The following day, back at his usual post, Sam Stillwell was restless.
He pondered all day whether he should go back to the gang's hangout. He was nervous. How would he be received without Devon? Would he be received without Devon?
And he was nervous about going without Devon. Even though he knew Devon had no more control than he in the situation he would feel safer with Devon there.
Sam just could not sit still. He read through the reports he had to vet but didn't really absorb much. He found himself pacing his 'territory' behind the front desk looking over the shoulders of the officers and recruits dealing with those reporting crimes. This was so unusual for Sam to do all his colleagues wondered what was up.
Sam would pace then return to his cubicle, and repeated that process throughout the shift. Part of the difficulty was every time he sat down his asshole would twitch and remind Sam of the cocks the gang rammed, and would ram again tonight, up his hole.
Sam told himself he did not have to go. No one was forcing him to drive over to that building after his shift ended. No one. But the reality was someone was forcing Sam. Sam was forcing Sam. Sam needed cock up his ass. He needed to be used and abused. He needed to be dominated by those young men. He needed the feeling of someone else being in control of Sam.
Straight Sam recognized he wanted, even needed, those young gang members to use and abuse him sexually. The very thought got him excited and the more he thought of that the more his cock hardened. Sam sat behind his desk until his cock softened and he was presentable, and could resume his pacing until his cock hardened again and he once again escaped to his cubicle. Several of those he was overseeing noticed his stiffened cock and it generated discussions amongst them.
Finally, the clock indicated the end of shift. Sam bolted for the locker room to prepare himself for his gangbang. Sam needed to remove his underwear and hoped to do so discretely. He stripped off his uniform pants and his underwear when his locker neighbour arrived.
This fellow had smelled cum on Sam the other night and now he was witness to his odd behaviour. He watched Sam closely as the latter pulled on his uniform pants sans his tighty-whiteys. He tilted his head like a puzzled dog and then said in a stage whisper, "Interesting. Very interesting."
Sam turned toward him and started to give a smart aleck reply before stopping himself. He did not owe him any explanation. In fact, he couldn't even remember his name. The fellow's nametag read 'Oosterhus' and, although Sam recalled they had met and passed in the halls occasionally, it meant nothing. Besides Sam was focussed on getting to the gang's hangout and having his ass royally reamed. He zipped his pants, fastened his belt, and bolted off in search of his night of pleasure – his night of being used.
Oosterhus watched him go, and smiled to himself knowingly.
Sam broke one or two traffic laws as he sped to the abandoned auto body shop. As usual there was no sign of life about the place. Sam quietly climbed the metal stairs and turned into the large space at the top.
"Stop! Strip!" a voice commanded from the far side.
Sam stopped and began removing his uniform immediately, his cock hardening instantly in anticipation.
"Where is the other one? The piglet?" demanded the voice with some frustration. Sam explained Devon's transfer and conflicting shifts as he continued stripping. There was a whispered conversation Sam could not make out. "Well, damn," said the voice. "Get your sorry ass over here."
Sam moved closer and, as he did so, noticed there was something different about the space. Before he could determine what the difference was, he was ordered to kneel on the mattress next to the fire barrel with his head down.
There was some snickering before something hard and cold was pressed on his asshole. Unlubricated there was a good deal of pain as it entered Sam's ass. Sam yelped and groaned as the object continued into his bowels. After about eight or nine thick inches were embedded inside Sam the inward pressure ceased.
A hand pushed Sam's face into the mattress and ordered, "Don't move. Stay just like that."
And Sam stayed just like that. And he didn't move. And he waited for the next order.
And he waited.
And he waited.
After ten, maybe fifteen, minutes, Sam raised his head slightly, listening carefully. He heard nothing. Lifting his head more he scanned his immediate surroundings. And saw no one.
He shivered and realized what was different. The fire, which had been roaring the last two times he was here, was barely noticeable tonight and, apparently, had died out while Sam waited.
Sam rose to his feet. The object in his ass made that action painful. A more careful survey of the space revealed he was alone.
"What the fuck?" he exclaimed, confused. This was not the way the night was supposed to go. Was everyone so disappointed Devon wasn't there they had left?
Sam took a few steps before reaching around and withdrawing whatever was protruding from his ass. It popped free and Sam studied it in closely through the gloom. "What the fuck?" he repeated. This time addressing what appeared to be a miniature plastic baseball bat, like the one he bought for his son when the boy was four.
"What the fuck is going on here?" he demanded of the empty room in frustration, and flung the toy as hard as he could.
Feeling embarrassed and angry, as well as chilled, Sam stomped over to where his clothes lay. On top of the pile a piece of paper and an open padlock had been placed. With difficulty in the faint light, Sam read the note:
"Grandpa pig and Piglet, Break is over. We won't be here. Don't come here anymore. We will call grandpa pig's number when you're wanted."
Another hand had added: "Padlock the door when you leave."
Sam shook with rage as he stood there, naked, reading this harsh dismissal of his sexual services. "Rape me, abuse me, use me then throw me away, will you. I. Don't. Think. So. Punks!" he shouted. He continued shouting what he would do to the gang when he got the opportunity as he dressed. But he padlocked the door at the bottom of the stairs as requested.
Sitting in his car, he texted Devon the contents of the note and expressed his anger.
Devon texted back: "Shit! And Damn!"
