The Hitchhiker
By RoxanneBlue
I see him on the side of the highway, his thumb out, sitting on a backpack. A rough cardboard sign in his hand says LAS VEGAS in block letters. He’s young, mid-twenties, clean and dressed in jeans and a blue t-shirt with no writing on it. Blonde, handsome, lean, muscular. I pull my cruiser up and park on the side of the road, my lights flashing. He stands, and I can see how tall he is. He squints in the sunlight as I get out of the cruiser.
“Problem, officer?”
“You got ID?”
He pulls a wallet out from his back pocket, opens it, and slides out his driver’s license, handing it to me. Daniel Jason Turner. Twenty-six, six feet one inch, one hundred eighty-five pounds. He hadn’t filled out the form to be an organ donor.
“How long you been waiting for a ride, Mr. Turner?”
He shrugs.
“Couple hours, I guess.”
“Sitting there the whole time?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Do you know that hitchhiking is illegal in this county?”
“I guess I do now.”
“I guess you do.” He smiles, trying to disarm me, but I glare back at him through my sunglasses. He’s taller than me, but at five feet seven inches I am not little. I am slender but muscular, and I have a nightstick that I’m not afraid to use. “Place your hands on the roof of the car, Mr. Turner.”
“What? I’m just trying to catch a ride.”
“Place your hands on the roof of the car,” I repeat.
He gives me a look before complying, and I kick his legs apart before running my hands over him.
“Enjoying yourself?” he asks, and I grab his right arm and pull it behind his back.
“Mr. Turner, I’m placing you under arrest for hitchhiking and vagrancy.” I grab the handcuffs from my belt and lock one around his wrist before securing his left arm.
“I’m not a vagrant,” he protests as I recite the Miranda warning. Placing my hand on his head, I direct him into the back seat of my cruiser. He curses at me, and I slam the door shut. I pick up his backpack and toss it into the trunk. Going over to the driver’s side, I settle behind the wheel and call into the stationhouse that I’m bringing in a hitchhiker.
“Can’t you just let me out at the county line?” he asks from behind the bullet-proof glass that separates the back seat from the front. “I promise not to cross back over into your county.”
“Mr. Turner, you have broken the laws of this county. You don’t think that I’m just going to ignore that?”
“You could give me a warning.”
“You’re going to get a bit more than a warning.”
He swears again. I glance back at him, uncomfortable in the back seat with his hands cuffed behind his back. His eyes are a lovely blue, his cheekbones chiseled.
In a few minutes, I have pulled up to the station, parking in my designated spot. There are only two of us on the force in our small town, and the other cruiser sits idly in its spot.
Going to the back of the car, I open the door and order the hitchhiker out of the car. He slides across the seat and maneuvers himself out of the car, awkwardly because of the cuffs. I grab his arm and lead him into the station, to the booking desk where Officer Bolton has started filling out the paperwork. Bolton is tall, large, and imposing. She scares most men. Turner clenches his jaw as he looks at her, and she returns his gaze with a steely one of her own, looking for all the world as if she’s sizing him up to see if he’s worth the bother of boning before eating.
“Hitchhiking and vagrancy,” I say, informing her of the charges.
“I’m not a vagrant,” he protests again.
We both ignore him, Bolton’s thick fingers clicking away at the keyboard of her computer as I continue to hold onto Turner’s arm. His muscle tone is good, I have to admit. I order to him to empty his pockets, and he places his wallet and a few coins on the counter.
As Bolton prints out the arrest report and places his belongings in an envelope, I lead Turner to the wall, facing a camera. I take his picture, three times to get both sides of his face as well as the front view, then grab hold of his arm again and lead him down the corridor to the cells. I unlock the one at the end, even though all are empty, and clang the door shut behind him.
“You gonna uncuff me?” he asks, twisting his arms around so that I can see his manacled wrists. I shake my head.
“Not yet. You go on and rest now. I got paperwork to finish up.”
I step away from his cell, but turn and watch as he sits on the cot in the cell, leaning back with his shoulders against the wall.
*
He’s lying on his side when I return, his eyes closed. I unlock the cell and enter, followed by Officer Bolton. Turner maneuvers himself upright with some difficulty, but Bolton grabs him and pulls him up onto his feet.
“Hey!” he yells, but I unlock his cuffs. “Do I get a phone call?” he asks. “A lawyer?”
“No phone call, no lawyer,” I say, and Bolton grabs him and forces him down onto the cot. As she holds him down, kicking and swearing, I grab his arms again and pull them over his head, locking the cuffs around his wrists with the chain secured to the top bar of the cot. Bolton Grabs his legs and spreads them as I cuff each ankle to the bottom rail of the cot. Turner continues to swear, threatening us now, though he’s securely fastened. Bolton leaves the cell, locking the door behind her.
“You’re a hitchhiker, a vagrant,” I say, standing over him and staring down at his supine form. “Even if you had someone to miss you, it would be weeks before they noticed you were gone.” I place my hand on his crotch, and he squirms and swears at me. “But no one’s going to notice, are they?”
I unbutton his jeans, then zip the fly down. I reach under his briefs and massage his cock. He swears at me, but his cock responds, swelling at my touch. With my other hand I lift his shirt and run my fingers along his taut belly. His swears turn to pleas, but I lean down and run my tongue from his navel to the base of his cock.
Closing his eyes, he turns his head away, his arms and legs straining at his cuffs. I grab the waistband of his jeans and pull them down to his hips, then tug them down his thighs and legs until they are bunched around his ankles. With a small knife I cut away his briefs. I kneel on the cot between his legs, his impressive cock in my hand. I continue to stroke and massage it, feeling it throb.
“I have to tell you, we have very strict punishments for hitchhikers and vagrants in this town. You’re not gonna get away with a small fine here, Mr. Turner. Or may I call you Daniel, considering I’ve got your dick in my hand?”
He swears at me, calling me a bitch, a cunt, a fucking whore. I just smile at him and continue my fondling. After a moment, I stop and undo my pants, quickly pulling them off and tossing them onto the floor along with my panties. He stares at me, naked from the waist down, my trim figure swelling his cock even more. Smiling, I unbutton my shirt and quickly remove it, then my bra. I am naked now, and I straddle my bound prisoner.
He slips into me easily, his face grimacing as he feels the warm pleasure. He struggles and writhes beneath me, but I move up and down on his cock, staring at his pained face and the bruises around his manacled wrists. I reach up under his shirt and pinch his nipples, eliciting cries of pain. But his orgasm is close, as is my own. I’ve been wet since the moment I saw him on the side of the road. Soon his body stops struggling and moves in rhythm with mine, his hips thrusting upwards. He cries out as he comes, his cock throbbing as it expels itself into me. My own orgasm comes a moment later, in an explosion of white.
When I’ve recovered sufficiently, I climb off him and pick up my clothes, dressing quickly as I enjoy the site of him still cuffed to the cot. He watches me as well, his breathing heavy, his cock arousing itself again. When I’m back in my uniform, I call out to Officer Bolton to bring a jumpsuit for the prisoner.
As Bolton saunters down the passageway, her boots thudding on the concrete floor, I uncuff Turner from the cot, allowing him to sit up.
“Don’t bother,” I say, as he leans down to pull up his pants. “In fact, it’s time for you to strip down to your birthday suit.”
He blushes, glancing over at Bolton, who stands outside his cell with the orange jumpsuit in her hands. I order him to strip again, then go over to Bolton and take the jail garb from her. Turner removes his shoes and jeans, then pulls off his shirt. He reaches out for the jumpsuit I have in my hand, but I shake my head.
“We need to do a body cavity search first,” I say, and motion with my head to the front of the cell. “Go over to the cell bars and raise your hands up.”
He glares at me, but after a moment complies. Bolton grabs his hands as he raises them, slapping around his wrists cuffs that she had hung over the high horizontal crossbar. I kick his legs wide apart until he is hanging from his manacled wrists, then cuff his ankles to the bars. His naked body presses against the bars to his cell, his genitals hanging in the space between two bars.
Starting from his feet, I run my hands over his naked body, covering every inch until I reach his round little ass. I spread his ass cheeks apart and run my fingers into his crack, then into his rectum. He cries out in shock and pain, but I insert another finger into him and spread him wide.
“Officer Bolton,” I say, “judging from the condition of this asshole, we’re gonna have to add charges of sodomy against this prisoner. You a homosexual, Mr. Turner? You wish that I was a man shoving my dick up your ass?”
“Fuck you,” he spits, his face grimacing as I violate him with my fingers.
“I believe you’re the one being fucked, Mr. Turner.” I grab my nightstick and shove it into his rectum, enjoying the site of him bucking against the bars. “You like this, Mr. Turner? I believe he does, Officer Bolton. Should I continue fucking his ass?”
Bolton smiles and nods, standing back with her arms crossed on her chest. I shove the stick further into him, and the prisoner cries out in pain and humiliation. After several minutes of raping him with the nightstick, I remove it and put it back in my belt.
“Do you think Mr. Turner has learned his lesson?” I ask Bolton.
“He’s looking awfully unrepentant to me,” she smirks.
Bolton unlocks the door to the cell and takes my place inside. I go into the corridor and look into his red, sweaty face as Bolton removes her leather belt from her pants. Since Bolton is fairly substantial in girth, the belt is rather long.
“Please let me go,” he whispers, but I approach him and place my hand on his cock.
“We take the punishment of criminals very seriously here, Mr. Turner.” I nod to Bolton as I begin to stroke his cock.
The first lash lands hard on his ass. He cries out, his body pressing up against the bars of his cell. I kneel before him, taking his cock in my mouth, sucking him hard as the second stroke lands on the small of his back. I massage his balls as Bolton continues to flail at him with the belt, and I reach around to touch the welts on his ass and thighs. I spread his ass cheeks apart again and insert my fingers into his rectum as another blow lands across his shoulders. His cock throbs in my mouth.
Turner writhes against the bars as he is beaten, my fingers raping him, my mouth teasing his cock. As he comes again, his head thrown back as he cries out, I squeeze his testicles with my hand as Bolton lays several more belts across his ass.
When he is done, and he has collapsed in exhaustion against the bars, I stand up and signal for Bolton to exit the cell. I lock it again once she has left.
“I think you need to stay like that for about an hour, Mr. Turner,” I say. “Keep quiet and we’ll release you then. Otherwise, you’ll spend the night chained up like that.”
I walk away from him, allowing him some time to recover before the next part of his punishment begins.
*
Bolton and I return an hour later. The prisoner hangs limply from the cuffs around his wrists, his head resting against the bars. We release his cuffs and allow him to sink to the floor. I toss him the jail jumpsuit that had been laying on his cot.
“Get dressed,” I order him.
Slowly he manages to put the jumpsuit on, his legs shaking. He winces as the rough fabric touches his beaten flesh. I cuff his ankles again, then his wrists in front of him.
“You better get some sleep now. We’ll be back for you in a few hours.”
“Are you going to release me?” he asks.
I laugh.
“No, Mr. Turner, we’re not going to release you. There’s still a very important part of your sentence that has yet to be carried out.”
“My sentence?” he protests. “I haven’t even had a trial.”
“Don’t you worry about such minor details. You need to rest. You’re going to need all your strength.”
His face was ashen.
“For what?” Bolton and I exited his cell, locking the door behind us. “For what?” he continued to yell, his voice frantic.
*
He’s asleep on his side, his cuffed hands curled under his head in lieu of a pillow. I watch him, his handsome face relaxed, his lips slack. His breathing is even. With a clang, I unlock the door to his cell and swing it open. Turner wakes with a start.
“Bring the prisoner,” I instruct Officer Bolton, and she goes to him and grabs his arm, lifting him to his feet.
“Where are we going?” he asks, his eyes darting between Bolton and me.
Wordlessly I lead him through a door at the end of a corridor. His ankle cuffs rattle, the chain long just long enough to allow him to shuffle along at a slow pace. I know that the concrete floor is cold against his bare feet. We go down another dark corridor, to a room marked DEATH CHAMBER on the door in large black letters. I turn and watch the prisoner’s face as he sees the words. Instantly he begins to struggle, desperately trying to pull away from Bolton’s iron grip.
“No,” he begs, repeating the word over and over.
I swing the door open, allowing Bolton and the prisoner to proceed me into the room. A heavy wooden chair is centered against the back wall, and the prisoner’s legs collapse under him as he realizes what it is. Bolton holds him up, and I grab his other arm and help drag him towards the chair. We turn him and place him in the chair, quickly drawing a strap around his waist and another across his chest. I unlock the handcuffs and we strap down his arms at the wrists, forearms, and biceps. He watches us with panicked eyes, pleading with us to stop.
Kneeling before him, I unlock his ankle cuffs and spread his legs for them to be strapped to the legs of the chair. When they’ve been secured, I cut the fabric away from each shin. Bolton hands me electric clippers, and I shave away the hair on his legs, then attach the electrodes, strapping one to each leg. Bolton places the sponge on his head and lowers the helmet, and I stand and strap it down, buckling it under his chin. A leather gag goes across his mouth and secures behind the chair, pulling his head back and immobilizing it.
I step back and look at him, his body straining against the straps. His fingers curl around the ends of the chair arms. His whole body is strapped securely to the electric chair. His terrified eyes stare at me. He looks gorgeous.
“I told you, Mr. Turner, that we take our laws very seriously here.”
I go up to him, placing my hand once again on his crotch. The front closes with Velcro, which I easily rip open. I pull out his cock and fondle it, staring into his eyes.
“We execute criminals here, Mr. Turner. We keep our town peaceful and law-abiding by quickly ridding ourselves of undesirable elements. You’re an undesirable element, so you will be executed.” He cock swells in my hand. I lean forward and whisper in his ear. “And we enjoy executing handsome young men very, very much.”
I remove my hand from his crotch and quickly pull down my own pants, tossing them to the side. I sit on his lap, naked from the waist down, and rub the tip of his cock against my clitoris. I see the desire in his eyes, and he writhes beneath me. I impale myself on his swollen shaft.
“I can’t wait to see your body tortured by the electricity,” I rasp. “Your fingers clawing, smoke rising from the electrodes, your organs cooking, your blood boiling. It won’t be over quick, I promise you that.”
He moans behind the gag, his cock throbbing in me. I feel myself close to orgasm, and his entire body strains against the straps as he comes. I place my hand on his chest, feeling his heart pound furiously. So strong and healthy. It excites me that this young, healthy man is in my power to kill, and I toss my head back and scream as I come, feeling his cock still throbbing inside me. Finally he collapses as much as the straps allow, his head still upright, his eyes half-closed.
I dismount him and pick up my pants, sliding them back on quickly. I must be properly dressed for the execution. Don’t want to be unprofessional. When I’m dressed and the prisoner has recovered sufficiently, I attach two more electrodes to his balls and two to his cock. He stares at me as I do this, breathing quickly.
“Daniel Jason Turner,” I announce, “you have been sentenced to death in the electric chair. The execution will proceed immediately. May God have mercy on your soul.”
His eyes fly open, and he tries to shake his head, his gagged mouth useless to protest.
“Proceed with the execution,” I order Officer Bolton. Behind him, she throws a switch, turning on the electricity. She flips another switch, and his body jerks in the chair, his fingers extending out. The current is coursing through just his legs at the moment, and I watch him for several long moments before Bolton switches off the power to the electrodes.
Turner closes his eyes, his face – or what I can see of it – covered in sweat and tears. I give him a moment, then nod to Bolton. She flips the switch for his legs and genitals now, and Turner screams in pain behind the gag. His cock swells again, and I stand with my hands clasped behind my back to resist stroking him and bringing him to orgasm. He writhes in the chair as much as the tight straps will allow, and I feel myself get wet just watching him. I want to touch him, to mount him again as he is executed, but I just smile and keep my distance.
Bolton turns off the switch, and I hear Turner whimper as his body sags, almost completely spent. I study him for a full minute, his blonde hair plastered with sweat, his blue eyes dark with pain and fear, his body racked with the electricity that has tortured him. He has been beaten and r@ped, his glorious body my playground for the past several hours. But now it is time for the games to end. I nod to Bolton again.
He bucks again as the power goes through him, his eyes wide, his cock stiff, his body in agony. His fingernails dig into the wooden arms of the chair, his legs futilely pull against the straps that bind him. An orgasm shoots through me just watching him, and I strain to keep my eyes open and on him, not wanting to miss a second of his execution. His own cock spurts in orgasm, and his body strains one last time before Bolton turns off the electricity. His body collapses again, as much as it can, and I stare at it for several long seconds as Bolton leaves the execution chamber.
I go to the chair and carefully remove the electrodes, unbuckling the gag and helmet and allowing his head to fall forward. I then begin to unbuckle the straps, first his legs, then his arms. Finally I undo the straps around his chest and waist, and his body falls forward. I catch it and lay it gently on the ground. I lift his lids and look into his eyes. He stares back at me for a moment, then blinks.
Bolton returns to the room and drops his clothing on the floor next to him. I stand and nudge him with the toe of my shoe.
“Get dressed,” I order him, waiting for him to roll onto his side and prop himself up on an elbow. “I’ll be out front.”
I walk to the front of the station, to the booking desk where I retrieve the envelope with his meager belongings from the drawer. It’s morning, now, the gray light coming through the windows of the station house. I realize that I am hungry and think about going to the diner across the street. Bacon and eggs sound good.
Of course, the current to the electrodes was set way below the lethal level, and the skullcap was not even plugged in. The prisoner was never in any real danger, but he looked delightful strapped into the chair, his body in anguish. After a few minutes, Bolton leads him in, and I hand him his wallet and the coins.
“Mr. Turner, I hope that you have learned that we take breaking the law very seriously in this county,” I say, and he nods slowly. “All right, then, you’re free to go.”
He takes a step, then turns back to me.
“You got time for breakfast?” he asks.
I look at Bolton, who gives me a nod.
“Go ahead,” she says. “You know that nothin’ ever happens around here.”
“All right, Danny,” I say, “my treat.”
We head for the door.
“I think I’m going to be sore for a while,” he says, giving me a smile.
I
his ass, and he winces.
“At least this time you won’t have to explain why you have rope burns around your neck.”
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