This is my first draft of some slash fiction for the British side…and maybe…just maybe…part one of three…but we’ll see. (NOTE: I’ve realized I misspelled Jamie throughout the story so corrected it, but left this as is. Shows the process better…)
Jaime did not know where he was or what had happened. One moment he was in the woods searching for poachers; the next, he was lying in a room that was both dark and not dark. Except it wasn’t a room; it was an open space whose walls were unseen in the darkness. Except it wasn’t darkness; he could see light casting a vague glow off his nose and cheeks. His first thought was, it’s like a massive auditorium stretching hundreds of meters in every direction, so he was unable to see the walls encompassing it. And he sensed he was not alone.
He was stretched out on a bed…but it wasn’t a bed. There was nothing beneath him but air…simple air holding him up. He knew he was still in his clothes — a nicely fitted suit and tie, completely inappropriate for tramping through the shrubs and sticks of a forest. But he’d had no choice.
The call came as he was en route back to Wormley to meet some friends, and the caller had a panicked tone of voice…at least, that’s what the call center said. Strange lights whispering through the forest, with animals scattering away from it in fear. Concern it might be a drug deal going down, or worse…poachers. Uniforms were on their way but were at least ten minutes behind him, and since he was a detective sergeant, they felt he was best to at least make contact with the caller to begin the investigation. He’d agreed to do it because he didn’t feel it would take too long, could hand it over to another DS soon as he arrived, and he knew his friends would be understanding. The life of a cop, sort of thing. He made a hands-free call to Erica to let her know he was running behind then turned down Midsoms Road to head back.
He gave a soft chuckle. Erica was why he’d worn this particular suit. It was snug in all the right places, showing off his trim, well-formed torso and colt-like legs, though it was a bit snug around the derriere. He felt very male-model in it, and knew she would be impressed. Hoped she would be. They were meeting with another couple, married with a child en route, and he was hoping it meant she was seeing him as more than a boyfriend, now…but a possible bed partner and, if all went well, wife. He was ready to settle down, having this promotion and being just past thirty. Find a nice cottage in someplace similar to the Cotswold’s. Not too far from the police center and his superior. Base his new life from there.
Funny how he could remember these thoughts. Could see himself arriving to the stated location. Picture arriving to find no one about. No lights. No fresh tracks of car or foot. No animals, either. The forest was still and ark, from the edge. He wondered if he’d gone to the wrong side…but double-checking his GPS showed he was where the center had said.
He’d decided to go in a few meters, just to get a sense of the place. The brush was thick, no path to follow. He didn’t want to go in too far because that would mess up his aren’t I hot suit…but something struck him. The forest was completely silent. No sounds whatsoever. Totally still. Not even the hint of a breeze rustle the tree branches. That was decidedly odd, being this close to the Channel.
Then he saw a glow, about a hundred meters to his right. Not that of a torch or lamp, just a soft blue whispering through the darkness.
“Hello!” he called. “Police. I’m Detective Sergeant — ”
And now he was in this room with no idea how he’d got here or what was going on.
“Did I pass out?” he wondered. “Am I dreaming?”
That had to be the explanation — he’d been struck unconscious and was dreaming. That was the only thing that could make sense.
He tried to sit up…but he couldn’t move. Not his arms. Not his legs. Neither hands nor fingers. Just his eyes. And he could speak. He thought. He was breathing well enough…and let out a massive sigh. This only confirmed his belief he was caught in a dream.
Then he felt whispers of air around him, like the caressing of fingers…but nothing was there. It traced over his face — his firm chin, his full lips, his bright open eyes, a dark blue under thick lashes, the eyebrows he’d trimmed last night in anticipation of his date, his thick curly hair cropped close to keep from reminding people of a clown. He wasn’t movie-star gorgeous, but he knew his face was well received by most young women. And it seemed like the nothing-air was touching every inch of his visage.
Then it moved down his neck, clean and well-shaved not an hour ago; he had issues with a light five o’clock shadow, which Erica had once mentioned, and he wanted nothing that might prevent kisses. He noticed the nothing-air fingers were also caressing the back of his head and now were crossing the nape of his neck. Whatever it was he was lying upon made no difference, the sensations merely displaced the feeling of support momentarily as the caresses travelled across his shoulders and down his back to his rear, the nothing-air in front pacing them as they drew over his chest and reached under his suit coat the play with his nipples and continued down his nice taut abs to his groin.
He moaned with discomfort. “This isn’t real, Jaime,” he said. “It’s all a dream.”
Except it certainly felt real. Especially when the nothing-air traced over his trousers to fondle his crotch and grope his ass, slipping between his legs to almost tickle the back of his balls and his hole before trailing down his thighs, feeling all around his legs, and over his calves down to his feet.
But what was worse? He felt the beginning of an erection. The whole situation had become so sensuous and sensual and erotic, he was responding, and boy…was he glad he’d worn his tight CK boxer briefs. Those might keep him from being too embarrassed.
“What is this?!” he cried. Or did he merely think it? He couldn’t tell.
He tried to move, again, but still was kept immobile. He was floating in nothingness and he could not move. But this was not sensory deprivation. He could sense light and could feel himself being touched. He swallowed, fear starting to build in him.
And then he felt his shoes being untied and removed!
“Bloody hell, what’re you doing?!”
The nothing-air caressed his soles and toes as they removed his socks. A new pair he’d worn because all of his others had holes in them. Next, his suit coat was unbuttoned and shifted off his shoulders.
“”Stop! What’re you doing?! I’m a police officer! Stop!”
His tie was loosened and pulled away around his collar, and the nothing-air slowly unbuttoned his shirt. toying with the hair on his chest as it went.
Jaime forced himself to not panic. “It’s a dream, it’s a dream, it’s a dream, it’s a dream, it’s a dream,” gasped from his lips. Or maybe he was just thinking it.
The problem was, he could feel everything the nothing-air was doing. Each touch was like a promise of more. Each caress was meant to lead him closer to his needs. He’d been going through a dry spell and was more than hoping Erica would be his partner for the evening instead of his right hand. But this? This?
When he’d been a youth living with his grandmother…his Nan…after his mum and dad had left him to follow their own bliss, he’d had what Nan called Wet Dreams, and she’d told him they were completely natural, at his age.
“Both of your uncles went through this,” she’d said, “as did your father. Nothing to be embarrassed about.
Nan was always the level-headed one on the family, not typically British in her understanding about sexual needs. She’d been on a commune in Wales and traveled to Monterrey in California and some place in the Himalayas, for spiritual peace, and still carried that with her. Thinking of her helped calm him and let him focus on the reality of the moment.
And what was that reality? That this was not really happening except in his mind. So no matter what else the nothing-air fingers did, it wasn’t real.
That helped when the nothing-air pulled apart his shirt and slipped it down his immobile arms to reveal his undershirt. Tight, white, just a bit see-through. His nipples barely making a tent, against the cotton…until they were being fondled and flicked and twisted through the fabric. He felt lightning fire into his groin and he gasped in shock at how glorious that felt. How he didn’t want it to stop.
Then his undershirt was torn in half, revealing his pumped up chest, fan of hair over his pecs swirling down to his groin, and the nothing-air ran its caresses over his abs and along his sides as the shirt’s remains were guided away.
He began to breathe, heavy and fighting to keep in mind this wasn’t real But he was losing the battle. The sensations brought on by the nothing-air were becoming too demanding…too insistent…and his dick was growing, in response.
And still, he could not move.
His belt was unbuckled and pulled away.
He cried out then forced himself to picture Erica doing it. She was lovely, round in all the right places, peaches and cream skin under golden brown hair cut just right. He’d been attracted to her the second he met her on a previous murder case. She’d been a suspect, for a little while, but it was Barnaby who’d made the suggestion, not him, so their beginning wasn’t tainted by that. He’d taken his time getting to know her and let her know him, so using her to help make this nightmare into something he could handle helped calm him more than anything else had. If he was going to be mauled, sexually, at least it would be by someone he wanted and not some random female.
His trousers were undone and unzipped and pulled away from his hips and his ass and his crotch, revealing he was pretty damn close to being ripe and ready to go. The nothing-air played not only with his dick and balls, whispering around them and over them and behind them and along them, but also kneaded his ass, squeezing his cheeks like they were ripe melons. He didn’t have what others would call a bubble-butt, but it was a nice size and fit him just right…and it seemed the nothing-air agreed, for this went on for what seemed like a couple minutes.
He realized his trousers had been maneuvered down his legs to his ankles, and more of the nothing-air was caressing his thighs and calves, as if inspecting a prize horse. His CKs followed, revealing an erection he had often been proud of; not the biggest dick ever but well above average. Not much foreskin to it, but it had done him well and none of the girls he’d been with in the past had complained. He’d even caught a few lads in the gym casting him glances of either envy or interest, or both. But now? Like this? He felt like he was being violated.
The trousers were removed, as were the CKs, and his legs pushed wider apart to allow even more of the dreadful intimacy being forced upon him. He felt the nothing-air slip between his cheeks and touch his hole and he screamed.
“No! Stop it! This is rape! You can’t do this to me!”
He fought to squirm away but his body would not move. He was breathing, fast and furious, and he could look around and move his mouth to speak and knew his tits had grown pointy and his dick was engorged and ready to be used, but everything else remained still and useless.
The nothing-air began to grope him in earnest, now. Dancing over his nips, sending more lightning to his balls. Caressing down the hair on his abs to his pubes like they were rafting down a river. Grabbing his ass and pulling at it as if to see whether it could be separated from his body. Fondling his dick and balls in a way that seemed more like worship than sexual need. Drawing sensations down his thighs and calves to add to the build of erotic need within him.
His dick was now as hard as it had ever been, and he was whimpering at the incessant manipulation of it…taking him almost over the edge but never quite.
“No, no, no, no…” was all he could say, now. He knew his cries and screams and pleading would do no good.
Then he saw a form appear in the dark space above him, shining so bright he had to jam his eyes closed. He opened them, a little, to watch the form draw closer and closer and slowly reveal itself to be another man. Also naked. Darker hair. Lean build. Tightly muscled with fans of hair over his body in all the places they should be. Dark eyes under thick lashes. A two-day growth of beard on his strong chin, surrounding full lips. And also an erection. His was not as large ass Jaime’s…at least, as large as Jaime thought his own was. And it was obvious the man was circumcised. His head was red and full and glistened with pre-cum, and his circumcision scar gave his shaft a two-tone look.
Jaime was so taken aback by it all, he forgot that he was still being caressed by the nothing-air and thought, “I know him. From where?”
The man seemed to know Jaime, as well. His expression was that of near-recognition. And confusion. And fear. And Jaime was sure his own face reflected the exact same thoughts. He noticed the hair on the man’s body was also shifting slightly, as if it were also being caressed. Then it hit him.
“Joe?” he said. “Newcastle?”
The man’s expression grew startled then he said, “Yeah. Jaime, from down South. Conference a couple years back, in London. What the hell’s going on?”
“You bloody tell me.”
“I…I…I got called out to investigate some lights in Gibbside. Caller said they were…uh…they were…”
“Poachers,” said Jaime, then he felt the nothing-air slip up inside his anus and he cried out, in shock.
“Same thing. Same…” Jaime froze. Had to fight a panic building in him. “I…I’m dreaming you, right?”
“No, I’m dreaming you…or am I? Bloody fuckin’ hell, WHAT IS THIS?”
The nothing-air was becoming more insistent, pushing itself deeper into Jaime’s rectum. He fought to keep from screaming. “Joe! What do you feel?”
“Something like fingers touching me and groping me, but nothing’s there.”
“That’s like me…like me, but I can’t move and…and…HEY, WHO THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU? WHY’RE YOU DOING THIS?”
Then Jaime realize he wasn’t lying down; he was upright, as so was Joe. And they were closer together. So close, their erections touched…and the nothing-air began whispering over the both of them…fondling them, together…and it felt too damn good.
“STOP! STOP IT!” Jaime cried. “This is rape.”
“Oh, Christ,” Joe said, “they’re doing it, again.”
“There was another cop — detective — guy named Paul — I knew him from a spell in Manchester and…and…no, don’t make me do this!”
Jaime felt the nothing-air grip his ankles and lift his legs up and up, even as the caresses and the probing continued all over him. He screamed.
“NO! THIS IS RAPE! THIS IS RAPE!”
“They don’t care!” Joe cried. “They don’t follow our laws! Dammit, don’t make me, not again…”
“NO, I’VE NEVER DONE THIS!”
The nothing-air rested Jaime’s legs on Joe’s broad shoulders, his ass now completely vulnerable, then he felt Joe’s erection press against his anus.
“Jaime, I’m sorry, but I can’t stop ‘em…I can’t…”
“NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!”
Joe’s head pushed into Jaime and he screamed in pain. It kept going in, slowly, slowly, filling him deeper and deeper. He screamed more. Felt he was being torn in half. And still he could not move to get away from it.
“I’m sorry, Jaime, they’re pushing me in, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
In what seemed like forever, Joe’s dick was in Jaime, up to the base. He could feel Joe’s pubs against his skin. Then Joe began rocking in, deeper, and back and in and back and in and back.
Jaime cried out. Breathed harsh and fast. Felt the nothing-air groping him all over — pinching his nips and caressing his thighs and fondling his balls and stroking his dick. It went on and on and on…until Jaime felt the pain begin to diminish and his dick grow harder and his balls more tender and his nips crazed to the touch and he couldn’t believe it…he was liking it.
He was enjoying being raped by a man he barely knew.
In and back and in and back, over and over and over. Each thrust began to take him closer and closer to nirvana…the sensual pleasures of it enveloping him and making him lose all sense of time or reality and in and back and in and back, Joe’s dick kept going and going and going until Jaime felt a rush start in the back of his balls and race through every fiber of his being and join with the nothing-air’s caresses to make him groan and howl and cry aloud and fire an ejaculation up into the air, the lie of which he had never experienced. His cum leapt at least a meter up into the nothing light and vanished. It did not splash back onto his belly or chest or face. He fired, again, going just as far up and also vanishing.
Then he felt Joe explode inside of him. Fill him with his own cum. Grunt and whimper in both pleasure and horror and joy and pain. He filled Jaime with more and more of his cum…until he was a quivering mass and could not make coherent sounds.
Joe was finally pulled away from Jaime, his dick now limp and dripping with semen. Jaime’s own dick was lying back on his belly, looking very pleased with itself. Nothing dribbled from it. In fact, the foreskin remained unseen. He hadn’t shriveled up, yet, not like Joe.
Jaime found he was able to move his head, now. And he watched Joe being taken away from him.
Joe cast him a sorrowful glance as he said, “They made me do this to Paul, too. He did the same as you. I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault,” Jaime murmured.
Joe heard him and smiled. “That’s what Paul said. I’m still sorry.”
Then Joe was gone.
Jaime felt the nothing-air still caressing him…fondling him…probing him…tits, balls, dick, thighs, ass…but it was in a manner that almost seemed sweet and caring. Which made no sense. Did whoever had done this to him think he’d been made love to? Did they believe this was a proper sexual coupling? That he wanted it to happen? He was sore as hell from being fucked…but he was also so damn mellow and easy from having cum like he did, he didn’t care.
He had really enjoyed being fucked by Joe. He’d not only gotten off on it, he wanted it, again. He knew this time had been a vicious, cruel, painful, manipulative form of rape…but the truth was…he also wanted it to happen, again. The ejaculation at the end of it had overcome everything else. He felt like a junkie who’d just had his first snort of coke and wanted more, just to regain that high. It frightened him, but also put him at ease.
He felt his CKs being slipped back on and up his legs. He felt the tight cotton surround his ass and crotch, and felt the nothing-air adjust his dick so he was comfortable. Next came his trousers, socks and shirt, followed by his shoes. He felt the tie drape around his neck and the suit coat come on and —
He was lying in the forest, two constables watching over him, one young and fit, the other older and more concerned. The young one was on the phone.
“He’s coming ‘round, sir,” the man said. “Yes, still need a medic. He looks pretty shaky.”
Jaime smiled, glanced the fit young constable over in a way that was more than appreciative — he did fit that uniform very nicely, in every way, and his pale blond hair suited his look — then made himself sit up.
“How long?” he murmured, his voice shaky.
“We got here ‘bout ten minutes, ago, sir,” said the older constable. “Saw your car and looked around. Found you here. Undid your tie.”
Jaime nodded and started to get up. The older man held him down.
“I’d stay put, sir. That’s a nasty cut to your head.”
Jaime touched a sore spot on his scalp and his fingers came away with blood on them. He sighed. So it was all just a dream. He was sore from having fallen or been hit, he wasn’t sure which, yet. But should he be aching all over? Even his ass?
Then he realized, his undershirt was gone. He always wore one. And his belt was nowhere to be seen. And he smiled, knowing it had really happened…and already knew what he planned to do.
Track down a fellow officer named Paul, in Manchester, if he’d been returned, as well…and..oh, compare notes. See if they could figure out why this happened. Then maybe he and Paul could go to Newcastle to meet with Joe, guide him away from his wife and kids for a weekend together…again, if he’d been returned…and introduce their rapist to the joys of being raped.
Wouldn’t that be fun…