Steve meets the sadistic Sheriff Cummins who seems to have a keen interest in his sturdy young body.

Steve Delgado and the Sheriff's Daughter - Part 2
by Amalaric
Series: Steve Delgado
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Part 2: Invasive Preparation

Steve had to pee something fierce. God only knows why, he thought, should have sweated it out by now. And it was true; the tiny room was stifling and the tall, edgy stud was drenched, tee shirt sticking to the rounded ridges of thick muscle on chest and back, balls clammy in the steamy confines of his shorts, while perspiration soaked levis dragged at his hips. When Sheriff Cummins entered the room, he found his prisoner in a foul mood and read the buck's body language perfectly. Suits me just fine, boy...oh, just fine indeed! He put on a look of bored disgust that would have taken a prize for consummate acting. The glint of danger in his icy blue eyes was, however, real but it was quickly overlaid by a sheen of glazed amusement- the stupid asshole, blinded by his own discomfort, wasn't picking up on anything at all. Well, tough shit Stevie; Hap Cummins liked playing these kinds of things by ear- and he had a fair amount of practice- tailoring the other man's descent into the living hell yawning before him as circumstances or inspiration demanded. ‘What's your name, boy?' Had to say something to break the ice and Cummins bit his lip to keep from laughing at the harmless banality ushering in a horror far beyond the angry young stud's ability to imagine. ‘Steve...Steve Delgado,' the answer was surly, as expected, but the voice!- lilting and deep with that laid back, indefinable drawl, not of the South, but the far West, rich and clear like premium beer in a glowing green bottle the same color as a glassy swell on the sun-drenched Pacific. The prisoner continued, an angry edge (with a healthy dollop of nervous fear) enhancing the verbal texture, ‘I didn't do nothing wrong...sir. Me and Debbie are both over eighteen, I mean...' he paused, throat suddenly impossibly dry, ‘she wanted it...sir!!' Cummins was unimpressed, letting the big buck finish with the expected preambles, considering (as his stiffening dick urgently reminded him) the position Steve would find himself in soon, very soon. ‘Just how old are you, boy?' The tone was neutral and, considering the circumstances, that was a feat that cost the older man a fair amount. ‘Twenty three, sir.' ‘Well,' the Sheriff paused as if considering something momentous, ‘that's old enough to know better than to fuck with a lawman's daughter...and don't interrupt me (he read Steve's scowl and bobbing adam's apple),' then shocked the angry captive with a backhand knuckle slap straight across his handsome jaw. More surprised than hurt, Steve stumbled backward, hands reflexively twisting in the cuffs, wanting to strike back. Cummins cracked his first smile, ‘You'd like to hit me, wouldn't you?' He didn't wait for a reply, ‘And that would be the second biggest mistake you ever made in your whole short miserable life- the first being caught naked with my girl.'

The slap sobered Steve up, not that he had been drinking, but now his anger took a back seat to the fear that gnawed up from the pit of his belly and sat warily alert on top of his racing heart. Cummins noticed the pulse and laid a meaty hand on the center of his panting victim's white tee, fingering the deep cleft between pectoral muscles visible through the flimsy white material. ‘Scared, boy? That's real good- you got a reason to be, now, listen up- I know all about you, yeah that's right.' He removed a yellow steno pad from a back pocket and began to read out loud: ‘Steve Delgado, lately of some podunk shit hole over in California, presently (one month, three weeks and five days to be exact) working at Zach Baker's almond orchard here in our quiet little town and sometimes on weekends as a two bit mechanic at Tom Stelling's gas station. Fuckin'A, boy- you're a regular entrepreneur!' The sheriff stepped back and took a long look at Steve, breathing harder, gape-jawed with amazement, and continued, ‘Dark brown/almost black hair, brown eyes, fair complexion for someone with the name Delgado...damn good looking, and I'll just bet you know it. Too bad. Nothin's worse than a fuck up bastard with a handsome face and I can't hardly blame my little girl for falling for you,' his smile disappeared, ‘but you sure as hell should have known better than to mess with the likes of her.' He farted and went relentlessly on, ‘I reckon you must be at least six two in height, maybe a couple of hundred pounds, look pretty fit...with your clothes on...' The sheriff paused and his smile reappeared at the handsome stud's embarrassment, ‘but I guess we'll get a better idea of what you're packing on that big frame of yours in a little while, you know, just routine stuff,' and his teeth flashed in the fluorescent light, ‘during the examination and after that...the interrogation.'

‘What the fuck?????' Steve felt cold fear turn to terror. Cummins pulled down hard on the collar of the cotton tee exposing the hairy expanse of the prisoner's upper chest. His thick neck constricted as he tried, and failed, to swallow. ‘Kind of hot in here, don't you think?' ‘No sir,' he lied with a voice that croaked a rude betrayal of the gathering storm of fear within him. ‘See what I mean?' Cummins asked enigmatically, then explained, ‘You're a chronic liar, boy, and I just have a real strong feeling that you might require some special persuasion when it comes to telling the truth about what happened tonight in that motel room between you and my Debbie.' ‘I swear, sir, swear...' he felt like he wanted to cry and choked on the humiliating knowledge, reflected in the other man's curious gaze. ‘Me and Deb went out for a drive, she's a beautiful girl, we stopped down by Indian Rock and she asked me if I wanted to kiss her, and...' Cummins laid a finger on Steve's lips, silencing him. It smelled like he'd recently scratched his ass then used it to stir a cup of stale coffee and Steve stifled the urge to gag. Mercifully, the finger moved, but it wasn't motivated by compassion. Cummins casually dipped into the sweat pooling just above the pulled down collar of the buck's tee shirt. ‘See what I mean? You're a liar, boy. We both know it's damn hot in here. Maybe I can do something to remedy the situation? Besides, I'm just a tad curious to see what my Debbie saw in you.' Leaving Steve to ponder what that last remark might mean, the sheriff grasped the collar of his shirt in both hands and pulled, ripping the light cotton wide open down to the belt buckle, where it snagged for a split second then parted with a muffled snap. A few more satisfying rips and Steve stood panting in the center of the harshly lit room, shredded tee tossed in a corner, stripped to the waist before the interested gaze of Debbie's dad.


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