Exhausted and trying to escape the pain and this filthy cell, I forced myself into sleep. I was wedged in a sitting position on the bench, handcuffed to the jail cage bars and propped on one butt cheek to relieve the pressure on my ass. It had been a truly rough ride, but it had really hit the spot. I was aroused and satisfied as I never had been before, and it had been well worth the effort and risk. I slowly came to as voices became louder from the hall of the station. One of the voices sounded familiar. As two figures came in sight, I wasn't surprised to see the guy I had settled this deal with in the Starbucks. He was wearing army fatigues now, though and he looked a good deal more "squared away" than he had when I last saw him. Another uniform. My cock took a lurch. A uniform really made a man.
"Ah, look at him," the familiar voice was saying, "I haven't seen one of our clients strung up like that before."
"He was resisting," cop number one said with a big grin.
"Yeah, I'll bet. I knew you'd do him, but you didn't rough him up like that all by yourself, did you?"
"Naw, it wasn't all me, Stretch. Dan and Jack here took a dip too. This guy got his money's worth."
"Not quite yet," Stretch said with a dry laugh. "These welts look pretty nasty. Your work?"
A little giggle from the cop. "Yeah, you know me real well, Stretch, I guess. And what I like. But he ain't none the worse for wear. I didn't do any of my black leather stuff on him. Well, not much, anyway."
Stretch was standing over me inside the cell now, the cop right behind him, and the trucker-type dude still snoring over on the cot.
"Hey, kid, it's me, the guy from Starbucks." He was talking down at me now, but he turned to the cop.
"Let's get those cuffs off him now and get him into another room. You got any salve or something we can use on him?"
"Sure thing, Stretch." My hands were freed and I just collapsed onto the bench.
Cop number one came back with the salve and they got me into another room, some place that looked like a small interrogation room, with a small beat-up wooden table and two rickety chairs. I was still naked, but the cop brought my underwear and pants along. My T-shirt was in shreds now.
"Here, stand up and lean over this table," Stretch ordered. I did so, and he gently applied the salve to the welts all over my body. The cop just stood there, watching, a little grin on his face and breathing pretty heavily. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him rubbing his basket from time to time. Before Stretch was finished, the cop turned and left the room; off getting his rocks off at my expense again, no doubt.
"Okay, I think that will help," Stretch eventually said. "Put your pants back on and let's go."
"Go where?" I asked suspiciously. "I was on my way down the road and plan to be back on my way down the road."
"Well, you'll have to drive me back to Annapolis first," Stretch said. "I got a ride right out here from a meeting as soon as I heard you were here. I know you were having fun, but any more of that and I'd have to charge you another hundred. I'm without wheels, so you're going to have to drive me back first."
What could I say? He had sprung me from the jail and, more important, seemed to have full power to put me back there if he so decided. So, we went out the door and to the Jag. As we were leaving, I could see cop number one off in a side room, slumped in a chair, his pants off, beating himself with one hand and flicking his whip across his legs with the other.
We weren't more than a couple of miles down the road, when Stretch started gently tracing the welt marks on my chest and belly with his right hand.
"Please, don't do that," I said.
"Do they still hurt?" He asked.
"They do sting a bit," I answered.
