Good Cop Bad Cop
(Chain Letters, Part 4)



Dear Diary,

Old habits are hard to break. During the years of my captivity you were my only real companion. For twenty-four hours now I have been free, yet still pour out my thoughts to your pages...

Free from my ticklish servitude to Lord Ty and Master Simon!

An amazing accident when the truck skidded into a tree. There I was in the back of the truck, padlocked in the pine crate which was my cage. Suddenly, I felt a lurch followed by the sound of brakes squealing and a crunching impact. My cage was upended, half the wooden slats splintered. I shook myself together, and, naked, struggled cautiously to my knees .

I crawled out of the truck and saw Ty and Simon seated in the driver's cab. They were slumped over the dash. I moved close enough to see no evidence of blood.

How pathetic they looked ! - bent double falling against each other, whining in pain and shock. It struck me that I could not remember ever seeing them with their eyes closed.

With a burst of initiative - where did it come from after all these years ? - I darted up to the cab, slid my arm into the half open window, and scooped my backpack from out between the two semi-conscious men. I was off like a shot into the dark woods that lined the still, lonely road.

Well, Diary, you know one thing I'm good at - running. Within minutes the truck was completely out of sight.

I climbed up a stout tree, its branches heavy enough to support me while I dressed in clothes pulled from my backpack. Hugging the rough bark, I slept free in the warm Virginia night.

In the early morning light I recognized my surroundings. I knew these woods, and was not far from one of the towns a few counties over from Green Valley.

After a day's hike, I entered the town and made my way to the police station. I am weary, Diary, but full of hope. Let's see who the Master is now!

Kyle stared at the two cops who sat across the table from him in the interview room. Although both wore familiar dark blue police uniforms, they were wildly different men.

Officer O'Hale, tall and lean, had light blond hair in an almost military-short cut. His blue eyes were warm and outlined with small lines of sympathy. Although obviously over 30, there was hardly a trace of hair on his cherubic cheeks. Kyle could easily imagine being friends with the man.

He had no such ideas about the other cop. In fact Kyle was so disturbed when they met he had failed to catch the officer's full name when O'Hale introduced them. Even the embossed nameplate on the officer's shirt was little help: it only displayed STAN A before the remaining letters were swallowed up by the cop's bicep bulge. In desperation, Kyle took to calling him Stan, which the cop didn't like one bit.

Kyle was also rattled by Stan's dangerous hair. It was styled in a way he had only lately seen on models and movie stars. A helter-skelter arrangement of stiff black spikes, Stan's hair had two prominent points above his eyes, distracting from his thick, arched eyebrows. Eyebrows that expressed a mixture of revulsion and skepticism towards Kyle.

But the most unnerving thing to Kyle about Officer Stan was his black leather jacket. Although clearly old and well worn, the strong tang of musk emanated from it as from a jacket newly made. Kyle found himself absorbed in the bright fluorescent reflections coming off the supple skin, while the aroma clutched at his stomach. He couldn't help thinking of the rack of leather clothes Ty had ...

The room was finally silent after two hours of Kyle telling the tale of his captivity. He began from the beginning, when as teenagers Ty began abusing Kyle, discovering his insane ticklishness, and using every opportunity to torment him and humiliate him in front of others. He went on to tell of their sessions in a barn, where, trussed up by Ty every inch of Kyle's ticklish skin was tormented and stimulated beyond endurance. The tale culminated in his abduction and years of captivity by Ty and his other tickle-slave Simon: how the two men became tag-team torturers in their unending violation of him - the whole painful truth.

Well... not quite the whole truth. If Kyle could barely bring himself to describe his ticklish vulnerability, he certainly could not tell about the irresistible sexual mania which overcame him during these sessions of ticklish manhandling. In fact, merely reporting these events to the grim officers had aroused Kyle. His hardon was pressing hotly against his sweating thigh, caught in the cotton folds of his walk shorts ...

O'Hale broke the strained silence, his voice compassionate, "Mr. Harrison we promise to do everything in our power to see justice is done. As soon as the complaint against those sons-of-bitches is signed, we will pay them a visit ."

A profound wave of gratitude arose in Kyle as he gazed into those sympathetic eyes. But just as swiftly a dark undertow countered it.

"Complaint...? ", Kyle echoed, "Signed...?" The reality sank in. Pressing charges meant going public. Entering the intimate details of his years of torment into legal records... And holy shit, a TRIAL! Gee, d'ya think the media would get hold of it? 'Man abducted and tickle-tortured for years. Film at eleven!!' And even if by some miracle the machinery of the new tabloidism broke down and overlooked the story, Kyle would still have to appear in open court in front of lawyers, judges, and no-doubt snickering jurors. Kyle saw the entire grisly process laid out. It made his - mostly - private suffering of the last few years seem positively serene.

"I'm sorry, " he finally blurted out, "I can't go through with it!"

Stan jumped to his feet savagely, upending his chair with a bang. He stormed at Kyle demanding he cooperate in the name of the law. Although scared by the cop's display of righteous outrage, Kyle was not fooled. Stan's Hollywood affectations made it clear he was determined to escape the life of a smalltown policeman. Kyle's tale of perversity and sex-slavery would catapult Officer Stan into national celebrity. Any hope of privacy for Kyle's case vanished the moment the two men met.

O'Hale's calm and dignified voice interrupted his fuming partner. "Mr. Harrison, my partner is right. You owe it to yourself and the community to see these dangerous criminals put where they can't harm anybody ever again. Please sign the complaint." While recognizing the truth behind O'Hale's words, Kyle obstinately refused to cooperate.

A few more rounds of stormy confrontations between Kyle and Stan followed, punctuated by O'Hale's reasoned pleadings. Finally O'Hale tugged at Stan's leather sleeve, "Can I talk to you a minute?" The two cops exited, leaving Kyle alone in the small, stuffy, stone-walled room.

When things quiet down, thought Kyle, I need to figure out why things like this happen to me.

Kyle sat motionless, listening to the hum of the glaring fluorescent lights. It was ten minutes before he heard the cops return.

It was Stan. And he was alone.

A chill of dread thudded along Kyle's spine. Where was O'Hale ? The blonde officer clearly had been restraining Stan's impulses. What would happen now that the swarthy officer was alone with his prisoner?

PRISONER! Stan's mind screamed. Goddamit, I'm the complainant here not a criminal. Finding his courage in anger, Kyle demanded Stan release him at once!

"The door is locked." Stan remarked evenly.

Kyle demanded to see a lawyer!

"The door is locked."

Kyle, his voice nearly cracking with tears, demanded a phone call!!

"The door is locked."

Kyle slumped in his chair.

"I'm going to make myself comfortable," Stan said, "if you don't mind", he added with a sneer. The burly cop eased the black jacket off, filling the room with its creaking sound. Kyle couldn't help being fascinated. The jacket was even heavier than it looked. Stan slung it onto the back of a chair with a thump. Directly below a fluorescent ring, it shimmered dully in the light. The pungent leather aroma was so heavy, Kyle almost thought he could see it radiate off the garment.

Stan, feeling totally secure, turned his back on Kyle while he tugged off his uniform tie. He lightly tossed it on the table and began unbuttoning his dark blue shirt. Kyle watched Stan's back intently. The thick muscles of his shoulders bunched in heavy cords as he shrugged the shirt to the table. Stan's broad back was revealed in a dead-black tee shirt pasted to his flesh by patches of sweat. He turned around to face Kyle.

The blood rushed out of Kyle's face. Printed on Stan's tee shirt was the four-color image and logo of professional wrestling's "The Mad Tickler"! Naturally, the Mad Tickler had been Ty's favorite, never missing one of his TV appearances . Ty reveled in forcing Kyle to out-laugh, out-scream, and out-beg the wrestler's victims. Damn Ty, and his trailer-park trash tastes!

And here Kyle was again, at the mercy of another fan of that "Mad Tickler" lunatic. Another brawny stud who undoubtedly had picked up a few torture techniques from the tube. A cop who saw Kyle's signature as his passport to a better life. A hot-tempered man who had heard about Kyle's supreme vulnerability from his own mouth just minutes ago!

"Last chance Harrison. Are we going to do this the hard way or the easy way?"

Kyle raced to the door and yanked fruitlessly at the locked handle. Then he began pounding away with his clenched fists. His shouts for help were strong at first, but quickly faded to hopeless moanings. How many prisoners had screamed themselves hoarse in Stan's 'interview' room? Kyle turned to see his adversary advancing on him, an expression of evil satisfaction on his face.

Clearly, Stan preferred the hard way.

In seconds the metal handcuffs were snapped tight on Kyle, pinching the soft skin of his wrists. Kyle shuddered at the strength Stan displayed when he effortlessly hoisted Kyle into the crook of his bulging arm, one-handed! Then using his hip as a lever, Stan slid the battered aluminum table up against the wall of the interview room. Kyle was unceremoniously dropped in a sitting position onto the table. His back was flat against the wall, his butt flat on the tabletop. Then with an air of having done this too-many times before, Stan smoothly unlocked the handcuffs, only to refasten them once Stan's arms were pinioned to a ceiling pipe. Stan crossed to a utility cabinet in a dim corner of the room and returned with a few lengths of coarse twine.

Of course, thought Kyle wearily, rope. Was there even any doubt ? The lengths were fastened just above Kyle's ankles, anchoring his legs tightly to the table.

Stan planted himself directly in the line of Kyle's vision, immediately beneath a ring of ugly fluorescent light. Although the harsh glare coated Stan in heavy shadows, it gave Kyle his best look at his tormentor yet. The porcupine hair he had noticed before, but for the first time he saw how bottomless Stan's inky eyes really were. His stubbly facial growth etched the planes of his massive jaw. And an overdose of expensive cologne, mixed with the room's pervasive scent of leather, started a throbbing in Kyle's temples.

Stan moved his hot meaty hands to rest heavily on Kyle's bound ankles. Kyle began squirming, in dreadful anticipation of what was to come.

"I'm going to give you two last chances, Harrison. Will you sign?"

"Please, there must be some way around this... can't you see my point of view... My life - what's left of it !! - would be completely destroyed..." The begging tone in his own voice nauseated Kyle.

With a self-satisfied smirk, Stan casually plucked Kyle's left sneaker off his foot. Kyle gasped.

"I bet it feels good to let those doggies breathe, eh Harrison? You can feel the warm air wash over the tender skin. Getting them ready for a good, old-fashioned foot-tickling. Y'see you blew your first chance. The shoe is off, so your left foot is gonna get tickled. No matter what. No matter what! But your right foot still could be spared - if you get smart and sign now."

"I can't !", Kyle sobbed, "I can't!"

Kyle's right sneaker hit the floor with a thud. Stan laughed, "I'm glad. I always think it's unfair for one foot to get all the attention. Now both right and left can get a strong dose of my special tickle-torture treatment."

"And before it's over I guarantee --- You will sign the complaint."

Kyle's breathing began to accelerate, as if he were racing uphill. Stan's hands left their resting point on Kyle's ankles and slid down until his big paws spread over the tops of the naked feet.

Stan's burning stare never left Kyle's terror-round eyes. The tickling began.

A delicate flutter of fingertips against the sole's of Kyle's feet sent shocks throughout his sensitive system. Oh God, he thought, I've experienced these sensations again and again. Why can I never resist? Why do they make me powerless?!

The giggles began floating up from his belly. Stan's tickling was deliberately light for now, a warm-up to a more intense assault yet to come. Stan's hands were dancing around the most sensitive areas, staying on the perimeter of the center of Kyle's soles. His fingernails focused on the heels, using a skritchy-scratchy motion that soon had Kyle banging his legs on the table.

Kyle's laughter was stronger now, deliberately louder. Surely someone will hear, he desperately hoped, somewhere some mercy!

Stan's hands pounced. Striking right at the center of the soles of Kyle's feet, the center of his being. Kyle tugged desperately at his restraints shuddering at the tickling sensations wracking his body.

"Oh. Oh, OHH!! Stop, please, stop I can't take it - - not my feet!! It tickles, it tickles, IT TICKLES!!

Stan only grunted in satisfaction at his victim's screams. He coiled his powerful fingers and increased the pressure on the hypersensitive nerve endings covering Kyle's wriggling feet. Stan's fingers traced scientifically wicked patterns all over the creamy flesh. Each desperate flex gave Stan another fold of ticklish sole-flesh to attack. He took full advantage - over and over and over!!.

Kyle was in ticklish agony. The rhythmic assault on both his feet at once seemed to increase the torment exponentially.

And if that wasn't bad enough, Stan's intense physical presence seemed to be overpowering whatever small resistance he might have been able to muster against the tickling alone. The cop loomed over him, radiating an almost-scorching body heat. Combined with the thick cologne, and the omnipresent stench of leather, every breath Kyle took was like a hit of some malignant drug that served to elevate his sensitivity to the torture.

Suddenly, a respite. Stan's hands left off their fluttering torment as the big cop stepped back. He regarded Kyle with a smirk of - what was that expression in his eyes, Kyle puzzled - amusement? affection? Kyle gave up trying to guess. It didn't help that his eyes were welling up with the tears tickled out of him by his tormentor.

"You think you're hot shit.", Stan grunted, his voice thick. He pulled the bottom of his 'Official Professional Wrestling ® &tm;' tee-shirt out of his pants and stretched it up to wipe the sweat off his forehead. Kyle caught a glimpse of a darkly-furred, sharply-etched abdomen. Stan let the damp cloth fall, the image of the "Mad Tickler" rippled and shifted, fixing a mocking glare on Kyle.

"Let me introduce ya to a buddy of mine - The Constrictor." Stan returned to the darkened corner with the beat-up utility cabinet. He rummaged through it. Kyle watched, his anxiety lurching off the scale. That box, he thought in a panic, what is it? 100 lbs. of torture equipment? Sitting quietly in a dim corner of a police station in a sleepy Virginia town. What's in these other rooms, - a rack... an iron maiden... ??

Kyle jumped when Stan slammed the cabinet shut. He turned and Kyle saw he was carrying - a belt? It looked like a black leather belt, long - maybe 4 feet, and maybe 4 inches wide. The buckle was brass-colored. There were dark patches splattered along its length. Sweat, Kyle thought, or -he cringed - blood?

Stan approached. The belt dragged behind him, the buckle scraping on the linoleum floor with a chilling rasp.

In terror, Kyle pressed his back even tighter against the wall as Stan approached with 'The Constrictor'. The dark cop leaned in toward Kyle. His throbbing heat washed against his victim.

Stan's left arm and hand was powerful enough to effortlessly shred the flimsy pullover Kyle wore. Kyle was naked now except for his khaki walk shorts. Suddenly Kyle yelped. A pointed shaft of Stan's bristly hair scraped against Kyle's cheek, actually breaking the skin and drawing blood. The distraction prevented Kyle from seeing exactly how Stan fastened the torture implement around his body.

But when Stan stepped away, the leather strap encircled Kyle's chest just below the armpits. The buckle dug into his flesh just inches below his pink, pointed nipple. The excess length of leather stretched from Kyle's chest to Stan's muscular grasp.

Kyle sobbed, "This is so tight - I can hardly breathe !!"

"That's the point, asshole!", Stan barked, "The Constrictor is wrapped around your ribs. That's the way it will stay. You actually can breathe, despite your whining. But, if you should happen to gasp or should happen to take a big gulp of air - that's what gives the Constrictor the opportunity to tighten, and tighten, and tighten! So, remember, no big breaths. And, no matter what you do, No Laughing!!"

The horror came clear to Kyle. For every laugh that was extorted from his helpless body, The Constrictor would tighten, shrinking his ribcage until his lungs had no room for air. Strangulation, pure and simple.

With the foul stretch of leather clutched in his right hand, Stan returned to his original position between Kyle's bound ankles. The dark cop must have been enormously excited by these events; when his left hand brushed against Kyle's bare foot, it was as hot as a flame. And this flame began to stroke the defenseless skin of Kyle's ticklish feet.

I can't laugh!, Kyle thought in mortal panic, if I laugh, I die! I CAN'T laugh!!

Stan's fluttering fingers traced maddening patterns on the soles of Kyle's feet. Kyle began flexing and jerking them. But Stan was not to be evaded. He relentlessly followed the jerking peds. The insidious contact was not broken for a moment. Kyle began banging his bound body against the table, anything to shake off the bolts of tickling sensation that were slamming his brain.

Kyle felt the giggles bubbling up, trying to burst through his clenched jaws.

Suddenly, Stan's flame-fingers tweaked the soft, webby flesh adjacent Kyle's big toe.

"OH HO HO!! Not there!! Not there!! EIIYYEE --- OH!!"


The moment those gasping howls of laughter burst from Kyle, The Constrictor tightened on the suddenly-smaller ribcage. The belt locked in place, Kyle's breathing space diminished.

Through the agony racing through his tortured frame, a realization burst upon Kyle: "He's discovered my most ticklish spot - between my toes! I'm doomed!!"

Stan began toying with his prey. The flames of his agile fingers tickle-licked all over Kyle's quivering feet. He was deliberately provoking mewling giggles, yet staying away from Kyle's killer-ticklish toes - until ... Pounce!

"AH HAHHAHAH!! Please mercy ! EIIYYEE --- OH!!"


The Constrictor tightened again, ratcheting the pressure on Kyle's ribs a second time. Kyle felt as if his entire body was being squeezed out through his middle.

Stan's fingers backed off again, retreating from the vulnerable points where his victory was assured. This black cat was not yet done with his mouse. Stan began growling at the helpless Kyle.

"Thought you were so fuckin' tough, did ya? You were gonna hold out against me, you motherfucker? Just because you survived those little faggot sadists with their queeny games, you thought you were strong? Asshole! Whaddya think now? Now that you're in the hands of a REAL MAN - a COP who knows how to break ticklish FAIRY-BOYS like YOU !!!"

Riding the crest of his self-induced rage, Stan dug his claws into Kyle's soft toes. The tickle-jolts obliterated Kyle's crumbling self-control. He exploded into whooping gulps of hysteria. The Constrictor struck again with a violent wave that completely galvanized Kyle.

Enough!, Kyle's mind shrieked, no matter what happens from signing that complaint it can't be worse than this. He began to signal his capitulation to the dark cop.

But, suddenly, there was no air! The Constrictor was so brutally wound around his heaving chest, Kyle could not summon the breath to speak. He was ready to concede but couldn't manage the words. And what's more - the room was darkening and spinning before his eyes. He had waited too long to recognize the inevitable and ...

His last conscious impression was of a distant voice yelling, "Stop!! You're killing him!"



With blinking slowness Kyle's vision returned. He beheld a white nimbus crowning the concerned features of Officer O'Hale, the fluorescent glow from the ceiling fixtures surrounding him. Then he realized the deadly pressure around his middle was gone! The Constrictor had been removed, leaving scraped-raw rings around Kyle's hairless chest. Kyle gasped lungfuls of air.

Kyle started at noticing the glowering presence of Stan leaning against the door, his leather jacket slung over his shoulder. He shoved the door open and gave Kyle a vicious look that said: "You're mine - I'll be back." He left. The door slammed behind him. An unmistakable shift in the entire atmosphere of the room occurred.

"That ... that maniac!!" Kyle croaked.

"Sssh, don't upset yourself. Drink this. Slowly." Officer O'Hale tipped a tumbler of ice water into Kyle's parched throat.

"Oh thank you, thank you ..." Kyle muttered, tears of relief and gratitude spilling down his cheeks.

"Not too much right now, take it easy." O'Hale rested the cup on the table. "Goodness, it's hot in here, isn't it." Officer O'Hale undid his tie and shirt, carefully draping them on a nearby chair. Kyle noticed how the fresh-smelling undershirt hugged his slimly muscled body. Kyle could easily make out the points of O'Hale's soft nipples. Oh, this was one attractive man, Kyle thought. But there was one question he had to ask.

"How can you tolerate that monster", Kyle protested.

"Don't be that way. Everybody has their good points and their bad points." O'Hale responded. "Besides, he spoke highly of you."

"!!!!", said Kyle.

"He doesn't use The Constrictor on just anybody, you know."

Kyle didn't know what to make of these bizarre remarks, so changed the subject to one of more immediate interest. "My arms are killing me. Can you untie me please?"

"I'm afraid it's not that easy, Mr. Harrison. We need you to sign that complaint."

Kyle's heart lurched. "But, surely you understand how my life would be ruined! How can you ask me to do this?!"

"It's called doing the right thing, not doing the easy thing. Innocent people are at risk. The law has been broken. I can't ignore that. We need your signature on this." O'Hale waved the transcript of Kyle's earlier interview.

"I can't , don't you see - " Kyle broke-off. O'Hale had dropped his gaze to Kyle's shorts.

Kyle flushed crimson. Yes, it was still hard. Despite the sadistic, life-threatening treatment at the hands of Stan, his cock was rigid. His shorts were blotched with droplets of the slime generated by his intense excitement. The ridge of his fat erection was tightly snagged in the fabric.

"No wonder we haven't been able to get through to you! How can you possibly think clearly in this condition? Let me help you."

O'Hale's slim fingers reached up into the leg of Kyle's baggy walk shorts. Though shocked, Kyle couldn't suppress a laugh as those fingers skittered along his oh-so-ticklish thighs.

Contact - cool fingers and blazing cock.

"No underwear, Mr. Harrison? I'm surprised. You don't seem the type."

"I got dressed in the dark. In a tree."

O'Hale clucked sympathetically, "Mondays!"

The blond policeman freed Kyle's hardon from the shorts. The musky, hairless genitals spilled onto the table. "Shaved, too? Again you surprise me."

Kyle's voice trembled. "That was their doing. Ty and Simon made sure I was kept that way."

"Yes., " O'Hale's voice became edgy, "Another example of their cruelty. Another reason they must be apprehended." Kyle said nothing. "I'm sure you'll agree with me how necessary that is, once this distraction is resolved." O'Hale took a firm grasp of the 'distraction' and began to stroke.

Kyle moaned extravagantly. How long had it been since he had shot a load? At least a week since Ty had permitted him to cum. And the intense tickling he had just experienced had tied a knot of lust-tension in the center of his belly.

O'Hale's expert and manicured index finger scooped a bead of pre-cum off the leaking tip of Kyle's cockhead. Delicately he spread it around the throbbing helmet until it was slick and gleaming.

The intense pleasure was transporting Kyle out of the stony room. The throbbing was leaving his contorted limbs. His aching joints began to relax.

"Feels good, yes? I'm glad. You've been through so much. And it's my way of apologizing for some of the ...excesses of my partner. I bet this will feel even better."

O'Hale broke the delicious contact and headed toward the battered utility cabinet. He returned holding two small containers. He opened one and squeezed a dollop of clear gel onto his right hand. The hand came to rest on Kyle's erection, visibly pulsing with need.

Ecstasy! O'Hale spread the slick goo all over the head and staff of Kyle's cock. He wrapped his right hand around Kyle to get the best possible grip, and began a corkscrew motion.

Kyle's eyes rolled back in his head. Had he ever felt anything this good? The lube also served to transfer the warmth of Kyle's cock to the officer's stroking fingers.

Soon, those fingers seemed part of a wet, warm matrix of pleasure, stretching from the center of Kyle's pelvis out to the ether.

"Now we're getting somewhere!" O'Hale chuckled. Kyle laughed back at the policeman's happily crinkled eyes. The stroking fist slid liquidly along the nerve-covered organ. Before long Kyle's ball sac had drawn up close to his cock. The scrotum was a corrugated bulge. O'Hale was waiting for this. "Yes! Phase two begins.", he grinned mischievously. O'Hale reached for the second container he had taken from the cabinet. Using his free left hand, he tipped some powder into his left palm. He dusted it onto Kyle's shrunk-tight balls.

Kyle laughed with pure happiness. The dry friction of the powder on his hairless, ridged scrotum was a perfect contrast to the warm-wet suction of O'Hale's grasping fist. O'Hale's left fingernails scratched a delicious rhythm while his right hand pumped away in counterpoint. The policeman skillfully treated Kyle to this medley of pleasure. Kyle was a rag doll in joy, all his tension and stress having moved into the point of his vibrating prong. And when he blew his load, all that misery would be up and gone.

As much as he was reveling in the gorgeous sensations, Kyle longed for a blistering orgasm and the release of those tensions. It was time. "Ohhh... faster please," he murmured dreamily, "I want to cum..."

Officer O'Hale grinned happily back at Kyle, "Of course you do. But first you must sign the complaint."

Kyle was so lost in being serviced, it was a good two seconds before he realized what O'Hale had said. And then the alarm bells began in his brain. "What?" he gulped.

"As soon as the complaint is out of the way, we can finish up. I guarantee it will be unforgettable."

Kyle's rage came rushing to the surface, "I said No and I mean No!! Haven't you been listening? Now finish me off!"

"I apologize, but I can't. I really feel bad about this, but you must sign the complaint before things can go any further. I hope you understand."

>From that moment, the quality of the sensations from O'Hale's jacking fists somehow, subtly changed. Perhaps it was just from the knowledge that the longed-for-release was not about to happen. The glorious thrills had become a dark tease.

Kyle began to writhe uncomfortably in the grip of those insistent arms. The sensations were all suddenly too much - like being forcefed a rich meal. Kyle's left leg developed a terrible cramp, and a throbbing began at the base of his skull where moments ago had been a white lightness.

Kyle began to pump and thrust his hips, desperately trying to increase the friction on his cock. But the skillful hands of Officer O'Hale knew just how to slack off their grip and preserve Kyle's exquisite frustration.

Going mad from the tease, Kyle began to beg, "Oh please... please... let me cum! I can't take any more of this! I'm begging, don't do this to me! Oh... just a little more pressure and I'm done! HELP ME!!"

A little cloud of crossness flickered in O'Hale's eyes. "The law is the law. Sign the complaint and we're done. Otherwise.... let's just say there is no reason I can't keep this 'up' indefinitely."

The full force of Kyle's willfulness collided with the powerful sensations wracking his body. O'Hale became even more subtle in his manipulations. His endlessly slick fingers began to focus on the underneath of Kyle's cockhead where every sensation was dangerously close to unbearable. Kyle collapsed into tears.

"I hate it when they cry", O'Hale muttered. He spoke sharply to Kyle, intent on piercing the haze of sensations assaulting what was left of his mind. "Let's finish this, can't we?" O'Hale's powder-dry, left index finger began to move to the underneath of Kyle's bursting scrotum. It traveled a slow, torturous, ticklish path along the perineum.

"What are you doing?" Kyle shrieked through his sobs. The officer's feathery fingertip made it's way to Kyle's twitching asshole. It begin to circle the vulnerable pucker, tapping as it went. The beat of the single finger traveled directly to Kyle's congested prostate.

Kyle began to giggle and moan. Light tickling revved his desire even more. And if that was not enough, the blond brought his red lips to the tip of a plump nipple. He bit, his tongue flicking wet against the hot stiffness.

The prick of the surprisingly-sharp teeth was the last straw. The nibbling mouth, the roving, purposeful hands - Kyle could no longer fight the demands of his needy body. He had to stop the swiftly mounting pains of overstimulation and achieve the crescendo of release, or go mad!

"You win! I'll sign! I'll sign!! Anything - just let me cum, Oh please, please let me cum!!"

Immediately, O'Hale released Kyle's tormented body. He wiped his coated hands on his white shirt, leaving no-doubt-indelible stains. He grasped the complaint and a pen and practically levitated atop the table. He thrust the pen into Kyle's handcuffed grip. Unnaturally tilting his hand, Kyle struggled to sign the form. When done, Kyle saw the shaky, slanted signature.

"For God's sake!" Kyle bellowed, "That is such a bad sample of my signature - you could just as easily forged it and saved us all this nightmare!!"

O'Hale lightly stepped off the table and turned toward Kyle disapprovingly. "Forgery is a serious offense, I hope you know."

Kyle sputtered in disbelief, then returned to the subject at hand. "You have what you wanted. Finish me off, for mercy's sake."

"Actually, what happens now is Stan comes back to tickle torture you for an hour." O'Hale casually collected his shirt, tie, and other items.

Kyle was struck dumb. O'Hale continued.

"It could have been worse. Since I got the signature out of you, Stan only gets to have you for an hour. Otherwise he would have worked you over the next two days straight. I'll be back after his hour is over and we can play some more. My hands are a little tired, so you will get to experience this..."

Officer O'Hale opened his mouth and protruded a long, narrow, bifurcated tongue. It flicked out slickly between sharply fanged jaws. His eyes, previously blue, now displayed elliptical yellow pupils.

"Mr. Harrison, did you really think you had survived that truck crash?"