Long Form Roleplayers

BAD COP STEVE : 

Last night I called this gym owner to tell him he is under investigation. We received complaints that drugs were running rampant in his gym. I told him I would drop by in the morning. 

The morning arrives, i'm dressed in my uniform with toys in case i come across some trouble. I drive over to the complex. Determined to get to the bottom of this. My shirt and trousers feel tight with my muscled 6'0 205ls furry body. I arrive there and see you standing there at the gym reception. FUCK this guy is big. I hope he cooperates because if he doesn't he will be a hand full. I walk up to him with a smile on my bearded face. I extend my gloved hand to shake your hand. "Hi I'm Officer Steve. We spoke on the phone last night. I will need your full cooperation. As you know, I will be delivering a full investigation and ask you a few questions. You know that holding drugs will put you in a lot of trouble. You could end up in jail and we could shut down your gym. Let’s start with your name first, Sir. Oh, perhaps you would like this interrogation to take place in a more private area?"

FREAKER 

I’m finishing my last set on the bench, 140 kg grinding up for the final reps. My gym bro—an Asian pro bodybuilder—spots me close, hands ready but barely touching. The weight racks, I lock it out, and sit up, chest heaving. Sweat runs down my arms and soaks my tank top.That’s when I see him.The cop from last night.I wipe the sweat off my face, toss the towel onto the bench, and wave my bro away. “You know what to do”. He nods and disappears between the machines. The place is clean—yesterday I made sure of that. No needles, no vials, nothing visible. Around here, guys just chase size: anabolic steroid; testosterone and other illegal stuff. Bigger is better—that’s the dream I sell. I stand up slowly.

I’m massive—about 120 kg of solid muscle—and I let my shoulders roll as he walks closer. I could deal with him if I had to, but that’s never smart. Cops are easier when they think they’re in control. Some before him tried to bring me down. They left richer, happy and quiet. He talks, but I barely listen. I flex without trying, muscles shifting under my skin, pumped and full. Our smells mix—my sweat, his leather, cheap cologne. I smile.“Sorry, officer… should I call you Inspector?” I say calmly. “I’m not sure what you want to talk about.”I raise my arm and let my pumped bicep sit right in front of his face.“You see this body?” I say. “It’s clean. But I’m ready to listen—and answer your questions.”

BAD COP  STEVE : 

“Just call me Officer Steve Sir” I respond to your question in an assertive fashion. I watch you march forward towards me like a mountain of muscles. I notice in the background among the gym equipment a few men who look just as big. All of them bodybuilders. I have my suspicion about all their big muscles. I think they are enhanced by some drugs and I am intent on finding out more about what goes on here. 

Your big tall body dwarfs me but I stand my ground. I have faced bigger men before. I don’t panic too much, because of the cop toys that are in my possession, just in case I am faced with some trouble. I can inhale your musky sweaty scent after your workout. The sweat makes your muscled body shine. I also take a look at what you are wearing. That tight tank top and your shorts that are clinging to your body like a second skin. I can see your hard nipples poking through your tank top and think I can see the outline of your bulge.

I stand my ground, not wanting you to think that you are intimidating me. I flex my biceps when I pull out my note pad and pen to take notes. I bulge out my pecs to stretch out my cop shirt. The sight and smell makes my cock stir and bulge up my thighs to try to hide my growing bulge under my dark trousers. “I’m happy to hear that you claim you are clean and you are ready to listen to my questions and answer them. I intend to do a proper investigation and inspect every square feet of this place. The better you cooperate, the easier you will make my job and the quicker I will leave you be. I will ask you again, what is your full name and do you have some ID on you to verify that information” 

FREAKER

 "Maximilian Freaker," I say, my voice low. "But you can call me Max." I ignore you as I bend over to wipe down the bench. I make sure to do it slowly, letting the thin fabric of my shorts pull tight across my ass. I know you're watching. I can feel your eyes on me, hungry and confused. My back is still pumped from my workout, and I feel your gaze trace every line of it. 

When I stand up and turn, I see it. I see the clear, hard ridge in your dark trousers. You try to shift your weight, to hide it, but it's too late. A little smirk touches my lips. Yeah, I've got you. I can see it in your eyes. You're here to investigate, but your body is already under arrest. My eyes slide over to my boys, my best customers. They're huge, loyal, and they look at you like a piece of trash that needs to be taken out. They're waiting for my nod, my signal to make you disappear. I give a slow shake of my head. No. Not yet. They understand immediately and turn, heading for the other workout room.

The air in here is thick, heavy with the smell of my sweat, my musk. Now it's just you and me, Officer. And I know I can handle you. The hard way... or the good way. "My ID? Yeah, sure, Officer," I walk right toward you, not stopping until I'm pressed up against you. I push my big, hard pecs right into your shoulder. I can feel the heat from your body through your cop shirt. I can smell your clean, soapy scent mixing with my raw, gym smell. I make my chest move, a slow, powerful flex against your arm, letting you feel the solid muscle. "Whoops, excuse me," I murmur, but I don't move an inch. My hand drops, slow and deliberate, and lands right on your crotch. I press my palm down hard, feeling your stiff cock jump under the fabric. I own you in this moment. "It's in the locker room," I whisper, my lips close to your ear. "Follow me.Let’s get it."

BAD COP STEVE

 You give me your full name and I write it down on my pad. “Thank you Max.” I notice the other bodybuilders looking at us as I try to investigate you. These guys are so big, including Max, it can’t be natural. I remain on my guard as the guys look at me funny and there seems to be a visual exchange between Max and the bodybuilders. I watch Max turn his back to me as he uses a towel to clean off the workout bench he just used. I try to be discreet when I look at him with my head facing my pad but can’t help myself to look at his thick neck, the trap muscles bulging out of his tank top. My eyes roam down his strong V line back until I reach his ass muscles which are like two well shaped medium sized water melons. His damp shorts cling to his ass like a second skin. I think I can see the outline of his jock strap strings within those shorts which are so tight on him. I lick my lips and feel my own cock reacting as it pushes my own jock and fly of my trousers forward.

When you turn around I quickly lower my eyes so you don’t think I have been sizing you up. “That’s right Max, your ID please.” I simply ask. You march towards me and as you get closer I can inhale your sweaty musky scent which is the same scent I can smell in this gym. The smell of men working out, all that testosterone. The scent is a turn on. I shift side to side to try to hide my bulge while remaining stoic so you don’t think you are making me feel intimidated. Quite the opposite, if we were at a club I would be all over you, rubbing bodies and swallowing your mouth and sucking in your air and tongue in my mouth. I shake my head to get back to reality. While I was fantasizing you moved your body to my side and feel your big pecs against my shoulder and move down my short sleeve shirt until your sweaty pecs take a feel of my bicep. I hear you say ‘excuse me’ but the two of us don’t move or flinch. I feel this erotic jolt of electricity go through me as our bodies make contact. I can hear you breathe and vice versa. Both of us are inhaling our totally different scent. Yours smelling of a recent work out and mine from a recent shower with my regular cologne.

I suddenly jump when I feel your hand press against my bulge which betrays me as it reacts under your touch. I step back “Sir, what do you think you are doing. Don’t get fresh with me. You can’t do this to an on duty officer. It’s against the law. Take it as a warning. Can I see your ID NOW” I ask firmly. My mind swirling. Did he feel my boner? I hope not. FUCK, this guy is trying to mess with my head. I need to stay in control and focus on my job and tasks to do. I hear you say, your ID is in your locker and you ask me to follow you. “I will, let’s go Max, stop stalling please.” My baritone voice echoes as I want to pass on the message that I’m in charge and you need to follow my orders. I follow you closely with my sight on your back and ass again, which doesn’t help my erection. Out of precaution my gloved hand is close to my revolver.

FREAKER

The heavy steel door of the locker room groans shut behind us. I don't go to my locker. Not yet. I stop in the center of the room, under the stark fluorescent lights, giving you a stage. I peel the soaked tank top from my skin, letting it drop to the floor. The air feels good on my pumped chest and shoulders. Then, I hook my thumbs into my shorts. I drag them down my thighs, slow and deliberate, knowing your eyes are locked on my ass. I'm wearing the pink jockstrap. It’s a perfect frame for the heavy, dense muscle of my glutes. Each one is a thick, rounded slab of power, and I know you can see every striation as I shift my weight. I can almost hear your breath catch in your throat.

I finally walk to my locker, the slap of my bare feet on the concrete the only sound. I drop my gym bag on the bench and make a show of rummaging through it. I take my time, letting you stare. I pull out a clean pink tank and a pair of green shorts, tossing them beside me. I keep digging, my movements slow, feeling your gaze like a physical touch. I glance in the mirror and see you, your hand gripping the butt of your gun like a security blanket.

 Perfect. I turn to face you, letting you get a good look. My cock has started to fill, thickening with the thrill of your attention, and the swollen head pushes itself up and out of the pouch of the jockstrap. It bobs gently, a silent greeting.

 "Sorry, Officer," I say, my voice a low, casual rumble. "I can't find it. I was sure it was in my bag. Maybe I forgot it in my office... or in the car." I let the words hang there, a plausible excuse that means nothing. I grab my towel. I drag it slowly across my chest, feeling the rough fabric scrape over my sensitive nipples. I move down my stomach, wiping the sweat from the deep valleys between my abs. I lift each arm, cleaning the hair there, giving you a show of pure, unashamed masculinity. I can see the bulge in your uniform trousers, a hard, desperate line that betrays you completely. Then, I hook my thumbs into the jockstrap. I roll it down, inch by inch, until my cock springs free. It hangs there, thick and semi-hard, swaying between my thighs. I stand naked before you for a long moment, letting you see all of me, letting your desire build to a breaking point. 

Finally, I step into the green shorts and pull them up. The fabric is thin, clinging to my legs and doing nothing to hide the solid weight of my dick, which now presses firmly against the front. I look you right in the eye, a smirk touching my lips. "You can trust me, Officer," I say, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm Max Freaker. And there's only one like me."

BAD COP STEVE 

I follow you closely with my guards up in case you are setting a trap for me. I jump a little when the big metal door grinds loudly until it shuts. At least we are now just the two of us. I watch you walk to the centre of the locker room which is surrounded by metal lockers. Your sweaty body is glowing with sweat under the dim lights. What a big piece of beef meat you are I tell myself. I cross my arms over my big chest through my uniform shirt and pressing over my name tag and badge on my shirt. I stand there waiting with all my muscles feeling tense. Instead of going through your locker to find your ID you instead strip off your sweaty gym gear. I want to tell you to hurry up but as I see your clothes come off I just stand there staring at you. I’m even licking my lips without realizing it. The tank top comes off to give me a good view of your abs, shoulders, traps and that well sculpted chest with two big pec mounds and at the middle some quarter sized dark pink nipples that look hard from a distance. I notice the shiny spots of sweat appear on your fairly smooth upper body.

You turn around with your back in my face and peel off those green shorts that slip down with difficulty from being damp and so tight. I now get a good view of your plump bubble butt with pink straps contrasting with your olive skin. I’m a bit surprised that such an alpha looking type of man would be wearing a pink jockstrap but I have to say that they look good on you and don’t make you less of an alpha male actually. The shorts drop on the floor and you kick them off and they land next to your tank top already on the floor. I stand there almost hypnotized as you give me a free strip show. I try to stay in control and have my gloved finger nails scratching the end of my revolver, while my bulge gets harder and pokes against my own jock and pushes forward the fly of my trousers. I swallow deeply and need to adjust the collar of my shirt as I am feeling warm. Is it coming from the heat of this damp smelling locker room, or is it from how hot this big male looks in front of me. I breathe in deep as I try to stay in control. I can hear shower taps leaking from the shower room which echoes throughout the locker room. In a deep growl my voice booms out “Come on Max show me that ID and keep stalling” My brain is on work mode while my body is fantasizing about this hot male in front of me. You pull out your gym bag and look through it and pull out a fresh pink tank top and some green shorts. You go through your bag and sigh in disbelief when you tell me you can’t find you’re ID. “Oh fuck you are really bugging me Max and wasting so much of my precious time”

My lips move while the rest of me is almost frozen from the show you are giving me for free. My eyes are fixed on your muscled body. My body shifts side to side in my thick black leather boots from feeling impatient. I also shift around to make my strong thighs try to hide my protruding boner. I hear you apologize but think it lacks sincerity. I then take in a deep breath as you stand in front of me with your eyes looking into mine almost piercing through my brain as you try to read what I’m thinking. You hook your thumbs on your damp jock and peel them down your thick quads, calves and feet and throw them in the existing pile of your gear on the floor. I watch the bulk of your quads and try not to look but can’t help myself when my eyes zero in on that semi erect cock of yours and those low hangers. What a big piece of meat you got there between your legs and it’s not even hard. My anus contracts involuntarily, not sure why. My heart beats fast while I try to stay in control. You tell me your ID might be in your office or car. My eyes are too fixed on your body to fully take in what you are saying. Luckily you slide back up a fresh pair of green shorts that barely contain your manhood and those heavy balls which are clearly visible through the thin material of your shorts.

You march up towards me with your eyes fixed on mine with a sly smile on your bearded face. My eyes want to have another look at your package but manage to keep my eyes on yours. I hear in a soft whisper that I should trust you about who you claim to be and there is no one else like you. I want to believe that. It’s clear in my mind that I will never meet an-other Max Freaker that looks like you. “You may be right but I still have a job to do and I need to verify your identification. We can get to your office later and check for your ID there. For now, I would like to inspect each of these lockers. But first hand me your gym bag so I can check out its contents. Before you ask, I do have a warrant.” I pull out a fake warrant from my pad and quickly put it back inside my work pad. I walk over and inspect some of the opened lockers to see if I can find something incriminating. “You can put your gym bag on that bench please” I notice some locked lockers “I’m sure you have a key that can unlock all of these lockers RIGHT!” My mind is focused back on my work. The vision of your naked body will remain printed on my brain that is certain. In an impatient tone I say “while I go through your gym bag, you can finish getting dressed Max”

FREAKER

I can see it in your eyes, Officer. You think you're in control, but I've already hooked you. You're thrashing like a fish caught in my net, trying to maintain that tough cop exterior while I can practically hear your heart pounding.You search in my gym bag and demand I open the lockers. You think you're just doing your job, but I know better. You're built just right for me. Muscles, not too much, just enough to make me horny. I like big guys but smaller worshipping me, turns me on. I wonder if you'll be a corrupted cop or a dead one by morning. “I don't have my keys with me - it's in my office.” I lead the way, staying shirtless, throwing the tank top over my shoulder. 

I pass close to you, so close you can't help but breathe in my sweat and testosterone. I feel your body tense.I open one door, then another, and we enter a large windowless room. It smells of cold tobacco mixed with spicier scents.

A weight bench and dumbbells in one corner, next to a pile of dirty laundry - t-shirts, jockstraps, underwear all stinking up the place. A large mirror faces the bench and my massive desk covered in papers and a laptop. I like to look at myself. Yes, I'm an exhibitionist, and I admit it - sometimes my own image excites me. In the corner stands an old safe. The walls are covered with photos of me from my glory days - magazine covers, competition photos, pictures with Arnold... A few trophies on shelves. Bodybuilding magazines are scattered across the floor. A large velvet curtain cuts the room in half. "My kingdom," I say. I approach the safe. Then open it. The door grinds. I feel your unease. I place two thick stacks of cash on my desk. Then my French passport and a second American one. And finally my ID."All this is for you, Officer or can i call you Steve" I smile..

BAD COP STEVE

 I try to be in charge which isn’t an easy feat with a big man like Max. He hands over his gym bag and do a thorough search, checking out every crevice and little pockets, but find nothing but some smelly socks. Visions of his naked body and those balls and semi erect cock still linger in my mind. I still remember watching him wipe the sweat over his big pec mounds and over those dark pink quarter sized nipples. I asked you to unlock some of the lockers while I’m searching your bag. I have a strong feeling that you are watching me. Your turn to check out my muscles in my tight uniform. While my back is turned you can check out my broad back and bubble butt. Maybe it can help to make you lose your focus and make a mistake that I can pick up on. I hear you say the keys for the lockers are in your office. I turn around to look at you when you toss your tank top over your shoulder. You march next to me very closely as you pass me. I can inhale your musk and all your maleness.

 I walk closely behind you as you open one door. My eyes fixed on those melons of yours in those tight green shorts. You open a second door and step inside I’m right behind you. The first thing I notice is the smell. A mixture of scents that weren’t meant to mix together. My eyes are busy looking at all that assortment of things all over the place. What a mismatch, is this his office I wonder. Pictures on walls, papers and lap top on the desk. Work out equipment and bench and a pile of dirty gear. I see our reflection from the mirror. What a sight we make in that mirror. You walk over a safe and dump piles of cash and then two passports. I pick up the American one. I compare the picture with your face and it looks to be a match. You also slide over your ID which I pick up next and compare with your passport. I hear your question. “You can call me Sir or Officer Steve please” I say politely. I’m conducting an investigation and want to keep my superiority over you. No need for any familiarities but seeing you in the nude is quite a good test to keep my composure.

“Your ID looks legit. What is all this cash about? Why do you keep your dirty clothes in here? How can you work in here, this place is a mess.” I grab the lap top “I will need to bring this back with me for my investigation.” I put the lap top under my pit. “Find those keys for the lockers now, so we can go open up those lockers. This office is a mess and stinks. I can’t wait to get out of here” I try to make you feel bad about the mess and smell, even though I am finding the scent of tobacco and sweaty gear arousing. I walk over to this curtain and tug on it. “What’s behind this curtain?” I ask firmly. I don’t even ask you to open the curtain. I tug on it myself to try and slide it open, to find out what’s behind this curtain.

FREAKER

While you're comparing my face to that passport, I slowly start to flex my sweaty muscle in front of the mirror. 

The fabric of my shorts stretches tight over my thigh, and beneath the green cotton. You see my cock jump... I watch your throat work as you swallow, your composure slipping for just a second.Then you grab the laptop. "No way, You're leaving with that. It shouldn't even be here... I forgot about it."  I  say . My mind races. That laptop has everything on it. You’re complaining about the mess, the smell. But I know the scent of stale sweat and tobacco is getting to you. If you weren't on duty, I'd bend you over that weight bench right now and fuck the authority out of you, or maybe I'd just make you get on your knees and suck my cock while I pumped out reps with the heavy dumbbells, forcing you to watch my muscles work.

But then you walk to the curtain. Your hand reaches for it. That's it. Time to do this the hard way. You asked for the locker keys, but I'm about to give you a different key, one that unlocks my biggest secret. Instead of stopping you, I let you tug on the curtain. As it slides aside, it reveals a heavy steel door. Before you can react, I step forward, turn a large key in the lock, and push it open. I step through into the vast darkness beyond. "Come on, Officer. Don't you want to see what's really going on?" I hear you follow, your heavy boots echoing on the concrete floor.

I hit a switch on the wall, and with a low hum, banks of industrial lights flicker to life, one by one, slowly illuminating a massive, abandoned warehouse.The air is cold and smells of dust, oil, and old metal. Enormous steel columns, thick as ancient trees, support a high, cavernous ceiling. In the dim light, you can see the hulks of ruined cars, stripped and rusting, scattered around the periphery. But your eyes are drawn to the center. 

There, set up like a private colosseum, are the fighting grounds. A professional boxing ring. Next to it, an octagon cage, its floor mats dark with who-knows-what. And beyond them, a sunken arena, circular, like something from a gladiator's nightmare. Huge screens hang from the ceiling, dark for now, but aimed at each fighting area. All around the space, mounted high on the columns and walls, cameras stare down like silent, unblinking eyes, ready to capture every moment of combat. I turn to face you, letting my chest swell, my lats flaring out. "Welcome to my other kingdom, Officer," I say, my voice echoing in the vast space. With a deafening clang, I slam the heavy steel door shut.. I turn the key in the deadbolt.”Now," I think, a predatory grin spreading across my face "You will be definitively mine."

BAD COP STEVE

I have your laptop under one arm while I try to pull on the curtain to see what hides behind it. I may have found what I’m looking for. In the corner of my eye I see you use some hear weights and watch your biceps, lat muscles, trap muscles and corded fore-arms work. I notice beads of sweat dripping out of your furry pits and run down the sides of your body. You pump up those big pec mounds. I look down and see those bricks over your abs. I keep looking down and notice your cockhead trying to peak above the waistband of your thin green shorts. A trimmed treasure trail running down inside your shorts. I shake my head to get my senses back and go back to pulling on that curtain. You protest about the laptop. “I don’t care if you forgot it was there. It’s evidence and mine now.” My voice booming and raw.

The curtain opens and see this brick wall with this heavy metal door. I turn the knob but it’s locked. You shove me to the side and use this big key to unlock the door as you tell me, that I need to see what’s behind this door before you open up the lockers. As you open the heavy door, a heavy industrial aroma hits my nostrils, the same smell that would come from an old car garage. The smell is mixed in with the aroma of sweat. You invite me inside the dimly lit area. I step inside after you and can’t believe my eyes at what I see.

Part of it is like an old unused garage with rusty banged up cars and car parts standing still for a long time. Steel beams, rusty pipes, ceiling spot lights pointed at each ring. Broken and chipped brick and concrete columns. My jaw opens without a word coming out of my mouth from what I see as I’m taken by complete surprise.  I also see some fight rings for boxing, an octagon cage and nearby what looks to be a sunken arena. “What the hell is this place? I mean I know those are for fighting but are there  fights going on here, if so that would be illegal” I look above at the high ceiling with dim spot lights pointed at each fight area. The canvases of each ring look unusually dark for some reason. I look above and notice these big screens that are dark and turned off. Are these fights filmed and streamed, I ask myself. I’m gathering my thoughts and picturing my environment in front of my eyes. This place is just like an arena, like in ancient times, equipped for different types of combats. I wonder if there are stands for spectators. Before I can see if there are any, your big form marches in front of me.

In this lighting I can just about see the outline of your big frame. Your big chest point-ed at my face with your lats flexing. I hear you say ‘Welcome to your Kingdom. “What do you mean by Kingdom?” I ask, as you walk past me and shut the big metal door and lock the deadbolt. A loud clanging sound echoes in this damp smelling area. I quickly feel uneasy and try to open the door without success. “Open this door now!!” I pull the first toy on me I can find, which is my baton/night stick. “You heard me, open his door now!” Me yours, and you add definitely. “You got that wrong bitch, I won’t belong to no one” A clean tone of panic in my voice. My muscles bulge in my uniform and fish out a pepper spray gun. “let me out of here or pay the consequences” I say in a threatening voice.

FREAKER

The echo of your voice dies against the steel beams overhead. You raise the baton, the pepper spray trembling slightly in your grip despite your effort to look in control. The dim lights above flicker once, then steady again, casting long shadows across the cracked concrete floor.I don’t rush. I don’t need to. “Pay?” I repeat calmly, my voice carrying through the empty arena. “You don’t understand where you are. You came here looking for something,” I say, low and steady. “You just didn’t expect to find it.”I smile when I see the panic taking hold of you. You’re caught in the trap, but you don’t even know it yet. I unsettled you — my posing in front of the mirror, a few movements with my heaviest dumbbells to impress you with my strength and my blood-pumped muscles. I know guys like you, and my body knows them too — sweating to draw them in with my scent, my arousal responding right on cue. All of it lured you in like a helpless animal led toward its inevitable end during a hunt.Today, you’re the animal. We’re the hunters. Your weapons are pointless, but they’re part of the show. They might even save you. “You should have taken the money, left my laptop alone, Officer Steve,” I add in a low voice. Up above, the large dark screens flicker to life. Music starts playing from hidden loudspeakers.Suddenly, you realize something chilling. This place was not abandoned. It was waiting… for you.

BAD COP STEVE: 

I try to keep cool but feel trapped at the moment which I don’t like, especially where I am in. “Yeah pay, if you don’t open this door now.” I wave my baton and pepper spray towards you. I figure this is what you have been planning all along. Play all nice and friendly, flirt with me. All of which I fell for. Visions of your naked body still on my brain. Your voice booming in the empty area. So many different smells coming through from this type of arena. Damp, sweat, rust and maybe even blood. It clicks in my mind when I notice those dark spots coming from those mats. It might be blood I saw. I tremble at the thought of the types of fights that might be going here. With those big screens, it’s all being streamed for paying customers.

“Yeah man, I came looking for something, but nothing like this. I expected you to hide things and find them but never expected to find this type of environment. Are we talking illegal fights here?” I ask as I fidget from one booted foot to another. I’m clearly feeling uneasy but at the same time I’m feeling turned on. Not just from this hot looking big beef of a man with so little on him in front of me. The smell and aroma coming from this area. Being a fighter enthusiast, I bet I would have enjoyed watching them. I don’t think I’m the only one turned on at the moment. I notice the big key in your pocket but that big sausage between your legs seems to be more prominent. I jump each time this room makes noise. I jump when the big screens come to life. Your booming voice comes next which is unsettling. “Listen man, don’t tell me what I should have done.” I step on the lap top under my boot. “What would happen if I busted this lap-top” I am willing to risk it just to see your reaction. I’m sure there some interesting stuff in this laptop but I’m still willing to risk it.

 Instead of your reaction I hear some loud music and jump a little again. My baton and pepper spray can trembling a little. “What’s that music all about? What are you planning fucker? Open that door and let’s go back to your office so we can talk” I order as I really don’t like what’s going on here in this dimly lit area. I sense I am in some trouble and just hope my toys can contain you.

FREAKER

 "How many guys have you arrested in your career, Steve? You must have made a lot of enemies…" I walk slowly toward you as I speak, my footsteps echoing across the cracked concrete. I don’t take my eyes off you. My shoulders are relaxed, but my gaze is hard, almost gleaming under the flickering lights. I run a hand through my sweat-damp hair, then fold my arms across my chest.

"You see this place around you? These aren’t abandoned rings. I organize fights here for rich and powerful amateurs. Men who are bored with their yachts, their boardrooms, their private parties. They want something real. Something raw. Something dangerous.I don’t fight anymore myself. I have my gladiators.They’re well paid. Very well paid. And when one falls, plenty are ready to take the place. Money always attracts men willing to risk everything. But my clients are demanding. They always want something new. Something more violent. More unpredictable. We have to push beyond the limits of traditional fighting… You understand that, don’t you? " I take another step closer. My voice lowers, almost confidential.

When you threaten to destroy the laptop… yes, that worries me. Inside is the coded list of my clients. You’d be surprised by their names. People you might even salute in uniform. And most importantly, the bets for tonight. At the same time… I’m excited.I don’t know why I like you. Maybe it’s your arrogance. Maybe it’s the tension in your eyes. I’d almost be willing to abandon my principles and fight you myself.Almost.But no. First, you’re going to face a man who hates you. A man you arrested, who rotted in prison for years. Not an American prison… a Russian one. He had plenty of time to build himself up. To learn how to fight. To learn how to survive.His name is Mikhail Volkov.  He’s the one you’re going to face. Of course, you don’t know it yet… but the bets are enormous. And very much against you. A deadly fight between a real cop and a hate-filled former inmate… that drew a crowd

 I turn slightly toward one of the screens now glowing overhead. The numbers keep rising. 10,000 viewers already online.And climbing.The odds are displayed in bold beside our names.Bad Cop Steve – 7.5 to 1 Mikhail Volkov – 1.2 to 1 . The betting line is brutally clear.You’re not the favorite tonight. This fight isn’t public in a venue… but worldwide. I didn’t have much time to set this up. The moment I got your call, I knew I could make a fortune. And I was right. One email to my clients. A few photos of you pulled from social media — you clearly enjoy showing off your body. Photos of your opponent, who’s become one of my best champions in recent months… and hundreds of thousands of dollars in bets poured in. “If you want to leave… you’ll have to fight.You can keep your toys. The baton. The pepper spray. I’ll even allow it. Just not the revolver. I’m not interested in something that ends the show too quickly."

The music suddenly changes. Heavier. A large metal door at the far end groans open. A massive silhouette appears in the shadows. Mikhail steps into the foul-smelling hall. He wears dark combat pants, worn at the knees, heavy boots, and black wraps tightly wound around his fists. His torso is bare, thick with muscle and marked by heavy scars. His shaved head gleams under the harsh light. His eyes never leave you. He doesn’t smile. He breathes slowly, like a predator catching a familiar scent. I shift slightly aside, leaving you facing him. 

"You can choose the setting. The cage. The ring. The sunken arena. Or right here… between the rusted cars and concrete columns. Like a back-alley fight where no one comes to save you. " My excitement rises. I feel it physically. My shorts tighten slightly as I move. I hook my thumb into the waistband near the large key resting against my thigh. My eyes move from him to you… and back again. "So, Steve… Where do you want to die?"

BAD COP STEVE

 I listen to you while I feast my eyes on every inch of your body. I clench my baton in one hand and clench the pepper spray can with my other hand. I’m gently pressing my heel on your laptop and can tell you don’t like it. You explain what this place is for and this is what you’re hiding. You organize fights for high paying customers. Which explains all that cash I saw in your office earlier. You make a profit out of it and so does your so called gladiators. I’m almost shocked when you tell me who the paying customers could be. They are rich of course and some have high positions. I’m thinking heads of big companies, government officials, maybe even some men that hold high positions in the police force. I’m surprised when you did a background check on me through my social network “I’ve been set up…FUCK”

 I am in even deeper shit when I find out that I will be fighting in front of these paying customers tonight. I could refuse but it sounds like I’m trapped here and not sure I can find a way out of here. My only option to find my freedom is to fight. I could resort to using my revolver but it could backfire on me, especially if high up officials could be involved. I could be left out to dry and maybe even rot in a prison for a murder sentence. I find myself, stuck between a rock and a hard place, which I hate when that happens. You have already set up a fighter for me for these paying customers. Out of the shadows appears Mikhail Volkov. Seeing him and hearing you mention his name, brings me back a few years when I busted him for drug trafficking and even pleasured myself in beating him up. Last I heard he got deported back to his homeland of Russia and expected to rot in prison for a very long time. How the fuck did he end up here? I ask myself. It’s quite obvious when he heard I would be here, he did everything he could with Max to be selected to fight me. He has revenge on his mind and profound hate for me. I look at him now and he looks even more muscled than the last time I saw him. He is about my size but more muscled. I see the scars on him, evidence of previous fights

 “I can’t believe I’m being made to fight this asshole that should not be here in this country and be rotting in Russia.” I hate him just as much as he does me but deep down I’m attracted to rough looking alpha males like Mikhail. I can’t hide the fact that I am attracted to Max who used to fight but is now more occupied with the business. I would have loved to watch Max fight. Max looks more refined with his muscles but there is no doubt that he would be deadly in a ring. Imagining it makes my cock jump. Max points at the screen and see 10,000, my eyes grow big when I find out that is the number of customers and the number is growing. I then see appear the odds and they are not in my favour. This doesn’t surprise me. Men out there would love to get their hands on a cop and beat him to a pulp and watch it happen. The odds are also climbing. Max says his clients saw pictures of me and the phones got real busy. I don’t give a shit about the odds. I like to prove others wrong about me. A win for me could become a big pay out for some. According to Max, I need to fight to find my freedom. He tells me I can keep my toys which is somewhat re-assuring but I can’t use my revolver. The clients and yourself wouldn’t like it very much. The ceiling lights are flashing and then the heavy music booms out of these massive speakers. The entertainment is about to begin and I’m in the middle of it. I’m so pissed right now, smoke must be coming out of my ears. I hate the sensation of feeling trapped and forced to do something I don’t really want to do.

Mikhail is already calling me names and making chicken sounds based on my hesitation. I can see what he is wearing and look at what I’m wearing. Am I meant to fight in my uniform? Mikhail certainly looks ready for this. I would lose honour if I chickened out and this would not go down well with police forces around this country if one of their own chickened out of a fight. An officer never backs out of a fight. I have to think of my pride as well. I guess Mikhail deserves another beating from me to prove I am the better man between us. I would be backed by 10,000 witnesses and prove cops can defeat low level scum and pricks like Mikhail. Frustrated I make the lap top slide in Max’s direction. “Where I want the fight to take place? Hmmm WHAT!! WHERE TO DIE? FUCKK” I gulp in air. This is serious, I may end up dying today. Well cops risk that every day, so why should it be different here I guess. “OK Max you hot fucker you got me. I’m in. I would like to fight in that arena. I hope the pay out is great. I could use that cash to pay some debts.” 

I step in close to Max, the tower of muscles. I tilt my head up to gaze into his eyes. “To seal the deal, I want to face you in one of those rings after I kill that piece of filth. You in? Or are you chicken? “ I press my pecs against his body and press my bulge near his. The heat coming from my body, he must feel it. I set on the ground my baton and pepper spray can while my gloved fingers unbutton my shirt. I want Mikhail, the clients and especially Max to see what is under my uniform shirt. I strip it completely off and hand in my shirt to Max and then remove my utility belt with revolver and hand that to him as well. “Make sure to give these back to me” I hunch down and blow hot air over your bulge while I bend down to grab my baton and the pepper spray. I get back up to face you and grin “You game Max?” I rub my baton over that snake of yours hidden inside your shorts.

FREAKER 

 I take your shirt and, very slightly and discreetly, bring it close to my nose. I breathe in the smell it carries, cheap cologne mixed with sweat. It makes me smile and hard. Yes, I trapped you. You are in my hands now. You have no choice. Whatever happens tonight, you are finished. Dead or corrupted. Your words were recorded — especially the part where you asked to be paid to clear your debts. That alone can destroy you. I know your body from the pictures on social media. But seeing you this close, in real life, makes my desire rise. I like very muscular men. But I prefer the smaller ones — the ones who submit and admire me.You hand me back my laptop. I pick it up with a small nod. Julien, one of the huge bodybuilders you saw earlier walks over and takes it from me. 

He leans close and whispers in my ear. He is disappointed. He wanted to fight you himself. He confirms he placed a massive bet on you, under my orders. If you win tonight, I will collect millions. My clients will lose fortunes, and I will win from both sides. The money will disappear into my legal companies and into an account in the Cayman Islands

When Mikhail appears, your reaction surprises me. It is a mix of excitement and defiance. You are shocked to see him, but somewhere inside, you are glad to fight him. Yes, you beat him before. But that was the old Mikhail. I also know your type, cops who always stand one step away from crossing the thin line between good and evil. You choose the arena. It is easier to film there. I would have chosen the no man’s land of car wrecks, more brutal, full of deadly traps. The blood stains and other marks prove it. And you are right, we never clean. Mikhail stands in the middle of the arena, on the red sand, insulting you. Thousands of voices cheer him through the speakers. He is confident. I already know he is making a fatal mistake : he underestimates you. My gladiators die. I replace them. Every year I visit the darkest places to recruit new ones. My rule is simple: after two defeats, they disappear. I handle their fate myself. If you win tonight, and I know you will not commit a crime in front of thousands of witnesses, I will remove Mikhail for good. His extradition cost me a fortune, but he earned me twice as much because he was undefeated.Now you are the one playing with me. You challenge me to fight you. Your baton slides slowly over my crotch. That is enough to excite me. My cock jump under my short.

When you enter the arena, the same voices boo you, whistle, insult you. Mikhail does not wait for the bell. He charges at you. His shoulder slams into you hard. His knee drives violently into your groin. You fall backward. 

He raises his fist. I see a flash of metal. That bastard is wearing brass knuckles. He rains punches down on your abs and pecs, aiming for your sternum. Heavy, brutal blows. Julien  looks at me smiling. I smile  back, but inside, doubt grows. Was I wrong about you? Was it madness to bet a fortune on your victory? The voices in the speakers scream insults. The fight may end too quickly. I could be ruined. The first blood flows.It is yours. Now Mikhail’s fist hangs in the air, ready to crash down on your face. A cold sweat runs down my back. But I cannot interfere. These are the risks of the business.

BAD COP STEVE

 In the corner of my eye I saw you inhale the scent of my shirt, which brought a smile to my face. I made your cock jump with my baton. I didn’t get a clear answer about you fighting me later. May-be you think I will lose and you won’t have to. You underestimate, I like that. You hand over the laptop to one of your bodybuilder friends. The two of you guide me to the arena. I feel the red sand under my boots. Julian walk away and see Max with my shirt over one shoulder and my gun holster with revolver inside. I hear boos and insults thrown at me. Nothing, I have not heard before. Mikhail looks ready for a killing. He has some heavy glove on him compared to my P.D official leather gloves. He shoots insults at me too and just laugh them off “Save your breath scum and prepare yourself to die.” I hear gasps when I say it out loud. Most people would not expect a cop to kill someone deliberately. We are in a different environment now. I am no longer the cop patrolling the streets. I am a cop that wants to win at all cost to save my reputation and the police force’s reputation as well. Max told me I have been recorded about mentioning the money. Will he really blackmail me at this point. He may change his mind after he sees me fight and I think he has a soft spot for me, which I would like to take advantage of, if I can.

I’m pumped and ready to win and put that bastard Russian out of his misery once and for all. I hear more insults and as I look up to the screen above. I see the attendance has grown and the odds against me are fairly the same. Most probably they saw me without a shirt and see my furry muscles on my upper body and biceps which got them excited, like Max did. I gaze at Mikhail as we circle around. I also notice the banged up rust covered cars and car parts, the concrete steps that surround the arena, some leaking rusty pipes dripping water from above and some scattered old bricks around the sandy arena. I wait for a signal or a bell but it never comes and watch Mikhail race over my way. I set my guard up but he is quick and he ends up digging his shoulder into my chest and his knee to my groin AAFFFKKK I lose my balance and drop down on my back. He is sitting on my legs to keep me down and land heavy punches to my upper body which makes me moan out and air rush out between my lips. I see a glint coming from his knuckles. He is wearing brass knuckles, I suppose since I have some of my toys, they allowed it. He has his fist raised and about to come down on my face.

 I must react before that fist lands. I dropped my pepper spray can when I dropped on my back and it’s out of reach for now. I think fast and grab a handful of red sand in my free hand and flex my abs to sit up and throw the sand in your face to blind you. I find my baton and grab it with my 2 hands and slam it over and across your throat and Adam’s apple. I know those punches on my upper body and groin will have hurt but you see I am sort of a pain pig. Pain drives me and makes me stronger. I hear you gurgle and spit lands on my furry pecs. I bulge up my legs and knock you off my legs and make you roll on the sand. I leap up to my booted feet. I notice the onlookers have gone a bit silent which brings a smile to my face. I circle around this piece of Russian shit and spit in his face. “Is that the best you got you piece of shit!” I shout as my dark blue eyes get darker as I gaze at you as my face changes from my usual handsome face to a more beast type face. I flex my pecs, abs and biceps with sweat dripping off my muscles, making my body glow under the spot lights. I pick up my pepper spray can and attach it to my utility belt to prevent you from getting a hold of it

FREAKER

 Steve’s shirt is still hanging over my shoulder. I smell it  again — sweat and cheap cologne mixed together. And for some reason, I am becoming addicted to it. That is not normal. I do not get attached. I do not get distracted. So why does his scent stay in my head like this? 

For the first time tonight, I feel something close to worry. I hope he survives this. Not because I care in a soft way — but because I invested in him. Because I chose him. Because I want to see how far he can go.Then I see his counterattack. The sand in Mikhail’s eyes. The baton across his throat. And I feel a surge of satisfaction. I was right. Men like him — especially cops — they love violence. They pretend to stand for order and justice, but deep inside they crave the fight. They live for it. Pain does not weaken them. It sharpens them.I smile slowly.I can almost see the money already. The millions that will soon flow into my accounts. My clients losing fortunes. My private bet exploding in value. Very soon, I will be richer than ever.He asked me to fight him if he wins.I did not answer.It goes against my principles. I do not fight my gladiators. At most, I execute them when their time is over. That is the rule. Distance keeps power intact. But if I ever accept… it will not be public. It will be between him and me. No cameras. No audience.

In the arena, Mikhail crashes onto the sand, coughing and clawing at his throat. For a second he looks shaken — but only for a second. Then his eyes change.He wipes blood and sand from his face and releases a raw, animal roar that echoes through the arena. Online, the crowd explodes. Comments flood the screen. Bets shift in real time. Insults and predictions fly everywhere.

Mikhail rolls sharply to the side and scoops up a handful of red sand. He throws it low toward Steve’s legs. At the same moment, the noise from the speakers spikes — thousands of voices screaming. For a split second, Steve’s attention shifts. His eyes flick downward, reacting to the sand and the movement near his boots.That fraction of hesitation is all Mikhail needs.He explodes forward and slams into Steve’s waist, driving him backward with full force. Steve crashes hard into the concrete steps at the edge of the arena. The sound of impact is heavy and sickening.The audience gasps — then erupts in cheers. Mikhail does not stop. He drives a brutal elbow into Steve’s ribs. Once. Twice. Then he forces his forearm across Steve’s throat, pressing down with all his weight, trying to crush the air out of him.The brass knuckles flash again under the lights.Instead of aiming for the face, Mikhail pulls back and slams a calculated punch into Steve’s side — targeting the same spot again, punishing, precise. Online, the comments turn wild. Some shout that Steve is finished. Others scream for him to get up.For a brief moment, doubt returns to me.Steve is in trouble again. And the fight is far from over

BAD COP STEVE

My eyes are fixed on that piece of filth I just brought down. I listen to the hisses and boos and what’s that a few cheers for me but they soon get drowned by the cheers for the Russian. I hear the booming and grinding heavy metal music coming out of the big speakers. I notice on the screens the attendance is growing and the odds are similar to what they were earlier. I turn my head and see Max looking on. What a man, I am so hungry for him and I’m not too sure why, I just am. Fighting him would be a blast. I already saw him naked and I would love to see him in his birthday suit again. I am imagining the sex between us and it makes my cock throb and push into the fly of my trousers through my jock underneath. I am not too sure it would be rough like he probably is in a ring. For now I need to focus my attention on Mikhail. I’m sure he is not done yet and a wounded animal is always dangerous.

He is wiping the red sand from his face and clutching his sore throat but he soon springs back to life. I notice sand being blown my way and over my dark boots. This distraction is what Mikhail needed and I’m too slow to react when he rushes over and brings me down hard back first into the concrete steps at the base of the arena. I gasp when my spine connects with the concrete from his rough tackle. I hear some cheers. I grab him by his shoulders to back him off me so I can get back up. But he lands a couple of heavy elbow blows to my side and feel my ribs throb. I drop back on my back. As I try to get up, he crushes my windpipe with his forearm and see the shining of the brass on his knuckles. I push on his forearm to be able to breathe. UUGGFFFF the brass knuckle lands on my already bruised ribs. I spit air and spit out which lands on his face. I should have disarmed him earlier. I need to fight back before he breaks my ribs. I hear cheers for him but also hear some wanting me to fight back. Didn’t I just say wounded animals can be deadly and the fact that I thrive on pain. My blood boils in my veins and roar out like a beast ROARRRRRRRRR I hear the crowd gasp.

I drop my baton for a moment and bring my filthy with red sand gloved thumbs towards his face and press down on his eyes as deeply as I can and push him back as I sit up. Holding his head with my 2 hands and blinding him, I shoot my knee between his legs and do it a second time to make sure he feels it. I then shove him off me and when I move, I can feel my ribs throb but it just pushes me on to keep going. I get back up and retrieve my baton. I hear some cheers when I’m back on my booted feet. I walk over to him and bring the baton across his throat to choke him from behind. I lift him up to his feet and make sure his face is shown on the screen. I force march him in a circle until he faces the concrete steps. I bring my boot over his foot and quickly snap on a full nelson with my baton over his throat. I use my 200lbs weight on his back to trip him over with his head and face aimed to land on the concrete step

FREAKER

At first, I feel something unfamiliar — a tight, cold anxiety in my chest as I watch you struggle.. Seeing you almost lose makes something twist inside me. For a second, I want to jump into the arena and end Mikhail myself. I am known for being fast and efficient. When I move, things are finished quickly. Clean. Final. Then you land that brutal strike on him and you look at me. I know that look. I saw it when I was naked. I have seen it on many faces — men and women — desire. But in men it often carries rivalry too. Hunger mixed with challenge. It makes my pulse shift. Relief washes over me when you take control again. Your body is tense, muscles tight under sweat and red sand. The smell of iron, dust, and hot skin hangs in the air. Your chest rises hard with each breath. But I know Mikhail. He is not finished. When his hard rock music starts pounding through the speakers — the song he always uses before he destroys someone — I feel it in my bones. This is not over.

Then that small mistake. That tiny second of inattention. My heart drops when I see you in trouble. Julien is shouting beside me, “Go on! Finish him!” I want to punch him. But I know he and Mikhail are lovers. I have to stay neutral. I don’t understand why I feel this pull toward you. You explode with force and break free. My heart races. I want to scream, “Knock him out!” You drag him toward the concrete steps, your 200 pounds pressing him down, the baton tight across his throat in the full nelson. I can see the strain in your forearms, the veins standing out, your back flexing as you prepare to throw him forward.But this is where Mikhail survives. Because the hold is strong — but not perfect. As you shift your weight to throw him, your balance changes for a second. Mikhail feels it. He drops his chin and twists his shoulders hard. Instead of fighting the hold directly, he lowers his body and turns his hips slightly to the side. That small movement creates space. His right arms slips down instead of staying trapped behind his head. He pushes his elbow down against your forearm, scraping and forcing just enough room to bend it. It is messy and desperate, but it works. His fingers touch the ground.Right in front of his face is the broken brick.You are already starting the throw when he fully frees his arm. He grabs the brick, gripping it tight, dust and blood covering his hand. Even with your weight on his back, he twists his body a little more to get a better angle.Then he lets out a wild roar.and he swings the brick up and back without looking.It crashes into your face.

The sound is thick and brutal. A wet crack of impact against bone. Your head jerks. Blood sprays across the red sand. The crowd erupts cheering Mikhail’s name Before you can tighten the hold again, he does it a second time. Shorter. Harder. Using the trapped position like leverage. I know his strength. Even compromised, even twisted under your weight, he hits like a machine. I see the shock run through your body. You known how to take pain. But I cannot help thinking — Was that one strike too many?

BAD COP STEVE

 I smell victory and feel energized. I want to show those rich crowd members that it doesn’t pay to go against me and against a cop. I also have Max in mind as I want to prove myself in front of him and not disappoint him. I am already visualizing Mikhail’s body defeated and deceased at my feet. Good riddance I’m thinking. Perhaps I am getting ahead of myself and perhaps feeling over confidant at the moment. I am focusing too much on the crowd and Max for my own good. I should be focusing more on defeating my opponent. The visualizing in my head as probably distracted me too much. I thought I had matters in hand. I just blinded Mikhail and applied a full nelson on him and choking him with my night stick. I have perhaps under estimated Mikhail. Perhaps anyone in his shoes who fights for survival, will go all out to save themselves especially from death.

As I prepare him for his hopefully last fall, he quickly stirs and fights back like a demon. Shaking his body one way and shifting his body the other way. I notice his biceps expanding. I have one booted foot in front of his and try to lean him down forward as I prepare to trip him over with his face and head aimed at that hard concrete that could surely crack his skull. Instead he fires up so much pow-er in him as he twists his right arm and feel his elbow pressing against my own bicep. His vision must have cleared and he sees the concrete step below him. He knows if his head lands it could be fatal so he works hard on freeing his right arm and making it a challenge for me to keep the full nelson on him. The 2 of us fall forward and he manages in the nick of time to free his right arm and land on his right hand, therefore avoiding contact with his face. I drop on top of him and feel unstable. I try to keep the baton under his throat with the half nelson on him. My sweaty upper body is now glued to his sweaty broad back. He then manages to shift his body to one side and see he has a big piece of concrete in his hand. He lets out a deafening roaring sound and hear the crowd cheer. I try to duck my head down but I’m too late. I close my eyes as I brace myself for the impact UGHHHHHHHHHH the brick connects with my left cheek. I moan out and feel my skull and brain shake after the impact.

After that hit, my face flies to the opposite side, spit flies out of my mouth and blood sprays the red sand. I’m clearly shaken up and start to slide off his back. I see the brick in his hand come quick. I bring my left gloved hand up to attempt to block the blow but he is too quick AAWGHHHH my brain and skull rattle a second time and feel blood drip down on my beard and land on my heaving furry pecs and finally the ground below. The side of my face aches badly and fear my cheek might have been broken from that hard impact. I hear more cheers from the crowd, some chanting to finish the cop. Even with the pain I’m feeling and the chants going against me, those chants drive me to con-tinue and fight on. I roll off your back completely, losing what’s left of the half nelson on you. I slide the baton away from your neck. I roll on my back on the sand and watch your arm fly up with that bloody piece of sharp brick in your hand and know where this is heading. I quickly roll to one side and then the other and swing my baton in the air before you get back up to your feet and land the baton on the side of your head as hard as I can which stuns you and watch spit and blood fly in the air. I ignore the pain to my face and jump back up to my feet to face you and this time no visualization, no distraction, I drop my baton for now as I need both my hands. I focus on my next move and my foe only. I force you back and grab both your arms. My own biceps bulging with power. I then fold you down and grunt loudly in a loud roar. I lift you off the ground and drop you down head first onto the hard broken concrete step and drop your body on the concrete and red sand and take a step back as I bring my size 11 boot in the air and get ready to land my heel on your skull.

FREAKER

The first thing I feel when I see you in trouble again is not anger.It’s fear. A tight, unfamiliar knot in my stomach as your grip weakens and Mikhail fights like something dragged out of the gutter. I have no pity for him. None. To me, my gladiators are tools. Strong tools. Expensive tools. Replaceable tools. No one leaves my stable. If they try, they die in the arena — or by my hands if I grow bored of their ambition.When Mikhail is trapped in your full nelson, I almost relax. Almost. Julian steps forward suddenly, ready to rush in and save his lover. I move before he does. My hand spreads across his broad chest. His heart is pounding fast beneath sweat-slick skin. His muscles tremble like an engine about to redline. 

I shake my head.“But boss, he’s going to kill him!” Julian shouts.“Mikhail is a man from the slums,” I tell him calmly. “He’ll endure. And that cop? Without his baton and his spray, he’s nothing.”Julian doesn’t believe me. He shoves me with his shoulder.That is a mistake.You don’t keep a dog that bites.I grab him by the shoulder, pivot, and use his own momentum against him. One hundred and thirty kilos of pure muscle turns easily when you know how. My hands frame his jaw, control his balance, and break his neck.He slides down to the sand — not violently, not dramatically. Just… removed.As I said. Tools.The invisible spectators erupt with cheers, some for the fight, some for what they think was part of the show. I raise my arms slowly. Confident. Controlled. Whatever happens now, the night has been electrified. The crowd in the shadows loves unpredictability.And yet that tight knot in my stomach remains.Why you?Why do I not have the same distance with you?You are a tool. A dangerous one. A threat to the stability of my business.

Then you rise again.You take control. This time your hold is different. Final. Brutal. Mikhail collapses to the ground, stunned. Your boot hovers above his face.I almost shout, Crush the cockroach.But I don’t need to. The invisible audience does it for me. The powerful voices in the dark roar for blood. A few scream that the fight is fixed — they always do when they lose money. But most of them are thrilled. They lost a fortune, yes. But they were entertained. That is what matters.You finish it. Mikhail doesn’t move again. He is no longer a problem. I see he is unconscious but still breathing.I look at you.You are barely standing. Your body is covered in bruises. Your ribs are likely cracked. Your face is split and swollen, blood drying in your beard. You are breathing hard, every inhale scraping through pain.But you won. And I am proud of you.I walk toward you across the red sand. Slowly. Deliberately. I know you are watching me. I know what I look like — every muscle under my skin alive, controlled, dangerous. My scent is that of a dominant male after a hunt. Sweat. Heat. Power.When I reach you, I inhale your scent.It is no longer the smell of a cop.It is the smell of a gladiator. 

I lift your arm in victory. The cheers fill the vast arena like thunder. I smile at you. Then i speak to the crowd. Should we end the loser. I show the body of Mikhail. No hesitation. A strong YES. I know will not end him. So i go and kneel on the ground. i put my arms on his Adam apple. “ Sorry Mikhail” I say. He moans while i squeeze until i hear the brutal final noise.

 I come back to you. In your condition, I cannot fight you tonight. It would be unequal. Even with your weapons, you are weakened. And I don’t waste performances on uneven matches. There is something else I want. For a moment, I imagine taking you right there in front of them all — a different kind of contest between bodies. My athletic frame against yours. I want to bury my face against your chest, taste sweat and blood and victory.But I restrain myself. Even if beneath my shorts, I feel the evidence of my desire.Instead, I raise my hand. A man steps out from behind a column, carrying a metal case. He approaches silently and hands it to me. 

I offer it to you. “Your winnings,” I say. “More than two hundred thousand dollars.”You hesitate.I push it firmly into your hand.“You earned it.”Silence stretches between us for a moment.Then I nod toward the exit.“You’re free. You can go.”The door opens.If you walk away, I know I will see you again.This was only the beginning. Because no matter what happened in this arena tonight —You are still a cop.

BAD COP STEVE

 After that tombstone move I did on Mikhail, I watch him lay there, nearly unconscious on his stomach. I see him move which means he is still alive and breathing. I hear the crowd shout to me to finish him off. I raise my boot in the air and about to bring it down to break his skull and squash his brain. I feel uneasy, this is not the person I am. I know Mikhail would have not hesitated to kill me but killing someone who isn’t fighting back, it doesn’t feel right. Even as a cop I have gone through dangerous moments and have killed guys in self-defence. This here is different. While I’m pondering and hearing boos from the crowd because I haven’t finished him yet. What do I care what they think. I am my own man and I make my own decisions most of the time. My feelings for Max are different, there is something I find sexually motivating, something I have not felt before and can’t really understand what it is all about. Maybe someday I will. While I’m thinking what to do, there is some commotion going on and hear some cheers but not for me or Mikhail.

I turn my head and see this big black body builder drop down lifeless at the hands of Max and Max has no remorse, no second thoughts, no special feelings about it. The guys under him don’t really mean anything to him, they are just his soldiers and when they lose their usefulness they get eliminated. I recall that this black man was supporting Mikhail, so perhaps they had a special relationship, which Max did not agree with and felt that the black man was interfering with him. Would Max do the same to me I wonder? Max then walks my way and I stop what I’m doing. I bring my booted foot down. His eyes are bright as he stares at me. I gaze back at him and think what a pow-erful and awesome looking man he is. But what worries me, he can also be so cold hearted. I breathe heavily as blood is dripping off my face and off my heaving chest that is pumped up and glowing with sweat. For some odd reason I am also sporting an erection that shows on my dirty uniform trousers. Max walks between me and Mikhail and shouts to the crowd watching if he should finish him off. A loud YES can be heard and just like that Max chokes the life out of Mikhail. I did hear him apologize which felt odd. I just stand there not getting involved and amazed at the turn of events. Both me and Max agree that I’m not in a good state to fight him. I will give him his du for his fairness.

 Just like that it is all over. We stand in front of each other, looking at each other as i breathe in air back to my lungs and inhale your scent and absorb the power you emit. We have both eyed at each other’s physiques and boners. I want to caress your face and big chest with my gloved fingers but stop myself and then hear a figure step inside the arena and hand you a metal case that is handed to you, which you bring towards me and tell me to take it. It’s my winnings $200,000. My eyes light up but hesitate as I feel it’s like taking dirty money but you insist and push it against my big furry chest and in the end I take it. This money will do me a lot of good, pay off my debts and I can change my old banged up car. I am also handed my revolver which I put in its casing on my utility belt. I put my hand on your strong shoulder as I hear the big metal door open, the one that is connected to the gym and outside world. It also means my freedom.

I take a good look of you “Thank you Max, I will put this money to good use. Meeting you has been an experience beyond words and one I will never forget. You must re-member, when I walk out of here, I will be a cop again. Which means I will be back with the proper papers to stop your illegitimate business, stop you and bring you back with me for prosecution” I think you sense the remorse in my voice, but as a cop I have a job to do which is to protect and serve my community and honour my cop badge. We both look at each other and tap my gloved soiled hand on your big pec “See you soon Max” 

I walk away from you with heavy feelings for you but know we will meet again soon, after I recovered and mended my wounds. Just before I exit, I check that I have my badge in my pocket and I do. I turn my head to look at you one more time “Keep my shirt Max, something to remember me by” I smile with pain from my broken cheek and disappear through the big heavy metal door and head off with memories of this day that will stay engraved in my brain for a very long time.

TO BE CONTINUED

Published: 2026-03-04, viewed 128 times.