Gay Erotic Stories

Late one slow Monday night while he was cruising through the neighborhood in his squad car, my hot cop Dean Buttano spotted me leaping out the window of a hardware store that had been broken into the night before. He squealed to a halt and jumped from the car. "Hey, stop and put your hands against the wall!" he commanded in his deep booming voice. I kept running. With a sigh, he started to give chase, noting that I was apparently not armed. Dean had been a star fullback in high school and took a national wrestling championship in his college prep school (where he dropped out after two years to enter the police academy). I had learned about his background from reading an article on him in our neighborhood newspaper. With his athletic ability, the ex-jock would have no trouble chasing me down and subduing me, or so he thought. Dean chased me into an alley and spotted me going through a broken window in an old abandoned warehouse. He was too macho to go back to the squad car and call for backup for some apparently harmless punk. So he pursued me through the window alone. Not bothering to draw his gun, he entered the warehouse and walked through the darkness down a long hall with his police-issue flashlight blazing the trail. At the end of the hall, he opened a solid metal door and was surprised to find a small brightly-lit room. Inside there was only a mattress and four leather manacles linked by steel chains to solid steel hooks imbedded in the cement floor and wall at one end of the room. There was a box marked "sex toys" close by the mattress. At the other side of the room was a video camera on a high-tech tripod aimed directly at the door. The red light on the camera indicated it was running and recording Dean's entrance. Dean had only a police issue flashlight in his hand, but my gun was drawn. Suddenly, from behind the door he heard a trigger cock and my dead calm voice saying "hands high above your head and turn around, cop." Dean turned and was surprised to find my pistol cocked and pointed directly at his head. I had left the gun in the room and so tricked him into thinking I was not armed. It was only a realistic looking toy, but he didn't know that. Dean had been well trained at the police academy to comply without resistance when confronted with a loaded gun at close range. His hands went up, dropping the flashlight, and he turned slowly. "Hey, c'mon man," he squirmed, starting to realize the tight spot he was in. "Killing a cop will get you the chair in this state." Dean had obviously never been in such a bad predicament before. He started to sweat bullets. To be continued . . .