The Hood of Justice (7 page)

Bruce gestured for Casey to follow him with a nod of his head. Casey understood. After all, Bruce was the senior man. If he wanted to lead, Casey wouldn't argue.

As soon as they arrived at the entrance doors of the gym, two security guards approached. One of them nodded, acknowledging their presence. The other, a shorter one with shifty eyes, didn't look so convinced by them being there.

"What can we do for you, officers?" the taller guard asked.

Bruce replied, "Is the owner about?"

Casey couldn't help but smile. He knew Randy was inside, his fire-engine red Ferrari had passed them about ten minutes ago. Bruce was just testing the waters with these two, see how much they were willing to give away…which was usually in direct correlation to how well they were paid. Well paid security guards were the hardest to get answers from.  

"Naw, he's probably tucked away in bed inside his fancy mansion or something like that. Better come back tomorrow. I'm sure he'll show up sooner or later." The taller guard said, his nametag identifying him as simply, John.

Bruce grunted disapproval under his breath. "Yeah, perhaps you're right. Hey, don't suppose you would mind if we just check out the grounds, do you? We'll be out of here in a jiffy."

The shorter man looked at the taller one. "I don't know, if Mr. Piper finds out we let cops nosey around without his permission, it won't be worth our jobs."

Bruce came to pat the smaller man on the shoulder. "Well, we won't tell him if you don't. Besides, you can join us if you like. Sound fair?"

Again the two guards swapped glances. Finally, the short one said, "I'll come with you. No need to tie us both up from doing our jobs."

The man named John nodded. "I'll meet you all back here in half an hour. Will that be enough time to look around, officers?"

Bruce offered a smile. "Sure."

Casey could make out the shorter name's name from his name tag. He was Peter. A man who may be short, but certainly not hindered in any other way. He looked fit, his muscle definition clear, even through his security guards uniform. He had a thick head of black hair, too. Quite handsome. Quite handsome, indeed.

"Okay then, let me show you the grounds, but that's it. Unless you have a warrant, I can't let you into the building," Peter said.

Bruce gestured for Casey to leave the papers in his jacket pocket without drawing attention to his action--well, Peter didn't seem to notice, anyway. He knew his partner was up to something, but what? Perhaps he wanted to play the warrant card later. See how far he could push things with these guards.

"I understand." Bruce smiled and winked at Casey. "Say…Peter, what's that building over there?"

Peter turned. "It's the chemical storage station. Chlorine and stuff's held in there out of harm's way for the pool. Why?"

"Nothing. But I think we should start there."

Peter shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever you want."

Casey almost couldn't contain himself, and had to suppress a chuckle. He didn't want to give anything away. Bruce, without doubt now,
was
up to something. When they got to the chemical storage station, away from the sight of the main building, everything became clear. Bruce said, "Casey, I don't think Peter here is cooperating as best as he could. I think it's time we questioned him in that way only you know how. What you reckon, buddy?"

Peter's face flashed concern. "What? What have I done? I've cooperated. Besides, I don't have to answer any questions. You don't have anything on me."

Casey didn't need to be told twice. He came in front of Peter, unzipping his trousers and reaching in to reveal his cock to the man. He had a semi already, the cold night air striking his skin adding to the sensation which accelerated his arousal. "Ready for my questions, Peter?"

"What the freaking hell? What sort of joke is this? Are you sure you're--"

Peter couldn't finish his words. Bruce had come around behind him, securing his arms behind his back so the man couldn't break free. "Be quick, buddy."

Casey couldn't help but feel complete and utter admiration for Bruce. Not only did he accept his ability with an open mind, he now helped him, too. They really were a great partnership, like Batman and Robin. 

Peter squirmed, doing his best to try and release himself of Bruce's hold, to no avail. He knew what his partner meant by needing to act quick. Sure, Bruce was massive, able to handle the man easily, but if the security guard got smart and back-kicked him in the balls, his hold would be realised in an instant. 

Urgency overtook Casey's actions and a heartbeat later, and almost without thought, Casey grabbed at the front of Peter's trousers, finding his zipper and undoing it in no time flat. "Don't worry, I won't hurt you."

Before Peter could call out for help, still stunned no doubt by what was happening to him, Casey had pulled his cock free from his clothes. He was intact and of a size which matched his stature. Then again, not all men could be well hung, that was a fact. Perhaps Peter was a grower, his full potential evident when he got a hard on. In any case, Casey wasted no time. He touched his foreskin onto Peter's. Thankfully, the tingling sensation had started well before he had exposed himself, otherwise the whole interrogation could have been for nothing. His foreskin only did its thing when it tingled. No tingle, no truth from any bloke no matter how hard Casey willed such a thing.

Peter gasped.

Casey nodded to Bruce, signalling for him to let Peter go. He had retracted Peter's foreskin, his head nice and moist, as was to be expected from an intact man. He then rolled his own foreskin so he replaced what he retracted, stopping when he reached Peter's coronal ridge.

When he was satisfied he was docked properly, he asked, "Is Randy Piper in the Gym?" 

"Yes."

Bruce looked at Casey, coming to pat him on his shoulder. "Damn, that's some freaky weird thing to witness, but it sure does work. Now, we've got the information we need, separate from the dude and let's get on with getting our perp."

Casey shook his head. "I can't. Not yet."

"Why not?" But his partner didn't ask the question in any defiant way. More curiosity. After all, Bruce had even less an idea how his abilities worked than he did.

"I…I mean, both Peter and I, we've got to blow our loads. I can't explain how I know, but just trust me when I say, it's got to be done. I think it's got something to do with the memory thing."

Bruce glanced down at Casey's cock, at their join. "How long will that take?"

"Not long." He massaged the connection of their skin more vigorously. Sure enough, Peter was a grower, as he suspected. His cock had more than tripled in size, the dorsal vein bulging to feed the growth, his now fully engorged head stretching Casey's foreskin to its limit.

"Might as well ask him some more questions then. Get the most out of what you're doing. I'll stand watch to make sure the other guard doesn't raise an alarm or something. The last thing we need is for Randy Piper to get spooked and flee the scene."

"Sure thing," Casey said. He returned to masturbating Peter, milk him for his cum so he would soon slip into the bliss of forgetfulness. Besides, the tingle of orgasm had already begun to spring to life within Casey. His balls had tightened, too. "Will you take us to see Randy Piper?"

Peter nodded. "Yes. He's been spending a lot of time in his basement, lately. I could pretty much guarantee he's in there tonight?"

"What happens in his basement?" Casey's breaths were short now, his actions more vigorous as he edged closer and closer toward climax. His foreskin tingled so much, even with all the manual stimulation he performed, he couldn't ease the sensation. Peter must be getting a full dose of the magic he generated. No wonder the man was willing to help them even after the docking would be complete.

"You're amazing, Case." Bruce was no longer standing guard. He was behind Casey, watching proceedings with interest, patting him on his back to encourage him even more. He loved how his partner did such a thing. He felt complete. Like they really
were
a team. 

Peter groaned, knocking Casey from his thoughts. The guard was showing the same signs all guys got when they approached climax. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes wide, his muscles tense. Casey knew his interrogation would be over real soon.

"He takes what he calls his play things into his basement," the guard stuttered, hissing though his teeth, delight clear in his voice. With those words, Peter shuddered.

Heat coursed over Casey's cock's head, warmth which was welcome. The man had ejaculated. He had his cue, so he let go, too. Casey came, every muscle aiding his release, relieved the interrogation was over.

Soon the dock was broken. Casey was unable to keep a hold of his foreskin over Peter's big head, namely because of all the cum which the guard had released, but also because Casey's foreskin couldn't stretch any more to accommodate both of their fluids.

"What are play things?" Bruce asked.

Peter pulled away, cum dribbling onto the floor, some landing on his boots. "They are rivals of his and employees who disobey him. Anyone really. Still, whoever goes in to be played with never usually comes out."

Casey said, "Put your dick away. I think I've heard enough."

Peter nodded, stuffing his still erect cock into his pants. "The entrance to the basement is off his private garage, over there at the south end of the building." The guard's face then went blank. "Say, what am I doing here? I'm supposed to be with John. When did you guys arrive? What's happened?"

Bruce glared at Casey, flicking his gaze toward his groin. In that moment, he realised he still had his cock exposed. Sure, it was now soft, ready to be put back into his pants, but if Peter saw it now, the whole interrogation could be ruined. He'd report such a thing for sure. What's more, his foreskin no longer tingled, so another docking to make him forget again wouldn't be possible.

Casey stuffed his dick away and zipped up. Peter didn't notice, more because his mind would still be numbed by the effects of the docking. That and the fact he would have a wet, sticky feeling in his pants for no apparent reason. Poor bloke. Casey could only imagine his confusion. 

"You were about to show us the south entrance," Bruce said.

"Is Mr. Piper in trouble?" Peter asked, genuine concern imbued in his voice.

Bruce nodded. "We're not sure, but we've got to check it out."

"Yes, of course. I'll call for backup." He pressed his radio talk button, one which rested on his right shoulder. "John, meet me at the south of the building in ten minutes, Mr. Piper's private garage entrance. Over."

A crackle pierced the air. "Sure thing. Are those cops still with you? Over."

Bruce gave Peter a gesture which conveyed in no uncertain terms he should remain silent. Peter understood. "Just meet me there. Over."

Casey said, "Thanks. We don't know who's involved, so trust no one."

"So Mr. Piper's in trouble then?"

Bruce said, "Just get us to the entrance, we'll do the rest."

Chapter Seven

Randy didn't seem to take notice of Jason's screaming, or the incessant cursing he unleashed when he caught his breath back, creating words he normally never used. Seemed his torturer was more interesting in having his fun first, the determination and joy in his expression more than enough evidence of such a thing.

The man continued to clamp him, cover his cock and balls in the metallic objects. Jason wept, unable to form a coherent sentence. The pain from each pinch on his genitals were worse than those on his chest and stomach. He writhed in agony, the stinging sensation didn't subside as quickly as it had done before.

Then Randy stopped.

If Jason didn't know any better, he'd swear he heard an alarm sounding. He wasn't sure, namely because of the cloud of pain which had dulled his senses, and because he knew Randy would more than likely work his way through the cabinet of tools until he was beaten, whipped, and prodded to death. Glancing over to the man in the stocks proof of such a hypothesis. He was sure the man was dead, or if not, within the last few breaths of his life, anyway. Poor fucking bastard. 

"You…finished…already?" Jason asked with a slur, summoning all his will to do so, trying to be as defiant as he could. He spat again. Unfortunately, the globule missed his torturer.

Randy's said, "Silence, filth." To emphasis those words, he struck him across his face with his hand. "Someone approaches. Let's just hope it's our dear friend, Constable Casey and his faithful companion. I am so in the mood to have a lot more fun tonight."

"You're…a…fuckin' cunt."

Randy had taken out a whip from the tool cabinet, one with barbs, placing it onto the floor in front of the container. A container now empty of clamps. "Oh, come now, my man, don't fall apart on me just yet. Surely you must appreciate what I have done to you. I mean, since you sucked on your mother's teat, who else has given you this much attention?"

Jason didn't answer. He couldn't. Randy had disappeared from his sight. He heard him walk up the steps. The door closed. He imagined his torturer had to check out why the alarm had been tripped. He breathed a sigh of relief. Not that he could escape, not that he held any hope of living much longer, but still, to be rid of the sight of the sick fuck Randy was a small pleasure.

The lights flicked off. Darkness surrounded him once more. Welcome darkness.

* * * *

Randy fumed, the door to his dungeon slamming behind him to emphasis his foul mood. He hated interruptions to his fun. The last time he got disturbed, his play thing died before he could witness the event. He loved to watch his victims in their last seconds of life, see the breath leave them, their eyes dull. What was he paying John and Peter for? To sit around and look pretty?

If the alarm had been tripped for no good reason, if Casey and his partner weren't the reason for being summoned, then he'd make sure his security guards would feel the full extent of his wrath. The next inmates of his dungeon.

When he came to a hall, the last part of the private area to the gym complex, John came into sight. He looked flustered.