THE HIGH TABLE

fuckkkk! revende is coming!

The soldier stumbled back, boot heels skidding in blood-slick gravel as a shadow loomed—another cop, clad head-to-toe in gleaming black leather, his visor a mirror reflecting the soldier’s own twisted face. No time to react. A gloved fist cracked into his jaw, sending him reeling.

The cop moved like a predator, straps creaking, harness pulling tight over his chest as he lunged. The soldier gasped, swinging his rifle—useless now—as the cop grabbed him by the vest and slammed him into the hood of a wrecked car. Metal groaned under the impact, and the soldier’s breath exploded from his lungs in a wet, ragged cry.

Fingers, gloved in sweat-slick leather, dug into his throat. The cop’s knee drove between his thighs, pinning him with brutal precision. The soldier thrashed, boots scrambling for purchase, but the cop was strong—every shift of his body, every flex of his arms under that tight uniform, spoke of coiled, inhuman power.

Then—the snap.

A knee in his back, hands wrenching his head to the side. The soldier’s spine popped, one vertebrae at a time, a grotesque symphony of cracks that sent white-hot lightning through his nerves. His body convulsed, back arching against the cop’s chest, mouth open in a silent scream.

The cop held him there, leather gloves gripping his hair, breath hot against his ear—"That’s for him."

One final twist.

The soldier’s vision exploded into black. His legs kicked once, boots drumming a weak, spasming rhythm against the asphalt before going still.

The cop let him drop.

A pool of blood spread beneath the soldier’s broken body, seeping into the tread of his once-proud boots.

Silence.

Then the cop adjusted his gloves, leather straining over his knuckles, and walked away.

New chat

The soldier’s own boots—scuffed, heavy, powerful—ground as he stepped closer, his pulse hammer in his throat. The cop’s uniform was taut over his thighs, the belt digging into his waist, the leather creaking. The buckles snapping open.
The soldier’s breath stuttered to a stop. His eyes locked onto the dark, glistening stain spreading across the cop’s uniform breeches—still warm, still dripping where the body had convulsed in its final throes. The cop had come —his cock had betrayed him, spilling right there in death, leather pants clinging to the mess. The soldier’s own body burned, his pulse hammering in his throat, his groin. The soldier’s boot nudged the cop’s splayed leg, leather squeaking against leather. He jerked back, teeth sinking into his lip hard enough to bleed, his own erection throbbed.A shudder ripped through him, sudden and uncontrollable. His teeth sank into his lower lip, copper flooding his tongue. His cock ached, trapped in the confines of his fatigues, straining against the rough fabric. No—fuck no— But his hips bucked forward anyway. Then it hit him like a bullet. His spine arched, a choked gasp tearing from his throat as his climax ripped through him, violent and shameful. His knees nearly gave out. Pleasure crackled white-hot behind his eyelids, his body convulsing as he spilled into his pants, sticky and desperate.