The sun beat down on the cracked asphalt as Officer Kyle Harlan stood with that signature cocky tilt to his head, thumbs hooked into his duty belt, broad shoulders squared under the black tactical vest. His uniform hugged his athletic frame—wide chest tapering to a narrow waist, powerful arms filling out the sleeves, the POLICE patch gleaming on his left shoulder. The black cap sat low over his short dark hair, blue-mirrored sunglasses perched on the brim like a crown. He flashed that easy, arrogant grin, the one that said he owned every room he walked into, teeth bright against his tanned skin. At twenty-six, Kyle was the department's golden boy: star athlete turned cop, the kind of guy who bench-pressed his own bodyweight for fun and never missed a chance to remind everyone.
He'd rolled up to the quiet industrial lot on the edge of town after a weird anonymous tip about suspicious activity at an abandoned warehouse. "Probably some kids fucking around," he'd muttered into his radio, but the voice on the other end had been insistent. Now here he was, alone, scanning the empty lot with that alpha swagger. No backup needed. Not for this.
A side door to the warehouse creaked open. Out stepped a man in his late thirties—lean, unassuming, wire-rimmed glasses, button-down shirt tucked into slacks. Dr. Elias Voss, though Kyle didn't know the name yet. Elias looked like a mid-level accountant or lab tech, nothing threatening. Average height, average build, forgettable face except for the sharp, hungry eyes behind those lenses.
"Officer," Elias called, waving a hand. "Thanks for coming so quick. I work security consulting for the property owner. Got a report of someone tampering with equipment inside. Figured it was better to have real law enforcement check it out."
Kyle chuckled, low and dismissive, striding over with that rolling jock gait. "Yeah, no problem. You got keys or what? Let's make this fast. I've got better shit to do than babysit empty buildings."
Elias smiled thinly, holding the door. "Appreciate it. Right this way."
Kyle stepped inside willingly, full alpha confidence radiating off him like heat. The door clicked shut behind them with a heavy finality he didn't notice.
The warehouse interior was dim, dust motes floating in shafts of light from high windows. Kyle's boots echoed as he swept his flashlight across stacked crates and old machinery. "See anything?" he asked over his shoulder, voice booming with that cocky authority.
Elias moved quietly behind him. "Not yet. But I've been tracking some… patterns here."
Kyle turned, about to crack another joke, when the world tilted. A sharp prick in his neck—Elias's hand darting out with a small injector. Kyle's hand flew to the spot, eyes widening. "What the fu—"
His legs buckled almost immediately. The sedative was fast, designed for big targets. Kyle dropped to one knee, then both, his powerful body fighting but failing. The flashlight clattered away. He tried to grab for his radio, but Elias kicked it aside with surprising calm.
"Easy, big guy," Elias murmured, voice smooth and clinical. "You've been mine for weeks. I know your patrol routes. Your gym schedule. That little habit you have of flexing in every reflective surface. I picked you because you're perfect. Strong. Arrogant. Straight as an arrow. And about to learn how useless all of that is."
Kyle's vision swam, but he snarled, trying to lunge. His massive arms felt like lead. "You… fuck… I'll kill you…"
Elias knelt beside him, stroking a gloved hand over Kyle's stubbled jaw. "No. You won't. You're going to be my pretty little hole. My cumrag. My obedient fuck toy. And you'll thank me for it by the end."
Chapter 1: The First Breaking
The restraints were already waiting—industrial zip ties and padded cuffs bolted to a reinforced workbench in the corner. Elias dragged Kyle's dead-weight body over, stripping the utility belt first, then the vest, the heavy tactical shirt. Kyle's black compression undershirt clung to his sweat-damp muscles, outlining every ridge of his abs, the swell of his pecs. Even drugged and furious, he looked like a god—broad, masculine, untouchable.
But the drugs made his resistance pathetic. Elias secured his wrists behind his back, then his ankles to the legs of the bench, forcing him to kneel forward over it, ass up, chest pressed to the cold metal surface. Kyle thrashed as best he could, spitting curses. "Get the fuck off me, you sick piece of shit! I'll rip your fucking head off!"
Elias circled him slowly, taking photos with a small camera. Click. Click. "Smile for the collection, Officer Harlan. These are going in my private album. Proof of how far the mighty fall."
He cut away the undershirt with shears, exposing Kyle's smooth, muscular back, the taper of his lats, the dimples above his firm ass still hidden by uniform pants. Elias peeled those down too, along with the boxer briefs, until Kyle's thick, straight cock hung soft and heavy between his spread thighs, untouched. His balls were full, heavy. Elias ignored them completely.
"Look at you," Elias whispered, running a hand over one meaty ass cheek, squeezing the dense muscle. "Built like a breeding bull. But you're not breeding anything tonight."
Kyle bucked, face red with rage and humiliation. "Don't you fucking touch me—"
The first slap landed hard across his ass, echoing. Then another. Elias wasn't gentle. He worked methodically, turning that proud cop ass pink, then red. Kyle's threats turned to grunts. When Elias finally pressed a lubed finger against his virgin hole, Kyle froze.
But the finger pushed in anyway. Kyle's body clenched, powerful thighs trembling. Elias added a second, scissoring, searching. When he found the prostate and rubbed it firmly, Kyle's cock twitched involuntarily, leaking a bead of precum despite his snarls.
"See? Your body knows what it is now."
Elias worked him open relentlessly, three fingers, then four, until Kyle was panting, sweat dripping down his face, mixing with angry tears he refused to acknowledge. The alpha cop's cock stayed ignored—hard now from the unwanted prostate abuse, but Elias slapped it away whenever it throbbed too obviously.
Phase one ended with Elias unzipping his own pants, pulling out a long, average cock already leaking. He pressed the head against Kyle's stretched hole and thrust in deep in one brutal motion.
Elias fucked him raw and steady, hips slapping against that muscular ass. Every thrust ground against Kyle's prostate, forcing unwanted moans from the jock's throat. "Fuck—stop—ahh—"
"You're clenching so nicely," Elias groaned, gripping Kyle's hips, fingers digging into the muscle. "That's it. Take it like the hole you are."
He came hard inside Kyle's guts, flooding him, then pulled out and watched the cum drip down those powerful thighs.
Kyle hung there, broken into his first sobs, body shaking.
Kyle's voice was hoarse from screaming. He'd been moved to a stained mattress in the corner, wrists cuffed above his head to a pipe, legs spread wide and chained to eyebolts in the floor. The drugs had mostly worn off, leaving him with full awareness and burning humiliation.
Elias had fed him water and a protein bar— "Can't have my toy passing out"—then started phase two: feminization basics.
He'd shaved Kyle's body hair with careful strokes—chest, abs, legs, even around his cock and balls. Kyle had fought every second, cursing, but the restraints held. Now his skin was smooth, almost pretty. Elias had forced bright red lipstick onto his lips, smearing it when Kyle tried to bite.
"Look at yourself." Elias held up a mirror. Kyle's reflection showed a wrecked version of the arrogant cop: flushed face, smeared makeup, smooth muscular body glistening with sweat, cock hard and leaking untouched against his abs.
"Fuck you," Kyle rasped, but his voice cracked.
Elias climbed between his legs, lifting them over his shoulders. This position exploited Kyle's flexibility from all those years of sports—his thick thighs folded back, ass presented perfectly. Elias slid back inside the cum-slick hole and started a slow, deep grind.
"Phase two, pretty boy. You're going to learn to beg."
He fucked him for over an hour like that, changing angles, always hitting the prostate. Kyle's cock bounced untouched, dripping steadily onto his own smooth stomach. Every time he got close, Elias stopped. Edging the jock mercilessly.
"Please—fuck—just let me cum—"
The words slipped out before Kyle could stop them. Elias laughed, low and victorious. "Good girl. But no. Not tonight."
He pulled out and jerked himself off onto Kyle's face, painting the lipstick-smeared mouth and cheeks with thick ropes.
Sunlight filtered through the dirty windows. Kyle woke to the feeling of something in his ass. A thick plug, vibrating lowly. His body had been cleaned, oiled. He was dressed now—or half-dressed—in a skimpy pair of black lace panties that barely contained his cock, and a cropped police shirt that left his smooth abs exposed. The cap was back on his head, tilted jauntily, but the rest screamed parody.
Elias stood over him, holding a leash attached to a collar now locked around Kyle's thick neck.
"Time for training, fuck toy."
He led Kyle—still cuffed, crawling on all fours—across the warehouse floor. The plug shifted with every movement, pressing his prostate. Kyle's face burned with shame, but his cock strained against the lace.
Phase three was objectification. Elias used him as furniture first. Made him hold positions while being fucked—bent over crates, on his back like a bitch with legs in the air, then face-down-ass-up on the dirty floor while Elias took calls on speaker, casually discussing "project timelines" while balls-deep in the broken cop.
Kyle's resistance had cracked further. The constant prostate milking without release had turned his brain fuzzy. When Elias finally allowed him to cum—by riding the cop's face while jerking Kyle's ignored cock—it was explosive, humiliating, Kyle shooting across his own smooth chest while choking on Elias's balls.
But the real breaking came in phase four.
Elias had set up a full-length mirror. He positioned Kyle on his knees in front of it, hands cuffed behind his back, and fucked his throat first—slow, deep, making him gag and drool. Then he turned him around, ass to the mirror, and made him watch as he got railed.
"Watch yourself get fucked, Officer. Watch what you are now."
Kyle stared, eyes glassy, as his own powerful body was used like a cheap toy. The muscles that once commanded respect now flexed uselessly. His hole stretched obscenely around Elias's cock. Cum from previous loads leaked out with every thrust.
"Say it," Elias growled, yanking the leash.
"I'm… I'm your pathetic feminine fuck toy," Kyle whispered, voice breaking completely.
"I'm your hole. Your cumrag. Your servant."
Elias rewarded him by flooding his guts again, then pulling the plug and making Kyle push out the cum into his own hands and lick it clean.
Hours blurred. Elias introduced toys—dildos sized progressively larger, a chastity cage that locked Kyle's proud cock away, denying it any pleasure while his ass was trained to crave cock. He made Kyle practice feminine mannerisms: walking with a sway, speaking in a higher pitch, thanking his owner after every load.
By the time the sun set again, Kyle was a shivering, cum-covered mess on the mattress. His alpha confidence was shattered. The arrogant jock grin was gone, replaced by a broken, needy expression. His body, once a weapon, was now remade—smooth, sensitive, aching to be filled.
Elias stroked his hair almost tenderly. "Good girl. This is just the beginning. Tomorrow we start your public service training. But for now… open that pretty mouth."
Kyle obeyed without hesitation, lips parting.
The warehouse had become Kyle's entire world. Elias had installed more equipment: a breeding bench with stirrups that held Kyle's legs wide and elevated, perfect for long sessions. The former cop's body was adapting—his hole now puffy and eager, his mind fracturing under the relentless use and denial.
Elias had a new game. He dressed Kyle in full feminine lingerie under the remnants of his uniform: thigh-high stockings stretched over his muscular calves, a garter belt, a lacy bra that cupped his pecs absurdly. The police cap stayed on as the ultimate humiliation.
"Look at my big strong police bitch," Elias taunted, filming on his phone as he fucked Kyle in the stirrups. Kyle's cock strained uselessly in its tiny cage, leaking constantly.
"Please… sir… fuck me harder," Kyle moaned, the words coming easier now. His voice had taken on a breathy, feminine quality from hours of practice.
Elias obliged, pounding him brutally. The position let him go deep, battering Kyle's prostate until the jock was babbling, tears streaming. When Elias came, he pulled out and made Kyle clench to keep it inside, then ride a massive dildo while reciting his new rules:
"I exist for cock. My ass is my only pussy. My mouth is for serving. My cock doesn't matter."
Kyle's transformation was nearly complete. Elias had taken him outside at night, leashed and collared, fucking him bent over the hood of his own patrol car in the lot where it all started. The risk of discovery added a vicious edge. Kyle had cum hands-free twice just from the shame and the pounding.
Back inside, Elias introduced the final phase of this cycle: total servant mode.
Kyle cooked for him—naked except for an apron—then served on his knees under the table, mouth working Elias's cock while the older man ate. After dinner, he was bent over the kitchen counter, ass used as a stress relief toy while Elias reviewed "files" on his laptop.
"You're not a cop anymore," Elias said softly, thrusting lazily. "You're my property. Say it."
"I'm your property," Kyle whimpered, pushing back onto the cock like the trained fuck toy he'd become. His once-arrogant face was soft, eyes glazed with submission. "Your feminine cumdump. Use me however you want."
Elias smiled, pulling Kyle's head back by the hair for a deep kiss—possessive, claiming. The power reversal was total. The jock who had entered so confidently was gone. In his place was a pathetic, eager hole addicted to being broken.
And Elias had months more planned.
The sessions had grown more creative, more vicious in their intimacy. Elias had discovered Kyle's hidden weakness early—the way his nipples hardened when played with, the way his body betrayed him with shivers when called "good girl." He exploited it ruthlessly.
Tonight, Kyle was strapped to a custom rig: bent forward, arms and legs spread in a standing X, ass presented, mouth accessible. A ring gag kept his jaw open. Elias circled him like a predator, occasionally slapping the firm, smooth cheeks or tugging the cage on Kyle's denied cock.
"You used to strut around like you owned the world," Elias said, voice low and intimate. "Now look at you. Dripping for it."
He slid in without warning, fucking Kyle with long, punishing strokes. The jock's body rocked in the restraints, muffled moans escaping around the gag. Elias reached around to twist his nipples, making Kyle's caged cock jump and leak.
Phase after phase blended now. Throat fucking until Kyle's voice was wrecked. Ass-to-mouth training, making him clean every toy and cock that entered him. Public risk escalated—Elias took him to the roof one night, fucking him against the ledge overlooking the city, Kyle's old uniform jacket draped over his shoulders like a cruel joke.
Kyle broke further with every load. His old life felt like a dream. The arrogance had evaporated, replaced by desperate need to please, to be used, to be remade.
Elias pulled out after another intense orgasm and removed the gag. Kyle immediately begged in that soft, feminine tone he'd been trained into: "Please, sir… more. I need your cum in me."
Elias laughed softly, petting his head. "Such a good little fuck toy. We're just getting started."
The warehouse echoed with the sounds of flesh and surrender as the cycle continued, Kyle's powerful body now nothing but a vessel for Elias's pleasure.
