tagBDSMCourtesan Cop Ch. 01

Courtesan Cop Ch. 01


Note: This story is Female-dominant / male-submissive, with some BDSM twist to it. If you don't like that sort of thing, please return to the menu and choose a story you will enjoy! Thanks!! All characters are over 18. This is part of a continuing story, and therefore the plotlines will not have fully resolved by the end of this installment. If you read this part before others have been completed, I thank you in advance for your patience...

For Linda.

To save time, here is some background:

*ROLE-REVERSAL: This story takes place in a world exactly like our own with two major exceptions: the traditional roles of male and female, in terms of power and dominance, are reversed throughout society; and, the physical size of male and female are altered to suit the situation. It's a woman's world, and boys have a tough time being taken seriously as the equals of women. In this fictional world, women are physically larger, averaging about 6'tall. Hips and breasts are large, and most women have 'a little extra padding'. Women wear slacks, blouses, and coats – certainly feminine, but not revealing except that a woman's exaggerated curves are impossible to hide. Males average 5'7" tall, and are expected to maintain their muscular but trim figures.

Boys know it is best to be submissive toward women, and women have engineered a society that strongly reinforces male submission and Female dominance.

*FASHION: Fashion for boys is designed to make boys look desirable to women, which includes thin and/or sheer fabrics; form-fitting stretch-pants featuring a pouch to fully display the genital bulges; low-rise pants and cropped shirts to display bare midriffs and navel piercings. Body hair is the bane of male fashion, and boys must take steps to be hairless from the neck down. Male beauty is based on the model of the 18-year-old boy – fresh and clean and virile – so males of all ages are pressured to look 'young'. Boys must spend enormous time and effort in gyms and beauty salons living up to the ideal of 'male beauty'.

*NUDITY: Art, advertising and all forms of media feature full frontal male nudity, including prime time TV shows. Male nudity is a very 'normal' part of everyday life. Male strip clubs are a popular place for women to have business meetings after hours. Many restaurants feature scantily clad waiters, and if a bar wants to be successful they must have 'bottomless' waiters. These societal 'norms' objectify the male body as a visual and sexual plaything and constantly reinforce the idea that men are merely sexual, not intellectual beings.

*SPANKING: Boys need a firm maternal disciplinary hand to guide them, and it is the 'norm' for mothers to spank their sons all their lives, even after such time as they leave home or are married off. Women also spank their adult husbands, consorts, boyfriends, etc., as it is assumed that all males are sometimes naughty or disobedient and need a woman's guiding hand of discipline to keep them in their proper place. It is expected that males of all ages receive regular disciplinary spankings so that they can be calm and productive in their subservient role in society.

*MARRIAGE: Most women take a husband, sometimes more than one, but society freely accepts that they may also have one or more 'consorts' (regular boys on the side). Many affluent women will actually have their consort(s) live in their home alongside their husband(s). A first husband would usually be 5 years younger than his wife, and as time passes, she will usually take her consorts and/or second husband even younger. No matter what the age of the woman, the 'best' age for her to take a male is 18-23.

*PROSTITUTION: Male prostitution is everywhere under the surface of society. It is regarded as a bit 'naughty', but it is an accepted necessity in society and lightly regulated and controlled. But there is a higher level of call-boy that is specially licensed by the government and is given some real respect, and there are actually trade schools for it. These very specially selected boys are trained from youth to be a 'Courtesan' – in the classical sense of being a sexual companion who is very well educated and intelligent, trained in the arts, fashion, music, courtesy and protocol, cooking, self defense, and every sort of high-brow knowledge. This makes a courtesan an extremely interesting companion for a lady of means, both in and out of bed...

I think that's enough to get up to speed on this fictional society... and now to the story:


His cell phone was ringing with the theme song from 'Rocky'. Jeffrey sat up, rubbed sleep from his eyes, and reached for the blackberry. "Hello?" he said.

"Detective Jeffrey Mason, please," said the soft male voice.

"Speaking," said Jeffrey, smiling at the title he had just been awarded. He was the youngest boy to be promoted to detective in the department's history, and the envy of every male beat cop and receptionist alike. At 22, Jeffrey was about to have his first day as a homicide detective – something he had dreamed about almost all his life.

His mother, a sweet but quite domineering woman, had always planned for him to become a courtesan, and she had managed to get him into the most prestigious courtesan school in the city since he was 12. The 14 hours a day of education and training had molded his young mind to a sharp blade, and his body had developed to a thing of beauty, which was now a two-edged sword to say the least. Upon graduation with a full license on his 18th birthday, he did not join one of the many Houses that had offered him lucrative appointments, but instead he entered the police academy. He aced all the academic tests, set records on every physical trial, shot as a marksman, and graduated at 19. He was the first licensed courtesan to enter the City Police Department.

In his first year with the department, his uniform was shiny and new as he made several felony arrests as a partner in a patrol cruiser. Last year he had made more arrests, particularly because he was able to run down any perpetrator on foot due to his superior physical conditioning.

And then there was the thing with the Lawyer. That woman was a complete bitch, but maybe that's why she was an Assistant DA. She was walking into Police Plaza one morning when Jeffrey, still in street clothes but packing his firearm as per regulations, was doing the same to prepare for his shift.

An Ex-con with a knife, a big fat dyke name Abigail who had been convicted of drug trafficking and attempted murder by that very same ADA, jumped out from behind a bush and put the knife to ADA Murphy's throat, and started dragging her down the stairs to a waiting car. Abigail made the mistake of ignoring little Jeffrey, all 5'5" and 139 pounds of him, as she attempted to kidnap Murphy.

Jeffrey had seen what was happening and causally altered his climb up the stairs to be between the dyke and the waiting car. He stopped, held up his badge with his left hand and yelled "Freeze, police officer" in his little voice.

Abigail stopped and looked surprised at the little boy with a badge. Jeffrey looked maybe 16, but was already a 20 year old police officer. She said, "Fuck you," and tightened the knife against ADA Murphy's throat, causing a little red line of blood to trickle on the edge of the blade.

In one trained motion, Jeffrey pulled his Glock from his shoulder holster and fired, putting a .40 caliber bullet through the bridge of Abigail's nose, less than 3" from ADA Murphy's head. Through the mist of blood and brain spatter that covered Murphy, Abigail fell to the stairs; instant rag doll, and took the ADA down with her.

Before the assailant had begun to fall, Jeffrey had turned and was already moving down the stairs. He jumped over the roof of the waiting car to the driver's side, and as the getaway woman was putting the car into gear, he reached in the open window, grabbed her by the head and yanked her torso out of the car to hang in space out the open window. The car stalled out as he put his gun behind her ear and said, "You're under arrest."

Needless to say, once ADA Murphy had gotten over the fact that she was covered in gore, so happy was she that none of it was her own, she became amazingly grateful to be alive. She sat on the stairs with her head in her hands as people rushed to her side to help her, shaking with the trauma of the experience. She looked up to see little Jeffrey, coming up the stairs toward her, leading the now-handcuffed getaway driver by the ear. Murphy smiled with amazement, and the political machine that was her powerful brain was already tuning in high gear.

Murphy stood up, shook herself loose of her caretakers and the shock she had felt, and told gathered officers to take charge of the suspect. But she made it crystal clear that the little male cop would have all the credit for the arrest.

The police captain was suddenly there, and she looked at the dead body and then at Jeffrey and frowned. Her eyes focused on the Glock still in Jeffrey's hand at his side and held out her hand as she said to Jeffrey, "Badge and gun, officer, until this shooting is fully investigated."

Like hell," said Murphy, "this...officer...just saved my life." She pulled down her collar to display the knife wound, shallow as it was it bled really well making for excellent photo opportunities. She pointed at the corpse, "This bitch was in the process of kidnapping me when your officer showed his badge and commanded her to freeze. Instead, she started slitting my throat and then your officer drew his service weapon and fired one round to save me from being murdered on your front porch. He then apprehended the suspected get-away driver with no shots fired."

The captain stood with her mouth open, not knowing what to say.

Murphy put her arm around Jeffrey's shoulders and addressed the gathering crowd in a loud voice as cell-phone cameras clicked away. "This officer acted exactly according to regulations and guidelines, in front of a hundred witnesses, and saved an Assistant District Attorney from kidnap and certain death at the hands of a convicted felon whom I have previously put in prison myself." She was obviously rehearsing a press conference, but it was working as far as Jeffrey was concerned.

"Uh, yeah, ok," said the Captain. Then she looked at Jeffrey, "You will report to my office immediately, once this...scene is mopped up and everybody's statements are taken."

"Yes, Ma'am," said Jeffrey's little voice. He couldn't help but smile. He was reassessing his assumptions about ADA Murphy...perhaps she wasn't quite the bitch everyone said.

Within a week, there was a commendation and medal, press conferences, TV interviews, and Jeffrey's promotion to Detective followed a few months later. Being ADA Murphy's pet wasn't a bad thing either – she was the heir apparent to the retiring DA, and the election was in about 6 months.

The attempted kidnapping had vaulted Murphy to the top of the political food chain in the city. She was golden, and she knew how to play it. And best of all, the one sincere thing in Murphy's twisted heart was actual gratitude and appreciation toward Jeffrey. He was her favorite 'boy-cop', as she was in the habit of calling him, and that meant Jeffrey was disliked and feared and secretly admired by the female cops, and he was worshiped by the few male officers that existed.

And now Jeffrey was a detective. In Homicide – the most coveted department. It was all Murphy's doing and only served to increase the loathing that many other detectives, all female of course, felt toward him. But the uniformed officers sort of adopted him as a pet, and were very supportive.

The voice in Jeffrey's phone that first morning said, "Detective Mason, the Lieutenant asked that you go directly and immediately to a crime scene. There is a new case that she wants you on pronto. She said something about it being in the realm of your expertise." The voice gave him an address. "How fast can you get there?"

Jeffrey looked at his watch. "I'll be there within 45 minutes."

"I'll let her know."

Jeffrey jumped up and into the shower. He was glad that he had invested in all the waxing, since he would have had no time to shave his body. He shaved his face and went to the closet, picking his finest suit. He hoped it wouldn't be too cold outside as he chose the most expensive leggings he owned, fine black fabric, stretchy and sheer with just a little shine to it. He slid into the skin-tight garment with the fashionably low-rise waist and adjusted the stretchy pouch several times until he was satisfied.

He put on the white shirt just back from the cleaners. It fit tight and was sheer enough to let his nipples show, and it was cut to stop just above his pierced navel with the sparkling blue gemstone, leaving a nice expanse of hairless flat tummy with the hint of a six-pack exposed above the low waist of the leggings. He slipped his feet into black suede loafers, and put on his shoulder harness and weapon. He added the black leather jacket on top of it all and looked in the mirror. He could see just a little of the white skin of his tummy peeking under the jacket, just above the fullness of his thin and form-fitting pouch.

"Very fashionable for a detective," he said to the image in the mirror as he slipped his badge into his coat pocket. He knew that dressing as he did was both good and bad. It reminded everyone clearly that he was still an attractive boy, even though he was a police officer. But at the same time, in fashionable clothes and with a charming smile, he was able to get information from women that no female officer would ever get. As a trained courtesan, he knew quite a bit about female psychology and how to play upon their maternal instincts to nurture and protect, as well their sexual appetites. He could use this knowledge and his Courtesan skills to great advantage as a Detective.

He rushed down to the street and hailed a cab. One thing about being a boy was the difficulty in getting a driver's license. Now that he was a detective, he'd be able to get one much more easily. But since his salary was only half what a woman would get for the same job, he wasn't sure he could afford a car of his own. And anyway, it was always easy for him to get a ride from a woman; he only had to turn on just a little charm, and he could get reimbursed for cab fare while on duty.

As he hailed the cab he endured a few whistles and cat calls in appreciation of his fashionably revealing attire. It didn't bother him in the least. He was used to it, and in his heart, he knew there were only a few years before the whistling and propositions would start to fade, and eventually cease. He wondered if he'd at least be somebody's husband by then. Marriage was never really something he thought much about, but at 21 he knew his days as a 'hot property' were numbered. It was only a matter of time before the first grey hair would appear on his head, and then the race would be over.

The cab driver was a nice enough looking woman in her fifties; a solid working class type. She said, "Hey pretty boy, where can I take you besides to bed?"

Jeffrey smiled and gave her the address.

"Posh," she said with a whistle, and hurtled the car into traffic with suitable aggression. He noticed that she studied him in the mirror for a minute, and then she said, "I'd peg you for a courtesan based on your looks, dress, and destination, but I'm not right, am I?"

Jeffrey smiled. "Astute, Ma'am," he said. "You're half right. I graduated from Remy Docault, but I'm a police officer now."

The woman looked in the mirror and whistled. "Wow, you're the one in the news last year. Honor to meet you. What's it like to be the toast of the town, pretty one?" Such names as 'pretty boy' or 'pretty one' were meant to be both complimentary and affectionate, so Jeffrey took no offence at all when a woman addressed him so.

"Honestly, I wish the attention were less. I really just want to be a cop."

"I understand," she said, thinking quietly a moment. "You know, I've got a son, not near as pretty as you, but a very good boy. Smart too. He wants to go to university, and have a career. I've always been against it, you know, a boy's place is in the home and all that. But as I have been following your story, I can see that a boy can go out in the world and make a real difference. I'm starting to rethink things about my son. I love him and want him safe in the kitchen and the nursery, but I want to be proud of him for achieving something too, like you have done."

"That's very nice of you, and I wish your boy well," said Jeffrey. "If he's smart and determined, a boy can do anything. Don't count him short, after all, he's your son – his success would be yours too."

"Yeah, I was thinking that same thing," she said with a smile. "I am proud of my son..."

They drove in silence through the city in the early morning. Traffic was fairly light. Jeffrey looked around at the older buildings and enjoyed the architectural diversity. Everywhere he looked, there were billboards advertising various products and services, each one more risqué than the next. There was a law that no advertisement on a public street could contain an image of an erect penis, because that would be inappropriate for young girls to see.

But almost every ad had a naked man in one form or another, usually with an abnormally large penis, and most often semi-erect. Apparently the law had been vague in its definition of 'erection', and the advertising agencies had argued that if the penis wasn't at least horizontal on a standing man, it wasn't truly erect. It was true that no woman could resist looking at an erect penis, and the advertising agencies knew it and used the knowledge wisely to attract interest in their products.

The car passed a few squares and open areas where there were sculptures. There were no 'erection strictures' on art, because after all, it was art. And so every sculpture included at least one beautiful male with an erect penis. Jeffrey smiled to himself, such a one-track mind women have...

"Well, here we are," said the cabbie.

The cab stopped in front of the Bradbury Building, downtown; a very exclusive building only for rich people. Jeffrey stepped out of the cab and stood at the driver's open window as he took out his wallet and paid her. He took a little extra time, knowing the woman was eyeing his genital pouch and letting her have a good look. He heard her mutter "Mmm" under her breath and he smiled. Then he turned and walked away, literally feeling her eyes caress his bottom in the skin tight leggings. She called after him, "Good luck pretty one!" and drove off.

He showed his badge to the young bell woman, and she took him up to the 35th floor in the elevator as she furtively eyed him up and down and smiling. Jeffrey hardly noticed being stared at by woman. It was often hard to have a conversation when they were staring at his pouch and not his face, but that was normal and he had to admit he dressed to encourage it. Like any boy, he was a sucker for all the female attention he could get, any way he could get it.

The elevator door hissed open and Jeffrey stepped out into the hallway, full of policewomen in uniform. A particularly large blond woman in her thirties that Jeffrey knew well walked over to him. The woman's name was Marge and she was married to Tommy, and had two daughters of whom she was very proud.

She smiled "Hi, Jeffrey, glad you're here." She gave him an affectionate pat on the shoulder and squeezed his arm to feel his muscles. "Still working out like a good boy, eh?" she said as her eyes slid down his body to check out his pouch. "Looking good as always, pretty one," she said.

Jeffrey smiled, "Hi, Marge, I'm working out when I have the time...what's up here?" He ignored her lingering eyes as they tarried south of the equator, and waited for her response.

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