Code Of Conduct 1: Stripped

Day 24. Steve Pierce lay sprawled on the worn leather bench, his chest heaving under the dim precinct lights. Officer Tom Chase loomed above him, uniform crisp, latex gloves snapping taut over powerful hands. Tom's eyes locked on Steve's, a predatory gleam igniting the air. He started slow—fingers tracing Steve's thighs, parting them with deliberate force. Steve gasped, body arching as Tom's gloved hand pressed in, slick with lube, invading deep. Inch by inch, it claimed him, stretching, filling. Steve's moans echoed off the walls, raw and desperate. Tom twisted, probed, his arm a relentless piston now, driving Steve to the edge. Sweat beaded on their skin. Finally, Steve shattered, settling fully onto that gloved arm, impaled and spent, a perfect fit in Tom's unyielding grip.