| Subject: The Sheriff's Deputy |
Author:
Stan
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Date Posted: 10:27:53 03/12/16 Sat
One of my former hobbies was collecting law enforcement shoulder patches. You might wonder how that came about. Well, like many other things in life, it started out quite by accident. I was driving past this civic center building when I noticed a sign in front advertising a law enforcement patch and badge show in progress. This piqued my curiosity as I always had a "thing" about cops.
I parked my car and then went inside the building. The "show" was actually more like a "swap meet". There were rows of tables with guys selling police and sheriff shoulder patches, and a few tables had police badges for sale. I was quite surprised to discover that most of the patrons at the show were real law enforcement officers. A few of them were in uniform (presumably because they were on duty that day), but most were not. I got quite aroused by being around all those cops. (I could almost smell the testosterone!)
I picked up a schedule there of future patch and badge shows. I started attending some of those shows too and began buying police shoulder patches for the cities near where I lived. Eventually, I amassed a considerable collection of patches for my entire state. I also had some patches from other states if they were particularly colorful. At first, I thought it was kind of strange to find real police officers engaged in this activity, but eventually, I came to realize that these shows were a way for those officers to socialize with each other in a casual, low-stress environment. Some of the officers came to the shows with their wives, and a few even brought their kids. One show I went to was called the "Porky D. Swine Show". One of the cops at that show went around wearing a rubber pig's mask over his face. Who says cops don't have a sense of humor?
After several years, I eventually lost interest in the hobby (but not in the cops), and I decided to sell off most of the patches I had collected, only keeping those for the cities near where I lived. So I "purchased" a table at several shows in order to sell off my patches. Because these shows might last for 5 or 6 hours, I had to make an occasional "pit stop" at the restroom. I heard that thefts had occurred at these shows (believe it or not). So I was concerned about leaving my table unattended. There was one guy I chatted with at almost every show. His name was "Rick". He had told me he was a sheriff's deputy. One time, I asked him if he could watch my table while I made a pit stop. He said he would. I trusted him implicitly. And I imposed on him a number of times for the same favor at subsequent shows, but Rick was always willing to help me out.
I believe law enforcement officers need to maintain a commanding, dominating manner when they are on duty, but some may have difficulty dropping that professional macho facade when they are off-duty. However, Rick was never like that. He was always very easy to talk to. He had an air of modesty about him that was very appealing. I especially liked his fairly deep voice which seemed totally natural and not affected. Although he never came across as overly-macho, I felt there was something very manly about him. And I found myself becoming increasingly attracted to Rick sexually. I had to watch myself whenever I was around Rick, as he had never made any overt signs of sexual interest in me. It would have been very easy to mistake his overly friendly manner for something else.
One time, on a hot summer day, the patch show had lasted longer than normal. As the show was starting to wind down, Rick came over to me. He said he was quite hungry and that he planned to eat at a nearby restaurant when the show officially ended. He asked me if I would like to go to the restaurant with him. Rick's invitation kind of surprised me because he had never done anything like that before. Trying not to appear over-eager (even though I was), I told him that sounded like a good idea.
So I followed Rick's car to the restaurant. While eating, we chatted about patches and badges and about Rick's job as a sheriff's deputy. As we finished the meal, Rick told me that this patch show was the first one that had been conveniently close to where he lived. He asked me if I'd like to stop by his house, and he could show me some of the things he had collected. It occurred to me that I had never seen Rick buy any patches or badges at the shows. So it piqued my curiosity about what he actually collected. So I said I'd enjoy going over to his place and seeing his "collection".
When we got to Rick's house, he invited me to sit down and relax on the couch. He said he didn't collect patches or badges, He explained that most of the items in his collection were things that had been formerly used in prisons. He went into another room and brought back a box containing vintage handcuffs and manacles, some of which dated back to the 1800s. They seemed quite bulky and definitely much heavier than the standard modern-day police handcuffs. He said all of them were in perfect working order, although it had taken considerable work on his part to restore a number of them to "perfect working order". Rick asked me if I'd like to try any of them on? His question had caught me off-guard. However, I thought that might be a good way to indicate to Rick that I was willing to be submissive to him. So I said yes, but I said I'd let him choose which handcuffs were to be put on me. He selected one pair of old handcuffs from the box. Just like with a real arrest, he told me to lean my hands up against the wall. Then he pulled my hands behind my back, one at a time, and placed them into the cuffs. Then he locked the cuffs in place. I got a real hard-on when Rick was putting those cuffs on me. When my confinement in the handcuffs was complete, Rick took me by surprise once again when he said, with a smile, "It would be very tempting now to pull down your pants and give you a good licking with my belt!" Rick very quickly made it clear that he was just joking with me, but the bulge in my pants had grown even larger. I imagine that Rick had figured out that, if I had been straight, I would have never allowed him to put those cuffs on me, and I, most certainly, would have gotten angry at what he had just said to me. The bulge in my pants obviously had not escaped Rick's notice because he extended the fingers in his right hand, stiffened them together, and tapped my bulge several times with his fingers, while saying, "Somehow, I get the feeling you might enjoy a little licking with my belt!" I just smiled but didn't say anything. He then removed the handcuffs.
Rick then invited me into his bedroom where he had more items from his collection. Most of them were mounted on hooks on the wall. He explained that these were instruments of punishment that had once been used in prisons. I got a hard-on just looking at all those "instruments of pain". There were several cat-o-nine-tails, a number of different kinds of whips, wooden paddles, and a large selection of leather straps. The straps were of various sizes from a small strap about a foot long and 1 1/2" wide to large Southern-style prison straps that were several feet long and 3 or more inches wide. He asked me what I thought of his collection - Was it too weird for me? I said no. I told him I thought it was quite awesome. I asked Rick if he had ever had the opportunity to try out any of those punishment implements on anyone? And he replied "Not very often, but occasionally". He asked me if I was curious how any of his punishment implements actually felt, and I said yes. He asked me which ones in particular, and I said they all looked so intimidating that I'd leave the choice up to him which ones to use on me. I thought that would provide Rick an open invitation to administer whatever punishment he chose.
Rick told me to take off all my clothes and lie face-down on his bed. He then secured my wrists and ankles in leather restraints and attached them to the 4 corners of the bed. He told me that, before he took out the punishment instrument he had personally selected to use on me, he was first going to warm up my butt a little with the belt he wore with his sheriff's uniform. It was a black, basketweave belt, about 1 3/8" wide, and was well-worn from daily use. He doubled over his belt and then whipped my ass with it for a few minutes. Luckily, he stopped whipping me with his belt just about the time I was starting to break down and cry.
I was worried whether I had made a serious mistake in leaving the choice of punishment implements up to Rick. I was afraid he might choose one of those huge Southern prison straps that were hanging on his wall. But, instead, he selected a rather inocuous-looking leather strap. The leather portion was about one foot long and 2 1/2" wide, and it was attached to a wooden handle. It was a single layer of relatively thick leather, and there were two rows of holes running down the outer half of the strap. Rick said he was going to give me 20 lashes with that strap and wanted to make sure that was okay with me. I said yes. That seemed like a reasonable number, I thought, considering he had already given me more than that amount with his sheriff's belt.
I knew I did not have a high tolerance for pain. If anything, I was probably much more sensitive than the average guy. And I knew I would not be able to keep myself from crying or yelling if the pain became too great. But I also had this strange need to submit to whatever punishment Rick chose to inflict on me, no matter how painful it was.
Rick told me to brace myself for the whipping. He said the strap he had selected to use on me was especially painful and was going to hurt like hell! I thought he was just trying to use some psychological intimidation on me. So I just smiled. Rick then drew back his right hand which was holding the strap. Then he propelled it forward and downward, striking across both halves of my buttocks. My smile disappeared in an instant! Boy, did I misjudge the severity of that strap! It hurt worse than any belt I had ever felt. It seemed to dig right into my flesh, and the pain seemed to travel down even deeper. "Oh God", I cried when I felt the 2nd lash with that strap. By the 4th lash, there was a steady stream of tears. Rick did not seem at all hesitant about using his full strength when applying the lash. By the 6th lash, I yelled at the top of my lungs each time that strap struck my ass. My buttocks had become one huge reservoir of pain. My yelling did not seem to influence Rick to lighten up on the punishment. If anything, it seemed to spur him on to inflict even greater pain on me.
Not only had I misjudged that leather strap, but I was beginning to wonder whether I had misjudged Rick as well. Who could have predicted that the guy who had been so friendly and easygoing a couple hours earlier now seemed totally determined to subject me to the "Agony of the Lash"?
I couldn't take the pain anymore. I would do anything to escape the LASH! I tried desperately to yank my hands out of the leather restraints, but I wasn't able to free them.
Each time the strap landed on my sensitive flesh, I yelled in pain, and, in between each lash, I was crying continuously. Then, I had a strange sensation. It had gotten quiet. The yelling had stopped. I suddenly realized that my punishment had ended. Rick released me from the leather restraints and invited me to stay the night. I accepted his invitation. It felt good having Rick's chest pressing against my back, protecting me like a shield. And I knew that as long as my buttocks felt that organ of Rick's manhood pushing up against them, they were protected from any further punishment with that terrifying strap.
For the curious, the first 5 paragraphs were absolutely true. The rest I only wish it had been so.
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