Calluses Pt. 01: Friction

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Big Tits

Editor’s note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.


“Fuck…” I heard myself say as the blue-red lights lit up the gray sky behind me. I’d been lost in my music, coasting down the highway, three hours into a six hour road trip back to my college dorm. My foot had gotten heavy as I distracted myself; I’d been going well over ninety miles an hour.

“Fuck!” I slowed down and flashed my turn signal before drifting onto the shoulder of the road, rumbling to a complete stop on the gravel and the faded grass. My hands were tingling, stomach a ball of frozen butterflies. I’d never been pulled over before. I’d never even talked to a cop. I’d done nothing but study in high school, and the college town I’d lived in during the two subsequent years had a police force that wasn’t exactly strict. I knew there was a procedure to follow, but my rising panic wasn’t making it easy to remember.

The cop’s cruiser had pulled up behind my modest black sedan, all but touching my back bumper. The lights were still flashing, bright and angry. I could see a broad form in the driver’s seat, made black by the shadows of the bitter winter day.

My mind raced, trying to remember what I’d need to have ready for him. I pulled my wallet from my pocket with shaking hands – insurance! I reached over and clumsily yanked it out of the glove compartment, spilling papers and maintenance receipts all over the floor. I had my hands on the steering wheel in seconds, ten-and-two, waiting like the good citizen I was. I heard a car door slam shut behind me.

The man approaching in the rear-view mirror wasn’t just broad – he was composed of thick, sinewy muscle that bulged beneath the navy blue of his uniform, threatening to burst at the shoulders and chest. The skin of his hand where it gripped the butt of his gun was weathered and pale, almost milky – but strong and heavy, covered in a thick coat of fine black hair. His eyes were hidden behind black aviators, but his head was shaved bald, and he had a full beard, equal parts black and gray. Despite the amazing shape he was in, he was also considerably older than me – just over fifty, maybe. About as old as my dad. I couldn’t read much beyond the stern look on his face, but I knew he wasn’t happy. A fresh wave of cold dread poured into my gut. Somehow I knew this would be no common scolding.

I rolled down the window as his massive frame came to rest at the driver’s side. His firm. sturdy belly engulfed my view, flat enough but very broad. It swelled with his even breathing above a giant silver belt buckle, the black strap and holster of his heavy sidearm – and what looked to be a very large bulge in his pants. Why had I even noticed that? Why was my mouth so dry?

“License and registration,” he said flatly from above the roof of the car. His voice was deep and rich, thick with a refined South Georgian accent, but the command behind every word was undeniable. I realized I hadn’t said a word, hadn’t even greeted him politely, as I’d always been told to to.

I blushed and held my credentials out for him, feeling faint. The hairy hand that took them was bigger and broader than mine, skin very warm where his fingertips brushed my knuckles. Something stirred in the pit of my stomach. Butterflies again, but they were no longer cold. I was too worried about keeping my hands on the wheel to think about that very much. Ten-and-two, visible and still. Don’t give him any excuses…

He was looking over my license, my paperwork, silent as before. I didn’t dare speak up at this point. I could only hope it was obvious how shaken I was, and hope it would be enough to excuse my silence. I’d rather be thought a pussy than disrespectful, at least where gigantic cops with guns were concerned.

“Where you headed today?” he asked casually, perhaps trying to put me at ease.

I welcomed the distraction. “Oh, uh – back to school. I spent Christmas back home, up in Blairsville, but spring classes start this week, so…yeah.” Why was I talking so much? I sighed. “I’ve been driving for hours. I guess I…”

“You aware that the speed limit is sixty around here?” he asked bluntly.

“Uh…I hadn’t checked the limit in a while, officer. I kinda let my thoughts drift off…it’s a really long drive.”

“Mmm-hmm,” was all he said, curt and gruff. “Well, I don’t think the limit gets near ninety-five anywhere along this whole highway. Just cause it seems like you’re the only one on the road today don’t mean you get to ignore the speed limit. I’m gonna have to write you a ticket for that. There’ll be a fine.”

A spike of anxiety brought me into reality, making my head spin. “How much?” I asked quickly, not thinking. I tried to look up at him, but he was standing so close that all I saw were the broad plains of his chest and the cold metal buttons of his blue uniform.

“Oh, I don’t know…for something like this I’d expect close to four hundred or so. You were going way too fast, son. This is pretty gaziantep escort serious business. Now, excuse me. I’ll be right back.” He took my paperwork back to his car, ending our conversation.

“Fuck!” I groaned as soon as his door shut. Four hundred! I wasn’t like the trust fund daddy’s boys I hung out with in college. I was there on a scholarship, and it barely covered my room in the dorm. If I couldn’t pay off the ticket, I’d be arrested, right? If I was arrested, I’d lose my scholarship. I’d have to move back to my shitty little hometown in the hick-ridden mountains – that is, if my prudish, cheapskate parents even agreed to take me back in after doing something this stupid…

I swallowed, despite the fact that my throat was dry as a bone. My palms were sweating, mind racing. I was trying not to panic. Of course, by the time the cop had returned to my window, I’d failed. I had to do something.

“I’m sorry, officer – I’m so sorry,” I blurted. “I make this trip a few times a year, and you know how this highway is – nothing but trees, for hours and hours. I got tired. Lazy. It’ll never happen again, I swear – I just – I can’t pay that. I’ll get kicked out of school, and it’s my only shot. I’ll do anything, man – sir. You name it, I’ll do it. Community service, whatever you want, anything – I’ve got a hundred bucks in my bank account – you can have it – just please, please don’t ruin my – “

“That’s enough!” he snapped, practically roared. His massive hands had closed into fists.

I shut up like a little kid, knuckles white on the wheel of my car. My heart was racing dangerously fast. My pits were soaked through with cold sweat. All the work it took to get that scholarship, all the work I’d done the last two years of school…it was all slipping away as I watched, because of one stupid mistake. I willed myself not to tear up. I couldn’t handle any more disgrace.

One big hand gestured to me after a long moment, beckoning. “Get on out of the car, boy. Turn it off first.”


I opened the door and got out, in a daze now. My jacket was strewn across the back seat of my heated car. I wore only a black t-shirt and jeans, so the sudden chilly bite of the winter air seemed to slap me awake. I could feel my nipples harden from the cold, pressing almost painfully against the thin cotton of my shirt.

I wasn’t thinking about it then, but I’m sure he could see them, along with everything else. The shirt was on the tighter side, after all. I’d been a shy kid in high school, until I’d started going to the gym during my senior year. I’d been pretty consistent with it since then, and I’d always been a hiker, so my body had trimmed down and shaped up pretty fast. I’d bought a crop of new clothes earlier that year, one size smaller than anything I’d ever worn, now that I was confident enough to show myself off. The tighter shirts accentuated my broad shoulders, developed pecs, and flat stomach. My slim jeans were always snug around my thick thighs, round ass, and narrow-enough waist. I’d enjoyed an immediate increase in the number of gorgeous college chicks willing to fuck me after this wardrobe upgrade, so I’d started wearing them every day – even when it was too cold for t-shirts. I should have realized that attention wasn’t always a good thing, that it didn’t always come from nubile young women. But some lessons are only learned with experience.

I stood on shaky legs, facing the cop. He wasn’t much taller than me, but he was much broader, stronger, and he held every ounce of power in the situation. He towered over me in his neatly pressed blue uniform, his gun resting easily at his hip, eyes inscrutable behind the dark aviators. I kept my eyes well away from his, locked on the black pavement far below, hoping they weren’t too wet or red. My frayed brown sneakers were less than a foot from his meticulously polished black boots, shifting nervously like rabbits in an open field.

The weight of his hand appeared at my shoulder, leading me around the front of my car. “Let’s get out of the road first,” he said. I let him guide me, mind all but crumpling beneath the weight of everything that would happen in the next few months as my future fell apart.

In moments we were at the passenger side of his sleek navy blue cruiser. Its windows were tinted black, utterly opaque. The windows – along with the roadside shrubs, a nearby exit sign, and the downward slope of the road’s shoulder – worked to hide us well enough from any cars that might pass on the nearby highway. Why did I even think about that? Where were my thoughts going?

The relative privacy was just enough to break the dam I’d been building up over the last twenty minutes, and I let out a hitched sob. I felt the sudden sting of tears leaking from my eyes, but I shook my head and wiped them away, livid with myself. I would not cry in front of this fucking cop. Not even if – wait. Why were we at his car?

“Am I being arrested?” I asked, hating the way my voice wavered at the edge of tears.

“Shut up,” he ordered. No malice in it. Only force. Only complete and utter authority.

“Cross your hands behind your back.”

“Fuck…” I whispered, and complied. The expected snap of handcuffs around my wrists followed seconds later. They were cold and constricting, and he fastened them just tight enough to pinch the skin.

He grabbed my bound forearms and hauled me roughly around to face him, my back pressed flat against the freezing steel and glass of his cruiser. He had his hand pressed against my chest, keeping me pinned. I knew he could feel my heart pounding. This didn’t seem right…

I made myself look him in the face, trying to read his intentions, or maybe just get a good look while I had the chance. His jaw was broad and hyper-masculine beneath the thickness of his well-kept beard, thin lips tight and pursed. The dark stubble of his bald head told me he’d have a widow’s peak if he let it grow out. The heavy brow and strong cheekbones were stern, made of stone. He’d removed aviators, clipped them to his collar for some reason. The vague suggestion of crow’s feet at the corners of his narrow, fathomless eyes told me he wasn’t always this terrifying.

He caught me with those concrete eyes, black beneath bushy, gray-flecked brows. The strangely-warm butterflies returned to the pit of my stomach, drowning my thoughts. I’d been in the presence of authority figures before, but nothing like this. Only my father, grandfather, uncles – teachers, professors, the dean – but never a cop. And yet somehow, even in my youthful ignorance, I knew it was far more than just that. Something about the way he was looking at my face, studying it. Drinking me in.

My hands tightened into useless fists behind my back. Violent, unnerving scenarios began to play out inside my head, each more sexual than the last. I could knee him in the balls – maybe – but all I could really hope to do was run. Not that I’d get far…but why was I thinking like this? He was a cop. He even had a body-cam attached to his shirt. He wasn’t going to do anything to hurt me…right?

“I could arrest you. You could go to prison. You know that?” His deep voice hit me like an earthquake at this close range, reverberating in my chest almost pleasantly, though the feeling was quickly gone when the words themselves sank in. “You just tried to bribe an officer of the law, boy. That’s a felony. One year in a state prison – at least. You understand how serious this is?”

I nodded, the picture of shame, and my eyes darted away from his. Back to the ground below. Trying not to burst into tears. My heart beat faster beneath his palm, approaching panic once again. I could feel his eyes on me still, burning into me. “And I know which one they’d send you to. It’s not a happy place. A nice-looking, blue-eyed college boy like you wouldn’t do well in there, you understand? Especially with an ass like yours.”

I nodded again – wait, what? What did he just say?

I glanced at his face again, and he caught my eyes. Held them. He looked angry, but there was no hate or loathing in him. I felt like I was getting chewed out by my father. But my father wouldn’t have such an odd hunger in his gaze, and he certainly wouldn’t have said…

I looked away, blushing deeply. The fear, the dread, the helplessness – and the strange sense that came from knowing he’d indeed been looking at…no, appreciating my ass…all of it clashed chaotically in my brain and my stomach and everywhere else. I had no idea what I was feeling at that point.

“You’ve got two choices now, boy. I’ll make them real clear. Choice number one: I can write you a hefty speeding ticket and take you in for attempting to bribe an officer of the law – all of which I have here on this handy body-cam.” He tapped the boxy camera that was strapped to his broad chest. “It’d be plenty fair, and legal, and you’d fuckin deserve it. It’d also knock you right out of that fancy college and into prison. Not many folks can put their lives back together after something like that.”

The tears were back, flowing freely as my face tightened against the grief. I couldn’t do it…I couldn’t handle that…

“Choice number two: You make good on that offer you were giving me. You do that, and I’ll forget any of this ever happened. You can go back to your life of drinking with your buddies and fuckin pretty little college girls – or whatever it is you like to do. But only if you stick to your word. Otherwise I’ve got everything I need to put you away for years – all it’d take is a little bit of uh…embellishment on my part.”

I went numb. “You can’t…”

“Shut up. You may not know this, boy, since you’re not from around here, but I’m the most respected cop in Metter.” He pounded my chest like a drum to emphasize this. “I own that town. Even this bit of highway. My word is the fuckin law here, and then some.” His hand was lower on my chest now, more to the left. His thumb was on my nipple, still hard from the cold beneath my shirt – and a fluttering ripple of something like pleasure made my entire body tense up. I instinctively tried to smack his hand away, but my arms only flexed behind me as the handcuffs held firm. I blushed, totally embarrassed, but he didn’t seem to notice any of this. I had to be imagining it…


I swallowed, and somehow found my voice. “You’re saying that…if I do – what, community service or something? You’ll let me off?” My mind was reeling, not daring to feel relief. This was my chance – probably my only chance, the only light there would ever be at the end of this tunnel. Get ahold of yourself, man…

He grinned in a way that made me feel like a rabbit in a trap. “Sure. Community service. You could call it that. But nothing official, you understand? It’d be at my discretion, and mine alone. Actually…no one else would even know.”

The thumb at my nipple began to move, doing its best to erase all doubt. It rubbed firmly around the edge of my hidden nipple, and then…flicked the tip.

A jolt of strange electricity shot from his thumb down the length of my spine, melting my stomach, then straight into my crotch. Something stirred.

I jerked beneath his hand, a sharp breath hissing past my teeth. My stress-addled mind still refused to put two and two together. “What’re you doi– “

“I’m giving you a choice, boy. Prison, or…this.”

His other hand appeared at my hip, snaking its way up beneath my shirt, rough and terrible. I gasped at this new, awful sense of intrusion, something I’d only ever imagined happening to another person. His fingers were cold on the skin of my stomach, but they didn’t stay that way for long. They crept up the tense flesh of my flat belly, across my sternum, and into the patch of dark hair between the meat of my pecs. My thin shirt lifted up around his forearm, cold air rushing across my belly and my flanks. He was feeling me upright there in the open, blatant and fearless.

I was stiff, unbelieving, caught between his groping hands and the smooth, frozen bulk of his car. I finally noticed the red recording light of his body-cam wasn’t on – and probably hadn’t been for some time. This couldn’t be happening! Cops couldn’t just do this, gay or not! I hadn’t sent him any signals – I wasn’t queer! I’d never let a guy touch me, not once in my life…

The hand above my shirt left my heaving chest and moved up across my collar bone, until he was holding the back of my neck in a vice-like grip. The feel of his leathery hand against the bare flesh of my neck sent tingling ripples across my skin, up my spine, into my brain. He held me firm in place, broad fingers slowly massaging the tense muscles at the base of my skull. It felt good. Really good. Some part of me even wanted to enjoy it.

The hand beneath my shirt slid across my chest and fondled my other pec, rough fingers tracing my nipple there, sending fresh jolts of strange pleasure directly to my groin. There was no shirt between my perked teat and his fingers this time – only the feel of his hands on my skin. I shuttered against it, my mind appalled while my body reached a state of curious, sickening arousal, like a machine that had been turned on. “This is…uh…this is illegal, officer…” How did I sound so weak?

He didn’t respond. He was watching my face with his intense black eyes, studying every grimace, every gasp, utterly engrossed. His hands, I realized, weren’t just molesting my body – they were also observing my reactions to their lewd, unwanted ministrations, down to the smallest twitch of tendon or dart of the eye. He was enjoying me the way I would enjoy a girl in my bed, getting her worked up and wet…holding her down, flicking her nipples, feeling her up…making her squirm and moan like a bitch in heat. My cock was…it was…

I heard myself moan as he played with my nipples under the shirt, bringing them both to full attention, sharp and impossibly sensitive against the shifting fabric. It wasn’t the weak, airy moan of a horny chick. It was low and grumbling, reedy and humiliated. I couldn’t help it – I’d never had anyone play with my nipples before. My body – even my voice – was betraying me. My hands clenched tightly behind my back, maddeningly useless in the handcuffs. I’d never felt more vulnerable in my life. There was nothing I could do to stop this…

The moan had terrified me, but apparently it had turned him on, because he was now pressing his crotch into my thigh. It was pulsing with heat, hard and long through my denim jeans and the stiff fabric of his uniform. The very real threat of prison, along with his grip on my neck, kept me from escaping – but I at least tried to jerk my hips away from what was obviously his very erect penis. He simply pushed his knee into my crotch and pressed down with his hips, pinning my lower half against the door of the car with the weight of his body and the muscles of his thighs. This arched my back, involuntarily pushing the meat of my pecs up into his roaming, hungry hand – which only made it hungrier. Bolder.

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