this story contains scenes of non-consensual sex. Please do not read this if it will cause you distress. This is a work of fantasy.
The copper
I had been following Detective Inspector Mike Banks for weeks now, studying his every move, his routine, his every little quirk. I knew when he liked to grab his morning coffee from the Starbucks on the corner of Baker Street, and how he always took the same route to work. The man was predictable, a creature of habit, and that made things all the easier for me. But it wasn't just his predictability that drew me in; it was his reputation. He was dodgy as fuck, he’d been on the payroll of a high-level dealer for a while. But worse, for me, than the shit he was letting flood the streets was the fact that he was a racist and a massive fucking homophobe.
I’d heard he and his mates had beaten up a gay guy a while back, right here in London, despite all of the diversity noise from The Met, it appears it’s as bigoted as ever. It made my blood boil to think of the fear and pain he had inflicted on someone who was simply trying to live their life. And yet, he walked free, a symbol of the corruption that had infiltrated the very institution that was meant to protect and serve. The sun was shining, casting a warm glow on the cobblestone streets as I watched him from a safe distance, his bulldog-like stride a stark contrast to the gentle sway of the flowers in the nearby park.
Mike Banks was a man of average height, with a thick, muscular build that spoke of hours in the gym. His face was chiseled, with a strong jawline and cunning green eyes that seemed to look right through people. His short, blond hair was always impeccably groomed, and his skin was weathered from a lifetime of patrolling the streets. He had a wife and two kids, a boy and a girl, who probably looked up to him with stars in their eyes, not knowing the monster he truly was. A perfect family, living in a two up, two down terraced house in north London. Little did they know the horrors he was capable of outside their cozy bubble of ignorance.
As I continued to follow Mike, I noticed his swagger, the way his shoulders rolled back and his chest puffed out as he walked. It was almost comical, like he was trying to compensate for something. Perhaps he thought that by embodying the stereotype of a "real man," he could somehow justify the hateful things he did and said. His self-assurance was palpable, like a force field around him, pushing aside any doubt or fear that might dare to approach. But as I watched him, I knew that soon, he would be the one running scared, the one begging for mercy. The irony wasn’t lost on me; the man who had preyed on the weak and vulnerable would soon find himself in the very position he had put others.
Mike had been chasing me, the shadowy figure behind the string of male rapes that had been plaguing the city. Each of my victims was a powerful man in their own right, a reflection of the toxic masculinity that had allowed him to thrive. Politicians, CEOs, celebrities – they had all felt the sting of my wrath, the violation of their bodies a testament to the power that I had claimed from them. And yet, he was no closer to catching me than he was to understanding the depth of his own ignorance. The game of cat and mouse had become a dance, a twisted ballet of fate, and I was the one leading the performance.
It was a quiet Tuesday evening when I saw my opportunity. Mike had just finished a particularly grueling case, one that had seen his racist and homophobic tendencies come to the forefront once again. The press had been hounding him, and his superiors had called for an internal review. The weight of the world seemed to be crushing him, and his usual swagger had been replaced by a sluggish gait as he stumbled out of the pub, his favorite haunt after a long day. The taxi rank was just across the street, a line of black cabs waiting for their next fare, their yellow lights like the eyes of predators in the night.
I had been working as a taxi driver for years, a job that allowed me to blend in with the fabric of the city, to hear the whispers and secrets of the night. I knew all the back roads, the shortcuts that would take us away from prying eyes. As Mike approached, I stepped out of the shadows, my taxi badge glinting in the dim streetlight. "Need a ride, mate?" I called out, my voice friendly and reassuring. He squinted, recognizing the local accent, and nodded, too tired to argue or even question the random kindness. He climbed into the backseat, the scent of his cheap aftershave filling the small space as he gave me his address.
As we drove through the deserted streets in silence. I could feel his eyes on me through the rearview mirror, i figured as a police Officer he was always on guard, even after a few pints. But he saw only what he wanted to see, a harmless, hardworking Londoner. Little did he know that I had been watching him, waiting for the perfect moment to make him understand the fear he had inflicted on so many others.
When we reached a particularly secluded alleyway, I pulled the taxi to a stop. "We're here," I said calmly, watching his eyes widen in confusion. Before he could react, I slipped my hand through the partition, reaching for the lock on his door. Mike's instincts finally kicked in, and he lunged forward, trying to grab me. But I was faster. With a quick flick of my wrist, I pulled out a set of handcuffs, securing his wrists to a bar on the partition that separated us. His eyes went wide with shock and fear, his mouth opening to protest, but I was already reaching for the pepper spray I kept hidden under the dashboard. A quick burst to the face had him coughing and gagging, his eyes watering so much he could barely see.
"You're going to learn a lesson tonight, detective," I whispered, my voice low and menacing. "You're going to understand what it's like to be helpless, to be used, to be violated." He thrashed around in the backseat, trying to break free, but the cuffs held firm. His struggling only served to excite me more, to fuel the rage that had been simmering within me for so long. With a smirk, I climbed out of the driver's seat and opened the back door, my heart pounding in anticipation of the confrontation to come.
Mike's eyes searched wildly for a way out, his breath coming in ragged gasps through the pepper spray-induced fog. "Please," he managed to croak out, his bravado gone, replaced by the desperate pleas of a man facing his own demons. I leaned in, my face mere inches from his, my voice a cold whisper that sent shivers down his spine. "If you want to see your wife and kids again, you'll do exactly as I say." His eyes widened in horror as he realized the depth of my knowledge about his personal life. "I know where they live," I continued, "and if you don't cooperate, I'll make sure they experience the same fear and pain that you're about to."
Reluctantly, Mike nodded his agreement, his eyes never leaving mine as I removed the handcuffs. The metal clinked against the car door, a sound that seemed to echo through the desolate alleyway. I could see the fear etched into every line on his face, but also something else – understanding. He knew that he had crossed a line, that his actions had led him to this moment. Without a word, I led him out of the taxi and down the darkened alley, my grip on his arm tight and unyielding. He stumbled, trying to regain his footing.
Once we were far enough from the streetlights, I pushed him against the cold, damp brick wall of an abandoned building. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a roll of duct tape, ripping off a piece and slapping it over his mouth, muffling his protests into a series of garbled sounds. His eyes grew even wider, the realisation of his situation sinking in like a lead weight. I stepped closer, my body pressing into his, feeling his heart pound against his ribcage. I knew he could feel my hard cock, my need to teach him a lesson, and it only made his fear grow stronger.
Suddenly, I grabbed the copper's crotch through his trousers, my hand squeezing tightly. He let out a dry sob, his body going rigid. The sound was music to my ears, a symphony of his fear and powerlessness. His eyes filled with tears, and he struggled against me, trying to push me away. But I was relentless, my grip unyielding. "This is what it feels like," I hissed, my breath hot against his ear. "This is what you do to people." His sobs grew louder, his legs quivering as he tried to pull away, but I held him firmly in place, my hand moving in slow, deliberate motions that mirrored the pain and humiliation he had caused others.
With a snarl, I dragged him into the warehouse. It was a place I had scouted before, a haven of shadows and forgotten dreams, the perfect stage for my twisted brand of justice. The old machinery loomed around us. The air was thick with dust and the faint scent of oil, a stark contrast to the antiseptic cleanliness of the police station where Mike had so often strutted with his head held high. I found a machine that had seen better days, its gears and cogs a testament to the relentless march of time and progress that had left it behind.
With a vicious tug, I handcuffed one of his wrists to a metal bar on the machine, the cold steel biting into his flesh. He whimpered and tried to pull away, but the cuffs held firm, the chain rattling with each futile attempt. I stepped back, admiring the look of absolute terror that had transformed his face. His eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape that wasn't there. "You think you can hunt me?" I said, my voice echoing in the cavernous space. "You can’t even keep your own arse safe."
His face was a canvas of fear, his eyes wide and glassy with unshed tears. His nose was still red and running from the pepper spray, and his cheeks were splotchy with rage. But it was the look of dawning horror that truly captivated me, the moment when he realized that the tables had turned, that he was now at the mercy of the very kind of person he had tormented. His mouth moved under the tape, his jaw working as he tried to form words, to protest, to bargain. But all that came out were muffled sounds, a pathetic symphony of his own fear.
I couldn't help but smile as I reached down to yank his trousers down, revealing his well-formed arse and the limp cock that had probably never experienced a moment's hesitation before. His legs were muscular and hairy, the kind that had likely been the object of locker room envy and the butt of many a juvenile joke. His arse was tight and round, a stark contrast to the softness of his belly, a small paunch that betrayed his love for the pub and the occasional pint. His cock lay there, a sad, flaccid testament to his current state of mind, nestled in a thatch of blond hair that matched the hair on his head.
With a brutal shove, I pushed Mike against the wall, his back arching and his hands straining against the metal bar as he realized what was about to happen. He tried to kick out at me, but I was too fast, too eager and he couldn’t get any momentum. I dropped to my knees behind him, my nose level with his tight, muscular arse. The smell of his fear filled my nostrils, a heady scent that made my cock throb with excitement. He hated this, I knew, the idea of a man's mouth anywhere near his hole was anathema to his very being. His squirms and muffled protests only spurred me on, the sound of his discomfort a sweet symphony that played directly to my lust.
I spread his cheeks apart with both hands, revealing the tight, puckered hole that had remained untouched by another man's tongue. His whole body tensed, and his muffled cries grew louder as I leaned in, my breath hot and wet against his skin. His sphincter clenched and unclenched in a desperate bid for escape, but there was nowhere to run. With a sadistic grin, I licked the length of his crack, from his balls to the base of his spine, savoring the salty taste of his sweat. His legs trembled, and I could feel his body trying to pull away from me, but the handcuffs held firm.
As I pushed my tongue into his hole, he let out a strangled scream, the vibrations of his voice resonating through the tape. His whole body jerked, and he tried to buck me off, his legs kicking wildly. But I was relentless, my tongue delving deeper and deeper, tasting the darkest, most hidden part of him. I knew he hated this, that it was the ultimate violation in his eyes. The thought of a man's mouth on him, of someone treating him like the filth he had treated so many others, was too much to bear. And yet, he couldn't stop me. His squirms and struggles only served to make me harder, my cock straining against the fabric of my trousers.
Reaching around, I grabbed hold of his limp dick, giving it a few experimental tugs. He flinched, but there was no fight left in him. With one hand still pulling his arse cheeks apart, I started to work his cock with the other, feeling it slowly swell under my touch. His muffled sounds of protest turned into desperate moans, his body betraying the disgust that filled his mind. The irony wasn't lost on me; here was a man who had used his power to dominate and hurt others, now at the mercy of someone he had deemed inferior.
I stroked him with a practiced hand, feeling his cock thicken and harden with every pull. The veins stood out, pulsing with the blood that fueled his fear. It was a strange kind of power, one that I had never felt before, and it thrilled me to know that I could elicit such a primal reaction from him. His eyes were squeezed shut, his face a twisted mask of revulsion and humiliation. But the more he fought it, the more he seemed to get off on it. His breath grew ragged, his moans muffled by the tape that kept him from screaming out his rage and disgust.
It was when I felt his body begin to tremble, the muscles in his legs tightening, that I knew he was close. With a final, deep lick, I pulled away, smacking my lips together in exaggerated satisfaction. "Oh, you're going to cum," I murmured, my voice thick with disdain. "But not yet. I've got something else in mind for you first." His eyes flew open, the terror in them like a drug, making me even harder. I reached into my pocket, pulling out a small bottle of lube. His eyes followed the motion, his body going rigid as he understood what was about to happen.
With a slick hand, I coated my cock, watching his pupils dilate with fear as I stepped closer. "You're going to take it, Mike," I said, my voice a low growl. "You're going to take every inch of me and you're going to love it." His muffled protests grew more frantic as I lined myself up with his now-wet hole. He was fighting harder now, his legs kicking out wildly, but it was useless. With one swift, brutal motion, I pushed inside him, feeling the tightness give way to the sheer power of my need for vengeance.
The sound of him choking on the tape was music to my ears as I started to thrust, my hips pumping in a rhythm that mirrored the beat of my heart. His body tensed, trying to resist the intrusion, but the lube had done its job, making my passage smoother than I had ever dreamed. Each time I pushed in, I felt his muscles clench around me, and each time I pulled out, I reveled in the way his body begged for more, even as his mind screamed in protest.
Reaching around with my free hand, I found his cock, still rock-hard despite his desperate situation. I gave it a squeeze, watching his eyes bulge with the mix of pleasure and pain. "Look how hard you are, Mike," I murmured in his ear, my voice a dark whisper. "You're loving this, aren't you?" His muffled response was a garbled mess, but I knew what he was trying to say. "You can't lie to me, your body's telling the truth." With each thrust, I stroked him in time, feeling the precum leaking from the tip and smearing over my hand.
Mike's legs were trembling, his breath coming in sharp, pained gasps as I continued my relentless assault. The walls of the warehouse echoed with the sound of our bodies slapping together, the rhythmic squeaks of the handcuffs the only other sound in the vast space. "You're going to cum for me, Mike," I whispered, my hot breath against his ear. "You're going to cum while I'm inside you, and you're going to know that you enjoyed it."
I felt his body begin to give in, his muscles relaxing around my invading cock. The strokes of my hand on his dick grew faster, more insistent, matching the tempo of my thrusts. His eyes rolled back in his head, his muffled moans growing louder. He was close, so close, and I knew that the moment of his climax would be my victory, the culmination of all the anger and pain that I had been carrying for so long. I pushed deeper, hitting that spot that made him jolt and whine, my own pleasure spiraling higher and higher.
"Come on, Mike," I whispered, my voice a dark caress in his ear. "Cum for me. Show me how much you love having a cock in your arse." My words were a twisted form of sweet nothings, a mockery of the gentle whispers that might be exchanged between lovers in a more consensual situation. His breath grew more ragged, his body shaking with the effort of holding back. The smell of his sweat and fear was intoxicating, mixing with the scent of lube and sex in the damp air of the warehouse.
And then, with a strangled cry, he did. His body convulsed, his cock spurting hot, thick jets of cum all over my hand and the wall in front of him. The tension in his muscles released, and his legs gave out, leaving him hanging limply from the handcuffs, his body a ragdoll in my grip. I felt the moment of his climax deep within him, his sphincter clenching around my cock in a spasm of pleasure that was tinged with pain and humiliation.
I held still, watching him cum, feeling the warmth of his release coat my shaft. The sight of his powerful body, reduced to this, was almost too much to bear. My own orgasm was a white-hot explosion, filling him up, marking him as mine. I could feel the hot spurts of cum shooting into his bowels, the ultimate declaration of my dominance. His muffled cries grew softer, turning into whimpers as he slumped against the wall, his legs quivering.
Mike's eyes were squeezed shut, his face a picture of agony and despair. His entire body was drenched in sweat, his muscles twitching with the aftershocks of his forced climax. I knew he was crying, the tears streaming down his face a silent testament to the horror he was experiencing. For a moment, I felt a strange pang of something akin to pity, but it was quickly swallowed by the anger and disgust that had led me to this moment.
Wiping my hand clean on his shirt, I stood up and took a step back, admiring the mess I had made of him. His trousers were around his ankles, his arse red and slick with lube and my cum. His legs were still shaking, and he was gasping for air, the tape over his mouth muffling his pathetic attempts at protest. The handcuffs rattled as he slumped against the bar, his body sagging like a ragdoll.
With a sadistic smile, I pulled up a chair and sat down next to him, my thigh brushing against his. "Now, Mike," I began, my voice calm and conversational, "I've got some news for you." His eyes snapped to mine, filled with a mix of hope and dread. "You see, I'm not going to let you go just yet. In fact, I might not let you go at all." His eyes went wide, and he tried to shake his head, but the handcuffs held firm.
Leaning in closer, I whispered, "I might even bring some of my friends here. They've all heard the stories about you, you see. And they're all eager to show you what it's like to be on the receiving end." His breath grew ragged, his eyes darting to the handcuffs, then back to me. "But maybe, just maybe," I continued, "if you're a very good boy, I'll let you go home to your lovely wife and kids." His eyes searched mine, desperate for a shred of truth.
Pulling out a sharpie pen from my pocket, I took a moment to admire the fear that had taken up residence in his gaze. "But first," I said, a smirk playing on my lips, "I want you to have something to remember me by." With a swift movement, I bent down and wrote 'FUCK ME' in bold, black letters across one of his arse cheeks. His eyes grew wide with horror, and he tried to buck me off, but his legs were too weak. I slapped his other cheek, leaving a stinging imprint of my hand. "Now, don't go anywhere," I said, standing up and adjusting my clothing. "I'll just leave you here to think about what you've done."
And with that, I left him there, his legs trembling and his body a mess of sweat, cum, and fear. The sound of his muffled screams filled the air as I strolled out of the warehouse, the echoes bouncing off the cold, empty walls. The night had grown darker, the shadows thick and foreboding, a perfect reflection of the scene I had just played out. I could still feel his tight, virgin hole around my cock, the memory of his pained cries like a sweet melody that played in my head.
But as I stepped into the night, the thrill of my victory was tempered by the knowledge that there were so many more like him out there. Men who thought they could hide behind their badges and their prejudices, using their power to crush those who were different. The taste of vengeance was addictive, and I found myself craving more. Who’s next, I wondered. The thought of the other predators in this city made my blood boil.
