Author: ThrowawaySpermarang

Infiltrating The Manwhorehouse of Manchester Bay (Chapter 1: A Disconcerting Lack of Smut)

There’s a small town in New York state, called Manchester. And in that small town, there’s a quaint, tiny little neighborhood called Burmingham Square. Burmingham Square is a shopping hub, or what passes for one, in such a small town in the relative middle of nowhere. It’s a delightful little area, don’t get me wrong. I’m from New York City (I know, hold the applause), so I can really appreciate the sweet, quiet little town where everyone knows each other.

That is, aside from the Manwhores. Bare with me.

I’m John, and I’m lucky enough to be a cop in this sleepy, easygoing little town. I transferred here a few years ago, after a small gang of non descript mental patients found it appropriate to ambush a random cop (that would be me), and beat me about the body with crowbars. As my bones knitted over the following months, I had plenty of time to think. And so it is that I found myself patrolling the not so mean streets of Manchester, on a drizzly, cool night. It was two AM, far too late for anyone to be walking the streets, even in the relatively busy area of Burmingham Square, but I was on the clock, and I enjoyed the solitude. Read more »

More Than One Way Out of a Speeding Ticket.

[This is a repost from a little while ago. Id like some feedback, either here or over direct chats, or PMs. Maybe we can collaborate on another one? I’ve got a slow day today, so chatting is good.]

It’s three AM, and I’m sitting in my black and white Sherriff’s pickup, on the side of a darkened, isolated stretch of the I-95. My coffee has long gone cold, but the cool, humid night air keeps me awake well enough. The night is silent aside from the crickets all around, and the occasional squeaking of bats flying overhead. I rest my forearm on the open window of my door, looking out the windshield, waiting patiently for the next leadfoot to go screaming past, going well over eighty in this sixty mile an hour zone.

I don’t have to wait long. A white Mercedes just about blasts my doors off as it screams past. In a well practiced routine of motions, I start the truck, throw on the headlights, lights and siren, and floor it, gritting my teeth as the truck takes off like a rocket. The engine roars excitedly as we blast up to eighty miles an hour, then ninety, then a hundred, catching up to the Mercedes effortlessly. The chase is over disappointingly quickly as the Mercedes brake lights come on, and I escort the car over to the shoulder. Oh well, I guess the fun part of the night is over. Read more »

Published
Categorized as Erotica

[MF] Just a Mild Abuse of Power

It’s three AM, and I’m sitting in my black and white Sherriff’s pickup, on the side of a darkened, isolated stretch of the I-95. My coffee has long gone cold, but the cool, humid night air keeps me awake well enough. The night is silent aside from the crickets all around, and the occasional squeaking of bats flying overhead. I rest my forearm on the open window of my door, looking out the windshield, waiting patiently for the next leadfoot to go screaming past, going well over eighty in this sixty mile an hour zone.

I don’t have to wait long. A white Mercedes just about blasts my doors off as it screams past. In a well practiced routine of motions, I start the truck, throw on the headlights, lights and siren, and floor it, gritting my teeth as the truck takes off like a rocket. The engine roars excitedly as we blast up to eighty miles an hour, then ninety, then a hundred, catching up to the Mercedes effortlessly. The chase is over disappointingly quickly as the Mercedes brake lights come on, and I escort the car over to the shoulder. Oh well, I guess the fun part of the night is over. Read more »

Published
Categorized as Erotica