Chokehold

Victor

After eight hours of wear, it finally feels good to unbuckle my sidearm. I hate how it’s constantly hanging there against my thigh. I’m not afraid of what it’s capable of, though I haven’t had the luck to use it in the field yet. It simply pisses me off that it’s dangling there all day. They couldn’t even find a belt that fit me when I joined law enforcement. My waist is as wide as two other sturdy men combined. They gave me the largest one they had, and I still had to drill extra holes into it just to be able to put it on. It pinches like hell every single goddamn day; the red marks are always visible on my skin. But it’s not enough to make me whine about it.

The locker room is flooded with the scent of testosterone. A blend of sweat, cheap deodorants, and body washes mingles in the air. I like taking deep breaths of it; it gets me going. I walk to my locker, punch in the code, and open it. Inside are the clothes I wear off-duty. I sit down on the bench, which creaks under my weight as it always does, and begin unlacing my boots. I reach back for my phone, pull it from under the stack of clothes, turn on the mobile data, and set it down beside me while I continue. Fucking laces. I could untie the Gordian knot faster than these.

I feel the faint vibration of my phone through the wood. Sound off, as always. I straighten up, take it in my hand, and unlock the screen. My device isn’t small, yet it’s completely swallowed by my palm. The yellow devil face icon appears in the notification bar, followed by at least ten more.

I’m so excited for tonight! ;)

Around what time will you be finished?

I’ve submitted, just like you asked. I haven’t touched myself all day, though goddamn, those pictures…

I’ve sent numerous photos to this little guy of my veiny, throbbing, oversized cock.

Don’t you have your phone?

Why aren’t you answering? :(

Are you doing this on purpose? You don’t even look at what I send, and you’re not even reachable all day…

Maybe I’ll just cancel the whole fucking thing, don’t even come.

I raise an eyebrow. The little pipsqueak doesn’t even measure up to me, literally or figuratively. I don’t like being questioned. Not at all.

I’m here. – I reply.

Not even two seconds pass before I see the indicator that he’s read my message.

Vibration.

Oh, finally :)

Vibration.

I was starting to get desperate. :(

Vibration.

I didn’t mean what I wrote earlier.

Vibration.

He could really just write what he wants to say in one go instead of hitting that fucking send button after every single sentence.

I still want to meet you ;) Is it still on for you too?

Vibration.

I completely understand if not, it’s no big deal if you say no.

Finally, he stopped. I no longer see the three dots indicating he’s about to vomit out something else.

Yes, it’s still on. – I reply matter-of-factly.

Vibration.

Super ;)

Vibration.

I haven’t canceled the booking yet :)

Vibration.

Actually, it never even crossed my mind, I just… wrote that, I didn’t mean it seriously.

The vibrating stops.

I’ll be there in 10 minutes. – I reply, then lock my phone. I’m not interested in any more of his whining.

I’m about to lean back to finally rid myself of the massive boots that have been squeezing my feet all day. But I straighten back up. I have a better idea. I stand up from the bench, take my military cap from the locker, and place it on my head. I slam the door and spin the combination lock.

“Not changing out, Sergeant?” one of my subordinates asks.

“No,” I reply, a barely perceptible grin on my face. “I’m going home like this today.”

“You’re scary enough without the uniform. The gear won’t help. Someone might jump you,” he laughs.

May the Lord have mercy on anyone who would even try. I’m 6′11 tall, 265 lbs of pure muscle. My t-shirts regularly rip because my biceps are too large. Finding pants I actually like isn’t easy either. Not much of my lower half fits into average jeans.

“Let it be!” I answer the guy honestly. “You know who would get the short end of the stick.”

He salutes, then doesn’t say another word. They respect me; they know where the line is and how far they can push their luck with me. I have authority, earned over many years. I started as a tall, lanky recruit, just like all the others. They used to joke that with my height, I should have been a basketball player. I didn’t feel like they realized the hunger for power lurking within me. So, over the years, I forged myself into a true monster.

I’m certain every pair of panties gets wet just from catching a glimpse of me. Too bad I’m craving cock. Obviously, no one knows that I’m actually a gay Police Chief. I’ve had fake girlfriends more than once. I’m 32 years old; I’ve had plenty of experience to realize that pussy isn’t for me. But I didn’t disappoint the women moaning beneath me either; I simply imagined someone else there.

I sling my military backpack over my shoulders, then with a slight downward flick of my cap’s brim, I signal that I’m done for the day. I don’t usually say goodbye. Shake hands with everyone? Give me a break. I have no desire to touch piss-stained hands or those of the shithouses who are too lazy to wipe their asses properly.

I step out the door. The pleasant November chill hits me. I take a massive breath, a cloud of vapor escaping my mouth as I exhale. I pull out my phone. At least five messages have arrived from the boy since then, but I don’t even read them.

Did you get what I asked for? – I ask simply.

He replies at record speed.

Yes. Though it wasn’t cheap, by the way— He’s about to start another monologue, I see the three dots moving continuously at the bottom, so I cut it off immediately.

Good. Have it on by the time I get there! – I command, then slide the device back into my pocket.

Then I set off. My strides are massive; I cover five meters in just a few steps. I grin again. Tonight, I’m going to enjoy myself.