A Thing for Cops

by Roland Graeme

  Ducati just moaned and pumped up and down even faster, spreading his knees wider where they rested on either side of my hips. This shift in his position seemed to open his asshole more and make it easier for my ruthless prong to rip up into his craving body.

  His big tanned body, all glossy with sweat that reflected the reddish flames, rose and fell above me in a monotonous rhythm of raw, animal lust. He took my cock up his ass again and again, and he begged me to “Screw the living shit out of my hole, kid!” And believe me, I did my best to comply!

  “God damn,” my partner groaned. “Your cock really feels good in me. Are you feeling as hot as I am?”

  “Hell, yeah.”

  “Want to get even hotter?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Want some poppers?” Ducati asked, lowering his voice to a whisper, all of a sudden, not missing a stroke of his ass around my prick.

  “You use them?”

  “Sure, now and then. Just to give myself an extra kick.”

  “Aren’t you afraid of the drug tests down at work?”

  “Amyl doesn’t show up in your urine.”

  “It doesn’t? Okay, then,” I replied. “That would be nice. Only I don’t want you to have to pull off of my dick even for a second to go get them!”

  Ducati laughed as he kept right on riding my pole as though it was a painted horse on a circus carousel. “I won’t have to. I’ve got my stash right here on the coffee table, and it’s this really good, fresh amyl my doctor wrote me a prescription for. Wait a second. Keep fucking me, don’t stop—!”

  He raised his ass high, so that only the head of my cock remained stuck in his crack, and extended one hand toward the nearby coffee table, groping for a little metal box that sat on top of it beside a stack of magazines.

  “Oh, shit, your dick feels so big and hard inside my butt!” he moaned.

  When he opened the box, I saw that it contained a bright yellow box of amyl ampules and a bullet-shaped aluminum inhaler.

  Ducati took out both of these items and then sat back down on my prick, groaning when the full length of it rammed back up his hole. Unscrewing the top of the shiny inhaler, he crushed an ampule, making a sharp snapping noise, and dropped it into the inhaler. Twisting it closed again, he stuck it in his nostril and breathed in deeply.

  I watched him. He was already gasping and shivering with arousal, with a rush, when he inserted the inhaler into his other nostril and snorted again.

  Then, handing the poppers to me, Ducati went berserk, grinding his hot ass down around the base of my cock so hard that I expected the damn thing to snap off and remain planted in his hole!

  “Fuck me—fuck me!” the stud cop kept shouting as he used my body like a dildo.

  I was curious to find out for myself what had turned him on so hard and fast, so I jammed the inhaler into my own nose and took two good sniffs in a row.

  As I changed nostrils to charge both barrels of my nose with the fumes, I felt a ball of hot white light burst in front of my eyes and sear my brain, then shoot down through every vein in my sweating, humping body, setting my blood on fire.

  What a rush! My cock nearly exploded as it plunged eagerly up into the depths of Ducati’s enticingly masculine asshole and I really began to ream his butt out, making our intense screwing up to now look like kid stuff.

  It was pure, high-strength prescription amyl, all right—the best. I took two more good whiffs from the inhaler and joined Ducati up there in fuck heaven as the potent fumes penetrated my nasal passages and shot straight down to my cock.

  I was fucking that yielding, eagerly responsive, butch ass of his just as hard and as rough as I could. Ducati’s groans told me that I was probably hurting him a little, but no more than he could handle and even enjoy in the excitement of his popper high. He was so hot for my dick that I could’ve torn his ass wide open and not have heard any complaints.

  The amyl had really gotten to me, too. Everything was white and hot and weightless around me. All I could feel was the way my slippery cock, gripped tight by the strong muscles Ducati crapped with, swelled each time I shoved it all the way up that stud’s hot, craving manhole.

  In and out of that juicy ass I plunged. I fucked him rougher, faster, harder and harder, getting closer and closer to an eruption of hot wet sperm. The rush peaked and we both turned into rutting animals, with Ducati screaming for me to fuck him and me telling him to “Take it like a man, fucker—take my dick up your butch ass, baby!” as I drilled up into him and the sweat of our sex poured from both our heaving, twisting bodies.

  “Uh—I’m so damn close—I’m going to come real soon!” Ducati moaned. “Come in my ass, man, shoot your hot jism up my hole!”

  Ducati seized the inhaler which was lying on the futon beside me and used it again, then he gave it to me. That potent vapor did the trick, all right. My heart was pounding so violently in my chest I was afraid it would burst from the strain as I lunged up into Ducati’s ass with even more frantic motions, punishing his anal canal with my prick until I was sure the skin was being scraped right off both my cock and the tender inner lining of his hot hole!

  Ducati threw himself forward and our chests touched as we embraced and necked, my cock plowing into him nonstop all the while. We went crazy, licking each other’s faces and tits and throats with our tongues while our hot breaths mingled and our fingers groped eagerly for each other’s buttocks.

  I still had my fist tight around Ducati’s dick, jerking it, as I screwed him like a power drill boring its way through hardwood. Ducati thrust his tongue deep into my open, panting mouth again, and that provided all the additional impetus we needed. We both toppled over the edge into orgasm simultaneously.

  I could feel Ducati’s fuck cream gushing out of his thick Italian-American salami as I beat it roughly for the final few times, squirting his jism all over both our bodies. He rubbed himself against me and, with his tongue still working around inside my mouth, he wriggled his butt to help bring me off, too.

  I was blasting my sperm up into his ass. I knew my explosion was safely contained inside the rubber I had fitted so snugly around my dick. But in my feverishly overheated imagination, I was shooting my wet wad freely within the narrow target range of his butt. I was bathing his twitching prostate with my cum, wetting down the walls of his convulsing anus with my seminal whitewash, as I unloaded again and again inside its tight, massaging grip.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Health Club Hots

  It was ironic. There I was, at the ripe old age of twenty-six. No longer technically a rookie, I was now well on the way to turning into the kind of veteran cop I’d once idolized. I was the “older man” whom the younger guys looked up to—both on and off duty. The “off duty” part of it could get rather interesting. Whenever some guy and I cruised each other, and I admitted to him that I was cop, he would invariably get turned on. I had some extremely hot sessions with these pickups—often involving dressing up in my uniform and other gear, or at least bringing my handcuffs and nightstick into play. I could relate to what was going on in these guys’ heads. When I was younger, fucking a cop had been a big fantasy for me. I was now more than willing to help fulfill other gay men’s fantasies.

  It was like Ducati remarked to me once. “Cop sex,” he said. “The best damn sex there is!”

  I was settling comfortably into my career, and I was doing all right for myself. I’ll say one thing for being a single cop—it encourages a frugal lifestyle. I had no wife or boyfriend to support—and no steady boyfriend to spend my money on, unfortunately. And when I got off duty, I was often too tired to want to treat myself to anything extravagant in the way of entertainment. A quiet evening at home was usually fine with me—except, of course, for those occasions when I went out to get laid.

  As a result, I began saving some money. After monitoring my expenditures for a few months, I realized that I could afford a few things to enhance the quality of my life. So I acquired a new off-
duty wardrobe, a newer and more reliable car, and a few pieces of decent new furniture. And, instead of the grimy grunt-and-sweat gym where Gideon and I used to work out, I now had a membership at a more upscale health club.

  A lot of my fellow police officers patronized this gym, so I was able to do some socializing along with my workouts.

  One night, I had a bad case of what I always thought of as “the health club hots”—which seemed to consist of one part sheer horniness, one part the adrenaline rush that inevitably accompanied a good workout, and one part a simple increase in basic body temperature.

  I didn’t mind the ache in my muscles that inevitably resulted from a hard workout. What I did hate was the way my overheated body sweated—as though the gym was one huge, sweltering steam bath.

  Under my gym shorts, my jockstrap was soaking wet with sweat, my dick trapped inside the clammy elastic pouch, exactly as if I’d pissed myself. And my tank top felt like a sodden dishrag hanging limply from my shoulders and pecs.

  Glancing around after my final set of squats, I was glad to notice that I wasn’t the only guy in the gym tonight who was working up a lather of perspiration.

  My eye fell on a bare-chested blond boy whose sweatpants were saturated as he lay, legs spread wide, crotch exposed, on a padded bench, pumping out rep after rep of bench presses.

  I had seen this young blond guy around the gym often before I worked up enough nerve to go over and introduce myself to him. I already knew that his name was Kieran. I’d heard one of the instructors call him that, and it was an uncommon enough name to have stuck in my memory. But it was only during our first conversation that I found out any more about him.

  Kieran was young, in his early twenties. He was a college student, working toward an engineering degree. I couldn’t help thinking that he had other career choices open to him. In my fantasies, these included, in ascending order of stimulation, male model, fitness trainer, male stripper, and gay porn actor.

  He had an enviably husky physique and a shock of corn silk hair, plus the kind of smile that just wouldn’t quit. What attracted me to him was the fact that the blond stud seemed almost unaware of his own good looks and the appeal they held for other men—for even supposedly straight men, some of whom I had often caught staring at Kieran every bit as longingly as I myself was no doubt looking at the kid right now.

  We’d been carrying on a harmless, running flirtation for several weeks, nodding to each other in greeting, smiling, occasionally exchanging a few words—always about how our routines were going, never anything even remotely personal or sexually suggestive.

  But each of us knew that the other man was not only gay, but interested in him. The suspense, the teasing, was part of the excitement and—I was beginning to fear—it was almost more enjoyable than any actual sexual contact could be.

  Kieran was a polite, well-mannered lad. At first, he always addressed me as “Officer Melton,” and it took me a while to get him to call me by my first name. I had the feeling that he liked the fact that I was a cop.

  Outside the gym, I fantasized about Kieran often, and I flattered myself that the blond guy was indulging in equally lurid speculations about me. Whether it was me personally he was intrigued by, or the uniform and all it represented, or a combination of both, was an interesting question.

  When I turned to go to the water fountain, I noticed that I wasn’t Kieran’s only admirer. Christine, one of the regulars, was standing there, breathing hard, her eyes shining and her red-glossed lips slightly parted and looking shiny wet as she stared at Kieran.

  Christine was a real barracuda. I had to admit that she was beautiful. She was a tall, lithe redhead, with a sensational figure, toned by aerobics and light weightlifting, that she wasn’t at all shy about showing off.

  Tonight, for example, she was wearing a tight hot pink leotard and no bra. Not that she needed one. Her full breasts were so firm that they jutted out proudly above her waist, the big nipples clearly visible through the taut-stretched fabric. It was too bad that the display was wasted on me. I was gay, but I still possessed enough imagination to appreciate how a woman like Christine could get the average straight guy’s motor revved up.

  Christine always wore full makeup when she worked out. She really used the gym for husband-hunting. Her thing was to compete with the other women, to see who could date the richest or most influential men.

  On the other hand, she wasn’t averse to the idea of a quick roll in the hay with a good-looking, well-built, but relatively impecunious guy. It was common knowledge around the gym that she’d screwed most of the instructors, who tended to be young, eager, muscle-bound numbers, working at the gym in exchange for minimum wage and free access to the equipment.

  I was no longer all that young or eager now, and although I had a good job I certainly wasn’t wealthy or influential. But I was muscular, and, if I may be so immodest, I wasn’t bad-looking. In addition, I was well-hung, a fact which my snug-fitting gym attire no doubt occasionally revealed.

  Christine liked to prick tease me, and I gave it right back to her. It was a harmless game that neither of us took too seriously.

  “Hi, Jim,” she greeted me. “Oh, you’re all hot and sweaty,” she purred, running her hand over my back as I bent over to drink from the fountain.

  “Yes, I am. Don’t get too close—I probably stink,” I told her bluntly.

  “I don’t mind. I like a man to smell like a man.”

  Well, at least we had that much in common.

  “I saw you giving Kieran the once-over,” I teased her. “Isn’t he a little young and innocent for you?”

  “The younger and the more innocent, the better,” she retorted. “I’m a good teacher.”

  “I’ll tell him you’re interested. You know, feel him out.”

  “Would you, Jim?” She sounded excited by the mere thought.

  “Sure,” I lied. When hell freezes over, you horny bitch! I added mentally. After all, I saw him first! Feel him out? Feel him up, would be more like it!

  I excused myself and went back to the weight area. Kieran was still working hard on a set of bench presses, and when the kid started to gasp for breath and I saw the barbell waver slightly in his grip as he held it overhead, I quickly stepped up to the end of the bench. My muscular thighs virtually straddled Kieran’s flushed and sweat-slick face, which was tense with concentration.

  “Here.” I placed my hands, palms open and up, under the barbell, and gently helped Kieran hold it up. “Do you want to go for a couple of forced reps?”

  Kieran, staring up at me wide-eyed, grunted in assent. I helped him complete three extra reps by taking some of the weight myself, and then we deposited the barbell on the rack. Kieran sat up, breathing hard, looking dazed.

  “Thanks,” he said, smiling at me, and I slapped him on the shoulder in approved buddy-buddy fashion—fighting the urge to let my fingers curl around the naked, sweaty flesh they touched. “That felt great! I really got a pump!”

  “You really ought to have a spotter when you push yourself like that.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Kieran started to rub his aching biceps and pecs with an innocent narcissism that got me even more aroused. “My arms are getting tired. That’s why I couldn’t handle all that weight myself. It feels good, though. I’m just about done for tonight. I’ll make sure I ask somebody to spot me, next time.”

  “I’m always available,” I blurted out. “Just ask.” Yeah, I was available, all right. In every sense of the word!

  “I’ll remember that.”

  I didn’t want to seem too obvious by prolonging the moment. “Well, I’m just about done, myself. I think I’ll hit the sauna. Maybe I’ll see you later.”

  “I’m sure you will,” Kieran replied easily.

  Feeling increasingly excited, I left the weight area and sat in the sauna for fifteen minutes. The gym might have been coed, but of course the locker rooms were not. Each locker room had its own adjacent wet and dry steam rooms—o
ne pair for the ladies, the other for gentlemen. As a result, the male gym members could and did take the steam nude. I don’t know what on in the women’s facilities, but the eye contact in the men’s sauna could get rather intense.

  Basking in the dry heat, I felt myself developing one hell of an erection under my towel, which I’d prudently retained, and I hoped that none of the other guys who were taking the heat with me would notice. Disappointed that Kieran hadn’t picked up on my none-too-subtle hint about joining me in the sauna, I finally went back into the locker room.

  I showered and got dressed, and, as I got ready to leave the locker room, I was pleasantly surprised to find Kieran still standing by his own locker. He was fully dressed, his gym bag zipped closed, and he was obviously waiting for somebody.

  Once again, we exchanged secretive smiles, and I felt my hard-on pulsating insistently within my jeans. This hot blond dude was going to drive me crazy!

  “Are you waiting for me, man?” I laughed. “I know I said I’d probably see you later, but you didn’t have to stick around just on my account.”

  “Well, as a matter of fact, I did,” the blond stud admitted shyly. “I’ve been waiting for a chance to—uh—get to know you better, Jim. I thought if you weren’t in a hurry to get home, we could go have a beer together, or something.”

  It was the something that he was obviously interested in, not any damn brand of beer, I realized with a surge of erotic curiosity and pride.

  The unexpected revelation that Kieran had the hots for me and hadn’t just been teasing me was just the sort of stroking that my ego—and my libido—always responded to. Instantly, my post-workout fatigue vanished. I even started to feel horny—very horny.

  We had a couple of draft beers together, in a quiet straight bar downtown. But it wasn’t long before Kieran dropped the pretense of wanting to get to know me in any way other than carnally—and I quickly picked up on his cruising signals and verbal innuendoes, and invited him to my place.