A Thing for Cops

by Roland Graeme

  “Just passing by, are you? Aren’t you on duty?”

  “I just got off. I’m working some odd hours this week—filling in for guys who are on vacation, that sort of shit.”

  “I see. Is this a business or a social call?”

  The cop grinned. “Social, if you’re feeling sociable tonight. Business, if you think we have any unfinished business to take care of. Or…were you planning to go out later on?” he added, with just a hint of archness and mockery in his tone of voice.

  “Oh, that’s right,” I said, just as facetiously. “I’d forgotten that it was your job to keep me out of trouble. Well—as long as you’re here, you’d better come on upstairs and make sure nothing illegal is going on.”

  As I led the way to my apartment, I was suddenly self-conscious about my near-nudity. Following me up the stairs, the other cop could no doubt see my bare back, the play of muscles in my thighs, the rippling movement of my buttocks inside the boxer shorts.

  “I see you survived your little adventure the other night,” Sanderson remarked, when we were in my living room.

  “Thanks to you and your partner, what’s his name, Bailey? Not that I mind you taking such a personal interest in me, but who appointed you to be my guardian angel, anyway?”

  “I appointed myself. It hasn’t been all that long since I was a rookie, myself. I remember what it’s like to be at the bottom of the pecking order. It can be kind of lonely down there. Until you start to make a few friends. Which a guy like you shouldn’t have any trouble doing.” The cop reached out and touched my bare chest—lightly, pressing his fingertips against one firm pectoral muscle, not even rubbing or stroking the flesh, but simply touching it.

  He waited, as though to gauge my reaction. I did nothing to discourage him.

  “You seem like the friendly type, yourself,” I said, smiling at him.

  “It’s been awhile since I’ve met anybody—anybody interesting,” he faltered, looking and sounding unsure of himself for the first time since we’d met. “On or off duty.”

  I continued to encourage him with my smile. “Am I interesting?”

  “Interesting…and exciting. I’m getting excited right now, as a matter of fact,” the other cop whispered. “Do me a favor, will you, buddy?”

  “Sure. Anything. Professional courtesy, like you said the other night. What can I do for you?”

  “Get dressed,” Sanderson pleaded, still in a whisper.

  “Huh?” I certainly hadn’t been prepared for that request. Why would this stud want me to get dressed, if we were going to fuck?

  “In the same clothes you had on the other night.”

  “Oh, you liked that outfit, did you?”

  “You really looked hot in it.”

  “Come on.”

  I led Sanderson into my bedroom. I was a terrible housekeeper, and the clothes I had been wearing on Wednesday night were in fact still lying in a heap on the bedroom floor, where I had dropped them after I’d stripped for bed that night. I pulled them on hurriedly after discarding my boxer shorts.

  “Wait. I almost forgot the cock ring,” I said, as I was pulling up my jeans. I fetched the ring from the bureau drawer and slipped it on, deliberately aiming my dick at my fellow policeman while I did so, making a display of the process.

  He was staring at my crotch. “I didn’t see that the other night,” he said. “Although I did notice the big bulge you had in your pants.”

  “At the academy they always stressed the importance of observation.”

  When my cruising costume was complete, I stood in front of him, trembling slightly but perceptibly with eagerness—and with fear. Sanderson and I both worked on the force, to be sure, but other than that I knew nothing about him. Did he intend to get into some sort of kinky scenario with me?

  But he looked extremely handsome, standing there facing me in his uniform. Hell, he even still had his hat on. I was willing to keep an open mind.

  “When I saw you walking down the street the other night, I thought to myself, Oh, God, I bet he’s been making the rounds of all the bars…I can’t believe he hasn’t gotten himself picked up yet! You looked so hot. I told Bailey to pull over, just because I wanted to get a better look at you.”

  As he spoke, my new cop acquaintance reached out with both hands, touched my bare shoulders, then slid his fingertips lightly down my arms, again just grazing the flesh. His palms moved to cup my pecs, and then his fingers closed around my twin mounds of chest muscle, compressing them hard.

  He pinched both of my nipples through the thin cotton cloth of the tank top, and I gasped when the pressure on my tits sent a corresponding hot throb of pressure through my cock, which strained against the metal circle surrounding its base.

  The cop pinched my nipples harder, almost sadistically, and I cried out involuntarily, my knees buckling. Still gripping my tits between his thumbs and fingertips, Sanderson tugged on them, pulling my chest against his own, and he kissed me on the mouth, his tongue pushing its way between my lips and licking the edges of my teeth.

  I stood there kissing the cop and letting him work on my tits for several breathless minutes, until I felt as though my pecs were on fire.

  Feeling more bold, I reached up, pulled his hat off, and tossed it onto the top of a nearby chest of drawers. Then I grasped the cop’s head, raking my fingers through his hair, and I kissed him harder, increasing the pressure of our joined lips and forcing my own tongue deep inside the cop’s mouth. It tasted of mint mouthwash, the flavor intense and stinging on my tongue.

  As we kissed and my nipples pulsated within the cop’s grip, I ground my crotch up against the front of his uniform, letting my swollen, ringed prick rub firmly against the matching protuberance of his erection.

  Both of us were gasping for breath by the time the cop broke our kiss and, releasing my tits, he reached down to pull my tank top out of my jeans, then up over my torso and head, and off.

  He opened my jeans and fished out my cock and balls, his fingers massaging restlessly over the head and shaft of my penis, my bloated testicles, and twisting the ring around and around.

  I was going crazy with frustration, so I moaned with sheer physical relief when the cop suddenly let me go, dropped down to the floor on his knees, and stuffed my dick inside his mouth.

  The young policeman sucked it ravenously, bobbing his head back and forth in my crotch, uttering obscene slurping sounds, his lips caressing the circumference of the shaft of my prick and literally kissing the cock ring, which tapped audibly against his teeth a couple of times.

  In mid-suck, Sanderson unbuttoned his uniform shirt and shrugged it off, as though the garment were on fire and searing his skin.

  He yanked his plain white T-shirt up around his armpits, baring his own hairy chest. Then, instinctively recognizing my new sex partner’s need, I reached down and seized his big, brown nipples, pinching them, pulling them away from the pectoral muscles, digging my fingernails into the turgid cones of flesh, twisting them.

  My new cop fuck buddy took it all, like a man, without complaint or struggle. If anything, he burrowed his face into my groin more tightly and sucked my cock more avidly—using his hands, now, to fondle my buttocks and tickle my balls.

  After a few minutes, he released my dick and rose to his feet, smiling at me. He looked confident now, at ease. And I too now felt at ease in his company. It was as though he and I were longtime tricks. Standing there, facing each other, we both stripped off the rest of our clothes.

  As I stepped forward to embrace my enigmatic guest again, both of us now completely nude, I discovered that this cop was kinkier than I’d suspected. Under his uniform trousers and his undershorts, he was wearing an improvised cock ring that lifted his cock and balls at so high an angle that they pressed against my abdomen when I kissed him again, our chests touching, our hands resting on each other’s backs.

  With my tongue in his mouth, I reached down to fondle his prick and examine the genital restraint mor
e closely. Sanderson had taken a long piece of some sort of small-gauge electrical wire, coated in rubber, and wound it around his cock and balls several times, then looped the wire around his balls in an “X” pattern to keep them separated from the shaft of his cock.

  The wire was stiff enough to retain the shape it was molded into around the genitals, but it was insulated with the soft rubber, so it wouldn’t chafe the skin. Sanderson hadn’t knotted it. The two ends were simply twisted together between his thighs—I could feel the copper ends sticking out where they had been cut.

  “That’s some cock ring you’ve got on,” I said.

  “It’s inexpensive—and disposable,” he pointed out.

  I decided that it was time to adjourn to my bed, so I grasped the other guy’s hand and let him there. I didn’t turn on the bedroom lamp on the table beside the bed. Enough light penetrated from the other room through the bedroom door, which I’d left open, to cast an appropriately intimate pattern of light and shadow over the bed.

  We made love. Despite his obvious eagerness, Sanderson didn’t attack me the way some of my pickups did, but seemed as interested in touching and kissing as in actual genital stimulation.

  Not that there wasn’t plenty of the latter! When he wasn’t sucking on my tits or using his hands on them, my hot cop trick seemed to be sucking on my cock. I did my best to keep up with him.

  After one particularly intense stint of sixty-nining, though, we broke away from each other and Sanderson gasped, “Do you like to fuck?”

  “Sure.”

  “Do you want to fuck me?”

  “Yeah, you bet, if you want me to.”

  “I do want you to. I really need it, tonight.”

  I broke away from the other man long enough to raid the bureau drawer for the lube and a condom, then rejoined my cop lover on the bed.

  I went down on him, sucking his cock slowly and provocatively, exerting a maximum of pressure and friction, while working on his tits again. I wanted to get the guy hot—so hot that he’d open up his asshole for me and fuck like an animal!

  “Let me know when you’re ready,” I panted, between licks on the head of his cock.

  “Oh, I’m ready. I’m ready right now!”

  Still licking, I tore open the condom’s packet. My dick was so stiff that I had no trouble rolling the rubber down over it and securing it around the base of my shaft. I smeared a generous quantity of the lubricant over the latex, and then applied some of the lube to the cop’s erection, so that he could jerk it while he got fucked, if he so chose.

  I took another glob of the lube and pressed it between the other man’s buttocks. With his clothes on, he looked almost boyish. But naked, he had a real man’s asshole, large and hairy. It sucked two of my fingertips inside itself, then tightened against them and squirmed lewdly while I massaged the lube into the anal lining.

  I pulled my fingers out and got on my knees between the legs that he obligingly parted for me.

  “Fuck me,” he pleaded, bending his knees and lifting his legs high in the air, his face tense with erotic expectation.

  I pushed my sheathed glans between the parted ass cheeks against the slippery sphincter. It entered easily, and another careful thrust inserted my erection all the way, so that my cock ring rubbed right up against the other cop’s sphincter muscle, which seemed to stick to the metal as though glued to it by the lube.

  Sanderson rolled his head to one side on the pillow and groaned, his eyes closed.

  “All right?” I asked, not moving my cock inside the other man’s body yet.

  “Don’t worry about me, I can take it. Just fuck! Use me. Fuck me as hard and as fast as you damn well want to, man, and fuck me until you come.”

  I didn’t spare him! I fucked with long, sharp jabs, pushing almost the entire length of my prick in and out of that butch ass, restraining myself only to the extent that I was careful not to let the head of my cock slip out on the outstrokes.

  I leaned into it, hovering over the other man’s torso, pushing his knees back toward his shoulders. The naked cop opened his eyes and stared up into my face, his mouth open, his face flushed, his expression nothing short of ecstatic.

  And when I groped for his tits and began to pinch them again, he looked as though he was going to come right away!

  “Fuck me,” he repeated. “Oh, God, keep your big, hard cock moving in and out of my ass!”

  He was flexing his sphincter muscle, tilting his butt upward and pressing it against my groin, wrapping his legs around my waist and using his heels to press down on my buttocks and drive my dick into him. He was doing everything in his power, in fact, that could possibly help me to take him and increase the intensity of the fuck.

  He arched his back, pushing his pecs up, silently encouraging me to torture his tits even more roughly with my hands.

  My sweat fell from my face and dripped down onto my fellow cop’s face and chest. My hips pumped mechanically, in a slow but steady accelerando, speeding up my thrusts.

  The condom wasn’t delaying my ejaculation in the slightest. If anything, it was making my prick feel more sensitive, more responsive to the friction it was generating deep inside that hot, tight, butch ass.

  I tensed, leaned in more forcefully, breathed louder, humped harder, sweated more profusely—and we both knew that I was about to come.

  “Yeah!” Sanderson gasped, when he felt my dick start to quiver in the throes of ejaculation deep inside him, filling the tip of the condom with its thick, hot sperm. “Oh—yeah!”

  When I had stopped coming, I pulled out, but I went on pinching his nipples, because I knew by now that this guy really got off on that.

  “Do it hard—make me come!” he begged, as he massaged his cock toward orgasm.

  He gripped the shaft in his fist, which he pumped up and down. Then he reached down between his legs, found the ends of the insulated wire wrapped around his genitals, and began to tug on them, like a puppeteer manipulating an obscene marionette—the gesture making his cock and balls bounce up and down wildly while he masturbated.

  He came quickly, his semen slashing across his hairy chest in thick, gleaming streaks, like so many white welts on his skin.

  “Oh, God, I needed that!” my cop trick sighed, when he lay in my arms afterward, both of us recovering from our violent orgasms and enjoying the cuddling.

  “Yeah, you sure acted as though you were hard up,” I agreed.

  “I’ve been so tense lately, so fucking uptight. Work, you know? No matter how well you think you’re handling the stress, it gets to you every now and then. I guess you’ve got the cure for that, though, buddy. Listen—can I come visit you again?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Any time you like. After all, we’ve got to keep each other out of trouble!” I thought for a moment. “There’s only one problem.”

  “What’s that? Do you already have a boyfriend, or something?”

  “No, nothing like that. But I don’t even know your first name. If we’re going to keep on having sex with each other, I’m going to want to call you something besides Officer Sanderson.”

  He laughed. “I’m Kenneth. Kenneth Sanderson. Call me Ken.”

  “I will. That’s better.”

  Chapter Nine

  Three Cops are Better than Two

  After that, Ken Sanderson and I got together regularly for sex. He was good in bed, energetic, imaginative, and versatile, and as a result I never tired of making love with him. Better yet, he and I became friends. He was the first of my fellow cops with whom I developed a real friendship.

  But neither of us was ready for an exclusive, committed relationship. We agreed that we were fuck buddies, not lovers, and that each of us was free to play the field.

  I don’t think I went out of my way to be promiscuous. But I certainly took advantage of whatever opportunities for erotic adventure presented themselves.

  One night, feeling bored and restless at home, I called Ken to see if he wanted to come over.
But he had other plans. We arranged to get together another night. Then I changed into some casual civilian clothes and checked out the Tudor.

  It was a relatively sparse crowd that night. I sat at the bar and nursed my beer.

  “Two of your colleagues want to know if they can buy you a drink,” the bartender told me in a conspiratorial whisper.

  “Oh? Which two?” I asked.

  The bartender shrugged, then grinned. “Petrie and Blanco. You ought to feel flattered. Those two never pick up a tab if they can avoid it. I’m still in shock.”

  “I’ll have another beer, then.”

  “Fuck! If those tightwads are actually paying, for a change, then you might as well have a decent brandy or whiskey,” the bartender advised me in an undertone. “They both make good money, don’t they?”

  “They probably make a hell of a lot more money than I do,” I admitted wryly. “All right, I’ll have a brandy, then,” I decided—feeling grand indeed.

  I could feel myself blushing slightly as I turned my head toward the far end of the bar and nodded my thanks to the two good-looking older cops who were seated at a table there.

  I’ve mentioned Howard Petrie and Manuel Blanco before.

  Everybody who patronized this bar knew them, at least by sight. Most of the regulars were also aware that the two men were partners. That they were lovers, as well, was widely rumored. For all I knew, this could just be typical department gossip and bullshit. More than one officer had told me that when a cop had a really good partner who understood him and with whom he could work well, it was a relationship every bit as intense as a marriage. More so, in some instances. There were also wives of cops who complained that their husbands spent more time with their partners than they did at home.

  So I took the allegations that Petrie and Blanco didn’t just work together, but slept together, with some skepticism.

  But I was flattered that the two veterans had noticed me and had made the gesture of buying me a drink. I was one of the youngest guys in the bar tonight, and since false modesty wasn’t one of my virtues, I was arrogant enough to have already decided that I was easily the best-looking, standing out in the late-night crowd of police officers with a few civilians mixed in.