For many, the college football match between State and Metro was the biggest event of the year. The stadium had capacity for 50,000 people, and it was also booked to overflowing for the event. For me, State v Metro just meant sweet overtime and having to deal with a bunch of drunk frat bros. And this year was no exception.
I was assigned to monitor the parking lot, and that meant being at the event extra early to try and keep a lid on the tailgaters so the festivities don't get out of hand. I was out walking the lot when I got a call from dispatch that CCTV had identified a male subject suspected of stealing phones and other small, high-value items from revellers when they were not paying attention. They were tracking him, and he was just two car rows over from me.
I quickly ducked over, pushing through a couple of groups of partiers before I got a glimpse of him. 20, maybe, black shirt, black NYC baseball hat, black skinny jeans. He was sagging his black jeans over a pair of grey boxer briefs. Holding two phones, and it looked like he had a few others stashed around his pants.
I plotted his likely route, and ducked over one more row, hoping to get ahead of him. My plan worked, and I saw him step out just one car ahead of me. "Police! Stop!" I call out. He glances behind himself and sees me. He calculates things a bit in his head before stopping.
"Yes, sir, I am." I said stepping up to him. "I am going to need you to put your hands behind your back." I say, grabbing one of his wrists.
He pulls his wrist away from me quickly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Let go of me. You have no right to stop me. I didn't do anything wrong." He complained, looking me up and down and sizing me up.
I take a half step back. I am a couple inches taller than him, and looking down on him slightly. "I can stop you, detain you and obtain your identification. State statute 26.1 - a."
"I don't care about your fucking statutes. I didn't do anything. You have no right to stop me." He repeats, stepping back and starting to turn.
I step up to him, grabbing his shoulders and slam his body against the hood of the pickup truck he was standing next to. He flings his hands out and smacks them against the hood, his chest bent over the hood.
"Fuck, man. That hurt. This is police brutality. What is your badge number?" He starts, speaking quickly and raising his voice.
I grab his right wrist off the hood of the truck and yank it behind his back. He picks up his foot instinctively feeling the pain of his being forced behind his back. I unbuckle my cuffs and unfold them, slapping one around his wrist. I hit the button on them to double-lock them. I hold the hinged cuffs behind his back, twisting his wrist painfully up behind his back. I starts wriggling and stretches his left arm straight up past his head, trying to keep his hand away from me.
"What the hell man? Help me, please!" He yells out.
"Sir, give me your other arm." I instruct, grabbing his elbow and starting to apply pressure to it.
He continues flailing his arm above his head.
"You can't do this. I am innocent."
"Sir, I am just detaining you so I can get your ID. Just give me your hand." I say. I stick my knee behind his, and begin pressing in against his quad. I continue twisting his arm up behind his back, it is now bent at a 45 degree angle at the elbow, his hand helplessly flapping around trying to grab onto something.
"Ow! Fuck! My arm! You are going to break it."
"Stop resisting and put your hands behind your back." I continue instructing.
He keeps flailing, but one of the moves pushing his elbow just far enough down that I am able to get a grip and force it backward. I pull it back in a chicken-wing position, then reach my hand through his elbow and grab his wrist.
"Ow! Fuck, man. Stop hurting me." He started to whine as I grabbed his wrist and painfully pivoted it, pulling it behind his back. I drag his wrist painstakingly behind his back, until it is close enough and I can slam it into the waiting cuff. I hit the button to double-lock the other cuff and relax somewhat.
I continue holding my knee against his leg and my shoulder pushing against the center of his back, holding him against the hood of the truck. "Bravo 17-1, one in custody." I call into my wrist-mounted microphone. The response comes back into my earpiece. "Copy Bravo 17-1. Standing by for ID confirmation."
I turn back to my captive. "Sir, as I said, I am detaining you for failing to produce identification." I start feeling for his wallet, rubbing my hands across his boxer-brief clad ass until I realize that he is sagging and his back pockets are much lower. I move my hands down and start digging around for his wallet, which unfortunately for him happens to tug his sagging pants further down until they are almost completely below his ass. I grab a phone from each pocket, glance at them, and put them up on the hood of the truck.
"Jesus, buy me dinner first, dude." He says, clenching his ass in my hands.
"Sir, where is your ID?" I ask, trying to present a professional front as I am enjoying groping his restrained body.
"Front right pocket, asshole." He says, almost indignant. I reach around and start digging my hands into his pocket, finding a wallet and extracting it along with another 2 phones. I flip it open.
"Can I get an ID check on an Ian Banks? DL# 157-8824-90?" I say again, into my wrist. "Sir, do you want to tell me why you are carrying around 4 different phones?"
"Yeah. Your boss calls me on that one, and your dad uses this one." He replies sarcastically.
I roll my eyes and continue holding him against the car as he struggles and squirms.
"Bravo 17-1, ID confirmed. He has two priors, DUI and shoplifting." I hear in my earpiece.
"Alright, Mr. Banks. Right now I am going to arrest you on suspicion of theft."
"What?! Why?" He asks incredulous. "Just cause your boss likes to come down and get some?"
"Sir, you are under arrest, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in court. You have the right to an attorney, if you cannot afford one, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights?"
"You can understand my dick." He says back.
"I will just take that as a yes." I say, grabbing the phones and slipping them into a pocket of my pants.
"I am going to search you now. Do you have anything on you that is going to poke me, stick me, stab me?"
"Yeah, right in front. That can stab you whenever you want." He spits back.
I pull him off the hood of the car, using the chain of his cuffs to pull his wrists up behind his back. I twist the cuffs against his wrists, pushing the steel bracelets against the bone. He stands briefly, before collapsing to his knees in pain.
"Ow, fuck. Stop. Stop. Fuck."
I grab his hat and visually check it, before dropping it on the ground next to him. I keep twisting the cuffs with one hand while I use my other to brush over his shirt, down his arms, over his chest and pecs, down his abs, along his ribs and down his back. I move lower. Moving my hand over his boxer-brief clad ass again, him flexing from the pain.
"So, you said you had something up here that was going to stick me?" I asked, innocently, moving my hand over his right hip to his crotch. I felt his package, he was clearly turned on, a small wet patch had formed on the right side of front. I carefully moved my hand over his dick, down to his balls, and along his taint.
"Damn, I haven't had this much action since your dad stopped by last night. Ow, fuck." he quipped.
I twisted the cuffs again against his wrists, sending more waves of pain long his arms.
"Seems like you are enjoying this, sir." I said, quietly, my face next to his ear.
"Take the cuffs off and I could give you some good action." He spat back.
"I don't need to take the cuffs off, bitch." I said.
I continued my frisk down to his sagging jeans, my hands digging into each of his pockets. I find another 3 phones in various pockets along with his keys.
"You know what sagging your pants like this means in prison, right?" I asked, grabbing his ass and squeezing. His pants are now completely below his ass after my frisk.
"Yeah, I have been there before. I can get along just fine." He says back, defiantly.
I continue frisking down his legs, lifting each foot off the ground and digging my fingers into his shoes as he kneels there. I find a small bag of marijuana in his shoe and slide it into my pocket as well.
"Looks like I am going to be adding drug possession to your list of crimes."
"Bravo 17-1, will be bringing back a male subject for processing."
"Copy, muster point 3 has a bus waiting."
"Alright, bad boy, get on your feet, let's walk." I say, twisting the cuffs the other way as I drag him to standing. I use the cuffs to guide him through the parking lot, past many of the tailgaters he was just a few moments ago stealing from. Many of them took out their phones to get pictures and videos. Some were already talking to their phones and started commentating the view.
I led my prisoner to a grassy area where there was a transport bus waiting to collect prisoners. We had chairs set up on the grass, I walked him over and forced him to sit down in one. He immediately slid down and spread his legs, lounging as another officer walked over with processing paperwork. The other officer and I conferred over him. He snapped a quick picture of the punk, lounging and sagging his dick still rock hard and outlined by his tight boxer briefs.
Once we finished, another officer brought over a set of transport cuffs and handed them to me. I let the leg irons drop to the ground, holding onto the handcuffs. The chain between the handcuffs and leg irons snapped as they reached the full length.
"Stand up." I ordered, grabbing his elbow and dragging him back to his feet. I stood behind him. "Give me your left foot."
He complied, lifting his foot off the ground. I grabbed his ankle, locked one of the cuffs around it, then let it drop back down. "Other foot." He complied, and I locked the cuff around his other ankle. I let his foot drop, then passed the handcuffs through his legs, so that I was holding them in front of him.
"If you are compliant, I will let you have your wrists in front of you on the bus." I said.
He looked down at them, then back at me.
(Is he smart enough to be a submissive prisoner, or is he going to get the full treatment? To be continued...)
(Thanks to @adbad77 for the photos and inspiration.)
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