There wasn’t any clock that Matthew could see, and he didn’t have his watch on. After what seemed like an hour or more, a policeman approached the cell and unlocked the door.

He didn’t say anything to Matthew, just opened it, and Matthew stepped out. The guy locked the cell again and turned around. He started to walk away, and then turned, and looked back at Matthew. Matthew supposed he was supposed to follow him.

The guy was enormous. A big guy, with dark hair, a huge broad back, and big legs and buttocks. His shoulders and his arms were thick and powerful, bulging under the blue shirt, and his face was kind of attractive, in a tough way, but he scared Matthew.

Matthew figured he was thirty, though he might have been younger. He had thick dark hairs on his arms, and poking out of his shirt. On his face, Matthew could see the same dark hairs, where the guy’s beard would be if he hadn’t shaved.

He led Matthew into a room, and pulled a huge sheet of paper onto a bench. The paper had different sized squares all over it, though Matthew didn’t know what it was for.

‘Stand here,’ the cop said. ‘Give me your right hand.’

Matthew gave the guy his right hand, and the guy held it roughly, pulling it across in front of him.

‘Hold your little finger out.’

Matthew did what he said.

The cop rolled his little finger into an ink pad, and then pulled it over to the sheet of paper while he twisted it, twisted it sideways, rolling it onto one of the squares on the piece of paper that was marked “little finger”.

The policeman folded Matthew’s little finger in, and pulled out his next finger, keeping all the rest of his fingers locked in a vice-like grip. He pushed it into the pad, and then pulled it over the sheet of the paper again, and twisted it.

He didn’t seem to care what contortions Matthew had to put his body in while he was doing this, and Matthew found himself (as he had the first time) with his groin pressed up against the side of the policeman’s massive thigh.

He found himself getting hard, though he was in the tight jeans again, and his cock was all twisted down, trapped.

The guy continued, taking each of his fingers in turn, and twisting Matthew’s body. By the end of it, Matthew figured the guy would have to know he had an erection. His hard bundle of junk had been pressed up against the guy’s thigh time after time.

‘Open your hand out.’

Matthew opened his hand.

The guy pressed it into the ink pad, pressing down hard, and then he twisted Matthew over again, while he pressed his hand onto the paper, like he was trying to make an impression in clay.

Matthew felt like he was going to come. He didn’t know what it was, but the smell of the guy’s aftershave, the smell of his sweat, and the power of his arms and hands as he twisted Matthew, and hurt him, was making Matthew feel small and weak, like he would be nothing in this guy’s hands, as though he wanted to melt.

‘You’re a difficult little fuck, aren’t you?’ the cop said, as he was pressing Matthew’s hand onto the paper.

Matthew’s packet was pressed right up against the guy’s thigh, and he tried to move, but there was nothing he could do. If the guy was standing on the other side of him, then he wouldn’t have had to twist like this.

‘Wash your hands with this. Dip your hands into it.’

It was a container, full of some sort of jelly that smelt like petrol. Matthew dipped his hands in and scooped some out. He started to scrub his hands.

The guy turned the tap on.

Matthew was concentrating on getting a lather up on his hands when the guy hit him. He slapped him in the groin with the back of his fist. Not hard, so that it hurt, though Matthew jerked his groin back instinctively.

‘You like it, don’t you, you sick fuck?’ He grabbed Matthew by the back of the neck and squeezed. ‘You’re getting off on what you did, aren’t you, little boy?’

The guy had Matthew’s neck in a pincer. His fingers were digging into the tendons. It hurt like hell.

‘Rinse ‘em,’ he said, pushing Matthew toward the sink.

Matthew rinsed his hands, and swallowed.

He felt his heart beating fast, and knew he was too afraid to look up at the cop.

But a policeman couldn’t do that. A policeman couldn’t do what he had done. Matthew knew that.

Still, though, he had just done it.

Matthew wiped his hands on the paper towel and threw it into the bin. He turned to face the cop, but he was too afraid to look up at him.

The guy didn’t move.

All Matthew could see was his massive thighs, and then, as he looked up a little, the cop’s massive chest and arms, covered in dark hairs.

Still, he didn’t move.

Matthew looked up at his face.

The guy gave him a lopsided grin.

‘You’re a pretty little psycho, aren’t you?’

Matthew swallowed and looked down again, staring at the guy’s groin, and then he looked away.

The cop led him out of the room and into the corridor, and as they stepped out into it, there were two younger cops walking towards them, coming the other way.

‘Is that him?’ one of them said.

Matthew’s cop turned to him and nodded, and the other two stopped, watching as he was led away.

‘Hey, don’t hurt him, Judd,’ one of them called out.

Matthew’s cop turned, and walked backwards, calling over Matthew’s head.

‘Now would I do that?’

The other cops laughed, and Matthew saw the cop that was leading him grin.

Matthew locked his eyes on the floor, on the cop’s shoes, which were shiny and black, and he watched them, as the guy led him to a second room, not a cell, like he had thought, but an ordinary room, with white tables around the walls, and some plastic chairs.

There were no windows.

Against one wall, there was a large plastic container, like a laundry container, and it was full of orange jumpsuits.

‘You’d be a small, would you?’ the cop said, looking into it, and starting to check the labels.

Matthew felt like he was choking. ‘A large. Or an extra large,’ he managed.

‘An extra small it is then,’ the guy said.

He pulled a jumpsuit out of the bin and threw it onto one of the tables.

‘Strip down,’ he said.

Matthew hesitated, and then he sat in one of the chairs and unlaced his shoes. He pulled them off his feet, and had started to pull his socks down, when the guy said,

‘Hand them to me.’

Matthew handed him the shoes. He bent forward again, and when he’d pulled his socks off, he saw how the guy was looking in his shoes, pulling the tongues up and pulling the insoles out of them.

He finished with them, and put them down.

‘Socks.’

Matthew handed them to him.

And then he supposed he ought to take his shirt off, but he didn’t want to. The guy was doing the same thing with his socks, turning them inside out and checking them, as though he expected to find something hidden in them.

‘Come on,’ he said, when he had finished, putting his hand out.

Matthew peeled his T-shirt off and handed it to the guy, watching him as he moved it around in his hands and felt through all the seams.

Matthew unbuttoned his jeans. He knew he was going to have to do it, but he was hard. He tried to breath slowly, tried to think of something…

‘You want to get a fucking move on.’

Matthew unzipped his jeans and peeled them down. He had to sit on the chair to peel them off. It took forever when he did it at home. They were so tight. As he sat on the chair, he knew his cock was noticeable, it was pushing up the whole front of his jockstrap, making big empty spaces at the sides, though it was still bent in half.

And a jockstrap again!

Matthew felt like an idiot. He had his bare arse on the plastic chair, and he had only managed to peel the jeans down as far as his thighs.

‘That’s unhealthy, you know, wearing things like that. You’ll give yourself testicular cancer, not that you’ll have to worry about that once the boys get a hold of you.’

Matthew struggled with his jeans a little more, and then the guy leaned forward and grabbed them.

Matthew held onto the chair while the cop pulled his legs up in front of him, holding onto the jeans and pulling them inside out. The chair scraped along the floor, making a screeching noise, and by the end of it, Matthew’s bare arse, in the jockstrap, was up against the cop’s shins, his legs held up in the air while the cop pulled.

His feet came free and Matthew had to open his legs so that he didn’t hit the cop in the face with his feet. He tried to move his feet to the floor, but he couldn’t. His tailbone was on the edge of the chair, and the cop had his knees right up against Matthew’s groin.

Matthew had to hold the position while the cop turned his jeans inside out, checked all of the seams, and went through all of the pockets, and then, insanely, did up the fly, and buttoned them.

Matthew’s legs and arms and abs and chest were shaking, from trying to hold the position, with his legs in the air, either side of the cop’s waist, doing his best not to touch the cop.

The cop folded Matthew’s jeans up and threw them onto a table behind him.

‘You don’t look like a very comfortable little psycho.’

Matthew felt tears come out of the corners of his eyes.

The cop reached down, under Matthew’s arse, with one hand. He slipped it under one of the straps, and then under the other one, and then he pulled, slowly.

There was no way he should be doing this. No way a cop could do this. He couldn’t touch him, and was touching Matthew’s arse. And now he was pulling, tugging gently on the straps, and pulling the jockstrap slowly up the back of Matthew’s thighs.

Matthew had to raise his feet in the air, and put them together as the cop pulled. His whole body was shaking, from the strain of his muscles, and Matthew could see his cock, as hard as it could get, unbending from the pouch, as the pouch slipped down onto his thighs.

The jockstrap kept stretching. Matthew expected, at any moment, for the cop to let go, but he didn’t. He slid it all the way up to Matthew’s knees, and kept pulling, while the waist-strap started to slide over Matthew’s arse. His cock popped out, and hit him in the stomach, though the cop couldn’t see it. Matthew had his legs in the way.

The jockstrap came away in a rush, sliding up to his ankles, and over his feet.

The guy started checking it, and Matthew couldn’t hold the position. He had to move. Slowly, he lowered his legs down, his feet either side of the cop’s body, though the lower they fell, the more Matthew’s cock was poking up in the air.

Matthew was red with shame. Tears were streaming out of his eyes. And his whole body was shaking.

The guy finished with the jockstrap, and threw it onto the table behind him.

He looked down at Matthew, and Matthew couldn’t hold it any longer. He lowered his legs to the floor, and felt the rough fabric of the cop’s trousers slide along the insides of his thighs until Matthew was sitting, spread-legged in the chair, with his perineum under the guy’s knees, the underside of his arse pressed firmly into the guy’s shins. His balls were between the guy’s legs, and if the cop moved forward a little, he would have been able to hold Matthew’s cock between his knees.

Despite everything, Matthew felt like he was going to blow a load, and he was doing everything he could to stop himself.

‘You don’t look very comfortable.’

Matthew tried to push the chair backwards, but the guy stopped him with a glance. Matthew froze.

The guy reached up to his hip, and unhooked his truncheon. Matthew swallowed. It was like a small baseball bat, but heavy, obviously, and shiny black.

There was no way the cop was going to hit him with that.

The cop lowered it, and tapped the end of Matthew’s cock teasingly. Already, there was a bed of precum on the end, and as the guy tapped it, it turned into a little stream that leaked down the side.

The guy slid the truncheon around Matthew’s cock, sliding it around and around, and Matthew bit down on his lips.

He knew he was going to blow.

‘You’re a sex-crazed little psycho, aren’t you?’

The guy stepped back a bit, and Matthew started to move.

‘Did I say you could move?’

Matthew stopped, and watched in horror as the cop stood to one side, and started to line Matthew’s cock up like it was a T-ball, ready for a solid hit.

There was no way he was going to do that. No way. He was simply trying to scare Matthew.

Matthew looked up at his eyes, but the guy wasn’t looking at him. He swung the truncheon back, and moved it forward again, aiming it at the underside of Matthew’s cock, and right for the head. He pulled it back, and aimed it forward again, touching the head of Matthew’s cock with it this time like he was marking the spot.

Oh shit.

He pulled it back, pulling it far away, and there was a moment when Matthew thought he wouldn’t do it.

But he did.

He swung forward. Matthew heard the sound. The truncheon connected with the head of his cock. Matthew’s cock slapped against his stomach.

And Matthew was falling off the chair and coming, blowing jet after jet of spouting come out of the head of his cock, which felt like it had been placed in boiling oil.

He was writhing, sliding around in his own come and gripping his cock, and making pitiful sounds, mewling sounds like a kitten, while he bucked and slipped.

He couldn’t touch it. It was too painful. All he could do was hold his cock, and close his eyes, and grit his teeth.

And still he was pumping come. It hurt like hell.

‘You’re one sex-craze little fuck, aren’t you?’

The cop was sliding the truncheon around Matthew’s head, brushing his hair away from his forehead, and tapping his face with it.

‘Lick it up.’

Matthew closed his eyes.

‘Get up on your knees, and lick it the fuck up.’

There was a sudden metallic thump into the side of his head.

Matthew opened his eyes and saw the truncheon in front of them, the cop looming large above him.

‘You want your pretty face wrecked now?’

Matthew tried to move.

‘Get up on your knees. Get on your hands and knees and lick it.’

Matthew did what he said.

‘Like you’re a dog.’

Matthew bent his head forward, though he felt more like a cat than a dog, like a cat with milk, and he started to lick, licking his own come off the linoleum floor, and swallowing it, knowing that it was making him sicker. He had eaten nothing all day, no lunch, no breakfast, nothing but Lukas’ penis. He licked, and swallowed his own come, feeling his stomach churn, and knowing that he might he might vomit Lukas’ penis, at any moment, onto the floor, and right at the cop’s feet.