"You won't be seeing pussy for a while, Doolan."
"Piss off," said the cop.
"Higgs only chose you because you're just the type of guy those faggots fantasise about."
"Butch," said someone from near the photocopier.
There was general laugher in the office.
"Go fuck yourself, the lot of you." Doolan was severely pissed off.
He was severely pissed off mainly at DCI Higgs, who had chosen him for this. Working undercover in a leather club was not high on Doolan's list of fun ways to spend his evenings. Illegal drug use. Big deal – that happened all over the fucking city. He didn't see why the club had been singled out for investigation, even though Doolan was of the opinion that all gays should be strung up by their balls – and kinky ones should be the first in the fucking line. Still, this might give him an opportunity to make a few of their lives miserable, and that was always a good thing.
His brief was quite simple: mix in, get known, get trusted, and watch for any sign of illegal drug use. Any information to be passed to the Drugs Squad.
The first week went uneventfully, and he even got used to the strange feel of the leather jeans DCI Higgs had found for him to wear. A new face at the club – especially one with his rough good looks and muscular build - invariably attracted a great deal of attention, and guys approached him hopefully. 'Fuck off, you pathetic faggot before I ram this beer up your fucking arse,' was what he wanted to say, but he knew that that sort of thing would blow his cover pretty quickly. Even so, it was beyond his capability to be polite to these people. A sneer and "you couldn't fucking afford me," was as close as he could get to civility.
As the days went on he knew he had to try to blend in more, so he even made himself grope a guy occasionally. That did not come easily to him – in fact it made him feel ill – and then he had the problem of stopping it from going any further.
He was not enjoying this at all, And so far the only drug he'd seen being used was poppers.
* * *
"Hi. I'm Chris. I've been watching you. You don't do a lot, do you? I've never seen you go with anybody. What you into?"
It was halfway through the second week. This guy was a regular in the club and he seemed to know lots of the others. Doolan was prepared – he'd done research. "Oh, fucking, fisting, tit work, piss, the usual."
A nod and a smile. "So am I. All of those."
This guy Chris appeared to be popular – people were watching; Doolan had better do something. He took a step towards the guy and gripped both of Chris's nipples through his tight white teeshirt. What he wanted to do more than anything was twist both of them right off, but he just squeezed a little and rotated his fingers back and forth.
Chris closed his eyes and purred, then pushed him back further into the shadows. He kissed Doolan hard on the lips and massaged his cock through his leather jeans.
Doolan felt a reflexive urge to punch this guy's lights out, but he noticed that more people had gathered around to watch. He got his mouth away and started to push Chris off him, but the guy was stronger than he looked. He pushed back. This took Doolan by surprise.
"Not right now? Ok?" The feel of this faggot's hand on his cock bulge was beginning to make him feel sick.
"You know you want it…" Chris's other hand found a nipple and started squeezing.
"I do not fucking want it," Doolan said through gritted teeth. This was too much.
The guy just smiled again and showed no sign of giving up.
"Fucking p iss off, Ok?" He punched the guy in the solar plexus.
Chris doubled up, gasping for air. The watching guys looked like they were about to move closer, but Chris raised his hand. "It's Ok. I shouldn't have insisted." Straightening up as best he could, he turned back to Doolan. "I'm sorry." He walked away.
"What you fucking looking at?" Doolan said belligerently to one of the watching leather men. The man just shook his head and turned away.
He probably hadn't handled that as well as he could have done, Doolan thought.
* * *
He wasn't sure if it was his imagination, but he got the feeling that people had been avoiding him since then. He could still see lust in their eyes when they looked at him, but nobody had spoken to him all week. He still hadn't seen any drugs being used, apart from one guy he'd thought might have been smoking a spliff in the foyer.
A guy in biker gear and a black leather mask came up to him; all he could see were grey eyes through the holes. Fucking pervert, he thought.
The biker looked around furtively, then whispered, "Sally?" He opened his hand and showed half a dozen white pills.
At last . MDA. He nodded. "Yeah," he breathed.
"Follow." The guy led the way to the far corner of the room, lifted a leather sheet and went through a doorway. Doolan had seen the sheet before but he hadn't known there was anything behind it.
It was almost pitch black when the door closed behind him.
Many hands grabbed him and there was the sharp creak of duct tape being unwound.
His wrists were taped tightly together behind his back. Hands held his legs as his boots were removed, followed by his leather jeans. Then his ankles were secured together.
He tried to struggle, but there were too many of them and they seemed to be able to see what they were doing, whereas he couldn't. All his struggling managed to do was slow them down a bit.
They got him down onto the floor, then wrapped two lengths of duct tape round his head, one carefully covering his eyes, the other his mouth.
"Ok." The five guys removed the night-vision goggles that had been borrowed from Adrian, who ran a military equipment shop. One of them flicked a switch on the wall and the office was flooded with light, though under the duct tape Doolan was unaware of this. He was lying on the thin carpet, struggling and swearing into the gag.
They manhandled him onto the wooden spanking horse that had been brought in specially for the purpose, cut the tape over his wrists and ankles, and secured them to the legs of the horse.
Adrian gave the bare arse a slap, making Doolan jump. "So, we've been doing a little research about you, Detective Constable Doolan."
Doolan screwed his face up. Fuck – they knew.
"I'm afraid you're in quite the wrong place if you're looking for drugs here, my man. I dare say someone brings something in now and again, but it doesn't happen very often – and if we see it we boot them out sharpish. No, we don't need drugs to enjoy ourselves, as you will find out shortly."
He looked around at the others. "So, it seems we have got ourselves a real, live – and, if I may say so, extremely hunky – straight, homophobic cop here."
Someone started singing, "It's Raining Men."
"And he's quite helpless. Now, what do you good people think we should do with him?"
There was general chuckling.
Adrian looked at his watch. "Well, let's start by giving him a good fucking. Club will be closing in ten minutes, so then we can take the gag off his mouth and open up more possibilities. Ok gentlemen, please form an orderly queue."
Cheers.
"Behind me."
Groans.
"Now now, don't be like that – there's plenty for everybody. He's not going anywhere and we've all night."
Doolan heard zips being undone. He clenched his arse as hard as he could.
Sudden coldness on his ring, then what could only – he hoped – be lube running down the back of his balls.
Fuck no. The end of a cock was pressing gently in. Suddenly it was not at all gentle any more. He yelled into the gag as the guy drove his cock in up to the balls and started to fuck him.
Being fucked up the arse by a guy was the stuff of absolute nightmares for Doolan. He'd let himself imagine it once, but he'd had to stop before he'd thrown up. Now there was a fucking queue of the buggers waiting to nail him.
The next half hour did not go well for him. After three cocks had fucked him he was whimpering into the gag.
"Let's give his arse a break," said Adrian. "Club's been closed a while now, so I think we can open up the other end." He leaned close. "Now, officer Doolan, feel free to yell – this place has a scrapyard on one side and a dentists on the other. Both are closed, so nobody will hear you."
He nodded to Paul, who unwrapped the duct tape over the Doolan's mouth, making very sure not to disturb the layers covering his eyes.
The cop yelled in pain when the last bit of tape was pulled off, and licked his lips.
"One other thing, officer," said Adrian, "one bite – one tiny, teeny bite from your teeth, and it will not end well for your buttocks." He raised a wooden paddle and brought it down hard on the exposed arse. The slap echoed around the room as a red imprint of the paddle began to form on the bare skin.
Doolan screamed.
"Do I make myself clear, officer?"
Doolan nodded his head. " Yes. Yes. "
"Good. Now," Adrian looked around, "who hasn't had the pleasure yet?"
Paul and another of the guys raised their hands.
"Ok." Adrian nodded at Paul. "Have fun."
Paul positioned himself, unzipped his leather jeans and got his cock out. He pressed it against the cop's tightly-closed lips.
Adrian was watching. "Open up please."
Doolan tried – he really did. But he could smell the cock and feel the end of it. He just could not do it.
Adrian slid the wooden paddle over the skin of the cop's buttocks.
Oh fuck fuck fuck. Doolan's jaw muscles shuddered, one part of his mind telling them to open or get beaten on the arse again, the other part refusing point-blank to let a cock into his mouth.
The paddle came down again, three times, hard.
Doolan screamed again. Oh fuck that hurt.
"Please, open . "
The cop opened his mouth, and the cock went in.
"Now suck it. I won't ask you again." He touched the paddle to the officer's buttocks again, and the cop flinched.
Doolan screwed his face up and sucked. He had no idea how to do it, but from the noises coming from above him he seemed to be doing all right. It wasn't until the first gob of spunk shot into his mouth that he remembered: cocks cum.
Some touched the back of his throat and he had no option but to swallow it. And it kept on coming.
Panting and grinning, Paul zipped himself up.
Doolan felt more wretched at that moment than ever before in his life. He could taste the fucking spunk.
"Now, officer Doolan, I believe you told one of the club members that you were into 'fucking, sucking, fisting, tit work, piss, the usual' – I think those were your exact words. So, fisting…"
Doolan moaned. "No. Please. Please don't do that…"
Adrian was silent for a while, enjoying hearing the terror in the man's voice. Eventually he said, "Ok, seeing as it's your first time we won't fist you – you can always come back again when you want to explore that. But as for the other things on that list…" He smiled at the guys. "You know what to do, I think."
As planned, they went to work. Paul cut the tape holding Doolan's wrists and ankles to the desk, then everyone else grabbed him and turned him over. Chris, the guy Doolan had punched last week, unzipped his jeans and threw the cop's legs over his shoulders. He'd been looking forward to this.
James and Colin were taking care of his arms and holding him down, though the fear of what these people would probably do to him if he resisted really made it unnecessary. Mike pushed his hard cock into Doolan's mouth at the same time as Chris thrust his cock into his arse. James used his free hand to work on the defenceless nipples, and Colin applied himself to the officer's cock. In spite of the man's protestations it was not fully soft, and it became much less soft very soon. Colin sucked it and worked on the balls.
Doolan was being fucked, he was sucking cock, having his tits worked and his own cock sucked at one and the same time. And he was hating every second of it. His arse was on fire from the abuse it had already had, and the brutal pounding this guy was giving it; his tonsils were being battered by the thing in his mouth; and his nipples were sending spikes of pain through him. But his damned cock appeared to be ignoring all of this. With mounting humiliation, he felt himself getting harder and harder, and then, a little later, closer and closer to cumming. This could not be happening. This must not be allowed to happen. It was one thing to be forced to suffer all these indignities against his will, but if he came – if he came it would look like he'd got off on it. No. That would not do. No fucking way.
He yelled as he shot his load into the sucking mouth. He had no control over it at all. He went bright red and tears of humiliation ran down his face.
Chris took a while to cum, but when he had, he pulled out. Mike at the other end had finished a while ago but waited until everybody else had done before removing his still-hard cock from the cop's mouth.
They let Doolan collapse back onto the horse.
"Only one more thing on that list, I think, gentlemen. For this we'd better move him over there."
They carried the exhausted cop into the en-suite bathroom and dumped him in the shower with his leather jeans next to him. Then they took aim and pissed all over both him and his jeans.
Doolan was too drained to try to avoid the warm streams of urine. All he could do was try to spit it out of his mouth – which had, apparently, been a popular target.
They dumped him outside in the alley at the back of the club, with his cold, wet leather jeans on top of him.
He lay there for five minutes, too exhausted to move. Eventually he unwrapped the duct tape from over his eyes and picked up the jeans. They were soaked with piss and, like him, they stank of it. But he was otherwise naked and he had to get back home, so he had no choice. Holding his breath and screwing his face up, he pulled on the jeans and fastened them. Then he staggered away down the alley, watching for sharp bits on the pavement.
Home was normally a bus-ride away, but even if there had been a bus at that time of night there was no way he could have got on it like this.
Cold, wet, and fuming, he walked slowly and painfully in the direction of his flat. Fuck fuck fuck! He hadn't seen any of the cunts cos of that damned duct tape they'd stuck over his eyes. Couldn't identify them. He might be able to recognise that one fucker's voice, but on its own that would do him no good at all.
Not a successful operation, he thought. He plodded down the pavement, cursing DCI Higgs creatively, comprehensively, and at length.
But at least the bastard probably wouldn't give him any more undercover work.