Jacob has a rough time at Charing Cross Police Station.
If the arrest was the first step, this was the second in my formal class descent. The patrol car stopped inside the admission yard of Charing Cross police station, the cold night air hitting me as the two officers yanked me out by my cuffed wrists. I recall that for a moment my mind calmed, wandering to thoughts of my jacket, ‘yes, I was right to bring it, it’s as cold as they said it would be.’ That’s typical of me, at least it’s what Marcus always says, ‘You’re careful Jaydie, but you lack focus!’
Then the mephedrone surged again,’fuck, I’m so fucking horny!!’ My cock pulsed, sending fresh pre-cum onto the tracksuit, now soaking right through. Inside, the station’s fluorescent harshness, the smell of stale coffee and sweat, all strangely sexually arousing. They shoved me into a processing room. Beckett un-cuffed me, patting me down roughly. Fingers digging into me, my crotch, my arse cheeks, probing; the touch sending jolts straight to my aching cock. Fuck, part of me was even enjoying this, getting off on it!
‘What the fuck’s this then?' Beckett pulled out a small plastic bag of off-white powder from the tracksuit waist band. ‘Looks like your mephedrone Mr Conner. Don’t suppose you know how it got there do you?’ My mind raced, foggy and euphoric; 'had Dr. Zim slipped it in? Was it mine?’ The drug in my system turning confusion into a dizzying haze of submission and horniness.
'My name's Jacob Ellis, there's been a terrible mistake. I'm not... I work in the City, I—'
'Shut the fuck up, you little cunt,' and Beckett slammed his fist into my midriff without warning. The punch winded me. I doubled over, gasping, but even that twisted into something horny. I knelt down, by his uniform boots.
Beckett carefully opened the bag, dabbing a finger and bringing it to his nose, then his tongue. 'Mephedrone, alright. Pure shit. I'm taking this,' pocketing the bag with a wink to his colleague Harris. 'Evidence, yeah? Right, put him in the safe cell. Don't want this little shit hurting himself before Zim's boys come along and take it away. And turn off the cameras will you, I’m gonna have some recreation.'
Harris flipped a switch on the wall panel. The red light above the door blinked off, the room plunging into unofficial privacy. My heart hammered, terror mixing with the insatiable rush in my veins. I tried to stand and straighten, but Beckett grabbed my collar, hauling me down a corridor. The cell waited at the end, a padded room, walls and floor covered in white plastic, no furniture, just a single drain in the corner for piss or worse.
They shoved me back on the floor, both Beckett and Harris standing, arms crossed. I tried to get back up. ‘Kneel you little fucker!’ Beckett circling me. ’Dressed like a proper little whore, but we know that. Stalker scum, high as fuck, cock out like a desperate rent boy. Dr. Zim warned us you're manipulative. Think you can play the innocent? Pathetic.'
'No, please... it's Jacob. Call Dr. Zim, he'll—'
Beckett's hand shot out, slapping my head again. The sting burned, tears pricking, but my body betrayed me, hips bucking involuntarily toward the officer's touch. 'Told you to shut it. You're Jayden Conner, you delusional little shit. And while we wait for the loony bin transport, you're gonna learn some respect.'
Whilst I knelt, Harris stepped in behind me, grabbing my arms and pinning them above my head. Beckett crouched down in-front, yanking down the tracksuit bottoms, exposing my dripping cock. 'Fuck me, no knickers! He’s begging for it alright.’
Beckett stood back up and unzipped his uniform trousers with deliberate slowness. His own cock already half-hard from the power trip.‘Good view isn’t Conner? Tasty. Now put your tongue out and lick my cock, slowly.’
My mind, the drug flooding it with euphoria, made the humiliation a craving. I panted, body arching and, despite myself, I licked. The musky scent of sweat and authority. Beckett fisted my hair, pulling my head forward. 'Open up, show us how a proper whore like you services his betters.'
A few tears rolled down my cheeks, but my mouth parted obediently, tongue flicking. Beckett pushed forward, the head of his cock nudging my lips and I sucked it in, hollowing my cheeks, the taste overwhelming. Beckett groaned, thrusting, fucking the mouth slowly. ‘Mmmm, nice..’
Harris laughed, ’go on with it you lads, make the cameras wish they were on. This one's gonna be talking funny when the white coats arrive.’
Jacob is eventually taken away, to a place of safety.
The cell reeked of sweat and piss as Beckett thrust deeper into my mouth, his cock stretching my lips wide. I gagged, saliva dripping down my chin, mixing with the tears that blurred my vision. But the mephedrone coursed through me, it had me in its grip, turning the rough face-fuck into a haze of ecstasy. My own limp dick dripped untouched against my thigh, leaking steadily onto the padded floor. From behind, Harris held my head steady, using my ears to get a firm grip. 'Look at you, you pathetic chav scum, sucking like you’re starved for it. Bet you do this for all the punters, eh Conner? Speak up you little cunt! Oh, sorry, you’ve got your mouth full haven’t you.’ He laughed, and I could feel him laughing through his grip.
Beckett grunted, hips snapping forward one last time before he pulled out, stroking his slick shaft furiously. Hot ropes of cum splattered across my face. 'Fucking hell, that was good! And he’s still moist. What a desperate little wanker. Zim's gonna have a field day with this one. Do you fancy a go mate? He’s a natural born..’
‘Nah, not got the time mate. Shame eh Conner! Bet you’d love a second helping wouldn’t you, you dirty little fucker.’ And Harris patted my head and hauled me to my feet, yanking the tracksuit bottoms back up over my hips. 'Right, time to process you properly.’ They marched me back through the corridor to the processing area, the fluorescent lights hurting my dilated pupils.
They made me stand in front of the desk, whilst Beckett brought up details on a screen. ‘Ok, so that’s Jayden Conner, with an ‘e’ ok.
’Please, my name's Jacob Ellis. There's been a mistake, I’m not Jayden. Call my work, they'll—'
'Oh, shut it, you whinging cunt.’
Beckett moved away from the keyboard and rummaged in a drawer, pulling out a thick leather strap gag. “Hahaha, an unofficial police aid! One of those tarts had it on her. Knew it would come in useful. That wide bit will muffle the whining. Whose to say he wasn’t wearing it when he came in? That and a face full of cum! There, suits you, doesn’t he look the part eh Harris! No more bullshit from you fella. Zim's report says you're prone to delusions, and a manipulative little shit to boot, so best to keep you quiet till his team collects you. It’s for your own good.’
The processing was virtually non-existent, just a mug shot, and finger prints. ‘That’s you on the system now, Jayden Conner. No charges, lucky you, just a warning. Identity confirmed as Jayden Conner,' Beckett read from the report on his screen, ‘Dr Zim, Greenford House Psychiatric Consultant, advises a history of substance abuse, likely mephedrone, none found on person, taken into custody for being a troublesome little shit. Agreed?’ I shook my head desperately, trying to speak behind the gag, tears welling up.
’Aw, listen to him. You’re all done up now Mr Conner, off to padded paradise. But thanks for the BJ and the gear fella! Much appreciated. You’re a good cocksucker. You should go professional!’
They started pushing me back to the holding cells but the intercom crackled: ‘Greenford House transport's here. White van out back. Get the package ready.' Beckett nodded, hauling me up by the armpits. 'Showtime, Conner.'
Outside, the van idled under the sodium lamps. Two orderlies waited by the open rear doors: burly men in scrubs, one holding a straitjacket, the other a spit hood.
'Here's your VIP,' Beckett announced, shoving me forward. The orderlies caught me, their grips firm and clinical. 'High on meph, delusional as fuck. Thinks he's a banker named Jacob, even came with his own gag and a face full of cum, so we left it for you, sorry about that gents.'
The two orderlies just ignored this and worked quickly, straitjacket on, gag off, spit hood on. 'Thanks for the heads-up fellas!’ I tried one last protest through the spit hood, but it just came out,’Jmmph… Jaymph…’.
Inside the van the bench seats were bolted to the walls, restraint points everywhere. They quickly strapped me down facing the partition, legs shackled to the floor. Then the van headed out into the London night.
Taken to Greenford House and processed
Shock blanketed my mind, ‘This isn't real,’, the thoughts looping as both panic and mephedrone fought each other at the edges. ‘I'm Jacob Ellis. Not... not Jayden.’ My bladder itched for relief now, full from the spiked drink and the ordeal, pressure building until it bordered on agony. I squirmed against the restraints, muffled whimpers escaping the gag, ‘please, let me piss,’ but the orderlies up front ignored it, chatting idly about shift changes. Urine trickled out, warm and wet against my thigh, soaking the tracksuit further. Tears burned my eyes; I was breaking up, piece by piece, the declassing fantasy, just as Dr. Zim had promised.
The van stopped and the rear doors swung open to Greenford House's loading bay. The orderlies unbuckled me efficiently, like luggage, but kept on the straitjacket and the hood. I was just another patient being hauled out by the elbows. My legs buckled, the wet patch on my crotch cooling in the night air, but they held me upright, slowly marching me through double doors into reception.
Inside, not unlike the police station, the air was humming with fluorescent light, except the smell here was different, antiseptic. A man in crisp scrubs—mid-40s, stern-faced but with soft eyes, waited behind a desk, flanked by two male attendants in matching uniforms. They were firm, their movements practiced and unhurried, but there was a sort of kindness in their tones, a professional detachment that didn't mock like the police.
'Easy now, Jayden,' the nurse said, his voice steady as he guided me gently to a padded exam chair. 'You're safe here. We're going to get you sorted.'
I tried to speak, to scream Jacob, not Jayden. The nurse nodded sympathetically, unbuckling the hood with gloved hands. 'I know it's rough, but we've got Dr. Zim's notes. You're Jayden Conner, and we're here to help with that confusion.' Before I could protest, an attendant pressed a syringe to my arm, a mild sedative. It hit fast, dulling the edges of my panic without knocking me out, leaving me limp and compliant as they worked.
They stripped me methodically, straitjacket first, then peeling off the sodden tracksuit to reveal my naked, muscular body, still marked with bruises from the police. ‘Poor little sod,' the nurse murmured, as he affixed a thick plastic wristband around my left arm. It clicked shut, the embedded chip and bold print declaring: PATIENT: JAYDEN CONNER. ID: GH-4729. DELUSIONAL EPISODE - HIGH RISK. NO PERSONAL ITEMS. No scissors could cut it; it was designed to last until discharge, if that ever came.
'Protocol for intakes like you,' one attendant explained gently, wheeling over a restraint board. They laid me back, securing my wrists and ankles with soft cuffs that pinned me flat, immobilising me completely. My bladder, still insistent, let go in a weak stream as they positioned me, urine pooling on the board before they wiped it away without comment. 'Dr. Zim flagged possible ingestion, mephedrone, maybe more. We will need to pump your stomach Jayden, just in case you've swallowed anything.'
A tube invaded my throat under the nurse's careful guidance, connected to a small pump that hummed quietly. I gagged, eyes watering, as it sucked out the remnants of the spiked drink, the bitter fluid rising in the clear tube. The sedative kept me sort of calm, but the violation burned. ‘Why? I'm not a criminal. Dr. Zim... he did this.’ But doubt crept in, the drugs and trauma blurring truth into delusion.
Once the pumping finished, they transferred me to the exam room, a stark space, all tiled floors and medical carts. 'Full search required for contraband or injury,' the nurse stated matter-of-factly, helping the attendants lift me onto the gyno frame, my legs spread wide, knees bent and locked in stirrups. My arse hung exposed, cheeks parting slightly from the position.
Gloved hands probed everywhere: fingers sliding over my chest, pinching nipples to check responsiveness; a speculum eased into my mouth to inspect my throat, raw from the police and the tube. Then lower down, the nurse, with generously lubed fingers, circled my anus before pushing in, two digits scissoring to feel for hidden items. I tensed, a muffled groan escaping, as they began probing my prostate until I leaked another bead of pre-cum. 'Nothing there,' the nurse noted clinically, slowly withdrawing his fingers. But they weren't done; an enema nozzle followed, warm soapy water flooding my guts in gentle rhythmic pulses. I clenched instinctively, but the pressure built until I couldn't hold it, expelling fluid into a basin with humiliating splatters. They repeated it twice more, douching me thoroughly until the water ran clear, my insides cleaned to a hygienic, clinical standard.
The internal search escalated with a slim camera scope, inserted slowly to view my rectum and colon; no drugs, no contraband, just the evidence of my ordeal. 'All clean,' an attendant said, patting my thigh reassuringly. My mind reeled, the kindness in their voices almost strange.
Finally, they wheeled me to a prep station for grooming. 'Standard for new admissions, hygiene and de-escalation,' the nurse explained. Razors buzzed to life, attendants working in tandem: chest hair shaved smooth, pits cleared, pubes stripped away until the cock and balls gleamed bare. They didn't stop at the legs or arms; even my eyebrows fell under the clippers, trimmed to faint arches, leaving my face strangely vulnerable, almost childlike. Then the last bits, back, arse crack, taint, all hair gone.
I barely registered the final syringe at the IV. 'Rest now, Jayden,' the nurse whispered, his bare hand cool on my forehead. 'You'll feel better after sleep.' The sedative deepened into oblivion, pulling me under as they covered me with a thin sheet and wheeled me away to a quiet ward.
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