by Huck Pilgrim
And then Officer Jones’s warm cock fills her mouth.
Gloria hears Officer Jones groan and laugh. She feels Officer Flynn buck between her legs. She stops thinking about her mother and focuses on licking and sucking Officer Jones’s dark, salty shaft. She rubs her cheeks on his cock, now wet with saliva from her mouth. She believes that the skin on the head of his cock might be the softest thing she’s ever felt.
She nibbles him with the tips of her teeth.
For a few minutes, she has a cock between her legs and another in her mouth. Sometimes she moves her head to get a better purchase on Officer Jones, and her bottom moves too, interrupting the rhythm of the cock between her legs. Sometimes Officer Flynn thrusts in a way that sends her head pile-driving into his partner’s abdomen.
It’s awkward, unwieldy.
It’s amazing and extraordinary.
It’s all so overwhelming.
It’s a train!
Gloria occasionally stops working on Officer Jones and moans, her mouth open, her hand on his shaft. Officer Jones doesn’t seem to mind this at all. He enjoys watching her in the throes of lust.
The men are talking again but she can’t be sure what they are saying.
Officer Jones says he wants to give it a try, but Gloria doesn’t understand what this means. Doesn’t realize he is asking Officer Flynn to swap positions with him. When Officer Flynn pulls himself from her, she thinks they are finished. She panics. She turns her head and groans with disappointment, loudly announcing her own unanswered needs. As the men swap places, Gloria writhes but remains bent over, an eager and willing participant in her own humiliation.
Officer Jones stands behind her and Gloria feels relief. She is bent over the table again, holding its thick edges. Some small part of her knows she should feel ashamed, but it’s so small right now it’s hard for her to even notice.
She cranes to watch.
Having given herself over to her needs, she no longer feels any compunction about giving herself to him in this way. He humiliated her, but she’s a willing slut, a whore. A little humiliation will only make her thrive. Standing high on her toes, she raises her bottom up. Gloria wants a cock—any cock—to fill her. When he enters her, she does her best to accommodate his stroke, moving her hips and groaning like an animal.
Officer Flynn stands by her face, his cock bobbing near her mouth. Gloria nuzzles her sweaty cheek on the table. She looks at him with such longing, such desire. He is such a nice guy, she is such a dirty little tramp.
“Gloria,” Officer Jones whispers.
Gloria smiles but doesn’t open her eyes.
“Next time you kiss Donnell,” he says, “remember my cock was in your mouth.”
Without opening her eyes, Gloria offers a soft moan in response. It’s true. She’d held out for as long as she could, but then took his big dick in her mouth. Gloria giggles. She imagines kissing Donnell, his tongue searching her mouth.
“You’re his girl,” Officer Jones whispers, “but you took a dick in your mouth.”
This is true, too.
Donnell can never know about this night. Gloria looks to Officer Flynn. He’s watching her, a lusty look on his face. In some ways, the people we know the least know us better than anyone else. She barely knows these two cops, but they’ve seen a side of her no one else has ever seen. Not even Donnell. Gloria has only seen smoky shades of it herself.
“You did it,” Officer Jones says, “just because I asked.”
Gloria groans softly. It’s all true.
And she loved it!
“What would your mother think,” Officer Jones says, ”if she knew her pretty little girl had bent over for three men in a single night?”
Gloria whimpers and twists her hips.
Her vulva is on fire with desire.
Her mother would think what any woman would think.
Gloria is a slut.
She feels the orgasm rack her young body. Officer Jones pushes himself into her, grabs her hips, and pulls her tight against his groin. Gloria arches her back, her eighteen-year-old pussy contracting around this man’s stiff cock. She flails and grunts, snorting like a small animal. Her orgasm is loud and long, and when it’s finished, she crumples forward, her forearms resting under her, her breath coming in mighty gasps.
Gloria feels a little self-conscious.
She starts to giggle.
Officer Jones hands are on her bottom, her hips. She thinks he will mount her again, but then she feels his warm cum spray on her ass. He grunts, strokes himself, splashing semen onto her bottom.
Gloria waits for him to finish.
When he is done, he laughs silently, a series of breathy exhales.
Gloria isn’t ready to move so she listens as Officer Jones retrieves his belt from the table, secures it around his waist. The cum on her ass is cooling in the night air, running down the back of her thighs. Officer Flynn is watching her, idly working his cock with his hand. Gloria feels a tug on the hem of her dress. Twisting around, she finds Officer Jones using her dress to cover the gooey mess he made on her bottom. He is smoothing the fabric over her rear end. She shakes her head and sighs, too drained to care.
“Finish up,” Officer Jones says, smiling to his young partner. “Then come meet me at the car.”
Tucking her hair behind her ear, Gloria watches him retreat across the dark park.
“He gives law enforcement,” Officer Flynn whispers, “a bad name.”
It’s not a funny joke, but Gloria smiles. Her orgasm has drained all the sexual tension from her, leaving her tired, ready to go home, but finally able to think clearly for what might be the first time tonight. Officer Flynn is a prick. Good-looking, warm, funny, but a prick all the same. Nice to her when they are alone, but a real jerk with his partner around.
She could do better.
Officer Flynn’s swollen cock juts from his pants.
A deal is a deal. Gloria kneels and the cool grass feels good on her legs.
She doesn’t feel trashy. If anything, she feels trusty. Reliable. Reaching for his shaft, she works him first with her hands, then with her mouth. She is making good on her promise. Officer Flynn places his hands on his hips and watches. She toils on his cock, without the benefit of her own needs driving her on. He combs his fingers into her hair, pets her head. Soon sloppy sounds come from her mouth. His body stiffens. Casting her eyes up, she watches his face as the first splash of cum hits the back of her mouth. She accepts his warm cream, swallowing and swallowing and swallowing.
He drains himself into her tummy.
When he finishes, Gloria lets his cock slip from her mouth with a small pop. Sitting back on her haunches, she wipes her lips with the back of her hand. She feels dirty because she is dirty: sweaty and sticky, her hair knotted with semen, the taste of Officer Flynn still strong in her mouth. Her soiled dress sticks to her ass. She wears nothing under her dress and fully intends to walk home that way, enjoying the feel of the cool night air on her raw sex.
She’s a slut and she knows it. Her mom and dad know it. Her counselors at school know it. Her teachers, her pastor. Even these cops.
Everyone knows it.
It’s okay. For right now, she is who she is. She can accept it.
She watches Officer Flynn assemble his uniform: he zips his fly, buttons his pants, straps on his utility belt. Quick and efficient. She stands and searches in her purse for a cigarette.
“Walk you home?” Officer Flynn says.
His voice is soft.
“Nah,” she says. Her lighter flares. Tossing the lighter into her purse, she leans her backside against the table. Crosses her arms.
Officer Flynn steps to her and tips her chin up with his finger. He looks into her eyes, then tilts his head a few degrees to one side. And then his mouth is on hers. His hands are on her face, cupping her cheeks. He nibbles her lips. His tongue explores her mouth.
He licks her teeth.
Gloria breaks the kiss. She chuckles, sh
akes her head.
Who kisses a whore?
And then she kisses him again.
She kisses him hard.
Suddenly they two are illuminated in a bright, wonderful, dazzling light. For the second time that night, the park turns from night into day.
Without looking to the cruiser, Officer Flynn raises his middle finger.
Gloria grins.
“Amnesty,” Officer Flynn whispers.
He touches her lips with just the tips of his fingers.
He backs away from her for a few steps, his eyes locked on hers. And then he turns and trots across the park toward his partner.
Gloria takes a long drag from her cigarette. She blows the smoke out.
“Amnesty,” she whispers to herself. “Amnesty.”
Tricked
Jimmy Manley shares the cramped backseat of a Volkswagen with two men that he does not know. Roger Bones sits up front, in the passenger seat.
The man sitting next to Jimmy slips his hand onto Jimmy’s thigh.
Jimmy’s body goes tense, but he tries his best to act natural. Jesus, not here, he thinks. Not now. He twists his lean frame, trying to protect his middle. His cock.
The man sitting next to Jimmy is Sven. His knees tent on the car’s center hump. His blonde hair is cut short, like a Marine, and he speaks with a clipped accent that Jimmy can’t place. With his hand still on Jimmy’s thigh, Sven bends his head toward the ear of the man on his other side—the only way to be heard above the din of wind noise that fills the car.
Jimmy can feel his dick swelling unbidden in his jeans. He swallows and looks out his window. He’s a good looking boy. Olive skin in sharp contrast to the ribbed white tank top stretched over his lean frame.
Sven isn’t moving his hand, but he isn’t removing it either.
Jimmy keeps his eyes on the rolling fields passing by. A quiver passes through his bony shoulders, down his strong sinewy arms. With a gentle squeeze, Sven removes his hand from Jimmy’s thigh.
Jimmy feels relieved.
He glances toward Roger. The wind whips his soft brown hair about his head. Had Roger not dropped out of high school, he would have been in Carnal’s senior class with Jimmy. Both boys are eighteen, but Roger is clearly dominant. Jimmy feels lucky to hang out with him. The other boys in Roger’s crowd—an elite group of toughs—wouldn’t even give Jimmy the time of day. Roger waves his slender hands in the air as he talks to the man driving. Although Roger is shouting, Jimmy can’t make out a thing he says. The driver points to his ear and shakes his head.
Roger grins, his brown eyes glittering. He brushes the hair back from his forehead, closes his eyes, and rests his head on the seat. With the curls dancing on his head, Jimmy thinks Roger has the face of an angel.
Jimmy had an idea how the afternoon might play itself out back in the mall. Roger left Jimmy standing alone and raced off to greet these men. After striking up a conversation, Roger pointed to Jimmy from across the wide corridor. Sven scrutinized Jimmy and Jimmy knew right then which way things were headed. When Roger returned, announced his plan, Jimmy was coy. He felt the butterflies in his stomach, even as his dick swelled in his pants.
He hid his erection.
“Why can’t we find girls to suck our dicks?” he asked.
Jimmy asked this with such earnestness Roger laughed.
Roger looked at Jimmy expectantly and no one said anything for a beat. People in the mall floated past. Finally Jimmy nodded.
Roger grinned. He tucked Jimmy under his arm.
Led him toward the parking lot.
Sven shouts into Jimmy’s ear: “I want to check you out.”
Jimmy’s heart races. He knows the wind noise makes it impossible for anyone else to have heard, but he doesn’t want Sven to say that out loud again. He opens his legs.
Sven’s hand goes back into Jimmy’s lap.
Tilting his head, Jimmy looks toward the other person in the back seat, a young man with thin hair and a delicate mustache. He is staring out the window. Jimmy feels Sven’s hand roam between his legs. Roger has his whole head out the window, his face turned into the wind. Sven’s fingers play along Jimmy’s fly, the inseam of his jeans. Squeezing his thighs together, Jimmy traps the hand between his legs. He wants to buy himself some time. Make sure no one else in the car is watching. But then he begins to enjoy the pressure of having something captured between his locked thighs. It’s a deliciously dirty feeling and he realizes that the wind noise has created a comfortable cocoon in which he can hide.
And so, Jimmy gives in. He surrenders.
Relaxing his thighs, he offers himself up to whatever will come next. Sven begins to explore, and Jimmy’s breathing gets shallower. His mouth drier. He licks his lips. Allows his hips to gently rock. Jimmy wishes he could open his legs even wider so Sven could place his hand on the shaft of his cock, but the back seat is too cramped.
With a stab of terror, Jimmy remembers the rearview mirror.
He glances up to the windshield and sees the driver’s eyes holding steady on the twisting back road. As the car lurches around a bend, Sven presses into Jimmy and Jimmy scans the others again, who all seem lost in their own thoughts. Feeling as if he is on a deliciously dirty roller coaster ride, he allows himself a noisy sigh that no one else can hear. He imagines how humiliating it would be if Roger were to turn around right now and see the lust in his eyes as he lets the man sitting next to him stroke his cock. Roger has told Jimmy that in jail even the toughest guys let other guys suck their dicks. Roger has said that homos give the best head. Jimmy wonders if this is true. He has had exactly one blow job in his eighteen years.
Jimmy’s dick crimps in his pants. He fidgets uncomfortably, but he can’t get anything straightened out. Sven’s attention is only making it worse.
Sven gives Jimmy a curious look, then withdraws his hand.
Jimmy’s cock has grown too hard for the position it’s in. His penis has somehow slipped out of the leg hole of his underwear. He has to twist in his seat and readjust his legs. He accidentally steps on Sven’s foot and puts his knee into the back of the driver’s seat. The driver complains. Sven tries to make a little room. Jimmy can’t help himself. With both hands, he adjust himself until he has his now half-hard cock back where it’s supposed to be, right behind his fly.
Jimmy sighs. He apologizes to Sven. Uses the rearview mirror to offer a contrite expression to the driver.
Roger is watching. He grins, shakes his head, and goes back to adjusting the radio dial.
Jimmy settles back into his seat.
He feels exhausted. There is a damp spot in his underwear where his cock must have leaked something wet. Jimmy knows the tough guys in jail let other men suck their cocks because they’re locked up. They have no choice.
Trying to be subtle, Jimmy glances at Sven.
He catches Sven’s eye, glances between his legs, then looks quickly away.
Jimmy stares out the window. He can feel sweat accumulating along the back of his neck. Jimmy knows he lets men suck his dick because he likes it. The deliciously slippery feeling of his cock in another man’s mouth.
He feels the hand on his thigh. Opening his legs, he continues to look out the window. When Jimmy feels Sven’s hand on the shaft of his cock, an electric stab of something pulses through his chest. He bites his lower lip, closes his eyes. He gives himself over to whatever is welling up inside of him. He lets his hips roll. Rides the hand between his legs. He doesn’t think of the others in the car. Doesn’t think about Roger. Doesn’t think about angels, tough guys, or jail.
He thinks only of his own strong needs and what’s going on between his legs.
Sven lightly strokes Jimmy’s cock, allowing it to find its proper length along the inseam of his pants. Jimmy resists the urge to moan, but his breathing gets much heavier, more labored. The only hands that have worked his cock like this have been his own. Sven traces the outline of Jimmy’s dick with one finger. Jimmy feels big salty tears w
elling up in his eyes. He isn’t sure why he is crying, but he can’t stop. Why should it feel so good? Why can’t he find a girl to help him achieve these heights? He twists his head toward the window so no one else can see. What if Roger were to look back and see him crying? Would it be more humiliating if Roger were to look back and see his eyes filled with lust or with tears?
Sven puts his lips near Jimmy’s ear. “You okay?” he whispers.
Jimmy feels the hand withdraw from his lap. He sniffles. Squeezes his eyes shut. He wipes his face with his forearm and nods his head.
“I’m cool,” Jimmy says. “Cool.”
Jimmy blows air from his mouth. Forces a smile.
The truth is his cock has never felt bigger, fuller, or more ready to burst. He only wishes he were one of the tough men in jail. He knows he’s not. If Jimmy were to go to prison, those tough guys would probably make Jimmy suck their cocks. Then—then—poor Jimmy would really have no choice. The thought sends an electric ripple of unbidden desire through his body.
Forced to suck another man’s cock.
With a sinking feeling, Jimmy realizes he’d probably like it. He only wishes he had little choice. Wishes he could deny the exquisite pleasure of another man’s touch. Another man’s mouth. In fact, he knows he can’t. He’s just as much prisoner—a prisoner of his own desire.
The driver slows the car and turns into an apartment complex.
Sven leans toward Jimmy. “You,” Sven whispers, “have a huge cock.”
Jimmy flushes with unexpected pride. He turns to the window, this time to hide his grin. Wiping his eyes with his hands and sniffling loudly, Jimmy finally meets Sven’s gaze. Intense blue eyes, whisker stubble on cheeks and chin.
Jimmy feels his cheeks go hot.
The apartment is small, air conditioned.
Roger goes into the kitchen to chat with the other men. Sven steers Jimmy toward a bedroom down a long hall. Jimmy wants to ask Roger something, or at least make eye contact, but Roger won’t look at him and there is no way to discreetly get his attention.
