It didn’t make any sense. He couldn’t quite figure out what went wrong. All he had been looking for was love, so he posted his profile on an online dating site. She seemed nice enough. They shared many of the same interests. They had spent a very enjoyable couple of hours at the Starbucks in the city. He had been willing to drive in from the little one-horse town he lived in 15 miles away to meet her. He had been courteous, chivalrous and easy to talk to. Now he was accused of rape.
Nathan Sargent was truly a country boy. He was insecure about his looks, which was a total mystery to anyone who knew him. Yes, his dishwater blond hair was receding, leaving his bangs as two tendrils extending down his forehead, so he kept his hair buzzed short. This accentuated his all-American boy-next-door corn-fed good looks. His symmetrical face glowed when he flashed his toothy grin, his gray-blue eyes sparkling. Working in construction, he had a body honed of hard work, not the gym.
He had been lounging on the couch in his drawers about two weeks after their one meeting when the doorbell rang. The arresting officer directed him to the bedroom where he pulled on an oatmeal pullover, sliding the long sleeves up to his elbows, and a pair of light blue jeans with those silly white swirly-things on the pockets, ironically the exact outfit he had worn when he met her. As he was cuffed, he realized that he needed to pee, a plea soundly rejected by the cop. Thank God he was on a winter layoff, so at least he didn’t have to explain his absence to his boss. He knew that there was no case, as he hadn’t even slept with the bitch, but he was less sure about what was forthcoming in the next few days.
Thrown into the back of a squad car, he was driven to the local station a few blocks away. His hometown was so small, the jail was about the size of his small bungalow. He was led in to meet the single cop on duty, a behemoth by the name of Steve Witt. Officer Witt was an aspiring bodybuilder who at 40, maintained the physical fitness of men half his age. His short-cropped brown hair had a slight tinge of gray at the temples. The taupe long-sleeved uniform shirt strained to contain the massive torso contained within. Same with the chocolate uniform trousers with the taupe satin stripe down the leg. His bulging thighs and solid bubble butt pushed the fabric to its limit.
As he was booked, Nathan had been placed on a metal bench screwed to the floor in front of Officer Witt’s desk. Across the back, a metal rod ran to which his handcuffs were secured. He was pinned there through the long process, his need to piss growing minute by minute.
The agony of his situation was growing unbearable as he was taken in to have his booking photos taken, after which, Officer Witt re-cuffed him, threading the cuff chain through the back belt loop of his jeans. He was led to the holding section of the jail, which was a small area with two 6’x10′ cells, divided by solid walls.
As they went through the door, he grimaced as a wave of need hit him, causing him to stop and squeeze his thighs together. “Son, stop resisting. If you keep it up, I won’t have a choice but to put you in lock-down for your safety.” ” I’m not resisting; I need to piss…BAD! Please, sir.” The cop looked at him as if he had just spoken in Greek. Pushing him into the impossibly small cell, the cop said as he slammed the bars shut “I think you need some time to cool off.” The still-cuffed prisoner went into full crisis mode at this point, his hands still fastened behind his back.
“You can’t leave me like this…I have to use the bathroom, PLEASE”! The burly officer stood on the other side of the bars, gazing in on the struggling prisoner. “You’d better not have an accident, or I’ll have to put you in lock-down. It’s called threatening an officer of the law with potentially infected bodily fluids.” “Please just let me piss. I’m not threatening anybody. I…have to go!” The officer watched as the desperate prisoner struggled against the cuffs, a dark spot appearing on his crotch. He gasped loudly as his bladder released, flooding his jeans with a copious release, the pale gold liquid streaming down into his shoes and onto the floor.
The sadistic officer thrust the key into the cell door, shoving it open with a substantial force. “That’s it! I’m putting you in a 120-hour lock-down…for your safety and mine.” He shoved the prisoner onto the single cot, sitting him on it as he secured his ankles to the restraints. Undoing the cuffs, he forced the damp stud down as he wrestled his wrists up to the headboard, securing each into the leather restraints. As he finished, he stood over the helpless prisoner and said, ” You are in a lock-down for the next five days. Don’t bother asking any of the other officers to let you go. If they want to keep their jobs, they won’t.” Thrashing around in his new prison, Nathan shot a terrified gaze as his captor. The cop stood over him, glaring down as he said, “this is your home for the next five days, no exceptions. Enjoy.”
He heard the solid steel door slam at the end of the short hallway as the lights went off. He was left, secured to the cot, helpless and in total darkness. As he struggled against his restraints, he tired, eventually falling into a fitful sleep.
His dreams were tortured; in them he was downtown in a large city desperately needing a bathroom, yet finding no place to relieve himself. He became more and more desperate, until he found an alley, only to be confronted by the cops. As he begged for them to let him piss, he began to flood…
He jerked awake,feeling the powerful jet spray into his jeans. He could do nothing as he pissed himself, the flow working its way to the edge of the vinyl covered mattress and splashing to the concrete floor below. He sobbed as he humiliated himself again in the darkness.
Breakfast and lunch were brought by an old man named Cletus, an officer well past retirement age, who seemed as if he would rather be anywhere than here, Nathan’s pleas for a bathroom falling on totally deaf ears, quite literally. The afternoon watch was covered by an obvious newbie, a young man named Connor. Every hour he was brought a bottle of water, to keep him well hydrated. Neither cop seemed to care about his increasing anal desperation or his repeated pissing into his jeans.
By 10:00 that night, he was in absolute need of a massive dump. He hadn’t had one for a couple of days before his arrest, so it hit suddenly…forcefully. Officer Witt was back on duty, stopping by to see how his helpless captor was handling his captivity. As he entered the cell, the helpless prisoner thrashed about violently on the cot, screaming his need to the massive officer. “Please help me, man! I need to drop deuce…Oh, God, I’m cramping! Please let me go..IT’S TURTLING! Don’t make me do this in my pants!” The sadistic cop looked his struggling captive in the eye as he replied, “Yeah, I figured you’d be in the state about now. I need to go myself.” With that, the muscular officer ambled over to the prison-issue stainless toilet situated just a foot or so from the prisoner’s face, undid his uniform pants and squatted over the bowl, hovering his muscular ass over the seat as he grunted.
“Eyes over her, boy. I want you watching this.” The helpless stud turned his face towards the cop hovering over the bowl, his ass blasting a tremendous fart into the stainless bowl, the stench wafting through the room. As the helpless man gagged on the smell, he could see the massive turd begin to squeeze out of Officer Witt’s butt, the solid brown log dropping into the stool with a ‘plop.’ Another followed and yet a third, all knobby and hard, the cop groaning in relief. He grabbed a small wad of toilet paper and wiped it across his hole, the load being so firm, there wasn’t even any residue on it.
Standing and redressing himself, the corrupt cop turned his attention to his helpless victim. Nathan looked desperately at the man hovering over him. All he could muster was a soft “please, man.” A final burst of struggle ensued as he thrashed violently against his bonds as the mass in his anus began its exit. The cop’s eyes were glazed over with lust as he reached down, placing his large hand on the helpless man’s butt as it began to grow. The prisoner gasped as the solid log hit resistance, pressing against his shorts and the denim encasement, forcing both to expand with his release. He cried in relief and embarrassment as the load stacked into his seat, straining the material to its limit as he pushed.
The restrained man sobbed softly as he finished, his humiliation complete. The cop removed his paw from the overstuffed denim ass, placing it over his nose as he inhaled deeply. “Yeah, that’s a good little prisoner.” He chuckled as he turned and left the cell, the restrained stud wallowing in his mess. The lights snapped off, plunging him into darkness yet again.
His dreams again were tortured. He awoke again desperately spraying through his pants as he pissed himself in the night again.
Day three was more of the same, breakfast, lunch, lots of water, pissing himself again and again, dinner, night, more tortured dreams, waking to wetting himself yet again. Day four was again a repeat of the same. He hardly flinched when he pumped another hard load into his slacks, straining his pants further.
By day five, he had almost become accustomed to the routine. He wet himself without even thinking about it. That night, he heard another prisoner being led to the cell adjacent to his, the man’s pleas all to familiar to him. Officer Witt entered his cell, approaching the cot and releasing his bonds one by one. “The cunt won’t press charges, so you’re free to go.” the officer said as he freed the thoroughly soiled stud. Nathan rolled out of the cot, so as to not compress the massive load in his ass, waddling out of the cell with Officer Witt close behind.
They paused in front of the adjoining cell, Nathan getting his first glimpse of the newbie in the cell next door. About 5’10”, the swarthy dark stud was also massively built. His well-muscled body strained the black t-shirt and snug jeans encasing his well-built body. He was cuffed as Nathan had been, the chain strung through the back belt loop of his jeans. However, he had been secured to the bars of the cell, his ass facing the hall in which they stood, his taut bubble butt encased in snug dark denim.
He begged the cop as they stood there. “Dude, please, I can’t hold it. I told you I need to take a dump. Please, it hurts! I need to make a food baby!” He yanked helplessly at the cuffs, the metallic clack echoing through the short hall. He grimaced as a blast of gas fired through his jeans, a pop signaling the beginning of his loss of control. The snug material began to bulge as he groaned helplessly, his face reddening as he bore down, birthing a massive load into the snug encasement of his ass. It had very little room, so it began to expand down his right leg, searching for a place to land.
After a minute, it was over, the stud having embarrassed himself in front of the cop and a fellow inmate, sobbed silently. Steve looked at him, his crotch swelled as he barked through the bars, “I told you not to do that. I’m going to have to put you in lock-down now.” The restrained man cried out as Officer Witt forced Nathan through the doors to the main room of the jail, the humiiliated stud’s cries disappearing behind the solid steel door as it slammed.
The cop gave Nathan back his personal belongings, wallet, cell phone and keys. The newly freed prisoner stood there for a minute, the cop ignoring him before looking up and saying roughly, “What”? “You’re just going to turn me out like…this?” Nathan asked, gesturing to his damp and thoroughly bulging jeans.” “Get out of my jail before I arrest you for loitering,” was the terse reply of the cop, as he walked away, through the door to the cells, the pleading cry of the restrained prisoner once again echoing through the building.
Nathan walked out into the chilly night. He couldn’t call anyone to pick him up because he didn’t want anybody to see him in that state, so he started the long walk, or more precisely, waddle home. Thank God the small town was pretty much folded up for the night. There were very few people out at that time of night. He made his way home, taking the back streets so as not to be seen.
About a block and a half from home, he felt the sudden urge for a piss. It was merely out of habit from the last few days that he found himself spreading his legs and peeing in his pants, rather than pulling it out. He was almost done before it even dawned on him that he had that option. He continued home, arriving just before 1:00 am.
Stripping naked, he spent almost 30 minutes in the shower, trying to wash away the stench of the last five days. He put his clothes in a plastic garbage bag, but was too tired to take them to the trash, so he left the bag on the back porch. Donning a pair of boxer briefs, he went to bed.
His dreams were tortured. He dreamed that he was going house to house begging people to let him use the bathroom, only to be denied again and again, as his need grew. He felt the overwhelming fullness in his bladder as well as the pressing ache at his rectum. In his dreams, he began to lose control. He jerked awake as he was spraying through his underwear, soaking the bed; the massive log pressing into his shorts as he shit himself. He groaned in disgust as he completed the foul deeds, but didn’t leap up to rush to the bathroom. Indeed, he was so conditioned to this state, he found it almost comforting.
His mind went back to the jail where the new prisoner, his jeans filled with a massive log, was undoubtedly restrained as he had been. The handsome stud was probably awakening, as he had for the last few days, helplessly pissing himself through his own tortured dreams. He grabbed his soggy member, stroking it to hardness at this thought, feeling telepathically the same helpless desperation that the current inhabitant of the small jail was experiencing. He fired his ample load onto his chest, reliving his own experience and sensing what his cellmate was going through.
Gasping for breath, he faded into a much more peaceful slumber, the dampness and fullness in his ass a familiar, comforting feeling. He knew that his imprisoned cohort would feel the same thing when his ordeal was over.