Policed in Three Acts

I got it occasionally, but not nearly enough as I wanted it and then much more vanilla than as I fantasized getting it. I was sure I’d be able to manage it. I wasn’t a big guy, but I was in great shape. I had to be. My job as a decorator consultant at the interior decorator shop in Lakewood, a southwestern section of Denver, didn’t bring in enough to cover my lifestyle. I supplemented that income with catalog sales men’s fashions modeling. I had to look good and be trim. The cameras for a sales catalog didn’t have to reveal that I was only five foot seven as long as everything else was in pleasing proportion.

Buddy and Chuck at the South Alameda Gym appeared to be a pair—I’d always seen them together at the gym—but what a pair they were. They were gorgeous man flesh and bulked up, bodybuilder muscular. Every muscle they had was fully developed. When I was on the floor the same time they were, I fantasized about how developed the muscle was I couldn’t see—and there wasn’t much about their bodies I couldn’t see at the gym. They were real exhibitionists. But they had every reason to be proud of what they had and they had such smooth moves that I couldn’t keep my eyes off of them.

I, of course, being a little guy, had a fetish for big, muscular men. I melted to these two. I’m sure they became aware of that.

Of late, they’d been looking at me while I worked out too. It made me all twittery inside and it made me go hard while I worked out. I was sure, though, that me going hard wasn’t anything like either of them going hard.

The only real difference between the two—they both sported buzz cuts and shaved their bodies, except for trimming their pits, if they naturally were hairy—was that Chuck was white and Buddy was black. They both had no-nonsense expressions and when they each looked at me, I felt they could strip me right down and grade every part of me. The focus of their lives obviously was physical fitness. It made me want to make the most of my body in working out at the gym.

I admitted to myself that I wanted them, separately or together. I’d been fucked by guys before, but I hadn’t been doubled before. I fantasized about being sandwiched. They looked like mean sons of bitches, and I was aching to try that out. I figured they were both hung like bulls—that their cocks went with the rest of them in size and power—and I had been in training for weeks before they approached me. I was too shy to approach them, although I put myself out there as much as possible and did moves when I exercised that showed I was really flexible for my size—I’d been on the gymnastics team at Colorado State in Fort Collins—and available. What I couldn’t show them in the gym was that I’d gotten myself a King Cock twelve-incher dildo, with a three-inch width and nine-point-five-inch girth—one big, thick muvva. Learning to accommodate that pretty much prepared me for anything, I thought.

The day they finally came at me back in the corner of the locker room at the gym, I was ready and willing—and, I trusted, able.

“Hey, look here, we’ve finally got Cutie Pie away from the floor,” a voice from one side of me said.

And right after that, from the other side, “You’ve been giving us the eye, little guy. You a player? You act like you want to be a player.”

And there they were, the white guy, Chuck, circling to the back of me and reaching out and taking my upper arm on both sides, and the black guy, Buddy, saddling up in front of me. They both towered over me by some nine inches each and, bulked up as they were, each of them was probably one and a half times my weight—easy.

“Do we intimidate you, or do we excite you?” Chuck asked.

I ached to be restrained and manhandled—and fucked.

“Uh, can I help you guys?” I asked. I was more nervous than I thought I’d be if they made a move on me, which I was beginning to think they weren’t. I didn’t want to discourage them now that we were at the point I’d dreamed of. But, shit, they were both huge.

“Yes, you intimidate me,” I said, being truthful, “but . . .”

“But we excite you to,” Chuck filled out the thought. He laughed. Facing me, Buddy sniggered.

Buddy was only in a jockstrap and Chuck just with a towel around his waist. As they sandwiched me between them, Buddy’s hands coming around me and palming my pecs and Chuck’s hands grasping my waist on both sides as his towel slipped off him. He was in erection and, as I surmised, he would be, he was huge. He eyes followed where mine were directed and he laughed.

“Like what you see?” he asked.

“Yes,” I mumbled.

“Louder. I can’t hear you,” he barked.

“Yes,” I answered, in a louder, but shaking voice.

He was just coming from the showers and I had been on my way there, so I was just in a towel around my waist too. But not for long.

“Let’s see what you got,” Chuck said. He pulled on that at my waist, and my towel joined his on the floor of the entrance off the locker room back to an unlit corridor with offices and massage rooms on either side. They obviously were in use right now, the dinner hour.

There was no hiding that I was interested. I was hard as a rock for them.

“Nice,” he said. “All in perfect proportion.”

“You can help us if you take cock,” Buddy whispered in my ear. “And the way you’ve been mooning over us the last couple of weeks, I’d say you were begging for it from us.”

“I have some experience, yes,” I squeaked. “And you’re both gods. Do you ever separate?” I’d been thinking of both of them together, but not really in real life—not when it came to being a real possibility. That had just been fantasy until now. I wanted to experience rough and a little kinky and they both looked like that’s what they’d do. But together. I didn’t know about that.

“Yep, we’re partners. Partners at work and partners at play. Oh, look Buddy, that’s made the little tyke go hard.” Chuck reached down and frotted our cocks together. I felt pretty proud of what I was swinging, but not when it was put up against Chuck’s shaft. I was trembling. Buddy had moved a hand down and around and, after hefting my butt cheeks, ran a finger into the crack. I gasped as he penetrated me with it.

“Think we could get him done on one of the massage tables back there before the rub guys get back from chow down, Buddy?”

“I don’t know,” Buddy said. “Do you think we’d have time to do it all to him?”

“What do you say, Chicken? You want Buddy and me to do it all to you. You’ve been giving us the eye and the signals for weeks. You a player for this or not? But, hey, I don’t know man. Check out how narrow his hips are and I’m finding him tight as a witch’s snatch. Maybe he couldn’t take us.”

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry as dust.

“Answer the man, blondie. You want us to cover you and show you a good time or not?”

“Yes,” I croaked. I couldn’t help it. Fantasy won out over prudence.

“Say that again,” Chuck growled.

“Yes,” I said, my voice stronger, emboldened by how long I’d planned to try out more than vanilla sex. These guys were muscle gods and at least one of them could compete with my King Cock dildo. This just might be a now or never moment. If I didn’t have the courage to try something rough out, when would I? And did I want to? “Yes, a thousand times yes.”

The two bruisers laughed. I didn’t realize I’d said that out loud.

“Sweet,” Chuck said. “We just love breaking little honey’s like you. Buddy, you fade back and pick out a . . . wait . . . shit.”

We heard men in discussion coming toward the locker room. The duty masseur and trainer were coming back from dinner.

“Shit, we can’t do this here now,” Buddy said. Leaning into me, he whispered, “What cha doing tonight?” into my ear. He taken his beefy finger out of my ass and his hands were squeezing my shoulder blades.

“Nothing,” I squeaked. “I’ll be home alone. I could meet—”

“Where’s home?” Chuck asked. “Speak. Address. Do you live alone?”

“Yes, I’ll be there alone,” I answered.

“And, yes, you want us to come visit you?” Chuck said. “We want to hear a yes.”

“Yes, I want you to come visit me.”

“And to do you royally.”

“Yes.”

I gave my address and a time to them and they faded away around the banks of lockers, so I was standing alone there, picking up my towel—and the one Chuck had abandoned—when the masseur and trainer came into view, smiled at me, moved around me on either side and, turning the light on in the corridor behind me move toward their respective workrooms.

I covered myself with my towel as soon as I picked it up. I was hard and didn’t want the trainer and masseur to see that. I was excited. I’d gone hard for the two studs. I wanted this—if only the once to know how rough it could and to know it that would take me to new levels of completion.

* * * *

Would they come or were they just teasing me? Were they just having a runup at me because I had been so obvious, running around behind them at the gym with my tongue hanging out? Would not showing up be their way of telling me to fuck off and leave them alone? Was I being a crazy baby to be wanting this—and showing that I did? Yes, I was crazy.

I roamed around the apartment making sure everything was set up just in case they did show up. I was so nervous I couldn’t sit down or calm down. I’d bought four six-packs of cold beer on the way home, made room for them in the refrigerator, and I’d set the TV up so it could be turned to a live hockey game or switch over to a gay sex video, their choice. I picked a movie where two muscular black dudes did a young white guy together. Was that going too far? Was that what I really wanted? Did they even like hockey? Was there some other sport going that they’d like better? Hadn’t I heard them talking at the gym about sports and what they liked to watch? Was this all just crazy? Yes, of course it was.

“Calm down, Conner. They won’t even show up.”

Now I was talking to myself. Was that the doorbell? Yes, it was. I practically fell over a chair and opened the door . . . and, my god, they were there.

Shit. They were both cops—in full gear. They’d come to arrest me.

“Well, you gonna let us in?” Officer Buddy asked. Officer Chuck didn’t ask, he breezed into the apartment past both Buddy and me.

“First things. Where’s the beer?”

“The kitchen alcove is right over there. There’s lots of beer in the refrigerator. And, yes, please come in.” I gestured to Buddy while looking up and down the hall. Two cops coming into my apartment wouldn’t look all that good to the neighbors.

“There’s a hockey game on tonight.” That was Buddy’s comment as he looked around the apartment.

Bingo. I’d guessed right. “The TV’s on the channel for that,” I said. “All you have to do is turn it on. Use this remote.” I pointed to the remote on the table under the TV. My hands were too shaky to hold it. “If you want to watch skin vids, use this other remote.”

Buddy used the remote for the Hockey game. “Bring me a beer, will ya, Chuck?” he said.

“Next things,” Chuck said, handing Buddy a beer and flipping the tab on his—they were making themselves right at home, “are the declarations off the top.” He was wearing leather gloves along with all of the other cop gear, including an equipment belt, with a lot of shit hanging off it. Buddy was his twin other than not wearing the gloves. Chuck pulled a smart phone off the belt and held it out, pointed at me.

“First, say into the phone that you want us to fuck you.”

“I want you to fuck me,” I said into the phone in a shaky voice.

“Say you want to take us both and you want us to be rough.”

“I want you to double me and I want it rough,” I stammered.

“Good. Strip,” he said. “All the way. We heard you were a fashion model. Be a model for us.”

“Strip? Now?”

“Now!” he commanded, like he was an army sergeant. I stripped down. He videoed it with his phone.

“You got lube and rubbers, by the way? We have them, but this is your party. You’re in charge of party favors.”

“There on top of the kitchen island,” I said, gesturing toward where he was standing.

“Good. Hope it’s enough rubbers. Now, tell me yes again.”

“Yes?”

“Say, ‘Yes I’ve invited these cops into my apartment and stripped for them and want them to fuck me.’”

“Yes, I’ve invited these cops into my apartment and stripped for them.”

“And want them to fuck me,” he prompted.

“And want them to fuck me,” I repeated,

“Now say, ‘Yes, I want them to use me and use me hard. Say it again. Twice is twice as protecting as once. We’re going to get into some serious shit here.”

I hesitated, not because it wasn’t what I’d planned and hoped for myself, but because this all seemed so tied up with legalese and so raw when it actually was said.

“Say it,” he growled.

“Yes, I want them to use me and use me hard.”

“For the next two hours I want to be their sex slave.”

I repeated it.

“Good,” he said, switching the phone off and pulling his shirt and undershirt off his torso and over his head. He, of course, was magnificently built. I’d known that from watching him in the gym. “Buddy,” he said, and Buddy, without taking his eyes off the hockey game, pulled his shirt off too. Of course Buddy had the body of a god too. What surprised me was that that was all they took off. Chuck even kept his gloves on.

They got right to it—or, rather Chuck did. “Get on the couch there, belly down.” My couch was a sectional, one arm facing the TV. Buddy was sitting in the middle of that. The other one angle toward the wall with the TV on it. The part that Buddy was on had a back to it. The other wing, the one Chuck told me to lie on didn’t although it at an arm at the end.

As I lay down on the backless section on my belly, I watched Chuck pull a pair of handcuffs off his belt. “Cuffs,” he said, snapping his fingers at Buddy. Buddy, eyes still glued to the game, pulled a pair of handcuffs off his belt and handed them over. It was becoming evident that Chuck was both the brains and the control of this pair. I hoped that meant it was Buddy I could go to for relief if this got too much for me.

If? The way this was moving, this might go to overload real fast. Oh, well, I had been determined to explore the edges.

I whimpered a bit as Chuck cuffed my wrists together with one pair of handcuffs and my ankles with the other. He sat down beside me as I was stretched out on the sofa wing and sexed me up for a good fifteen or twenty minutes, exploring my body and massaging and fondling it with his gloved hands. When I was moaning and sighing and practically purring for him, I gasped as first one finger and then another one rubbed over my hole for a minute or more and then penetrated me and finger fucked me. He was real good at that.

“OK so far?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered.

Buddy wasn’t just watching the game now. He was spitting his time between that and watching Chuck work my body. Buddy was unzipped and he had a huge cock out and was stroking himself.

“I’m gonna put all of this in you,” he murmured, and I shuddered.

Chuck picked my body up—I was as good as weightless for either of these dudes—and pulled me to where my chest was resting on the top of the end arm. My head and cuffed arms were hanging down the other side. I could watch the hockey game myself now, if I wanted too. I was too nervous and excited and scared to want to. Chuck ran a gloved hand under me and stroked my cock with one hand while he was fingering and penetrating me with the gloved fingers of the other hand. I was hard as a rock and dripping.

“Here, Buddy. Put it in him. Fuck him. I’ve got to take a piss and the game is in commercials. Take firsties in fucking this sweet little thing. I got him all excited for you. The rubbers are over there on the kitchen island.”

Chuck left and Buddy, as directed, stood and went over to the kitchen island. I heard the snap of a condom being applied. I looked around as he approached. He was lubing up his shaft—his monster of a shaft. There was no preparation other than he’d come up with a ball gag from somewhere and got it on me almost before I knew what he was doing.

“We assume you’ve got neighbors,” he said, and laughed.

He lubed up my entrance, but in short order, he had me up on my knees, still dangling over the arm, mounted me, worked his way inside me, as I worked hard to stretch for him, and he fucked me in a doggie for just a few minutes. I writhed under him as best I could and bit into the rubber of the ball gag. I was stretched to the limit and he was moving inside me. In and out, in and out, He had my full attention. He was the biggest I’d ever had. And I realized this was just beginning.

Then Chuck was back and the commercials were over. I heard the snap of Chuck pulling on a condom and then he was on top of me, where Buddy left and was fucking me. He felt as big inside me as Buddy had. On the next commercial, Buddy came around in front of me, pulled his rubber off, and made me take his cock in my mouth. He grabbed the hair on the top of my head and jerked my head up to give him straight access to my throat. I gave him head.

Spit roasted. This had never happened to me before either. I’d given guys head before, even roughly like this, but before there’d only been one guy. I wasn’t being fucked at the other end with a massive shaft at the same time.

Even while he was face fucking me, Buddy’s eyes were back watching the hockey game. With a grunt, he came, and slid his cock out of my throat. Chuck pulled out of me too and turned me over on my back. He took the cuffs off me, but only to change what they were binding. He moved them to where my wrists were cuffed to my ankles on both sides, leaving me spread wide.

“Flexible little dude, ain’t cha?” he said, his voice approving. He was right about that, a good thing, because in this position, if I hadn’t been flexible, I’d been worrying more about the pain of being trussed up than about arousal of what they did to me while I was trussed up.

He pushed a fluffy sofa pillow under the small of my back and then stood and smiled as he watched my eyes bug out and me shudder and tremble on the sofa, trying to tell him “no” but unable to do so with the ball gag in my mouth.

He had taken his nightstick, one that bulged at the end, off his belt and was lubing it up. He laughed at my beginning to moan even before he used it. I didn’t really think he was going to use it, though. He was just teasing me, I was sure.

He used it. He fucked me for a good ten minutes with the nightstick. After the initial shock, I realized that it wasn’t as thick as my King Cock dildo, although it wasn’t flexible like the dildo was. It was made of hard ABS plastic; there was no give to it. It forced me to give. I adjusted. For the last several minutes I was moving my pelvis in synch with the rhythm of his thrusts of the tool. I think he was a little surprised that I took it at all, not to mention how deep my channel let him get with it. I silently blessed all of the work I’d done with the King Cock dildo.

When he got tired of this game, he pulled it out and moved away from me. Once again I heard the snap of a condom being put in place. There already were two used ones on the floor. He covered me in a missionary and fucked the hell out of me in a rollicking, vigorous, deep, bouncing fuck. The nightstick had reamed me big enough to handle him without trouble.

I enjoyed it, but they had exhausted me already. Already? They’d been working me for an hour. What had Chuck said, though? Had me mentioned two hours? I groaned.

He uncuffed me and relieved me of the ball gag. It was halftime at the hockey game. They left me to moan and whimper, stretched out on the backless sectional sofa and went in to the kitchen for what was either their third or fourth beer each and to raid the refrigerator. I’d brought in plenty of snacks for them.

Act One was over, although at this point, I had no idea that this would be a three-act play. The question from earlier in the day in the gym had been answered. Yes, these two guys could—and would—manhandle and fuck me.

Before they left, Chuck replayed the recording of me giving permission for a rough fuck and laughed.

* * * *

The hockey game was over. Buddy had no entertainment to focus on. So, he was fucking me. A big, black bull was fucking me. That was new enough for me without the way he was doing it, which also was a revelation. I hadn’t been fucked by a black bull before. Nobody had fucked me this way. When the game finished, Chuck picked me up like I was a sack of potatoes and slung me over his shoulder. My wrists were handcuffed together again. They’d freed me of the ball gag.

“Let’s take it to the bedroom, Buddy. You want to start him in the DP there?”

“Sure,” Buddy said, rising from the sofa and following us into the bedroom.

DP. I knew what that meant. It was Act Two in delivering on my fantasy—but only half of it. All that King Cock work was going to pay out.

Buddy went down on his back on the bed. Chuck laid me, stretched out, on top of Buddy, on my back. My arms went over Buddy’s head, my handcuffed wrists behind his neck. He laced his legs through mine and lifted and separated my legs, rolling my pelvis up. Chuck, only in black leather gloves and boots, knelt between Buddy’s and my spread legs. Both men ran their hands over my body, sexing me and making me moan. I begged for it.

“Do it. Put me on the cock,” I murmured. I had no idea which of the men would fuck me in that position. I didn’t care. They both were hung. They both were in erection. I was in erection too. Buddy worked my pecs and nipples with a hand and buried his face in the hollow of my neck. His other hand went down and laced its fingers through my balls, a finger pressing in the vein on the underside of my cock, at the root, keeping me hard as a rock, as Chuck glided his gloved hands over my body and took my cock in his mouth, giving me head, as I rocked my hips against his cheeks.

“We’re putting you on both cocks,” Buddy growled.

“Yes, yes, Fuck me. Fuck me now,” I whimpered. “Both of you fuck me.”

Chuck took his mouth off my cock to laugh, but then he swallowed me again, sucking, sucking, sucking. One of his gloved hands went under me, raising my tailbone, the heel of the hand supporting the tailbone as he penetrated me with a finger. I rocked on the finger, moaning, as he relentlessly sucked me to an ejaculation.

He then coaxed our legs open, and he manipulated mine, bending them, and setting the soles of my feet flat on the bed beside Buddy’s thighs. The gloved hand supporting my tailbone raised my hips more, so that, with my feet flat on the mattress, I was raised in the position that he told me was that of the crab. He moved Buddy’s erection into position, the glans pressed against my hole with his other hand.

“Oh, shit. Oh, fuck,” I murmured. They were going to do it.

And then Buddy was moving, entering me, penetrating, going deep, as, together, he and Chuck held me in place. Buddy fucked me in powerful upward thrusts. I focused on that for the next several moments—being fucked by the big, black bull in the position of the crab, my wrists cuffed and trapped behind his thick bull’s neck, his lips and teeth buried in the hollow of my neck.

For several minutes I forgot Chuck and what he was doing. When I was aware of him again, he was putting himself into position between Buddy’s and my spread legs.

Then I learned that DP meant double penetration.

Chuck hovered over me. I was sandwiched between the two burly cops, bare-chested, but still with their tight blue pants on their legs, their waistbands unhooked, unzipped, flared, to free their cock and balls for action. Their utility belts were gone, but their black boots were still on their feet, extending up their calves. And Chuck was wearing his black leather gloves.

Chuck put the bulb of his cock in place at my hole, above where Buddy’s cock was buried inside me. Buddy had stopped pumping. But I was to find that was only to let Chuck penetrate and do the pumping.

I hyperventilated, cried out for mercy that wasn’t coming; and tensed, but then relaxed when I realized that Chuck was right, that survival depended on relaxing and stretching—and groaning and panting and whimpering.

“Fuck. Shit. FUCK!”

“Take it. Take it. Take it,” Chuck growled, crouching over me in mounting position, and I writhed under him as he entered, entered, entered me. Both cocks inside me, all time and space went into suspension for unknown seconds as we all panted, willing for me to adjust, waiting for me to stretch. And then, probably thanks to many hours with my King Cock dildo, I adjusted. And Chuck began to pump.

“Shittttt.”

I was in the seventh heaven that I’d managed to manage it. This is what I’ve moved toward and been willing to say “yes” for. I wanted to be able to do this—to be in a lifestyle where I did do this.

I was doing this.

Chuck and Buddy fucked me to a shared coming in a double penetration.

When chuck pulled out of me and Buddy embraced me and moved me higher on his body, I thought it was over—that the second act was concluded.

But it wasn’t.

Chucked disappeared from below me. But Buddy pulled me into a closer embrace. He laced his arms under mine—under my armpits, immobilizing my arms even more than before and stretching my torso out. He laced his legs in mine again and spread and raised them together, rolling my pelvis up again.

And then Chuck was standing below the bed, over us. He held his gloved right hand up. The black leather was dripping in lube. Chuck was smiling. He came down on his knees on the bed between our legs again. I felt the coldness of the lube and the slickness of the greased-up black leather glove at my hole, which was now gaping open from just having two thick cocks in it.

It hit me. He was going to fist me. Surely, he wasn’t going to fist me. But, fuck, I’d said I wanted to experience it all. Fuck. Shit.

Bunched fingers pressed at my hole. I was dilated. My channel sucked them in, having no idea what would follow them. The knuckles followed them. I gave a little cry. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, FUCK!”

“Relax. Take it, take it. Relax.” His voice was smooth, cooing, coaxing me to think this was no big deal.

This was a big deal. I gave a scream and arched my head back as the knuckles breached the sphincter muscle. He was fisting me.

Buddy cupped my chin with one of his hands, holding my head back, his thumb pushing in between my lips, giving me something to suck on rather than spending all of my time screaming at the ceiling.

He was in . . . to the wrist . . . He flexed his fist and I groaned. He began to slow pump me with the fist, fist fucking me. I moaned. After a while I adjusted to it and I began rocking on the fist, moving in synch with the fuck.

Chuck laughed.

Act Two was the “height of peril” scene. Or so I thought at the time.

* * * *

He was a little guy, probably no bigger and older than I was—the runt of the force. I could smell the fear and apprehension in his sweat. This probably was his first rodeo. I certainly was mine. He mounted me—I could feel him trembling—right after a big-dicked black who had me in a missionary on the bed—not in my bed, not in my bedroom—tensed, snorted, jerked, pulled it out to my entrance, creamed me there, and then stuck it in again, brutally, sliding through the cum of countless men and gave me three more thrust. Moving into position right after the big black pulled out, the little Hispanic guy turned me over and mounted me in a doggie. He probably didn’t want to see my face. He did what few of the others did for me, though. As he rode me, he moved a hand under my waist, grabbed my cock, and stroked me off. I had no jackoff for him, though. I was all out of ejaculations.

I was just a vessel for a lot of guy’s pack mentality lust, each pent on demonstrating he was one of the guys, part of the brotherhood of men within the force who forced themselves on other men.

The others, I don’t know how many, milled around the bed—I didn’t know how many; they seemed to come and go from the room—their dongs hanging out, being stroked as they watched me being fucked, waiting their turn. They were in various stages of dress and undress, all of it cop gear. All of them wearing those big black boots, ready to run at the hint of discovery or a call to duty.

The little guy’s fuck was perfunctorily, just enough to be one of the guys. I don’t think he even came—that he just pretended he did, mimicking a moment of ecstasy and an ejaculation for show—before pulling out. I’d barely serviced the cock that had been shoved in my mouth before he’d turned me over on my stomach, before that guy had pulled out, was sliding under me, on his back on the bed, and had lifted and settled on his cock, on top of him in a cowboy, facing him. I still had the handcuffs on my wrists. I wasn’t going anywhere—not before these cops were done with me in their frenzy of shared fucking.

“You ever been gangbanged?” Chuck had asked me earlier in the evening, standing in the doorway of my bedroom, a cellphone to his ear. He was still wearing those black leather gloves that mesmerized me. My eyes followed the shiny one on his right hand that he’d fisted me with.

Now I could say yes.

I was barely in position, on the cock of the cop underneath me, until another black, tall, thin, hard-bodied, probably the longest shaft I’d seen tonight, but not thick, was climbing up behind me, putting his long, brown arms around me. These two weren’t young, probably in their forties. They knew what they were doing, though. Oh, god, they sure knew what they were doing. The long, black cock snaked its way inside me, on top of that of the guy under me. I writhed between them, panting hard, whimpering, but “Yes, yes, yes,” floating through my brain.

You ever been gangbanged? Yes, tonight. You ever been DPd? Yes, tonight—twice.

I’d thought it had been winding down in my apartment. Buddy was between my legs, in a missionary. My handcuffed hands were over my head, gripping the rungs of the brass headboard. Buddy was finished jerking and spouting. Shit these two were virile and perpetually good to go. Chuck, showered, and mostly dressed, all done except for buttoning up his cop shirt over his hunky, muscular chest, stood in the doorway of my bedroom, leaning into the doorframe, a cellphone to his ear.

“Yeah, I got a good one right here,” he said into the phone. “I’ll see if he’ll do it.”

Buddy was rising from me, headed toward the bathroom for his shower. I thought they were done. I was lying there where he left me, on my back, arms over my head, legs splayed and bent, feet flat on the mattress, cum dribbling out of a hole that had been reamed gaping by two monster cocks. It had been some time since I’d come, but I was satiated, and it was still a thrill to have the two big bruisers tag teaming between my legs and inside me. They seemed to have an unending supply of cum. I was mellow, blowing bubbles and babbling softly to myself.

“You ever been gangbanged?” Chuck asked, lowering the cellphone to his shoulder. It took me a couple of seconds to realize he was talking to me.

“I asked if you’d ever been gangbanged, Conner,” he repeated, more gruffly.

“No,” I answered, my voice sounding weak, spent, even to myself.

“You gonna let us take you to a gangbang?”

I think I moaned at that point. I can’t remember. It was hard to get my mind around the concept just now. The night wasn’t over. There would be a third act. Well, it was now for never for the whole enchilada experience.

“Yes,” I murmured, half hoping he wouldn’t hear me. But he did.

“Great, say it into the camera. Say, ‘Take me for a ride to a gangbang, Chuck.’” He put the phone on record and turned it to me.

“Take me for a ride to a gangbang, Chuck,” I whispered, raising my head and giving him a wan, already tired, little smile between the frame of my spread and bent legs, my dripping hole there for the camera to record.

Chuck laughed and turned the phone back to his ear. “You got that, Rocky. He’s a real sweetie. A novice but game for it. Get the guys together and tell me how soon you guys can gather—yes, tonight; yes, now—and tell me a place.”

They didn’t take the cuffs off when they took me out of the apartment. In full gear, Chuck just pulled shorts on me, slung me over his shoulder, and took me out of the apartment and down the stairs to a squad car. The night was late, though, and they didn’t make much noise in our departure. I’m pretty sure none of the neighbors saw the “arrest.”

If they had, it no longer mattered to me. I already was exhausted, but I was humming, wondering what a gangbang was like.

The curtain was up on Act Three.