I stood and watched him from my viewing area for a moment. He blinked, and wiped his eyes again as residue of custard stubbornly resisted the decent, obstructing his vision as it oozed from this head down over his face. Not sure whether to wipe his hands on his uniform he paused for a second undecided before dropping his hands to his sides. Droplets of custard dripped from his fingers.

Approaching him I dug my hands into his pockets in the expectation of grasping his cock through the pocket. I found his wallet and pulled it out. Flicking through it I browsed through his assortment of credit and bank cards. Behind them sat his driving licence. I removed it from the wallet and held it out in front of me. Aloud, I read his full name and address. Deciphering the series of numbers I discovered his date of birth and read that out too.
The police had taken my laptop and phone and as a result had discovered, exploited and revealed my hidden fetish, videos and blown wide open my privacy. This was a revenge of sorts, the policeman's personal details read to the room. Granted, there was no Lock here, no team of tech to see that he had a fetish, his cock, like mine, responding and eager, the barometer of his desire to be gunged. A hollow victory of sorts, a piece of revenge albeit small. I replaced the driving licence and continued my search. No pictures of a wife, children, boyfriend or pets, just cards, notes but wait, in the zip up compartment, a condom, the ring of the contraception standing proud under the silver wrapping. I fished it out, holding it up to Dan and tutted. "Naughty, naughty" I gently taunted. I threw the wallet, and condom onto the work surface.

Walking up to him I gently played with the buttons of the shirt, working my way up to the top button, spread wide, his chest hair matted with thick custard. I did the button up and patted his shirt to his chest. Dan breathed a small sigh, or gentle exhale, I couldn't be sure which. Either way, I figured it meant he was enjoying the feeling of being under my total control. Emboldened I grabbed the top of this shirt, at neck level, either side of the buttons. With a violent flourish I ripped the shirt apart. Buttons flew across the room, hitting the plastic protecting my kitchen. One rolled away, I've no idea where the others went. His chest was displayed, thick hair matted the top part of his chest, over defined and well worked pecs. Custard had matted where I had rubbed it in earlier, but the rest was so far mostly untouched, the custard running mainly down the front of his shirt. The hair continued down over his belly, less dense, a thick trail of black hair led down from his navel and disappeared into his trousers. He had a six pack, not the vain, chiselled set Brad had, but still very impressive. I traced each pack with my finger. I preferred his, it wasn't so perfect, so contrived.
I circled behind him running my hands over broad shoulders, down his lats, drinking in the masculinity of the man. I turned and selected scissors from my kitchen rack. I made a small nick, a cut an inch or two long at the bottom of the shirt. Weakened, it ripped easily as I pulled the cotton apart. A broad, hairless, tanned back revealed itself. I noticed the exterior deltoids, defined and pronounced as the trapezium muscle, a triangular shape from top of his neck, narrowing down to the centre of his back, the lats, big, defined, either side of that. His back narrowed to his waist, not an inch of fat too much. Not so gym cut his body was skeletal, this was a specimen of man in fabulous, healthy shape. Custard had found its way down inside his shirt and ran down over his shoulders, following the muscular lines that the gym had provided him with. I used the scissors to snip through the collar and it sprang free, the shirt falling around his shoulders. Moving to his side I lifted his arm and made a small slit at wrist level, and tucking the scissors between my knees, pulled the fabric apart. The tear found the crease of the shirt and tore along it, exposing tightly muscular, hairy fore arms, then biceps, plump and bulbous. The other arm of the shirt met its fate in a similar way. I ripped the shirt remnants free and threw it to the floor. Dan returned his arms to his side, the military pose resumed.
I circled back to his front and knelt. I retrieved the scissors and placed the tip of the scissors beneath the laces of his shoe. They cut easily, and I pulled the laces free from their eyelets. Reaching for the tongue part of the shoe I used my strength to pull the tongue free. It's not only Dan who had the gym strength, I could look after myself too. I didn't have the body of Brad, or Dan, but was in good shape, and that came in useful for this task. Dan shifted his weight to the leg I was working on to provide stability so his leg didn't move as I tugged at his shoe innards. Eventually it gave way, the tongue ripping out fully. I tapped his leg and Dan dutifully lifted it, balancing on one leg. I removed the destroyed shoe and threw it aside. My technique of a small nick followed by tear was employed for his sock. The ruined sock joined the shoe across the room. Dan automatically knew the fate of the second shoe, and leant his weight on that leg to aid my destruction. Within a minute he was barefoot.

I reached for the scissors and the hem of his trousers leg. The fabric was tougher so I continued cutting, rather than ripping, slowly making my up the front of his right leg. Each snip revealed more perfection, a muscular lower leg, the calf muscle big, rounded, someone who didn't skip leg day. Dark hair furred over it, front and back. Muscular thighs, quads solid, rock hard. When I reached his belt I stopped this ascent and started over on his left leg, mirroring my work from the adjacent leg. I snipped away until the trousers hung like ribbons from his waist. I flicked open his belt, and pulled it from his trousers. It hung from my hand, like a whip. I threw it aside and it landed, coiled like a snake by the side of the fridge. Cutting through the waist band, the trousers fell to the policeman's feet. He kicked them aside. Slowly I moved around him, feeling his cock through the fabric of his white Calvin Boxers. Free from the restraint of his trousers his cock tented the underwear, a small damp patch where the tip of his penis lay. Moving around him I traced the shape of his thighs around to his ass. The pert ass I had seen when Dan was stood by my bookcase was equally as impressive just in boxers. My hands revelled in his flesh.
Completing my circuit I retreated to my viewing space. Me, fully clothed enjoying the near nudity of Dan as he stood unmoving, his eyes locked onto mine, defiant yet complying.

I moved to the fridge and retrieved a bowl of jelly. Thanks to my game show role play host I had learned that using more water and a sprinkling of salt allowed the jelly to only part set. It didn't only wobble, as I shut the door and returned to Dan, it rippled, a slow, syrupy red, cold, very cold jelly. The bowl, metal, stung my hands.

"Hold this" I ordered passing the bowl to my plaything. He gripped it without comment. Finally I released his cock from his boxers. Pulling the band of his underwear under his balls I had my first view of his manhood. It stood, pointing directly at me. It was pretty long, a tiny bit larger than mine I surmised. I reached just over six inches, I guessed he may touch seven. Where he had me beat was girth. I gripped it in my hand and my thumb and forefinger couldn't quite touch. His foreskin remained forward covering the head. I moved my hand back towards his body and the skin retracted, rolling easily back over his cock head. The foreskin nestled behind the glans, the head glistening with pre come. A thick vein ran its way along his shaft, nestling into public hair The trail of hair I had seen lead into his trousers led and diverged into a large wiry bush, full, curly black hair. It was neither trimmed or unkempt. Like the rest of his body it was easy to see that care had been taken to trim, without too much over attention. A natural look. His balls hung beneath the waistband I had pulled down. Low hanging, heavy, the only part shaved clean. I pulled the waistband back up, over his cock, but pulled it away from his waist. The fabric strained but held firm. With my freehand I took the jelly bowl from Dan, holding it at the rim, the freezing cold metal in sharp contrast to the heat from his cock.
I tipped the entire bowl of jelly inside Dan's boxers. I heard the gasp and felt the jolt as the cold semi set, gloopy jelly fell into his underwear, hitting his exposed bell end first before splattering his pubes flat. The boxers failed to hold the deluge, filling partially before succumbing, allowing free passage out, down his legs. The descent was fast, coating the insides and front of his legs. The body hair flattening, laying sleek on tanned legs.
After the initial shock, Dan settled back into position. Moving quickly I retrieved the second bowl of jelly from the fridge. This one equally as semi set, but a purple colour, blackcurrant. Moving behind him I pulled the waistband out, revealing both buttocks, a thin wiry covering of fair, finer and less sparse than the rest of his body hair. I upended the bowl of jelly down the back. I pushed my hand between his buttocks massaging the jelly around his ass hole. I heard Dan groan softly, pushing air out behind his lips, slowly, his desire given away, exposed. I pushed deeper the tip of my finger entering him, the warmth of his body cooled by the freezing jelly.
I left him wanting and used my fingers to rip a hole in the back of his underwear, tearing the fabric to expose his ass, the muscles pert, inviting. I repeated the action, digging a hole in the front. His cock sought exit and freed itself, inches from my face. The scissors broke the waistband, and finally, finally, Dan had been removed of his dignity, his power, and now his clothes, permanently. He was mine. The power surged through me, the reversal of our roles so complete, so absolute.

Emboldened, I commanded him to his knees. He complied, slipping as he knelt, his outstretched arm stopping a fall. As he steadied himself, not set into position I emptied a bucket of custard over him. It splattered his head, his hunched position allowing the custard free reign over his back. He recovered a position on his knees, hands slipping through the mess on his thighs.

"Arms behind head. Now"

Instant compliance followed. He laced his fingers behind his head, arms and elbows, out at right angles. Two dark, hairy armpits, virginal, untouched from the carnage so far exposed themselves. I selected a custard pie from my arsenal of gunge and made good the pristine armpit hair. The custard oozed down his bicep, falling into his pecs, it's travel random and unhindered. A second pie followed on his opposite side.

To my eyes he didn't look defeated, not the quivering wreck of servitude. He was defiant, uncompromising and unrepentant, a policeman unbowed by circumstance. He was taking my revenge with fortitude. I respected that but it held no compromise. I continued. Another bucket of custard plastered him, thrown at close quarters, direct over chest and face. My kitchen was a mess, a war zone. I could not care less. I massaged the mess into his chest. Every hair on his chest, belly and groin was meticulously covered, his body slick with custard, the cream. The remnants of the pie bases mingling with mess and hair. With force a further pie was administered to his head, grinding the custard and its base into his head, the stubble of his head no longer bristly and rough, the vast amount of mess rendering their roughness impotent.

For the first time he showed emotion, breath laboured and panting. I left him recovering as trifles were fetched from the fridge. I scooped a handful and grasped his cock. The skin of his shaft taught yet spongy, received the mess, a second handful, his balls, a third rammed between his thighs, his asshole the unmissable target. I worked my way up, using both trifles to attack his groin again, belly, chest and finally head. By now he was unrecognisable. Even Lock and his bloodhound detective skills would not recognise his colleague, so ruined, so owned. I smiled, admiring my handiwork. From his knelt position, so disguised in the mess of my creating I was sure Dan was smiling back.

"Don't get too comfortable, we aren't done yet" I said, and patted his head. He nodded.