Office Cop 5

published February 23, 2019

Bit of exposition from Vicotr’s point of view, erotic stuff at the end.

Victor arrived at work on the Tuesday morning with the same mix of excitement and shame and nausea that had been his constant companion over the past few days. He was eager to do his job, stand up straight and have everyone admire him. That was fine.

It made him horny, and that wasn’t fine.

He was eager to see Steve, but he also felt something more like fear, a feeling he certainly wasn’t familiar with. He was being drawn and repelled at the same time. The tension was beginning to tell on him.

Added to that was the strange early morning call. Victor had been having a restless night, and even his dreams seemed filled with submission and humiliation. He had been trying to escape some vague torture that was coming for him, and pushing his way up to wakefulness, when the phone’s chirping brought him the last few inches to consciousness.

And then Steve had said what he wanted to do to him, and all Victor could say was ‘yes, sir’. How pathetic was he?

Once the connection was lost, Victor lay back in his sweaty sheets and had no idea whether to laugh or cry. He had almost decided to give over to the feeling of helplessness and bawl for the first time since he was a kid, but noticed that his hand had slid down and was slowly stroking his cock as if it had a will of its own.

Victor’s mind replayed the few minutes of conversation, and as he came to the part where he was being whipped in front of the office staff, the image became a fantasy, and the fantasy became a wank, and his body was drawn out of anxiety and depression into that ecstatic state that was becoming harder and harder to escape.

He could imagine himself preceding Steve out into the main office floor, where all the staff have their cubicles. Steve announces to everyone that Victor has done something wrong – at this stage it doesn’t matter what. There is just a general impression of letting Steve down, of disappointing him, of not trying hard enough.

Then, as people look up from their keyboards or peer over the cubicle dividers, Victor unbuckles his belt, and lowers his trousers. He is wearing some sort of jockstrap, but he doesn’t know why. It is just one of those random images that keeps popping up in his head. Maybe something that he had seen during his massive porn surfing over the weekend.

He rests his hands on the desk, spreads his legs so that his ass is lower to the ground, and bows his head waiting for what comes next. Steve starts with a belt across his cheeks, and Victor, on the bed, jerks harder. Having never actually experience this sort of punishment, not even from his conservative father, he had no way to imagine how painful it was, but in some ways that made it worse as he imagined the pain as extreme.

After a few straps, Victor can’t control it. In the fantasy and in real life he yells “I’m sorry, sir!” and comes.. The semen splatters over his stomach and chest, and in the fantasy over papers on the desk. He was ashamed and embarrassed in the fantasy, but the punishment put it right. In the real world, the shame was just starting. What was he becoming?

These are the thoughts that occupied Victor as he entered the office to start another work day. These were the thoughts that had his guts churning.

As much as he wanted to avoid Steve, he was acutely aware of his absence. Every time the elevator doors opened, he would make sure he was standing up as straight as possible, that he was doing something very security-guardish, and then was disappointed when it was only some other office worker. It was like waiting for the dentist or an exam – he just wanted it over and done with.

By 9:30 it was obvious Steve wasn’t going to make an appearance, and this stressed Victor even more. There were too many things in his life that were spinning out of control, and here was something else he was helpless to do anything about. A few discreet enquiries of the receptionist revealed that Steve had called in sick and may be out for the rest of the week.

Victor wanted to be relieved. He felt he had dodged a bullet, at least for a few days. But deep down, on some insane new level, he had been craving the possibility of humiliation that Steve now carried with him. It was the conflict between loving it and hating it, between abhorrence and desire, that was going to drive Victor crazy.

When he could get away for his break, he headed for the washroom to get some alone time and take some deep breaths. The bathroom was empty and he went to splash a bit of water on his face. He stood, looking in the mirror with his hands resting on the edge of the basin. He took a quick inventory and and almost laughed at the absurdity of it all.

First, his hair. He ran a hand over what was now practically stubble where his usual thick hair had been just a week ago. Over the weekend, during that uncontrollable wave of erotic energy, he thought it would be a good idea to get a haircut, and as he found an open barber shop and took a chair, he spontaneously new he had to get a flattop. He had seen it in the cop porn he had found on the net, and he had jumbled images in his brain, and the irrational logic that was pushing him forward said it was completely okay for a security guard to have that sort of cut. He had regretted it almost immediately, and had dreaded the Monday morning reaction. It did make him look a bit younger, and it did make him look a bit more military, which was okay for a guard. But he missed his hair.

And, of course, Steve had bawled him out for it. Victor blushed when he remembered the embarrassing scene, but at the same time he could feel his dick twitch. Conflict.

And his shirt. Victor took in his clean white crisp cotton shirt, with its pocket flaps and epaulets and creases down the sleeves. He had spent almost half an hour pressing it, as if the normal soft drape was no longer enough. He had polished his shoes and his belt. When was the last time anyone polished a belt?

He had to wear a snap on tie so no attacker could strangle him – security guarding 101 – but he really wanted a real tie so he could pull it firm around his neck, so he could feel the constraint of his collar around his neck, so that Steve …

Someone opened the door, and, with a quick glance at Victor, proceeded to the urinal. Victor stayed where he was, thoughts churning and face flushing and dick throbbing.

The guy came over to wash his hands, and glanced sideways at Victor, this big security guard who seemed stressed and was just standing there staring. He was about to say something when Victor growled.

“What the fuck are you staring at?” Victor turned to the man, and he bid a hasty retreat. The door thumped behind him, and victor walked over to one of the stalls. He took out his dick to piss, but it was still half hard. He started stroking it absent-mindedly, as he seemed to be always aroused now.

He then started working it a bit more when he realised the cubicle door was still open, and anyone walking in could see what he was doing. What if that guy came back, or someone else. Or Steve.

Victor started stroking harder. Yeah, what if Steve walked in?

“You fuckin’ slut! Can’t keep your hands off your dick for five minutes!” he would say. “That’s it, stroke that little cock of yours all you like, it’s not gonna get any bigger. You big, dumb fag!”

In the fantasy, Victor stood there jerking off while Steve berated him, and in real life he did the same.

“Someone’s going to have to teach you to behave, to have some self-control. You need to learn your place, you sack of cum! Someone needs to beat some fuckin’ sense into that thick head of yours.” Victor was getting off on the imagined abuse, and found himself murmuring ‘yes, sir’ every few strokes in answer to the imagined tirade.

It didn’t take long for him to release his load, and he found himself saying it louder as he climaxed. “Yes, Sir!”

And then it was over, but he felt there should be more. Some punishment for coming without permission? Some grovelling? Something? As his juices slowly flushed away down the drain, Victor realised that even something as simple as jerking off had now become complicated, tainted with this new desire.

The rest of the morning was a blur. He kept walking past the door to Steve’s office, as though it held an energy even if its Master wasn’t there. Master? He had never used that word before in his life, and now it seemed to be popping into his head all the time.

At lunch, he was in too much turmoil to deal with people, so he used the stairwell to get up on the roof and find a secluded spot behind and air-conditioning duct. He was going to sit, but the thought of dirtying his overly clean uniform kept him upright. His dick was hardening again, and he resisted the urge to touch it. He was in control of it, and he was sick of it giving the orders. This led him back to the washroom, and the fact that he had cum. Again, something that he had never done before. Not just jerking off at work, but leaving himself wide open to anyone that wandered past.

As he stood, staring off at the skyline, trying to make some sense of it all, his subconscious snuck in the back way and took him on a trip.

There he was, standing at a urinal in some small bathroom. He was dressed like some motorcycle cop – tight breeches, tall boots, blue shirt and helmet (why a helmet inside a bathroom?). Victor was a disembodied ghost, floating there watching himself. He moved closer, and saw that he was doing the same thing. He had come to piss but had started stroking his cock. He had hoped in the fantasy his cock would be bigger, and it was. A massive piece of meat he could barely get his hand around.

The ‘cop’ Victor was mindlessly absorbed in his pleasure, when the door opened. He turned around, his hand still holding his engorged dick, and saw the young joy-rider he had just brought in to be charged. Before he could react, the young jerk-off pulled out his phone and took a picture of the exposed cop. The floating Victor was shocked and horrified, but fantasy Victor reacted with “What the fuck? Give me that phone, you shit!” and started forward.

However, the young guy kept his composure, and kept the phone pointed at the cop.

“Uh, uh,” he said. “You hold it right there or this goes straight up on the precinct Facebook page! You wouldn’t want that now, would you?” Fantasy Victor stopped in his tracks, although his big exposed cock still waved back and forth from the momentum. “What do you want?” growled the cop.

“First off, I think you should finish what you started. Just keep going.”

Fantasy Victor looked resigned, and aggressively started stroking his dick again. There was already pre-cum leaking from the head. The guy kept his camera pointed on the action, but keeping the face in view as well. The real Victor, stuck in his observer role, was trying to get the fantasy Victor to stop, but knew deep down he didn’t want him too.

The cop exploded, his massive dick spurting out a ridiculous amount of jizz. It made a pool on the floor, an amount only possible in a gay porn fantasy.

“It’d be a shame if some of your friends out there walked in and saw that puddle on the floor after you left. They would know what you were doing, and they’d be wondering why you did it out here on the floor.” The guy smirked and fantasy Victor stifled an angry response. He knew he was in no position to argue.

“Get down on the floor and suck it all up. Use that pretty mouth of yours to clean up your mess.” At first it looked like the cop would refuse, but then resignedly knelt down and dropped his head to the puddle. The real Victor couldn’t turn away. He was horrified and aroused. The conflict roared in his head.

“Okay, that’s good enough.” The guy turned off his phone and put it back in his pocket. “Now, Mr Policeman, we are going to go back out there and you are going to let me go. You will apologise to me in front of your friends, drop the charges and send me on my way. You do that, and the minute I’m back on the street I promise I’ll delete your little movie. Deal?”

Fantasy Victor had no choice. Maybe he could have lived down a single picture of him with his erection popping out of his uniform, but there was no way he could survive everyone in the department seeing him lick up his own cum.

“Sure,” he said as he followed the punk out of the bathroom.

In the real world, Victor realised that his effort to keep his trousers clean had been useless, as he felt the cum flooding his underwear and staining the area around his fly.

He stayed on the roof and prayed it would be dry before he had to go back downstairs.

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