Your Story Continues: You Try to Recruit the Deputy

“I know something bad’s happening in this town.” You decide to at least attempt to get him to help you.

You lean toward Deputy Reid across the center console. “Sheriff Miller’s got to be involved. He shut me down too quickly. He didn’t even follow up on the evidence properly.”

Deputy Reid doesn’t interrupt. He only watches you. There’s something in his expression you can’t quite place. It is curiosity, maybe?

“Those missing men didn’t just vanish. They’re still here somewhere. They never left!” You point back toward town. “The Sheriff won’t talk to me, but he’ll talk to his deputy. You could find out what’s really happening. If Miller’s dirty, you could be the one who exposes him. You’d be the deputy who brought down a corrupt sheriff.”

You finally stop talking. The silence that follows feels surprisingly long. Then Reid smiles and it’s not the crooked grin he used earlier. This one is real. He starts laughing, just enough that he has to shake his head.

“Oh...” He wipes at one eye. “...you really are exactly what they said.”

Your pulse stumbles. “They?”

His smile never leaves. Instead of answering, he unlocks his phone and, for a moment you think he’s about to call someone, but he opens a radio app, his thumb settling over the transmit button.

“Dispatch. Deputy Reid.” His voice becomes perfectly professional. “The escaped suspect is attempting to recruit law enforcement into an ongoing conspiracy involving the Sheriff’s Office. Requesting immediate assistance at his residence.”

He releases the button and the quiet inside the cruiser suddenly feels deafening.

“You...” The word barely leaves your mouth.

He looks at you almost sympathetically. “All you had to do was get out of this car and go into your house. I wasn’t sure if you’d stay scared... or whether you’d decide to start asking questions again.”

He shrugs.

“Sheriff guessed you’d choose this.”

He opens the driver’s door and steps out. He walks around the cruiser until he’s standing beside your door, resting one forearm casually across the roof.

“You know...” He nods toward the tree line beyond your yard. “...if you wanted to run, this would be the time.”

You glance toward the woods. They’re close enough that, for one stupid second, you actually imagine you would make it.

“It’s been a while since I’ve enjoyed a good chase.” His grin returns. “And paperwork’s always easier when someone resists.”

The cold wakes you all at once. It settles into your back before you even open your eyes. Your arms won’t move and neither will your legs. When your vision finally clears, confusion gives way to something worse.

You can feel the leather restraints on your wrists that are stretched high above your head. Your ankles are spread wide and your bare feet barely touch the floor. You can tell the wall behind you isn’t concrete, that it’s smooth metal. It’s something you realize because it’s also clear you’re totally naked.

Your head pounds and you try to remember how you got here. Deputy Reid grabbed you and …. You have no idea what happened after that.

A movement across the room catches your eye. Another man hangs against an identical frame. He’s thin, pale, and with his head shaved. At first he’s just another prisoner but then recognition arrives. It’s Thomas Spellman and he’s also completely nude.

A low mechanical hum fills the room, the sound coming from between Thomas’s legs where a compact machine sits connected by clear tubing sealed tightly over his erection, his balls looking swollen and engorged as well. The piston moves with a quiet, relentless precision as Thomas jerks against the restraints.

His resistance is not enough to escape but just enough to remind you he’s trying.

His head turns and for a second your eyes meet but there’s no recognition there, only exhaustion. The whole look of him says the resignation has settled into his bones.

Another machine hums somewhere off to the side and you turn your head to see another man. He’s larger and older and not someone you recognize. He’s restrained in exactly the same way with another machine with its own rhythm working his own thick cock, with his balls showing that same enlargement.

Whoever built this place believed in repetition.

There is a soft click behind you and you hear someone else enter the room. The masked man walks past without acknowledging you. He checks a monitor, adjusts a dial, and Thomas cries out. It’s barely a whimper but it’s just enough to tell you the adjustment mattered.

Satisfied, the man turns and approaches you. His gloves are pale against your skin as he grips your flaccid dick, examining you with detached efficiency, lifting, pressing, and weighing your balls in his palm. There is no desire in his touch, only assessment.

It feels like he’s inspecting equipment before putting it into service.

“Good.” His voice is quiet as he gives a small nod. “You’ve recovered faster than expected.”

His hand remains where it is for another moment.

“Your turn for processing, my new friend.”

And the voting has concluded. Read the next installment at:

This story is part of Doug’s Decisions: A Gay Erotica Series. At the bottom of each scene, there are choices to make — some for everyone and some just for paid subscribers. Choose wisely. Your vote could send our main character down some dangerous or even sexy roads. If the group choice results in death, the story will reset to the last decision. A mystery lies ahead.

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