Gay Erotic Stories

1. Jim felt the crunch of his abs as he lifted up off the mat in the garage. He had set up a workout room in the back of the jail where he worked as the town sheriff. Nothing much happened in this one-horse town anyway...maybe break up a bar fight at Peg’s Tavern on Saturday night, or help absent minded Mrs. Wilcox get into her house for the hundredth time after she locked herself out – again –shit like that. So Jim spent most of his time when he was on duty working out in the back of the jail. It was the garage, where the cruiser was kept, but it was big enough so he could set up mats, a work bench with his weights, and some other equipment used to help tone up his tight, well-defined body. Jim was a hot-looking sheriff. He worked hard to keep his tight, ab-ripped waist down to a lean 32”, and equally hard to buff his chest to a rock hard, pec-ripped, nipple-protruding 44” chest, that looked as good under his tight uniform shirt as it did in the flesh. “Ninety-one, ninety-two,” Jim grunted, as he neared his goal of 100 sit-ups. He started his shift every day with a quick workout, ending with the sit-ups. He liked the burn he felt in his gut and, more than that, the layers of rock-hard muscle that gave him that washboard, ripped look. Jim was working out naked. It was just before his shift started. Nobody was around, especially on a Saturday morning. He’d take a shower and unlock the door to the office in a minute. Right now he enjoyed the last few burns from the strain of the sit-ups. His cock, which was longer than most and extra thick, began to swell and bob on his flat stomach. The cock head rubbed against the smooth, flat area of his lower gut, sliding across the sweat that the sit-ups caused on his skin. He felt a bit of pre-cum ooze out of the tip of his bulbous cockhead, as he continued his count... “Ninety-three, ninety-four,” he groaned, his hands clenched firmly behind his strong neck, his biceps bulging with sweat, and glistening from the overhead-hanging lamp in the center of the garage. Jim hadn’t jerked off in a few days. Every once in a while he liked to leave his dick alone, give it a rest, and build up his cum. Then he’d find some cocksucker to give him a blowjob, or some tight young ass to plow into, and he’d experience a cum-blasting orgasm that would send him to the moon and back with ecstasy. He liked teasing himself, holding back, building it up...and then shooting like a fucking madman when he was, at last, forced to release his pent up juice through the slit in his throbbing cock head. By that time, it would shoot like a gushing volcano. “Ninety-five, ninety-six,” he grunted, his long, extra thick cock getting harder and harder, still bobbing against his lower, sweaty belly. “Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, he groaned, his biceps tightening as he raised his strong neck up off the wrestling mat. He dug down deep, worked through the burn, and wrapped it up... “Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, fucking one hundred!” he groaned, letting his head drop back onto the mat. “Yeahhhh,” he moaned out loud, as he enjoyed the rush of finishing his workout. His cock was rock hard now, fully erect, and pre-cum oozed slowly out of the tip. He knew he would cum if he barely touched his big prick, but he didn’t...he continued to tease himself, to hold off, to wait. There would be time for cumming later. Right now he had to get to work. Besides, what he was thinking about most was the new uniform he’d just gotten in from supply. He had a thing for his uniforms, and although nobody knew it, he always ordered a size too small. Even though he had a 32” waist, he would order pants in a 30. Sure, they’d be tight, but that was the way he liked them. The feeling of the pants rubbing up against his long, hard cock, as it pressed firmly against his muscular thigh, turned him on like nothing else. Same thing with the shirt...he never ordered more than a 40, which was way too small. He never wore underwear of any kind underneath either the pants or the tight-fitting shirt, so his chest was clearly outlined, his cock could be easily seen, and even his nipples, when he was feeling good, which was most of the time, could be seen firmly pressing against the fabric of the chest-hugging officer’s shirt. His handsome face, short black hair, close-cropped beard, and extra tight uniform made him look more like a Tom of Finland dude than a local sheriff from a one-horse town, but he didn’t give a shit. He usually got stares when he’d head over to the saloon for a beer after work, but he knew that no matter who was looking at him, men or women, they all wanted the same thing...his body. Jim made it a point never to fuck around with anybody in town. It was too small a place. Sure, he’d had some young punks back to the garage for some wild sex, on more than one occasion, but he was always discreet about it, brining them in after sunset and making sure they were gone before McKenna’s rooster let out his usual crow from the barn down the street at sunrise. Jim didn’t have any problems about being gay, but he felt it was his fucking business. The townsfolk were pretty liberal, and cool about most everything, but he didn’t feel his sex life, and who and what he liked to do in the sack, was anybody’s business other than his own...so that’s the way he’d always kept it. Jim jumped up and headed over to the shower in the back corner of the garage. He turned on the faucet and stepped in. The water blasted his taut, muscular body, and he reached for the soap. He lathered some suds in his hands, and began to work it slowly over his chest. His nipples jumped to erection when he touched them with his soapy fingers. They got very hard, standing out strong in front of the hot cut of his pecs. Curls and presses every fucking day of the week had left him with a great fucking chest. He kneaded the flesh, getting his nipples even harder. Slowly, closing his eyes and leaning against the wall of the shower stall, he let his fingers press downward over the rock-hard layers of gut muscles that were his stomach. His fingers raised and lowered over each ripple of the washboard 6-pack. His gut was still a bit sore from the fast 100 sit-ups he’d just done, but he liked the burn. He massaged his gut muscles back and forth with his soapy fingers. While his right hand worked on his gut, he let his left hand slip down and grab hold of his cock head. He smeared soap into the sensitive protrusion of male flesh between his legs. He could only do it for a couple of seconds, and he instantly felt the cum burning up from his hanging love sacs, ready to explode. “Whoaah,” he groaned out loud, grinning from ear to ear. “Easy boy, easy,” he said to himself, realizing that orgasm could be brought on too easily. “You have work to do...save it for tonight,” he said to himself. He slowed his stroke, squeezing the sensitive membranes along the underside of his huge cock shaft, rubbing the soap into the skin, slipping his fingers all the way down to his cock head and then slowly, an inch at a time, back up to the pubic area, all the while gripping the sides of the shaft in a vice-like, soapy grasp. He felt the pre-cum ooze out of the tip of his cock. He knew if he wasn’t careful he’d shoot his load. He didn’t know if it was the new uniform waiting to jump into or the fact he hadn’t shot in a few days, but he didn’t ever remember being quite as horny as he was right at that very second. He let go of his cock, which now stood straight out in front of him, soap smeared all over it, pre-cum dripping slowly out of the tip of the cock head and splashing to the shower stall below, and finished lathering up the rest of his body, rinsing off under the forceful spray of the oversized shower above him. He turned off the faucets, stepped out of the stall, grabbed a towel, and quickly dried himself. Jim lived just outside of town in an old farmhouse he’d inherited from his folks. His dad, and his dad’s dad, were both sheriffs of the town before him. His folks were both gone now, but they lived long enough to see him be sworn in as sheriff. Although he didn’t live here at the station, he did have a room in the back corner of the garage, a private room, where he kept some personal things and, of course, his uniforms. He sometimes thought he should just move into the garage, he spent so fucking much time here. The new threads had just come in. They were laying out on the cot in the back room. He felt the cum burning in his balls as he looked at the uniform, crisply pressed shirt and trousers, brand new, never worn before...his cock got harder and harder. Yeah, he had a thing for uniforms...he got off on his uniform real bad...and he loved it! He grabbed the pants and slowly put his muscular calves then thighs down into them. He felt the thread of the wide, yellow stripe that went all the way from the waist of the trousers down to the bottom cuff. The stripe helped to make the pants special, make them a uniform and he got off on that. He pulled the trousers up over his legs and then ass, feeling the tightness of the cotton pressing against his flesh. By the time he had to shove his cock down into the crotch of the pants, his cock was rock hard. This wasn’t the first time that this had happened. He had a thing for uniforms, striped pants, crisp shirt with their buttoned epaulets across the shoulders...and getting in and out of his sheriff’s uniform always got him horny and hard. But today, his cock seemed harder than usual. He grabbed hold of it with his right hand and slowly shoved the bulbous, throbbing cock head down into the confines of his right leg trouser. He pulled the pants up and strained to fasten the buckle in the front of the 30” waist pants. It was a struggle, but he made it. He stepped back from the cot and looked at his reflection in the full length mirror he had leaning against one wall of the small back room. He could clearly see the outline of his extra long, and extra thick cock pressing feverishly against the confinement of the uniform trousers. He could even see the bulbous cock head down at the bottom, the mushroom shape of the tip of his horny dick against his leg. He turned to the side and admired the way his ass jutted out behind him, the yellow stripe down the side of the leg seeming to outline it. His ass was round, rock hard, and just the right size. The pants hugged his ass cheeks in a sexy way, and he loved the look. He reached back and grabbed his ass with both hands. He had a great fucking butt, and he knew it. He also knew it because everybody he brought home wanted to fuck him...but that was something he’d never done...not yet. He was the one that did the fucking, even though getting plowed by a big cock was always in the back of his mind. He just hadn’t met the right man yet, or been in the right set of circumstances. He knew the time had come. With an ass like his, he couldn’t hold off a rear-entry assault forever, and he knew it. He wanted someone, or some “thing” to plow into his backside...it would happen...when the time was right. He reached for his shirt and slipped his muscular arms into the tight sleeves. Like the pants, the shirt was a couple sizes too small, and he had to work his way into the fabric. It hugged his body like a second skin, and he loved it. The shirt has an American flag patch on the right sleeve, high up, right over his bicep. On the other arm was the County Sheriff’s Dept. badge, something he took great pride in wearing. He turned around and stood in front of the mirror again, unzipping the long zipper, and slowly shoving his shirt tail down into the pants, zippering back up, and then slowly buttoning up the front of his shirt. He had to pull the buttons over his chest they were so tight. When he did, the outline of his chest was clearly exhibited beneath the shirt. He loved that look, seeing his pecs, and now even his nipples protruding out in the center of his muscular chest pressing against the shirt. “Oh yeah, man, oh yeah,” he said to himself, almost in a whisper, as he finished buttoning the shirt and stood before the mirror, taking a long gaze of the way he looked in the uniform. It was brand new...first time worn...he’d have to be extra careful on his rounds that afternoon. The last thing he wanted to do was fuck up the new uniform. He grabbed his black, steel-toed engineer boots and stepped into them. He took the 5-tipped brass star with the word Sheriff in big bold print on the surface, and carefully stuck it through the top of his shirt just over his heart. It would be the only hole he’d make in the shirt, and he’d be sure to always prick the badge into the same spot each time he put it on. Yeah, he was ready for the day now: worked out, showered, dressed in the new uniform in a way that made his cock rise to the occasion way too early...yeah, his dick might be a problem as the day wore on...he was horny as hell, and didn’t know how long he’d make it before having to do something about that. Who knows, he thought to himself, maybe I’ll get lucky and there’ll be some action in this one-horse town this afternoon. Action was what he had a hankering for...but then nothing ever happened around here...it was always the same old boring routine. Just once the hot young sheriff wished he could run into a hot adventure during his shift...something exciting, something wild... If Jim only knew what was in store for him that day, he might not have wished for something wild...he was about to run into more trouble than he ever could have imagined. He headed for the front office. It was time to open the door and start his shift. Walking through the garage he heard the roar of what sounded like a big Harley Davidson screeching down Main Street and coming to a stop across the street at Peg’s Saloon. “What the fuck?” the young sheriff said, grabbing his billy club and cuffs by the front door and heading out into the sunlight of the day that was about to change his life...forever. 2. By the time the sheriff got across the street to Peg’s there was already some kind of ruckus going on. He pushed open the old-fashioned swinging saloon doors and entered the dimly lit, smoke-filled tavern. He caught the man’s eye immediately, and he wasn’t sure why but his heart skipped a beat at the same time his cock jumped in the tight pants of his new uniform. In the corner, in the middle of a pushing match with Farmer Trent, a regular, was one of the hottest looking men he’d ever laid eyes on, especially in this fucking flea-bitten town. The man was wearing a pair of faded 501’s...they looked paper thin, and hugged his ass like a second skin. He could see each orb of the man’s round, hard ass pressing feverishly against the thin, faded denim. It looked like the ass was going to burst through the old fabric any second. It made Jim’s mouth water. The man was wearing an old work shirt, with some kind of skull insignia on the right sleeve, which was short. The short sleeves of the shirt, which like his own uniform looked about 2 or 3 sizes too small for the muscular stud, were hugging what appeared to be huge fucking biceps. The bottom of the sleeve cut into the skin on the man’s muscle in a way that turned Jim on. Nothing he liked more than a man’s flesh confined, outlined, exhibited, and trying to break free from the confinements of an extra tight uniform. The shirt was tucked into the top of the 501’s. The buttons bulged with the huge lump of the man’s dick, and Jim knew that if the dude wasn’t sporting a hard-on, it had to be the biggest soft dick he’d ever seen. It looked huge, and pressed hard against the front of the thin jeans. An extra large, thick black garrison belt was around the belt loops, although a couple of the loops had been frayed and were torn off. The guy’s shirt was open about four buttons, and he could just get a glimpse at the top of what looked like extra large, and super-cut pecs. Christ this fucker was built like a brick shithouse...and he was getting horny just looking at him. “Hey, hey, what’s going on here?” Jim said, as he approached the two men. “Fuck off, ass wipe,” the handsome young man said the second he saw the sheriff. That was all that Jim needed. He couldn’t let someone, let alone a stranger in their small town, talk to him like that. “OK, buddy, come with me,” Jim said, slipping his hand under the man’s armpit and grabbing hold of his right bicep, pulling the man away from Peg’s regular customer and steering him toward the door. Surprisingly, the man didn’t resist, but the feeling of his rock hard bicep against Jim’s fingers drove Jim crazy. This man’s arm muscle was so fucking big, so strong, Jim thought it might even be bigger than his own...and he’d never seen a dude with bigger guns than he had. The two men walked out of the tavern and headed across the street. Jim didn’t let the guy go. He didn’t know if it was a show of power or he just felt like grabbing his muscular arm, but he dug his fingers in and held on good. He opened the door to the office and pushed the guy through the door. And then all hell broke loose. The second the office door closed, the handsome stud shot a powerful elbow right into the pit of Jim’s stomach. Jim doubled over in pain. The elbow had smashed against his six-pack, but it had come so unexpectedly, and with such incredible force, that it completely surprised him and knocked the wind out of him. That second of disability was all the stranger needed. “You cocksucker,” Jim managed to wheeze out, bending over and holding his gut. “You can call me Wolf, Sheriff,” the man said. With that, he took his left hand, grabbed hold of Jim’s head, lifted it up slowly, stared him right in the face, and slammed a doubled-up right fist right into the pit of Jim’s gut. “Yeohhhh,” Jim gasped. He had barely caught his breath from the first sucker elbow, and now another shot hurt like hell. Jim doubled over again, and before he knew what was happening, Wolf had grabbed the cuffs off the belt loop in his pants. He grabbed Jim’s right wrist, yanked it behind his body, and slapped a cuff on it. This guy was so strong, and so quick, and Jim was gasping for breath from the two savage gut punches, that before he knew it the guy had him cuffed. “You fucking prick,” Jim admonished. “Shut the fuck up, Sheriff, you’re making me horny!” Jim didn’t know what the hell this guy was talking about, but something told him that this guy was after more than just a get-away...maybe he was after HIM! “What’s back there?” Wolf asked, yanking Jim to his feet by grabbing the cuffs that dug into Jim’s wrists. “The garage,” Jim panted, his gut still stinging from the savage right to his belly button. Wolf grabbed hold of Jim’s muscular neck and shoved him toward and then through the door. Once inside the garage, things started happening fast. Jim thought of yelling out in the hopes that someone over at Peg’s would hear him, but the music was blaring from the old juke box and, besides, he wasn’t too sure he wanted to let the townsfolk know that this punk stranger had overpowered him in such a short amount of time. After all, what kind of sheriff did that make him? Wolf shoved Jim back against one of the wide cement columns that supported the roof of the garage. Looking around, he saw some rope in the corner, grabbed it, and proceeded to loop it through the cuffs and then wrap it around the back of the column. The sheriff was bound well now, not going anywhere. Hands cuffed behind his back, then also tied firmly to the cement slab with rope. “Well, well, looky here,” Wolf said, his blue eyes darting back in forth like a horny, crazed man as he sized Jim up and down, “a sheriff for the picking!” Jim wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but something told him his ass was on the line...in more ways than one! Wolf started walking around the garage, looking over what was there, opening a few drawers, coming back with some “supplies”. There was a big can of axle grease Jim had kept on hand for working on the police cruiser. Wolf laid that on the table right next to them. He also had found a switchblade knife, which he flicked open, the blade catching light from he overhead lamp. Jim’s heart started beating. Maybe this guy wasn’t out to rough him up...maybe he was going to kill him. Christ...what kind of a fucking Saturday was this turning out to be! Wolf took the blade of the knife and slowly began rubbing it back and forth across Jim’s chest. He pressed the tip up against his nipple, which was protruding against the fabric of the shirt. “Careful, Jesus fucking Christ, be careful,” Jim moaned. “Shut up, Sheriff, I wouldn’t want to cut you now,” Wolf groaned. He had a very deep, menacing voice, and Jim had the feeling he wasn’t fucking around. He decided, at least for the time being, he’d try to keep his mouth shut as directed. Wolf grabbed hold of the fabric of Jim’s shirt, and pulled it out just a bit from his right pec, and then stuck the blade into the shirt, causing a tiny hole through the fabric. “Noooooo,” Jim yelled out without thinking. “That’s a new fucking uniform, you ass hole,” he pleaded. With that, Wolf drew his huge, muscular arm back, and let the hardest punch he could muster slam into the pit of Jim’s gut. The air whooshed out of Jim and his knees went out from under him. If he hadn’t been handcuffed to the support beam of the garage he would have gone down. He tried to speak, to say something, but he had no air in his lungs. It stung like hell. This bruiser was a tough cocksucker and had the muscle to back it up. Realizing the sheriff was more disabled now, Wolf returned to his ripping and shredding of the sheriff’s brand new uniform. He cut a hole around the nipple area of Jim’s shirt, and Jim’s rock hard, protruding nipple burst through, jutting out. Jim wasn’t sure why, but his cock jumped in his trousers. Fuck, he was in trouble here...this cocksucker could waste him in a second if he wanted to...and yet, why was his cock responding? Wolf took his right fist, doubled it over, and then with the back of his fist, he began pounding Jim’s exposed nipple. Just tapping it at first, then hardening the punches, until the echo of his fist slamming into Jim’s body could be heard in the garage. Then he took the nipple between his fingers and began to squeeze it, twisting it, until Jim began to squirm. It hurt like hell. “Yeah, you like that, don’t you, Sheriff?” Wolf said, digging his fingers into the nipple and clamping down hard. Not waiting for an answer, Wolf leaned forward and spit some saliva onto Jim’s exposed nipple. All Jim could think about was, Christ, not on the shirt! He chomped down hard on the nipple, taking it between his teeth and biting it. Jim groaned out loud as the teeth tore into his flesh. He thought for a minute the prick was going to bite it right off. Over and over Wolf chomped down on the nipple, sliding his teeth back and forth across its tender surface, chewing, chomping, biting hard. Backing off, he wasted no time in doing the same to the other side of Jim’s new uniform shirt, pulling the fabric out first with his hand, then jabbing the knife through the fabric and creating a circle around the other nipple. As before, he spit on it, punched it, and then went to work with his mouth, chomping down harder with each bite as he bit the nipple mercilessly. After working on both nipples for what seemed like a long time, Wolf stuck one of his fingers into the tiny hole around the nipple and yanked slowly on it, tearing the shirt. “Noooo,” Jim moaned. “Shut up, Sheriff, or that gut is gonna get a workout you’ll never forget,” Wolf warned. “Please don’t rip the shirt any more...it’s brand new, you fucker,” Jim pleaded. Slowly, deliberately, almost as if he was torturing the sheriff, which in a way he was, he began to rip the shirt, making the hole around one of the nipples really big...then moving over and doing the other side of Jim’s chest, until gaping tears were visible in the front of the shirt. Now, not only were Jim’s nipples fully exposed, but most of his cut pecs as well. The badge that Jim had so carefully put on his shirt earlier that day now hung down in front of him, barely hanging on to a shred of fabric. “I told you to shut the fuck up, Sheriff,” Wolf yelled. With that he took his knife and began cutting out a circle in the front of Jim’s gut area, exposing his six-pack. The light from the overhead lamp lit up Jim’s rock hard abs. The rows of gut muscles he’d worked so hard to develop were now vulnerable, open, ready for assault. Wolf, using both hands now, slowly made the opening larger, ripping the front of the shirt, tearing it, shredding it an inch at a time, letting the sheriff hear and feel each tear of the once pressed, once new shirt. Jim squirmed about, yanking at the cuffs and ropes that bound him, but it was useless. “Jesus, what a fucking set of abs, Sheriff...yeahhhh,” Wolf groaned, as he doubled up his right fist. He began slamming it into his open left palm, over and over again, the sound of the fist hitting the open palm echoing in the garage. Jim knew he was in for a savage gut beating. He hoped all the sit-ups and crunches would pay off, but this fucker was a bruiser, and he was still aching from the elbow and sucker punch he’d been forced to receive earlier. Wolf stepped back, and spread his legs apart. His boots were planted firmly on the cement of the garage floor. He steadied himself. Then, without further delay, he began to go at his target. He slammed a right fist right into the pit of Jim’s gut. His knuckles crashed into Jim’s hard, flat belly button. Jim slammed back into the pole he was tied to as the air shot out of his lungs. He didn’t have a chance to catch his breath, however, as the left fist followed up with a crushing punch to the lower belly, just above Jim’s crotch area, slamming against the top of his trousers. “Yeaoohhhh,” Jim managed to groan. “You don’t listen, do you boy...I said...SHUT THE FUCK UP!” He began to pummel Jim’s gut with savage punches. First lefts, then rights slammed into the handsome, bearded sheriff’s mid- section. Each punch seemed to be harder than the last, and each one hurt more than the one before. Wolf’s fists landed on the shredded fabric of the ripped uniform shirt, smashing it into Jim’s rock hard flesh. The punches landed everywhere: on the upper stomach, just under the rib cage, on both sides, cheap kidney shots that stung like hell, on the lower abdomen and, of course, dead center right into the belly button, which caused Jim to jerk and lurch forward with each shot. The ab assault seemed to go on forever, and just when Jim was wondering if he was going to pass out from the pain and lack of air, Wolf backed off. He looked like a fucking madman now, and Jim looked down at the front of the guy’s jeans to see a roaring hard-on pressing feverishly against the thin denim of the dude’s 501’s. The bottom button on the hot jeans had popped open, and Jim could see a bit of the man’s cockshaft. It was very hot to look at, and he couldn’t believe he was even thinking along those lines, as he stood there tied up in his own office getting worked over by this punk. But hot was hot, and this bruiser was definitely a man’s man, gorgeous, and tough as shit at the same time. It was a combination not missed or under-appreciated by the sheriff. Wolf looked around the garage, as if he was trying to figure out what to do next. Suddenly he got this extra-mad look in his eyes. “Yeahhhh, Sheriff,” was all he said. There was an old barrel standing in one of the corners. It was filled with discarded oil from the oil changes Jim did on the cruiser. Wolf grabbed it, and managed to slide it over to the center of the garage. With some effort, he shoved it over on its side. The barrel had a heavy screw-on bolt on top, which was secure and kept the oil from leaking out. It was solid, and once on its side, didn’t move when Wolf kicked it with his boot. He positioned it in front of the end of a workbench, then got Jim. He undid the rope, and moved him away from the pole. “Where’s the key, Sheriff?” he asked Jim “In my watch pocket of the trousers,” Jim responded. Something told him he better do as he was told. Wolf reached his hand down into the trousers. “Whooaaahhh, Sheriff, what’s this?” Wolf said with a sadistic grin, as he felt the huge thickness of Jim’s hardening dick inside the front of his pants. “Don’t tell me you’re likin’ this, Sheriff!” Wolf chided. Jim didn’t know what to do or say. Yeah, he was worried about this fucker, even wondering if he may not come out of this alive, but he couldn’t deny how hot the guy was, and there was something about being under his control that was turning him on like crazy. He wasn’t sure where inside of him it was coming from, but he couldn’t hide it. His cock was responding, as if it had a mind of its own. He just stared into the guy’s piercing eyes and didn’t say a word, as Wolf grabbed the sides of his shaft inside the pants and squeezed. “Whoahhh,” Wolf groaned, as he felt some pre-cum ooze out of the tip of the cockhead of Jim’s dick. “No way are you getting off right now, Sheriff. I’m up to bat here, remember?” With that, Wolf let go of the dick, afraid squeezing it a couple more times would make the horny bound-up sheriff shoot his fucking load. “Besides, I have plans for you, punk,” Wolf said in a menacing tone. Wolf proceeded to reach into the sheriff’s watch pocket on the top of the trousers and get the key. He slowly undid the lock. Before Jim could even think about trying to get away, Wolf shoved him forward, sending him sprawling over the top of the barrel. “Yeah, that a boy,” Wolf groaned, looking down at the round hard ass in the tight uniform pants before him. “Isn’t that a pretty picture,” he grinned. Wasting no time, Wolf proceeded to grab hold of the rope and tie it around Jim’s right wrist, and then yank it forward, tying the other end around the leg of the workbench in front of him. Taking another strand of the thick rope, he proceeded to do the same with the left wrist, wrapping the rope around a number of times, looping it up, over and through, to make a knot, good and tight, and then extending the other end of the rope around the other leg of the work bench. The barrel was in the middle of the back of the bench, and the bench was wide so that it spread eagled Jim’s muscular arms out to the sides as it bound them tightly. Wolf looked around the garage and found two more lengths of rope. Without hesitating, he wrapped first one then the other around the sheriff’s booted ankles, spreading them out to the side, wide open, and then tying one to the cement support beam where Jim had first been tied up to, and the other around the bottom wheel of the cruiser, parked along the side of the garage. The sheriff was lying over the big barrel now, spread-eagled, arms and legs yanked out to the sides and stretched. He was open, vulnerable, and his hard, round ass in the uniform was lit up from the overhead light like the lusty target it had become. “Now we’re gonna see what you’re made of, punk,” Wolf said, his voice lower than ever, a sadistic tone undeniable in its resonance. With that, he reached for his knife and started to cut the ass out of the trousers. “Nooo, you fucker, not the uniform!” Jim begged one last time. With that, Wolf proceeded to cut off a swatch of the shirt from his arm. It had the Sheriff’s Department patch on it. Wolf tore it off, shredding it with his hands, ripping it, as Jim struggled beneath him in vain to free himself. He doubled the torn fabric over and shoved it into the back of Jim’s mouth. There was enough fabric to create the gag that Wolf wanted. Jim could barely breathe...and he definitely couldn’t speak...not now. He tried to yell out, but all that came out was a muffled moan. He’d never felt so helpless, so vulnerable, so totally under someone else’s power in his life. The sheriff was gagged. The sheriff was bent over the oil barrel and spread-eagled, both arms and legs. It was time. Wolf grabbed for the can of axle grease on the workbench, and slowly began to unbutton the remaining buttons of his tight, faded 101’s. It was gonna be a long, and very HARD afternoon! To be continued in the conclusion of “Ripped”!