Undercover parts 5 & 6

By lthrjock
published February 8, 2009
Summary

An undercover policeman experiencing life at a leather bar

Undercover – Chapter Five

Jim kept his head down and moved along the road as fast as possible, eyes fixed on the pavement, only glancing up to try to see a street sign and to avoid walking into people. Even so, he attracted attention very quickly as people noticed the collar and wristbands standing out starkly against his skin. Worse, his cock was being kept solid down his right leg by the cock-ring was a noticeable bulge in the bleachers and he heard several shocked comments.

After what seemed like an age, he got to the end of the road to where he could see a street-sign. Ignoring the road name, he looked quickly at the post-code on the sign – NE9 – bloody hell, he was miles from home. He shoved his hands into his pockets and found nothing inside – without money he couldn’t even get a tube, bus or taxi. Jim shivered at the predicament he was in, chose a roughly south westerly direction and kept walking.

Jim carried on like that for several miles, walking fast, head down as the light slowly faded. He was starting to worry and as he progressed, he was stumbling more often and more than once he blundered into a group standing outside a pub – on each occasion he heard jeers as he hurried away down the road. It was as he was stumbling away from one of these groups that he got himself into trouble.

Head down, all he saw was a pair of cherry red DMs and he pulled up just short of walking into their owner. As he went to look up, a fist slammed into his stomach and he doubled over. He felt hands from behind him grab him under each arm and as he retched helplessly he was dragged into a alley.

Forced back against a wall, Jim found himself held in place as rough hands grabbed the ring at the front of the collar and forced his head up. He found himself looking up at a huge skinhead, his muscles clearly outlined under his skin-tight Fred Perry shirt.

“What the fuck is this then? SLAVE? What the fuck is that about?”

Jim tried to explain but a sharp slap across his face stopped him.

“Slaves don’t talk do they? Fucking idiot. Show him Tim.”

The big skinhead slammed a fist into Jims midriff, and as he gasped, the skinhead to his left stuffed a thick ball-gag into Jim’s mouth and then strapped it tightly behind his head. The two guys holding them then spun him around and pushed him roughly against the wall. Pulling his hand behind him, then locked his wrist restraints together with a padlock. Face pressed hard against the wall, Jim could only grunt as he felt hands caressing his arse.

“That’s better. Now, slave, you’re gonna learn what happens to people who come into our territory without permission.”

Pushing has hand between Jim and the wall, he pressed a gauze pad over Jims nose and mouth. Jim recognised the sweet smell, but could do nothing about it and soon lost consciousness again.

Jim woke to cramps in his arms and to find himself in an uncomfortable position. He was crouched kneeling over a leather bench, with his legs strapped to it at knees and ankles. A strap around the top of his back secured him in place on the bench with his arse slightly elevated. As he looked up he could see a mirror in front of him which showed that the gag was still in place. His hands were secured behind him, but winched away from his body, causing his muscles to cramp painfully. He pulled against the bonds but they were tight and very secure. As he stopped, he looked around. Jim was in what looked like a warehouse. To his left was a small office and he could hear a voice coming from it. As he strained to listen, he could make out the big skinheads accent and realised he was on the phone.

“Yeah, no problems. Like you said, we followed him for a couple of miles, till he was getting a bit panicky then we picked him up. Nah, he won’t be around for a while yet. So, like you said, scare him a bit, then you come in to collect him. No problems.”

As the voice stopped, Jim heard footsteps coming closer to the office door, so he dropped his head back to the bench and closed his eyes. He heard the footsteps coming closer and could not suppress a shudder as he felt rough hands rubbing over his arse.

“Nice. I know yer awake – I been watching on a webcam.” As the skinhead spoke, his hand kneaded Jims arse harder, pushing his fingers deep into the seam, tickling at Jims arse. Jim opened his eyes reluctantly and tried to speak, but the ball gag prevented all but muffled grunts from emerging.

The skinhead moved to crouch in front of him, his head level with Jims. “I bet you’re wondering what happens now. Well, normally I’d already be fucking you – but a friend of mine has other plans.” The skinhead stood, walked out of Jims eye line and returned pushing a television on a trolley. Turning the TV on, he moved behind Jim and clipped a chain to the back of Jims gag, yanking the chain roughly, Jims head was pulled up so he was looking directly at the TV. The skinhead then slipped earphones on Jims head.

“You’ll enjoy this.” The skinhead turned the TV on and Jim saw a spiral of colours, revolving slowly, pulsing gently. Behind him, the skinhead deliberately turned away from the TV and prepared a syringe. Jim felt nothing but a small prick as he was injected into the buttock. He realised that the spiral was something hypnotic and closed his eyes. Soon, though, he heard a soft voice in his head telling him to open his eyes, focus on the spiral, look deep within the colours. As the drug in Jims system took hold, he opened his eyes and began to obey the voice. As he stared at the spiral it changed speed, pulsing at a different frequency. The voice began giving more instructions, speaking slowly and clearly, but Jim was focussed totally on the spiral.

The skinhead knelt beside Jim, noting the way in which his eyes were now totally focussed on the screen and grinned as he initiated the second part of the programme. The spiral now faded slightly on the screen, still present, but overlaid with pictures. Pictures of men in uniform, me in leather, men in rubber. Pictures of men talking, kissing, rubbing each other. Pictures of men in bondage, restraint and chastity. As the pictures grew more graphic, the skinhead reached under Jim to rub his swelling cock and was pleased to find it rock-hard underneath him. Drawing a knife, he slit the seam at the back of Jim’s bleachers and with two fingers rubbed some lube into his arse. Jim’s reaction was a groan into the gag and to buck his thighs backwards into the skinhead fingers. He grinned, and slowly, gently inserted a butt plug into Jims willing hole.

Moving the programme to the next level, the skinhead chuckled at Jims reaction. The combination of the visual and auditory input as well as the drugs now coursing through his system were making him incredibly aroused and incredibly open to suggesting. He was now wriggling and writhing in his restraints – not in an attempt to escape, but in extreme arousal. The plug in his arse was more stimulating than anything he had imagined before and as the TV images sped up, becoming more and more sexual and perverse, Jim shuddered with what would be the first of several climaxes.

The skinhead chuckled – this guy would be good once the programming was complete. He doused the lights in the warehouse, leaving the TV as the only light source, illuminating the twitching, drooling form of Jim.

Undercover – Chapter Six

As the police patrol car drove slowly past the end of the alley, the police officer in the passenger seat swept his torch down the darkened alley revealing nothing but half-empty rubbish bins and discarded McDonalds boxes blowing around in the wind and rain. The patrol car moved on and the alley remained still, the only sound being the falling rain, the distant sound of a window banging in the wind and the low rattle of the rubbish being blown away from the street.

After a few minutes, there was movement as four figures stood up from their hiding places – three from behind bins, the fourth from a darkened doorway. Without speaking, the four padded forward to the entrance of the alley and looked cautiously out into the road. After checking in each direction, the lead figure made a series of gestures with his hand and all four men ran into the lit street, swiftly moving along the pavement until they reached the door of a jewellery shop. Two took crouching positions either side of the door where they had a clear view of the street. The other two unstrapped packs from their back, one taking out a screwdriver and removing the cover of the alarm box by the door, the other pulling out a laptop and booting it up.

All four men could now be dimly seen in the illumination of a nearby streetlight. They seemed to be of a similar height – roughly 6ft and they were dressed identically. Each was wearing a form-fitting black suit of a matt-black material that did nothing to hide their impressive musculature. Laced tightly on their feet were army boots which had clearly been tightly glossed before their foray into the rain. Their heads were covered with balaclavas made of the same material, with only eye holes revealing anything of the person beneath and on their hands they were wearing gloves of thin black leather. All four moved with the confidence of athletes, and the grace of people used to their muscle and the physical activity associated with it.

At the door, the cover was removed and the laptop connected directly to the circuit board. A scroll of numbers appeared on the laptop screen, rapidly running through combinations until after a few seconds 9 numbers began to flash. One of the men rapidly typed the number into the still connected pad of the alarm box, and the light on the outside of the box went out. As one man disconnected the laptop and began to put it away, the other took out a sophisticated set of lock-picks and began working on the door.

It took him no more than 3 minutes to open the lock. As soon as it was open, all four men swiftly stepped inside, shutting the door behind them.

Inside, all four stood close by the door, unmoving except for their heads which scanned the room, noting the CCTV cameras and the sensors at ankle level. Taking a can out of his pack, one man sprayed a fine mist into the room, revealing the red lines of lasers crossing the room. Touching one would set off the alarm. Beside the door was another alarm panel. Taking a slip of paper from his pack, one man typed a long number into the panel. With a click, the red lights revealed by the mist disappeared and the panel display turned to 5:00 and began a slow countdown. The man turned to the others and raised his right hand with the fingers spread indicating the number 5. Still without speaking, the four men split up around the room and began levering open display cabinets and removing the contents stuffing them into their packs.

As the CCTV cameras watched they continued to work efficiently, none noticing as the count down on the alarm pad jumped to 1:00. After no more than 2 minutes, the silence of the shop was shattered by the sound of the alarm. One man dropped the lid of the display cabinet on his arm and it smashed, driving a splinter of glass into his forearm. Still silent, he removed his balaclava to get a clearer look at the wound, revealing the reason for his continued silence. Under the balaclava he was wearing a tight leather hood, laced and strapped in place and locked with a padlock at the back. Part of the hood is a cover over the mouth – and presumably a gag beneath – which was also locked in place. He gently pulled the splinter from his arm and with the others shipped his pack on his back and hurried out of the shop.

The night was broken by the distant sound of sirens as the four men sprinted through the rain and disappeared into the alley as swiftly and quietly as they had come.

As Jims alarm went off he struggled out of bed, sitting on the side and shaking his head as he tried to clear it of the night before. After 6 weeks working undercover he was no closer to getting into the inner circle at Inferno. He was still attending every night and the 3am finishes was starting to take its toll on his normal early starts – his alarm was now set to 10am each day and even that was becoming difficult. Shaking his head, he padded through to his kitchen, took a carton of orange juice out of the fridge and took a few gulps for it. Then he wandered into the gym and began his morning workout. Two hours later, he stood sweating in front of the full length mirror. Something about this job was clearly agreeing with him as he’d put on some muscle over the last few weeks. Jim smiled and flexed his pumped muscles and thought how much the guys at Inferno would enjoy seeing him like this. His cock started to rise at the thought and he started to stroke it. As he did so, he noticed a long gash on his forearm. Jim had no idea now the gash had got there, but as it ached it was obviously recent. Damn, must have been very drunk last night – Jim was glad that Steve had started providing him with orange juice at home and he decided that in future he should drink OJ when he was at Inferno.

Rubbing at his arm, Jim sat and sent off his normal report to Inspector Turner. Then he headed off to the shower and got dressed for the day. Steve had told him that tonight was Skinhead Night at Inferno, so he dressed appropriately – skin-tight bleachers, a pair of highly glossed black ranger boots ladder-laced with white laces and white Fred Perry shirt so tight that Jims’ pecs nearly burst out of it. He checked himself out in the mirror – his newly shaved head looked good over the skinhead gear and Jim rubbed at his cock as it made a bulge down his left leg. Adding leather wristbands, Jim pulled on a black MA1 jacket and decided to head down to Inferno early.

When the lift arrived, Mike the security guard was already in it. He grinned, his gaze travelling down Jims’ chiselled torso to the obvious bulge in his jeans.

“Afternoon, Mr Davies. How are things? Busy?”

“Good thanks, Mike. No, just heading down to Inferno to hang out.”

“Nothing urgent then – good.” Mike leant forward and pushed the Emergency Stop button on the lift. Pushing Jim back against the wall of the lift, he snogged him deeply, one hand caressing Jims’ arse while the other rubbed Jims’ cock until it swelled so much that the material looked close to tearing. The two men grunted with passion as they kissed deeply, hands running over each other as they massaged each other’s muscles.

Mike stood back and spun Jim around to face the wall. Unzipping the arse zip on Jims’ jeans, he licked his fingers and began to work them inside Jims’ arse. Jim stood facing the mirrored wall, arms and legs spread, groaning and grunting as Mikes’ fingers expertly worked his arse. All too soon, Mike stood up, grinning as he turned Jim around for a final snog and laughing at the stain of pre-cum on Jims’ bleachers.

“There, that should set you up nicely for Steve.” He said as he released the Emergency Stop button and the lift continued on its way. Jim laughed and zipped up his bleachers, fondling Mikes crotch one last time before the doors opened in the foyer.

“See you later.”

“Count on it” grinned Mike “I have a day off tomorrow, so maybe I can come by your place for a longer visit.”

Jim grinned “Feel free. Anytime after 1pm”. With that he left the building, heading for Inferno.

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