Warnings: M+/M, rape, humiliation

Sheriff Williams put down the report he'd been reviewing and rubbed his eyes tiredly. If the war on drugs were being fought on an actual battlefield, they would have sent up the white flag a long time ago. The statistics were that disheartening. Things seemed to grow worse every year. Hell, every month, maybe even every week. It was wearing the sheriff out. He was seriously beginning to consider retirement.

The situation was especially grave in the small locality he served. The Mexican border was only a couple of miles away, and there was a sizeable university the next town over. His beloved hometown ended up caught in the middle--attracting hardcore drug dealers and the upscale college kids who came to buy their merchandise. It had gotten to the point that people were afraid to go out after dark.

The thing that got to him the most were the kids. The lowlife losers who smuggled the drugs-- well, there was really nothing to do with them but lock them up and throw away the key. But the students--he could never understand what they were thinking. They had everything going for them, everything to lose. But kids never thought things through. They just did what their friends were doing and never considered for a moment where it all might lead.

There was a knock at the door, and Getty, one of his deputies, stepped into his office.

"Sir, we have a situation."

"Yes?"

"Carson and Saunders caught a kid with drugs out behind the mall. He was dealing right there in plain sight."

"Another one from the university?"

Getty nodded. "We found his student ID on him."

The sheriff sighed heavily. "Okay. Go ahead and tell Saunders to get started with the interrogation. I'll be right there."

"Sure thing, Sheriff."

Getty left. The sheriff picked up the photograph of his son that was proudly displayed on his desk. Scott's sunny face smiled at him from the frame, the winning grin the boy relied on to get him out of every scrape. He shook his head and put the picture back down. Kids just didn't realize the far-reaching repercussions their actions could have. They didn't look ahead. They just leaped right in with both feet, and too often, they landed in more trouble than they could handle.

That's why the sheriff took a personal interest in cases like this one. In a sense, they were all his sons. He couldn't be satisfied simply with following procedures and processing them through the system. He felt a duty to teach them something that might make a difference in their lives. He owed that to the boys and their parents. He had to show them that even a seemingly small misstep could have disastrous consequences.

He sighed again, got up from his desk and headed for the observation room. They had informed the boy of his rights at the scene. Saunders, his head deputy, was conducting the interview. The kid slouched sullenly in his chair as he answered the questions.

He reminded the sheriff of hippies from his own generation. He had long curly dark hair, earrings, a black T-shirt with the name of some band the sheriff didn't recognize emblazoned on it, a long-sleeved flannel shirt over that, ragged jeans with the knees out and a tear along the rear that showed his briefs--the typical uniform for a young man rebelling against authority.

Saunders took down the boy's basic information.

"Okay," he said when he'd finished. "We're going to need to conduct a thorough search of your person. We'll need you to get undressed."

The boy stared at him incredulously. "You've got to be kidding."

"I'm afraid not, son. This is a very serious matter."

The kid shook his head. "No way, man. I know my rights. I'm not letting you search me. I want to call a lawyer."

"And you'll have plenty of time for that later on. Our officers saw you in plain sight with the drugs. That means we have probable cause for the search. Now, get undressed. Or these deputies here will have to help you."

The kid eyed the deputies. Carson and Getty were both well over six feet tall. Their brown shirts had to stretch to accommodate their biceps. The sheriff could see the boy's throat muscles working as he swallowed hard.

"All right. I'll do it," he finally said. "If I have to."

Saunders nodded. "I appreciate the cooperation."

The boy got up, his movements jerky and nervous.

"Uh-- you mean right here?" he asked.

"This is where we typically conduct searches," Saunders said. "Go ahead and undress if you would."

The boy looked around the room at the other officers present. "In front of everybody?"

"State law requires that we have more than one law enforcement officer present during a search. That's for your protection. So there's no question about evidence being planted. I'm sure you understand the need for such safeguards."

The boy reluctantly agreed, "I guess so."

"Good then. Now, please, disrobe. And we'll get this search over with as quickly as we can."

The kid hesitantly unbuttoned his flannel shirt, took it off and laid it on the table. He removed his shoes and socks. He unbuckled his belt and looked around the room nervously before stripping off his T-shirt. He had a nipple ring in his right nipple. The sheriff shook his head. The cons on the block would just love that.

"Do you have to watch?" the boy asked, balking at taking his pants off in front of an audience.

"'Fraid so," Saunders told him. "In case you have it in mind to try to destroy evidence. Again, that's a safeguard for your protection. Destroying evidence is a serious crime. This way, you won't be tempted. Now, if you'll remove your pants and underwear, we can get on with this."

The kid blushed as he unzipped his jeans and pushed them down his legs, along with his underwear. He stepped out of his clothes and kicked them to the side.

"All right. Good," Saunders said. "Now, raise your arms."

The kid lifted his arms above his head.

"Okay. Good. Open your mouth and lift your tongue."

Saunders shone a light in his mouth and used a tongue depressor to make sure nothing was hidden in his cheeks.

"Good," the deputy said. "Now, hop on one foot and then the other. Bend the knee and really lift the foot up off the floor. We need to make sure there's nothing clenched between your toes. Go ahead then."

The boy awkwardly hopped, his genitals bouncing as he did.

"All right. Now lift your testicles."

The kid's face turned bright red as he held up his scrotum, so the officer could check beneath it.

"Okay. You can let your testicles go. Bend over. Spread your cheeks."

The boy's face turned even redder as he exposed himself to the officer. Saunders stepped behind him and shone the light into his crack.

"Uh-oh."

"What?" the boy asked, nervously.

"Looks like there's something in there. Carson, hand me that box of gloves."

"What are you doing?"

"You just stay like that son. Keep those cheeks spread as wide as you can."

The deputy snapped on a pair of latex gloves. The boy reacted to the sound with visible alarm.

"There's nothing in my ass. I swear to God."

Saunders squirted lube onto his fingers. "You just hold still now," he instructed the boy. "Since the visual inspection turned up something, I'm going to need to follow up with a cavity search."

The boy let go of his butt and straightened up. "No way, man. You are not touching me there. I'm serious. I want to call a lawyer. I want to call one now."

"Son, I already explained that we have every legal right to perform this search. Now, we can do this with your cooperation or without it. But let me tell you, your behind is likely to smart something awful if you fight me while I'm trying to search you. So, what's it going to be? You going to make trouble for yourself? Or are you going to put that brain of yours to work and figure out the easiest way to get through this is by cooperating?"

Faced with the possibility of a forced rectal search, the boy's bravado quickly deflated. He suddenly looked like he wanted to cry.

The deputy said in a gentle voice, "Now bend back over and hold your cheeks apart. We'll get this taken care of as fast as we can."

The boy reluctantly did as he was told, and the deputy began the search, slowly, carefully probing his anus.

"Uh-oh," the deputy said. "I feel something."

"Ow! You're hurting me," the boy complained, red-faced.

Saunders carefully worked his finger inside the boy and removed a small vial. He held it up to get a better look. It was filled with white powder.

"Looks like heroin," Carson said.

Saunders nodded. "Yeah, I'm afraid so. Go get the sheriff. Tell him we recovered what appears to be narcotics from the boy's rectum."

"I didn't have anything to do with this," the boy protested hotly.

The deputy laughed. "Son, are you seriously trying to tell me that someone else has access to your rectum without you knowing about it?"

The boy blushed with humiliation. The sheriff sighed heavily as looked on. It was always the same. These kids never just admitted their crimes and took responsibility for their mistakes. They had to tell every outrageous lie they could think of and blame everybody from their first grade teacher to their dead grandfather, anything to try to weasel out of being accountable for their own actions. It was the kind of character flaw that would only get them into more and more serious trouble if they weren't taught a proper lesson.

Carson knocked on the door and poked his head inside. "You heard?"

The sheriff nodded.

"Should we follow the usual procedure?" Carson asked.

"Yeah. I'll take care of the next part."

Carson nodded and disappeared, heading back to the interrogation room. The sheriff lingered a moment, watching the boy. There was fear beneath his tough-boy facade. How many times had he seen that in the eyes of the young men who paraded through his station? And he thought the same thing he always did: That the best thing for them would be to give them something to really worry about.

The sheriff went next door to join his deputies.

"I don't see why I can't get dressed now. You've done your stupid search already," the boy was complaining as the sheriff entered the room.

"That was only a level one examination," the sheriff said from the doorframe.

The boy whirled around.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Sheriff Williams. I'll be conducting the next phase of the search. Once we ascertain that there is reason to believe drugs are being smuggled in a body cavity, we then move on to a more rigorous physical inspection."

"You have no right," the boy said indignantly.

"The law gives me the right. Now, if you'll resume the position, we'll go ahead and get this over with."

The sheriff pulled on a pair of gloves.

"I wasn't smuggling anything." The boy's belligerence was disappearing. He was beginning to sound scared. "Okay, so I admit I had drugs on me. But you already found everything I had. I swear. That's it. There's no more. No reason to do this."

The sheriff lubed his latex-covered fingers.

"That's an interesting way to carry your drugs. Most recreational users I've run into during my thirty years in law enforcement tend to use their pockets. But dealers. Well, that's another story. They'll stash their merchandise all over their bodies when they go out to sell. In their mouths, snugged up in their arm pits, in their shoes. And sometimes in their rectums, usually as a safety supply. That way, they'll still have something to sell if they run into cops and have to ditch the rest of their stuff. No officer's going to find a stash there in a routine pat down."

"That's not me, man. I swear."

"Well, son, you also swore there weren't any drugs on your body. So you'll have to excuse me if I don't take your word for it. Now, go ahead and resume the position."

"What are you looking for?" the boy asked, as he bent over and spread his cheeks again.

"Where there's one vial of heroin, there's usually a few others to keep it company. Occasionally, we find weapons tucked up in there, too. We have to take proper precautions and rule that out as a possibility."

"He didn't find anything else." The kid jerked his head in Saunders' direction.

"Sheriff Williams has a lot more experience in drug searches than I do," Saunders said.

"This is going to be a three-finger search," the sheriff explained.

"Shit!" the boy said, sounding scared.

"I'm preparing to insert the first finger."

The sheriff carefully worked his index finger past the boy's sphincter and into his anal passage. He pushed in until he felt the slight protrusion of the boy's prostate. Then he began to massage the gland.

"Oh." A little involuntary noise escaped the boy.

All the young men he performed this procedure on were surprised to find out how pleasurable it could be. He gently twisted his fingers, stretching the boy's muscles. He was a strict father, but he was not a cruel one. He always made sure to prepare his sons for the difficult lesson they were about to face.

Predictably, the boy began to get hard.

"Aren't you finished yet?" he demanded, obviously disconcerted by his body's reaction.

"That's only the first finger. I'm now introducing the second one."

The boy groaned. "It's too full. You're hurting me."

"Relax your rectal muscles. Breathe out," the sheriff instructed.

He worked the prostate with both fingers. The boy was soon fully erect.

"Now for the third finger," he said.

The boy gasped. "Shit!"

Despite his protests, the sheriff could feel his muscles relaxing a little more as they grew used to the intrusion, stretching to accommodate the increased girth. He spread the lubricant as deeply as he could reach and then pulled his fingers out. The boy's hard cock bobbed, drooling pre-cum. He flushed with embarrassment.

"That seems to be it," he told his deputies. "I didn't find anything else."

"Can I get dressed now?" the boy asked.

"Of course." He turned to one of his deputies. "Getty, go get him a uniform."

"Yes, sir."

Getty left the room.

"What's going to happen to me now?" the boy asked, alarmed by the mention of a prison uniform.

"You'll be held over for arraignment."

"You're going to lock me up?" he asked, disbelievingly.

"'Fraid so, son. Dealing drugs is a serious offense."

"I wasn't hurting anyone," he blustered. "Don't you people have any clue how stupid this whole war on drugs is? How useless?"

The sheriff regarded him calmly. "That may be, son. Maybe those people up in the state capital really ought to change the entire drug statute. I don't rightly know. What I do know is that right now this law is still on the books. And you've broken it."

"That really sucks, man," the boy said vehemently.

Getty opened the door and stepped back into the room.

"Sheriff, the laundry truck hasn't shown up yet. We're completely out of shirts. All we have on hand is this pair of pants."

"That's fine," the Sheriff told him. And then he explained to the boy, "It's against policy to allow detainees to wear non-issue clothing. I'm afraid you'll have to go shirtless until the laundry truck arrives and we can get you a shirt. But it's warm back there in the holding cell. I don't think you'll be uncomfortable."

Getty handed the pants to the boy.

"Can I at least have my underwear?" he asked.

The Sheriff shook his head. "We need it for evidence." He motioned to Carson. "Do me a favor and bag that for me."

The deputy carefully picked up the boy's briefs, placed them in a plastic bag and sealed it.

"How could that possibly be evidence?" the boy asked, as he quickly pulled on the pants he'd been given.

"Because you hid your drugs in your rectum. Sometimes there are traces of chemicals left behind in the underwear."

"Oh," the boy said, clearly mortified.

The sheriff could never believe how easily they accepted the bullshit he told them, but they always did. The pants the boy was wearing were standard prison issue, made of a light cotton, now paper thin from years of washing. Without his underwear, the boy's erection was clearly outlined by the soft, worn fabric. He was quite hard and appeared in no danger of going soft any time soon.

The sheriff couldn't help feeling a stab of envy. A nineteen year old dick was truly a thing of a wonder. It got hard at the drop of a hat and could stay that way forever if the boy didn't get off. The sheriff could still vaguely remember what they had been like, way back in his prime. Now, it took him a good hour of foreplay with his girlfriend before he was totally up and ready to go. Not that Wanda seemed to mind. In fact, it meant more of the good stuff as far as she was concerned. But he couldn't help feeling the loss, as if his virility was slowly seeping out of him.

On the other hand, there were some pluses to not being nineteen anymore. There was certainly a whole lot less embarrassment. The boy was trying to hold his hands in front of himself to hide the tent his hard dick was making in his pants and the wet spot that was forming on the fabric. The sheriff had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from smiling.

"Take him on back to the cell now, Saunders," the sheriff instructed his deputy.

"I want a lawyer," the boy demanded. "I'm supposed to get one call."

"That's true. But there's only one public defender around these parts, and I know for a certainty that he's out of town on a fishing trip until tomorrow morning. Of course, I'm assuming you'd need free legal counsel. But maybe you want to call your parents and have them arrange a lawyer for you?"

The boy quickly shook his head. "No. No. You were right. A public defender. That's how I want to handle it."

It always pained the sheriff how eager these kids were to conceal what they'd done from their parents. It never seemed to occur to them that their mothers and fathers could be very helpful in such serious circumstances.

"I thought you might feel that way," he told the boy. "Anyway, like I was saying, George Hicks is our only public defender. You can call him tomorrow morning when he's back in his office."

"All right, kid," Saunders said. "Let's go."

The deputy hustled him away. The boy's face clearly showed how much he dreaded a night in lockup.

If only you knew , the sheriff thought.

When the door closed, the sheriff said to his men, "Let's make sure we monitor the situation. Any signs of real violence, we intervene. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," they said in unison.

The sheriff nodded. They'd all been through the drill before. He just never liked to take any chances.

"All right then. I'll be finishing up my paperwork if anybody needs me."

He headed back to his office. Once there, he opened the large cabinet on the wall opposite his desk and flipped on the TV. It was a closed circuit feed from the cellblock. He'd be able to keep an eye on everything that happened to the kid from here. He put on a pot of coffee. There was no telling how long this would take. He was prepared to stay up all night if that's what it took. This child was embarking on his dark night of the soul, and the sheriff would keep vigil with him.

After a few moments, Saunders and the kid appeared in the picture. The boy's pace grew slower and slower with each step. Saunders ended up practically dragging him by the arm. The sheriff could certainly understand the boy's hesitation. There were more than a half dozen other prisoners already in the cell. Some of these thugs were so rough around the edges they unnerved the younger deputies. A college boy like this would have every reason to be terrified.

Saunders opened the cell door, pushed the kid inside and turned the lock. This was the part the deputy always enjoyed the most.

He leaned in and told the boy confidentially, in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, "Hey, don't worry too much about throwing a boner during the rectal search. That just happens sometimes."

The kid froze, and his face went pale. The other cons began whistling and making catcalls, and the tips of the boy's ears turned red. The deputy laughed and headed for the door.

"Hey!" the kid yelled after him. "You can't leave me in here."

"Have fun," the deputy told him.

He laughed again and closed the heavy outer door behind him with a harsh clang.

The kid stared at the closed door for several seconds, as if he expected it to open at any moment and someone to come through it to tell him that this whole nightmare was really just a terrible joke. He wasn't actually going to have to spend the night locked in a cage with these animals.

When that didn't happen, the boy reluctantly turned around to face reality and his cellmates.

There was Hank, with the burn scar disfiguring half his face; JoJo, big and black, sporting a shaved head and biceps so huge they looked downright freakish, not to mention scary; Donny, who kept ending up in lockup for getting high and then proceeding to beat the shit out of whoever was unlucky enough to cross his path; and several more professional hoodlums, gang members and one upstanding citizen they thought had probably committed the most recent drug- related homicide.

The kid shrank back against the bars.

As if that's going to help him , the sheriff thought.

The cons began to close in, slowly, stealthily, the way predators attacked their unfortunate victims in the wild.

"Help!" the boy screamed at the top of his lungs. "Somebody help me!"

Of course, no one responded.

Hank lunged unexpectedly and yanked the kid away from the bars. He pulled the boy in front of him, hooked his arms under the kid's armpits and hoisted him up. The kid flailed and kicked his legs. But JoJo was too fast for him. In a flash, he had untied the drawstring, stripped the kid's pants off and tossed them to the side.

The boy's cock bobbed and curved up toward his belly.

JoJo laughed. "Looks like he's enjoying himself, ey?"

Donny rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "A good thing, too. Since he doesn't have much choice about it."

"No!" The boy struggled to break Hank's hold on him. "Guard! Somebody! Help me!"

"Now, don't go making this any harder than it needs to be," Hank said in his ear.

"Please, don't hurt me," the boy begged.

JoJo put a finger beneath his chin. "Oh, Sweet Thing, we don't want to hurt you."

Relief flashed naively through the boy's eyes.

"We just want to fuck you," JoJo clarified and then laughed evilly.

Before the kid could react, Hank threw him down onto his hands and knees on the concrete floor. The boy scrambled to get up, but Hank quickly got down on the floor beside him and held him by the shoulders to keep him where they wanted him. The boy fought back as best he could, trying to kick and bite and squirm out of Hank's grasp. But the con was far too strong for him, and he'd done this too many times before. The kid didn't have a chance.

They never do , the sheriff thought.

JoJo undid his pants, pulled out his cock and sank to his knees behind the boy.

When the kid felt the man's hard dick against his butt, he wailed, "Nooooo!" Then he erupted into a hysterical frenzy of flailing and struggling, a last desperate effort to prevent the inevitable. "Guard! Guard! Help me!" His voice started to go hoarse from screaming. "God, please, make this stop."

Kenny, one of the streetwise, smartass kids that passed through the jail like it was a revolving door, stepped up to where the boy struggled on the floor.

"Shut up, pussy! Ain't nobody coming," he said. "Ain't you figured that out by now?"

The kid continued to beg, "Oh, God, please. Help me."

Kenny made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. "Ain't no God gonna get you out of this assfucking. So why don't I give you something better to do that with that nice, wet mouth of yours, huh?" He rubbed his hard cock through his pants.

"Not until I say so," JoJo warned him, as he lined up his cock with the boy's hole.

The sheriff shook his head. It was so typical. A big part of the thrill of raping a privileged white college boy for any of these street-hardened thugs was to hear his shrill, outraged squeal of protest as they busted his cherry wide open. JoJo didn't want anybody fucking his mouth until after he'd heard the kid scream.

"And you wait your turn," Donny reminded Kenny, elbowing him away.

Kenny was the youngest, and so he was low man on the totem pole. He had really gotten lucky tonight. If this other kid hadn't come along, he most likely would have been the one on the cold concrete with his pants down around his ankles and his cellmates all lined up behind him.

"It's gonna be my turn soon enough," Kenny told the kid. "And I'm gonna make you really feel my dick, pussy boy."

Kenny spat at him contemptuously, the glob landing on his forehead. His behavior didn't especially surprise the sheriff. He'd read his file. Kenny had first landed in lockup when he was barely fourteen. No doubt he had undergone an initiation into the penal system much the same as this kid was now experiencing. Cons who had been turned out themselves were always the most eager to do it to someone else, and they tended to be the most vicious about it, too.

Finally, JoJo was ready, and he surged forward, forcing his dick into the boy's ass.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!"

The sound that came out of the kid was a wrenching combination of shock, anguish, pain, irretrievable loss, and it broke the sheriff's heart. He swallowed hard and looked away for a moment, his eyes swimming.

JoJo moaned in pleasure as he began to work his dick further inside. The kid sobbed brokenly.

"Is that pussy tight?" Donny asked, his voice slurred with lust.

"Oh, God," JoJo groaned throatily. "Really tight."

"Yeah. Give it to him. Fuck that tight little pussy," Donny encouraged, reaching inside his pants to work his own dick.

JoJo held the boy's hips firmly while he thrust in and out of his body. The boy seemed to be in a state of shock. He shuddered convulsively and cried as JoJo used him like a woman. Hank scooted around in front of him, took out his dick and pushed it against his mouth.

"Suck me," he ordered.

The boy set his mouth in a hard line and refused.

"The little bitch doesn't want to suck my cock," Hank said.

"No problem," JoJo said.

He reached around the boy's body, grabbed his sack and twisted. The boy howled in agony.

"You play nice and suck his dick. Or I'll rip them off with my bare hands."

Hank pressed his dick to the boy's lips again. "And don't bite me, either," he said. "Or I'll tear them off."

The boy whimpered in defeat as he was forced to open up wide for the dick. Hank held his head firmly between his hands and began to thrust. The boy choked and wheezed, desperately trying to breathe as the big man raped his mouth. The force of being taken at both ends made his whole body shake. His erect cock bobbed against his belly, and his balls swung back and forth beneath him.

The sheriff opened the kid's file. He was Jason Miller, a sophomore at the university. The sheriff noted his home address. It was an affluent area, a nice family neighborhood. The kid didn't have any priors, not even a juvenile record. He was sure Jason's parents thought they had nothing to worry about.

The sheriff had once thought the same thing about his own son. Of course, looking back on it he could see where he had made his mistakes. He hadn't been nearly strict enough. He had let way too many things slide. His role as disciplinarian really started to suffer after the divorce. He and his wife Barbara were both hellbent on competing for their boy's affection, whether they admitted it to themselves or not.

There were so many times he could remember going easy on the kid, instead of putting the fear of God into him the way his old man had done for him, just because he didn't want Scott to like Barbara better than he liked him. It tortured him now to think how things might have been different if he hadn't been so weak and selfish.

But he was making up for it now, with this boy and all the others.

Hank finished up first. The boy nearly gagged as he struggled to swallow the man's come. His expression clearly showed his disgust at the taste. A moment later, JoJo shouted out and came. The boy's face crumpled as he felt the man's warm semen spurting in his ass. JoJo pulled out, and come streamed down the boy's legs. The sheriff was glad to see there was no blood. He'd done a good job getting him ready. Hopefully, he wouldn't get torn up inside.

"My turn," said another of the cons, one whose name the sheriff couldn't remember.

"For head," Donny said. "I've got dibs on his ass."

"Fine by me," the con said.

He took his pants off, sat down on one of the benches and spread his legs wide. Donny pushed the kid over to him. The other con made Jason kneel between his legs and bury his face in his crotch.

"I want my balls licked, too," he told the kid. "And make it good."

Donny dropped to his knees behind the boy and quickly forced his dick up his ass. The kid moaned in pain around the dick he was sucking.

The con buried his hands in the kid's hair. "Oh, yeah, baby. Moan for me. That feels so good."

Donny laughed as he started to fuck the boy briskly.

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