelson said. "And big bruisers too."

"Yes, they are," Travis agreed, with a grin.

"But, shit, Cops," Nelson repeated. "And in a leather club. One of them's looking at us--at you. This isn't a good idea. They maybe are here looking for male prostitutes to run in and they've decided that's you. I think we should--"

"I like it here just fine," Nelson said, giving the cop who was leering at him a saucy look back.

The cops' presence might have accounted for this being a light attendance night at Ron's Place, which was when most trouble here erupted--when the pickings were contested. They were sitting in isolation, and, although none of the leather guys were hassling the two cops, they certainly were giving them a wide berth. It wasn't just that they were in blue and had weapons hanging off them. They were biggest, baddest-looking guys in the room.

And they were offering Travis a "come sit with us at our table" drink. Having cops sitting in a gay dive was, in itself, intense situation fodder, but they'd singled Travis out.

His response to the situation was that he took the proffered mug of beer, lifted it up, gave the two cops at the far table a grin, and, bringing the mug out to where to hovered over floor rather than bar, turned the glass over and let the beer pour out on the floor. It wasn't that gaspy of an event in normal circumstances. Ron's Place was a real pigsty. A lot of beer had gotten sloshed onto the floor. But these were two cops confident in themselves to be sitting at table in a gay bar, making a pass at another, young guy.

Nelson gasped, and the two cops, already mean looking, took on expressions of surprise and outrage. "Fuck. Now, you've done it," his hissed. "Those are cops--fuckin' cops, Travis. We can't stay in here. Let's get out of here."

"You need to back off, Nelson. I don't want you to get involved in this. And I didn't ask you to follow me here. The instructions are to piss guys here off, not to flirt with them. Pretend we don't know each other. Stick it out on your stool and show interest in someone else."

With that, Travis came off his stool. He looked meaningfully over to a table in the corner, where the two hunkiest senior fraternity brothers who had been sent to observe and verify were seated. He gave them a nod and then he slowly stretched as if he didn't have a care in the world, turned, very obviously flipped the bird to the two cops who now were standing up from their table, and slowly walked out of roadhouse, climbed into a car, and drove out of the parking lot.

The two cops stomped out of the roadhouse as well.

"Fuck," Nelson, who had turned to a middle-aged guy beside him who had been trying to strike up a conversation, muttered. The two fraternity guys at the corner table, having seen enough to fulfill the hazing challenge, rose from their table and left the bar.

"That's what I had in mind," the man said, with a smile. "Fuck," he said, in case Nelson hadn't got the reference. "How much will it take for you to come out to my car and hump me?"

Nelson gave the man a shocked look and just rolled off the stool and headed for the exit. Before he could get there, two beefy leathermen jumped up from a table near the door and intercepted him.

"Listen, guys, I'm not looking for trouble. Just let me leave," Nelson said.

"Were you with that good-looker with the frosted hair," one of the leathermen said.

"Yeah, and I need to get to him now."

"Was that a guy named Travis Taylor?"

Nelson stopped and turned around. "Yes... how did you know? Say, were you...?"

"A guy named Craig hired us to take Taylor on a ride--some sort of fraternity test, we were told. We were supposed to pick him up here, but he left quick."

"Let me get this straight. You were supposed to pick him up here and fuck him?"

"Hell, no, not fuck him. We were told just to play with him and make him think we were going to do that and take him back to the Sigma Nu fraternity up at the university and leave him on the lawn naked. We weren't supposed to fuck him. But he's a real cutie. You telling me he's really gay and maybe--?"

"Oh, fucking hell," Nelson exclaimed, pushing beyond the two leathermen and exploding out of the roadhouse entrance and into the parking lot. He saw the blue light and siren go on in the departing police cruiser as he ran for his car.

* * * *

Travis took off in a top-down 2018 black Fiat 124 Spider sports car, going something like fifteen miles over the speed limit east on West Poplar Street, intending to turn left on North Garland Avenue after taking a slight jag on Janice Avenue. North Garland would take him straight south into the University of Arkansas campus. The cops behind him had other ideas. They turned on the blue lights and siren of their police cruiser, came around him before he could turn south on North Garland, and forced him across the Janice-North Garland intersection and further down Janice, where the houses had stopped and they now were between two farm fields, each separated from the road by a ditch and a line of trees.

Travis pulled the convertible over to the side; the cruiser pulled up behind him, training a spotlight on him; and the two cops he'd flipped off at Ron's Place popped out of each side of the cop car. The one exiting the cruiser on the road side strode up to the driver's door of the Fiat, Billy club in hand, and the other cop came out with his pistol out his holster and walked up to the back of the convertible.

"Is there a problem, Officer?" Travis asked sweetly, assuming they were into roleplaying in the fraternity hazing test. He knew he'd sped away from Ron's Place, so he knew that at least that could be a problem in an actual traffic stop.

"Damn right there's a problem. There's a problem, isn't there, Larry?" the cop called back to his partner, who was approaching on the passenger side of the vehicles.

"There sure is, Pete," came back the answer.

"Was I going too fast? It's late at night. Nobody's around." He looked around for the first time to realize that, in fact, he'd driven onto what was a rural road. No one was on this stretch of the road or was likely to drive down here at this time of night unless they lived in one of the farmhouses further down the road--if there were, indeed, any houses further down this road.

"Worse than that. You've got a taillight out," Pete said.

"There's nothing wrong with the--" Travis cut that off as he heard the tinkle of the plastic when Officer Larry punched out the right-rear taillight cover of the Fiat.

"Hey, this is a borrowed car. Go easy on it. You're going to charge me with--?"

"I'm charging you with pissing us off. You want to step out of the car, son?" Pete said.

"Really, if you'll just tell me what the real problem is," Travis said, not so sure of himself now.

"You resisting authority, boy? I think he's resisting authority, Larry."

"Yeah, that's what it looks like to me," the other cop answered.

"Your chest camera working now, Larry?"

"Naw, the piece of shit keeps shorting out. And yours?"

"Mine's stop working too. Fancy that," Pete, the lead cop, reported.

Travis understood the implication of that and began to sweat. "No really, I'll--"

Pete smashed his nightstick against the driver's door, creating a nasty dent and scratching the paint. "I said fucking get out of the car, boy."

Travis got out of the car. "Do you want my license and the car registration?"

"What I want is for you to come around to the trunk, bend over it, with your arms spread and your hands on the trunk, and spread it. What I want is for you to assume the position and take it. You're such a smart-ass faggot that I know you've done this before. What I don't want is any smart-ass crap from you."

Travis was out of the car, but he wasn't moving. Pete lashed out with a fist that clipped the young man's cheek. But it didn't have a lot of force behind it and it more shocked Travis than hurt him. The follow up of a fist to the stomach gave more pain and had Travis double up and drop to the pavement. Pete reached down, ran his fingers into Travis's long hair that had come out of its ponytail band, and pulled him, groaning, back up onto his feet.

"I said go around to the trunk of this fancy little car of yours and assume the position."

Quaking, Travis was dragged around to the back of the Fiat by the hair by Pete, while Larry appeared on that side of the vehicles and nudged him along with his nightstick. The young man leaned over the trunk of the car, spreading his arms wide and pressing his palms into the metal surface. Pete rapped his nightstick against the inside of one of his calves, with a "Spread 'em, sweet cheeks," and, trembling, Travis widened his leg spread.

"Think he might have a weapon on him, Larry?" Pete asked.

"I don't have--" Travis started to say.

"Shut the fuck up, faggot," Pete growled. "Whatya think, Larry?"

"He just might," Larry agreed.

"So, I'll stand ready and you frisk him."

Larry stepped up behind Travis and ran his hands intimately all over the young man's body. "Well, whatya know," Larry muttered. "He's hard."

The two cops laughed. "Ya think he wants us, Larry? Think he knows we're both hung muvahs?"

"Yeah, I think he does," Larry answered. Travis moaned. The fact was that he did want it. This was exactly a scenario he'd dreamed about.

The young man panted and moaned as Larry, standing close behind him, reached around, unbuckled and unzipped him, and pulled Travis's jeans and briefs down to his knees. Larry was all roving hands then, moving them all over the young man's body until they focused in on his cock and balls. Larry grasped and rhythmically squeezed Travis's balls with his left hand, while he stroked the young man's cock off with the other. Pete was standing close in too, muttering dirty words, and rubbing his nightstick over Travis's thighs and buttocks.

"If he wasn't a faggot wanting it, he wouldn't get hard like that, would he, Larry?" Pete asked.

"No, I don't think he would," Larry agreed.

"So, he wants to be fucked."

"Yeah, I think he does."

With a groan and a sigh, Travis came for them, splashing cum on the rear bumper of the car. Within seconds, he was crying out, screaming at the night in surprise and pain. Pete had greased up the nightstick, exchanged positions with Larry, and was working Travis's hole with the end of the club. The young man's chest collapsed onto the trunk of the car, and Larry grasped the back of the young man's neck, holding his cheek pressed to the metal.

Pete managed to get the head of the stick into Travis's ass--Travis wasn't exactly a virgin to taking a man's cock up his ass--and Travis lay there, whimpering, as Pete fucked him with the stick, gaining an inch and then another as he worked the shaft. The nightstick was a good eight inches and most of it managed to get inside Travis as it worked his ass.

After a while, Travis heard the unbuckling and unzipping--of both men--and the snap of a condom being sheathed. Then the nightstick came out to be replaced with Pete's thick cock. Pete's beefy hands held Travis's hips in place and Larry continued pressing down on the young man's neck. He brought his own face down to the surface of the trunk to where he could look directly into Travis's face and catch the expressions of the young man being fucked.

After Pete has tensed, shot, tensed, and shot again, the two exchanged positions and Larry fucked Travis with a cock that wasn't as thick as Pete's, but was longer and plowed deeper.

"Don't move a muscle," Pete commanded as Larry withdrew and the two cops moved off to lean on the hood of the police cruiser, have a smoke, and share laughs.

Trembling, but more satisfied than either of the cops could know, Travis remained, collapsed, on the trunk of the fiat, panting, moaning low, and doing an all-point mental check on his condition. So far, so good. And cocking had been good. And, oh how exotic and erotic that nightstick play had been--thick, hard, demanding, mastering.

As they were returning to Travis from their smoking break, Pete and Larry weren't shy about discussing their ongoing plans within his hearing.

"I think he wants us to share him now," said Pete.

"Yeah, I'm sure I heard him begging for that," answered Larry.

Travis whimpered a "Please, please," and the two cops laughed. They both had their dicks out and were stroking them as they approached Travis from two sides. There was no escape for the young man. Chances were good they misinterpreted his meaning, though, assuming he was begging for mercy they wouldn't give him when, in fact, the prospect of being doubled by these two big brutes excited Travis. This was just the rough-fuck experience he craved.

Pete pulled Travis up off the trunk of the Fiat far enough for Larry to maneuver under him, back to metal. Travis panted and moaned as Pete held him over Larry and Larry worked in getting his cockhead in position and penetrating Travis's channel. Then Larry clutched Travis's waist between his hands, holding Travis in position, while Pete saddled up behind the young man, mounted him, and penetrated. Travis groaned, dug his knees into the metal of the car trunk on either side of Larry's hips, and gave little yipping noises as Larry held steady with his cock buried up in Travis's passage and Pete, one hand cupping Travis's chin to pull the young man's head back into his chest and the other palming Travis's belly, provided the thrusting power to a three-way ejaculation.

If Travis coming as well as the two men gave them a clue that, on some level, this was arousing to Travis too and he was able to get off on it, it didn't come up in conversation.

When they were done, Pete pulled Travis off Larry, carried him--Travis limp as a ragdoll--over to the side of the road, and rolled him into the ditch.

After a little bit of "and that does him, the pissy little faggot" repartee, the two cops readjusted their clothing, climbed into the police cruiser, and turned off the blue light and the spotlight. The cruiser backed quickly toward the intersection with North Garland Avenue, was pointed south toward the university area, and all that was left by the Fiat 124 Spider convertible were the sounds of crickets and low moaning from the ditch at the side of the road.

* * * *

"Travis, are you here? Where are you?" Shit. Did those cops take him with them?--if they were really cops. Nelson was wondering that--whether they were real cops--as he stumbled up to the Fiat in now what was nearly total darkness. He'd seen a little bit of what they'd done. Would real cops do that to a guy? He switched on a flashlight and turned toward the ditch next to the car when he heard what might be a moan.

"Here. I'm here," Travis answered, pulling himself up to the edge of the road. "Fuck, wasn't that something?" he declared as Nelson went to him and handed him the pair of jeans and the briefs he'd found on the ground behind the Fiat, not failing to notice the busted taillight.

"Are you OK? Did they really fuck you? I couldn't clearly see what was going on from where I was hiding--but it looked and sounded like--"

"Yes, they really fucked me. And what a ride it was. Got to have me more cops," Travis answered as he gingerly pulled on his briefs and jeans. "Shit, I didn't know you could do that with a nightstick."

"I'm not so sure those were real cops," Nelson said. "I was hiding back there beyond their car and I got a good look at it. I don't think it was a real cop car--not even an unmarked one. It was just an old Chrysler and the blue light was a portable one, like volunteer firemen have."

"No, I don't think they were really cops either. They didn't ask me for my license or the car registration. They just got down to business--rough business. They just were reacting to me pissing them off at the bar."

"I'm sorry that you--"

"No, it was great, really. And I can understand they wouldn't be real cops--just some guys Craig got to act like cops for the hazing."

"Those weren't the guys Craig got for the hazing," Nelson said.

"What do you mean?"

"The guys Craig set up were left behind at Ron's Place when you were chased out by the guys dressed at cops. These guys were someone else--someone you really pissed off back at the roadhouse."

Travis laughed.

"And look what they did to your car," Nelson said. "The taillight was done here. I heard it bust. And is the gouge on the driver's door new. Did they do that to your nice car?"

"No, they didn't do this to my car."

"I don't understand."

"This isn't my car. This is Craig's car. His dad just bought it for him. I say it serves him right for setting up fraternity hazing like this."

"Craig let you borrow his car his dad just gave him?"

"Not exactly. The keys were in the ignition. I don't have a car. It was Craig's scene, so I decided he could provide the transportation. He needs to learn not to leave the key in the ignition."