Jake gets pulled over with by a Utah State police officer who's got some surprises in store for poor Jake. But Jake has some surprises of his own in this hot story by steve mchalperin.
Jake and the Utah State Police - Chapter 1
by steve mchalperin
Series: Jake and the Utah State Police
Chapter 1: The Snatch
Jake saw the flashing lights in the rear view mirror and banged his palms against the steering wheel. “Damn!” He glanced down at the speedometer. OMG, he was a good 15 over the speed limit. Some back roads in the Utah desert are zoned for 65 mph. Hell, Interstate 15 was 75. It was so easy for the speed to creep up. He was on Beehive 6, heading west towards Delta, and the desert road was a straight line ahead of him.
“Damn!” he said again, pulling over onto the shoulder. The gravel scrunched under the tires. The cop pulled up behind him, lights still flashing. Jake was caught. He turned the key, cutting the motor.
The burly cop lumbered from the patrol car to Jake’s. “Goin’ a little fast, young man?” he said as Jake lowered the window. The guy was big – not fat, but thick. Jake suspected the guy was actually kind of muscular under the extra weight. He was also quite tall and had to bend down to look into Jake’s car window. Jake glanced down and saw that the cop’s uniform pants were sprayed-on tight. A quick glance at his crotch raised suspicions the guy was going commando. A huge cock bulged the fabric on his right thigh, and his balls lumped out the crotch.
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, but you’re right, sir, I was going too fast. Yes, sir,” Jake said, trying to grovel.
“What’s the hurry? Fire somewhere I don’t know about?” the cop said. Jake thought this was slightly humorous but the cop’s face remained stern.
“No, sir, reckon not. The speed just crept up, sir. I’m so sorry!” Jake responded, one step away from begging for mercy.
“Well, son, you’re cruisin’ for a very expensive ticket,” the cop threatened.
“O, God, no!” Jake implored.
The cop cut in: “Now, son, let me finish. As I said, it could be a very expensive ticket – unless we look at other options.”
Jake thought he heard an element of hope. Options? What the fuck did that mean?
“Options? I don’t understand.” Then he quickly added “Sir.”
“Yeah, options,” the cop answered, “Get out of the car and stand in front of my patrol car. Leave your keys in the ignition.”
The cop moved back from Jake’s door and Jake quickly got out and followed him back to the space between the two cars. Jake marveled at the cop’s meaty ass under the tight pants fabric. Jesus, they were tight, he thought.
As the cop was walking back, he slowly pulled on black gloves, which he had removed from a side pocket. Then he turned to face Jake. “OK, let’s look at some options here,” he said. “First, take off your shirt, boy,” he commanded.
Jake was astounded at the order, but quickly whipped the cotton T over his head. In the process, his baseball cap also came off and got tangled up in the shirt. The cop took the T from his hand and threw it onto the ground. Jake hadn’t noticed the change of address from the polite “young man” and “son” to the demeaning “boy.”
At 28, Jake was muscular and handsome. He had wrestled in high school and college and worked out regularly at the gym in the office building where he worked. He was a civil engineer for Pinnacle Construction and had worked for them since graduation from Utah State. Pinnacle was a large highway construction firm in suburban Salt Lake, right off the Bangerter, near the airport. When he was on the job repairing roads, he tried to go bare-chested as much as he could to show off his muscles and to get a good tan.
Jake was used to people looking at his body, both gals and guys. He was proud of his good build. But he felt uncomfortable as the cop slowly eyed him up and down; there was something more going on here. Aside from the T, Jake was wearing cargo shorts, riding them real low on his hips with a good three inches of white briefs showing above the top of the shorts. He was also wearing heavy, tan work boots, for the construction project he was headed to outside of Delta.
“Yes,” the cop finally said, “Yes, I think you’ll do.”
Jake made no response other than “Sir?” He was hoping for some clarification here.
“Work out, do you?” the cop asked, looking directly at Jake’s chest.
‘Yes, sir. Three times a week. Heavy metal,” Jake replied nervously, trying to appease the guy. He raised his two arms up and pumped into bicep curls. The muscles in his upper arms and shoulders jumped to attention. He also tensed his abs, and the muscles rippled under his tanned skin. Jake smiled at the cop, trying to elicit something positive.
The cop took a billy club from a loop on his belt, reached over with the club, and prodded Jake’s abs with the end of the wooden rod. “Yeah,” he grunted, emotionless. “Looks like it.” Then more silence. Jake lowered his arms and nervously shifted his stance.
Finally the cop spoke: “Turn around, boy, and clasp your hands behind your head.”
Jake obeyed instantly, thinking this might lead to the explanations he was seeking.
“Good. Now spread your legs out wide,” the cop added.
Again Jake complied.
“No, boy,” the cop said somewhat angrily. “Wide!”
Jake forced his booted feet still farther apart until his hips started to hurt.
“That’s more like it,” the cop said, apparently placated for the time being.
Then the cop walked around in front of Jake, who was struggling to stand straight in the awkward position. Again he eyed the young man up and down, spending time on Jake’s crotch, which tented out the loose shorts.
“Can you get those shorts any lower, boy?” the cop asked, prodding directly into Jake’s crotch with the billy club.
Jake was confused. He didn’t know if the question was rhetorical or a command; and he definitely felt awkward with the club end in his crotch. All he could say was “Sir?”
“I said, pull those shorts down lower on your hips,” the cop said, reverting to low level anger. He tapped Jake’s right hip with the club.
Jesus, Jake thought, this guy’s touchy! His shorts were already riding low on his hips, and when he lowered them a few more inches, the waist band passed the point of no return and the shorts slipped down onto his upper thighs. But for his spread out legs, they would have slipped to the ground.
Apparently the cop was aware of this: “Now, pull your feet together and let ‘em slide off,” the cop said. “And put your hands back behind your head,” he added.
Jake made the mistake of saying “Sir?” again.
The cop moved closer and kicked Jake’s right boot with his shoe. “I said pull your feet together, boy. Can’t you hear right?”
Jake quickly pulled his legs in and, as expected, the shorts fell to his feet, leaving him in tight, white briefs. He scratched his crotch in a reflex move, but then clasped his hands behind his sweaty head, leaving him feeling very uncomfortable and vulnerable. He knew some martial arts, but only had a brown belt and taking on this monster of a cop didn’t look very wise. Plus, the fucker had a gun! This was getting dicey, Jake started to think. Maybe the “options” option wasn’t going to be so hot. Like, maybe he should just take the ticket, pay the fucking fine, and escape from this lunatic.
“Sir, can’t I just pay the ticket and go? Please, sir?” Jake asked, feeling the intense desert sun bear down on his shoulders and chest. Despite the low humidity, he started to sweat.
“Don’t think so, boy,” the cop answered. “At least, not now, after what I’ve seen. The fine’s $850. There’s another $500 for resisting arrest, and $1000 or so more for annoying me on a hot day. Plus, you don’t get to choose,” he added threateningly. “I do,” he added.
Jake said “Fuck!” under his breath. The cop reached out and grabbed Jake’s upper arm.
“Did I hear you say something, boy?” the cop leered into Jake’s face.
“No, sir, not a thing, sir” Jake blurted out. “Whatever you want, sir. Whatever you want!” Jake said, trying again to placate the lunatic.
“Now that’s more like it, boy,” the cop said. He didn’t release his grip on Jake’s upper arm but started to feel out Jake’s thick bicep, which was still pumped from the recent curls. The cop’s use of the word “boy” finally registered on Jake. Shit, this was not going right at all, he thought.
‘Yes, I think you’ll do just fine,” the cop said without volunteering any more explanation.
“Step clear of them shorts,” he heard the cop say behind him. Jake looked down and lifted his boots free of the roomy shorts. Jake also saw that his own crotch was bulging out slightly under the briefs. Despite his fear, getting stripped out in the open like this was a tad erotic and the big nerve which runs from a man’s brain to his dick was getting activated.
“Toss them over there,” the cop ordered, “Next to the T-shirt.” Jake bent over, picked up the shorts, and complied with the cop’s orders.
He walked behind Jake and ordered him to drop his hands and put them behind his back. Jake quickly repositioned his hands. In two seconds, the cop had Jake’s wrists in manacles, clearly a practiced move for the cop. Jake pulled against the metal cuffs, mounding his delts, and wanted to say “What the fuck are you doing” but clamped down on his jaw so not a sound would come out, fearing more of the cop’s anger.
Jake was mentally begging for a car or truck to pass them by, so the driver could see what was going on and come to his aid, but there just wasn’t any traffic on this desolate back road. Jake was startled when the cop reached out with the billy club and started to probe his basket under the tight briefs. Jake instinctively pulled back.
The cop growled: “Stay put, boy!” He resumed his probing, this time jerking the end of the club sharply up and down into Jake’s crotch. The club struck Jake’s balls sharply and he grunted out loud from the pain. “Yeah, I like that,” the cop said softly.
Then he reached out and grabbed the waist band of Jake’s briefs, pulling the band out several inches from his body. Jake started to move forward to close off the briefs, but the cop put the club end against his chest, halting his motion and keeping the front of the briefs tented wide open. Both the cop and Jake looked down. Jake was mortified as his half hard cock and balls lay exposed in the briefs’ pouch, nestled in dark pube hair. The briefs forced his dick into a circle, which was slowly getting larger as his hardon increased. His big balls flanked the circle. Then the cop released the waist band but reached from underneath Jake’s gonies and started to palm along Jake’s cock with his gloved hand, checking the length. Again Jake wanted to cry out “What the fuck are you doing,” but caution made him hold his tongue. Despite his fear, he could feel his dick getting harder by the second.
“Yeah, you’ll do just nice,” the cop said again, releasing his hold on Jake’s equipment. “Now, get in the back seat of my patrol car.” He ordered.
Jake felt a lump forming in his throat and a knot of fear tightening his stomach. This was getting dangerous. When Jake hesitated to move, the cop simply put his right hand on his gun, still in its holster. Jake got the message directly. The cop opened the back right door and Jake awkwardly climbed into the patrol car. It was hard to do without the use of his hands. The cop tossed his T, cap and shorts onto the floor, and then slammed the car door shut.
Jake quickly looked around and realized there were no handles on the inside of the back doors. There was a metal and plastic shield between the back and the front seats of the car, and the side windows had metal mesh in them. He was clearly a captive in the patrol car.
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In the meantime, the cop had gotten into Jake’s car and had driven it off the road into an arroyo alongside the highway. He stopped the car against a steep wall. In that position it was unlikely anyone would see the car from the road. Not at all good, Jake thought.
From his view on the shoulder, Jake could see the cop go to work on the car. He sprung the hood release and raised the hood up. Jake saw him remove something small from his right pants pocket, but could not make it out. The cop briefly reached into the engine compartment just under the windshield. He withdrew his hand and returned the small item to his pants pocket. Jake couldn’t know that the cop had spread jellied acid over the car’s VIN number, which, in a few minutes of intense corrosion, would obliterate the code.
Then he got into the driver’s seat. First he wiped off the steering wheel with a small white pad. This was followed by a wipe of the seat belt buckle, the car door latch, gear shift, even the A/C controls, removing any prints which could identify Jake. He slipped the ignition keys into a blouse pocket. Then the cop ransacked the car, looking for anything personal. He grabbed Jake’s backpack, and riffled through the glove compartment for the car registration and other identifying items. He sprung the trunk, which was virtually bare. The only thing there was Jake’s transit which he used on the job. The cop took that, too. He left the trunk hood open, and then went around and opened all the car doors, making it look like the car had been forcibly stripped, should it ever be found. The cop produced a small pair of pliers from a black pouch on his belt and snipped at the corners of the car’s license plate. Once the corners were cut, he tore the plate off and added it to Jake’s stuff. It would be very difficult to trace the car without the plate and the VIN. He even used the pliers to scratch off the car dealership’s decal.
Jake watched him walk up back from the arroyo, again marveling at the fucker’s tight pants. He was sure the cop’s dick was now thicker and longer than before and there was a dark brown stain at the cockhead. Not good.
The cop opened the back right door and threw Jake’s car stuff on the floor. Then he looked down at Jake, sitting there in his tight briefs, his cuffed hands behind his back. By now Jake’s dick was at full rock. The cop reached in and grabbed the waist band of Jake’s briefs. In one strong, swift motion he pulled the waist band out, ripping Jake’s briefs and stripping most of the white cotton material from Jake’s hips. Only the small portion of cloth Jake was sitting on was left. Jake’s cock, released from the fabric, sprang up from his crotch and bobbed seductively against the young man’s tight abs.
The cop looked down at Jake’s gonies. He reached in again and grabbed Jake’s hard on, twisting it cruelly from side to side. “Yup, boy,” he said, smiling for the first time, “You’re fucked.” He released his hold on Jake’s rod, slammed the door, and got into the driver’s seat. Jake’s fear escalated to terror.
The cop picked up the hand mike from its holder on the dashboard. “Scott to base. Scott to base” he said into the black plastic mike. Jake noticed there were holes in the plastic shield between the front and the back of the car, and he could easily hear what the cop was saying.
“Base here. Go ahead, Scotty. What do you have?” the radio voice said in response.
Jake wanted to call out for help while the mike was open, but reasoned that would be a very foolish move at this point. Better to lay low and try to outwit the fucker.
“Got word of a small brush fire near Delta. Heading there now. Hear anything?” he said.
“No, nothing yet, Scotty. Check it out and give me a call. Base out,” the dispatcher ended.
“Scott out,” the cop said, returning the mike to its holder. Then Jake saw him pick up his cell phone from a holder on the dash. The cop punched a speed dial number.
“Hey, Scott,” the tinny voice said from the cell. “Whatcha got?”
“Where are you?” the cop asked.
The voice answered: “At the house. Why?”
“Well, my friend,” the cop replied. “We have got ourselves a really hot one, we do.”
“Oh, my!” the voice said with enthusiasm. “I’ll get the place ready.”
“Yeah, you do that,” Scott said. “And put a lot of beer on ice!” he added.
“Whee-oh!” came the response. Then the call ended and the cop returned the cell phone to its holder.
The cop car’s ties spun gravel as he revved the motor, executing a sharp U-turn on the road. Clearly he was not going to Delta to check out the fake fire.
Jake said nothing, his thoughts getting darker and the knot of fear building in his stomach. Yup, he said to himself, I’m fucked. Nevertheless, the tingle in his crotch continued. He felt embarrassed at being naked in the back of the cop car, wearing only his construction boots, but there was a mixture of fear and excitement at having his hands cuffed behind him, heading to an unknown fate. His predicament reminded him of his wrestling days in college, being trapped in tight wrestling holds by the burly team captain, both butt naked and sporting big hardons. Definitely fear and excitement. Fear from the memory of the intense pain the captain would inflict on him, often to the point of screaming; excitement at the inevitable suck and fuck which would follow in the showers.
The patrol car sped along Beehive 6 for several miles. Just this side of Lyndyll, the cop veered left onto an unmarked, dirt side road. They had passed nothing along 6, not a single car or truck. Jake despaired as he realized nobody would know the patrol car was even on the road, nobody except the dispatcher. And he thought the car was going to Delta.
The patrol car bounced along the dirt road for several miles. The car’s A/C apparently didn’t extend to the back seat and Jake was soon sweating profusely in the desert heat. His chest hair, ab hair, and pubes were plastered to his skin. His back was clammy with sweat against the cheap vinyl upholstery of the squad car.
On the way in, they passed a few vacant shacks, their roofs imploded from neglect, rusted out car bodies nearby. Finally the road ended in a lightly wooded area. At the center of a cluster of sparse trees was a large, dilapidated house. The glass in several windows was smashed and loose clapboards hung down in many spots. Hard to tell if the house were lived in or not – which was not by accident.
Jake was horrified to see another patrol car already parked in the garage to the right of the house. That was probably the guy on the cell phone. Oh Christ, now they’ll be two of them, he thought. Two lunatics.
The cop, whose name Jake now knew was Scott, pulled up alongside the other patrol car and parked in the garage. He fiddled with something in the front seat before he got out and came around to the back door. He opened the door, reached in with one hand, and grabbed Jake’s arm, pulling him slightly. Jake thought the cop was helping him get out of the car, but the policeman deftly plunged a syringe needle into the arm he was holding and emptied the small cylinder of yellow fluid into Jake’s delt before he even knew what had happened.
Then the cop slammed the car door shut again, locking Jake in.
The injection stung badly. Jake got mad and started to finally assert himself: “Let me go, you fucker! I’ve had enough! You’re a nut case!”
The cop looked into the window, smiling quietly at Jake, who was still ranting. Then the drug kicked in. Jake promptly stopped yelling, a look of surprise on his face. His head bobbed a bit and his eyes went unfocused. Then he keeled over on the car seat. He didn’t see the other cop enter the garage.
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