7 comments/ 81736 views/ 14 favorites A New York Cop Sucks Dick By: NYCSTUD On the plane ride to my "unique vacation"—at least that's what the brochure had promised--I thought of what had brought me here. Job stress is something we all face, but I was feeling it ran deeper. Life stress, pushing 35, seeing dreams passing me by, it all seemed to conspire to compel me to this impulsive, two week vacation that I wasn't even sure I would like or afford. I wasn't even sure what I'd be doing these two weeks, but I figured an outdoor adventure away from everything sounded right for me. The flight to Oregon had given me plenty of time to think about the upcoming days and about my life thus far. Mid-Town North Precinct in New York City has been my world for the past 16 years, ever since completing the police academy and graduating with 400 other athletic, short-haired, hard-bodied, optimistic law lackeys of the 5 boroughs of New York. I felt so proud that day, and knew my family was proud too. Vinny, my older brother, my dad and my Uncle Bobby are or have been cops in New York. It's in my blood, I guess. I just figured this was something I was supposed to do with my life. When I was 19 and hiking through Europe, backpacking and scouting cock, my buddies were off at college, joining frats and going down on women. I, on the other hand, wanted my space to explore the world without the scorn, derision—or in some cases, hatred—that seemed to encompass the gay man's life. I'm not an obvious gay guy, so I escaped most of the abuse that gays endure. But being a masculine man in a macho home and work environment can be just as inwardly stressful and oppressive. I was stressed out in high school, always fearing that being outed and taunted was just around the corner. The locker room banter usually hailed pussy, tits and ass—while denouncing gay people as "faggots." I wanted a respite from this stress, and I figured those Europeans are good-looking, open-minded, sexually daring. I was sure to have a blast. I told my parents that Europeans routinely forgo college or work the first year out of high school. "A gap year? What the heck is that?" my dad grunted one night when I brought the subject up at the dinner table. "A year of exploration, of finding myself, growing, dad. Europeans are big on that. And it's only one year. I've saved enough from working at the shop." I had worked Saturdays and 3 nights per week at my Uncle Charles' car shop. "Okay, Richie. Whatever you want is alright by me, you know that." "You're the best, dad." "And what am I, chopped liver?" My mom's gentle admonishment spoke of genuine approval of my upcoming trip and felt great. It was nice to get this support. I figured that when the year was up, I'd be going into the police academy, which would be like high school sports. I could survive, and if it were like basketball I'd do more than survive; I'd be a decorated officer. But until then, I wanted to let loose and not just survive. I was going to live! I was going to SUCK COCK. It was easier than I thought. I think I sucked dick and swallowed semen in just about every city I encountered. Coming from a family of cops you learn how to size people up. Usually it's just a millisecond longer that a guy will ordinarily make eye contact, or I'll catch a dude's eyes below my waist for a second. Straight guys just don't do that, generally. And spying these clues usually scored me a nice mouthful from an eager, hung and masculine stud. I was in the Netherlands, in Amsterdam's red light district, just having left a coffee shop where I tried hash for the first time. What a laugh, to be able to smoke hash, legally, in a coffee shop! My buddies at home would be envious. None of us were real dopers; in fact, we're all fairly aggressive jocks, but we like to party too. And I wasn't passing this up, an opportunity to toke up without trouble. After smoking a bit, I decided to explore the city further when I spotted a handsome, masculine cop standing at a lamppost. This guy got my cock stirring immediately. He wasn't a pretty boy but he was undeniably handsome. I'm in to the man's man, regular look. I don't want the guy who the girls dream about or the gay guys swoon for. I want a regular guy, kind of handsome face, who is in reasonable not exaggerated shape, athletic. This guy fit that bill and my cock enthusiastically agreed. 5ft 11 about 180lbs of athletic physique. I liked his short-cropped military type hair cut, his small round brown eyes and his crisp uniform. I doubted he was gay, but I figured a little chit-chat with him would not hurt anybody. Our eyes met, my heart kinda skipped a beat and I said, "Hey mate." (Do they say mate over here or is that just Australia?) Whatever, he nodded back and said Hi. Before I knew it we were talking about the police force in Amsterdam vs. New York, American football vs. European, and cars too. It was a voluble conversation and I wondered if he ever had a gay thought. I couldn't see much of any evidence. He did seem to like my manly company, but maybe he was just friendly to all. And lots of straight guys enjoyed and admired my company. I didn't notice any of the true signs of gaydom I was trained to spot. "Don't be a cop," he offered. "Why not?" "It's not like television. It's boring and very frustrating." "Yeah, well I can't be any more bored or frustrated than I am generally," I countered. "What are you frustrated about?" he asked as he offered me a cigarette and I watched his eyes quickly walk all over me. Was this a sign? Not sure. I took the cigarette (although I rarely smoked) and clasped his hand to hijack the light from his cigarette. "I don't know. Life, I guess," I said as I inhaled. "Life?" he scoffed, incredulously. "What are you, 19, 20?" "19." "Okay, so at 19 I can tell you, you got nothing to be frustrated about. Nothing except sex." "Oh yeah?" I chuckled and warmly looked at him. Not a come-on or intrusive by any means. I just let him know in a masculine way I was amused by him. I teased: "And what do you know about the sex life of a 19 year old, you old man." "Aye, show some respect or I'll arrest your American arse." I deferred with a mischievous laugh. "Okay, man. Hey, what's your name, anyway, mine's Rich." I extended my hand. He grasped it firmly, "Matt," and his eyes pierced mine. "I know plenty about sex. I was 19 you know. Oh, I know all about you, buddy. I know." He glanced at my belt for a second. "Your balls are blue and you're jerking off four times a day, right?" He laughed. "You know I'm right. That's your problem, Mr. 19. That's your major problem." I just kept taking his masculine vision into my senses. I was hoping he didn't notice, but I was getting hard. My pants were dark though. Maybe he didn't notice my hard-on when he glanced down at me. I don't need to be called a faggot by an out of the country cop. "Well, how old are you? You're not much older than me I bet." "30," he answered proudly, commandingly. "So, that ain't old, my Netherlands friend." I playfully punched his arm. "Hey, you know you just assaulted an officer of the law?" "I am the law. I come from a family of cops. I get to do what I want." I laughed and his eyes did as well. He then turned and walked towards his car, motioning me. His ass was so hot and strong as its muscles bulged his slacks. I liked his firm walk. I followed eagerly. When he got to his car, I started: "Nice car, man." "Gets me around. Want to see for yourself?" "Yeah, sure," I said as I enthusiastically climbed into the passenger seat. Matt got in the driver's seat and showed me the equipment, the radio, ammunition, explaining every last detail about the engine too. I listened to him with a raging, purple-headed monster swelling in my Levi's dark-blue, faded jeans. It reminded me of being in basketball practice and listening to our coach. I would get seriously off on Coach Leeds' ("The Stud" the girls would call him) instruction, his gestures with his veinous forearms and compact masculine hands. The bulge in his shorts, the firm, built calves and thighs. The lean and defined chest with the slight hair peering over the opened Polo shirt. The pencil behind the masculine ear where the slightest of gray hair mixed with his military-cut. I would drip with excitement as I'd sneak a peak at his crotch. I'd pretend to be listening but all I really was doing was visualizing getting plowed on the shower floor, sucking the coach, fucking him up the ass. Matt was no different. I didn't want to be obvious, but this magnetic pull towards him was overpowering. "I'll bet this gets a lot of speed, eh?" I guess I was hoping he'd offer to take me for a ride. He obliged and I and my cock were thrilled. Within 10 minutes we were in the countryside and Matt parked atop a stone bridge along a stream, surrounded by rolling hills of farmland. It was funny how quickly we got out of the city. The view was spectacular of the distant, city lights and the moonless, evening sky. "Let's check out the view, man," he said as he opened his door and exited into the night. I followed him out at my door, "Hey, aren't you on duty?" I asked with some incredulity. "Nope, I've been off-duty for 3 hours." "I thought you were patrolling that whore street." Matt just looked at me with those piercing eyes and after a beat or two his voice lowered somewhat. "I was patrolling..." He was leaning against the bridge's stone parapet, facing me. His weight was on his left boot, bringing his bulging prick hanging to the right, a most likely 7 inch package to be envied and respected. I glanced at it for a millisecond. I think he saw me, too. I think I knew he would. I think I wanted him to and that's why I looked at it when I knew his eyes were on mine. He paused a moment and his voice lowered further, "I was patrolling, but not for cop duty." "Whatdya mean?" My heart pounded with excitement. "I was looking for America." His eyes stayed with mine. "What???" I exclaimed as if I hadn't heard correctly and started to breathe heavily. "Come on man," as he placed his hand gently on his belt buckle. He kept his gaze upon me as he gently, almost imperceptibly moved his fingers across his buckle. It appeared that he was just gently holding his buckle. He then started with a mischievous grin. I gulped 3 times in rapid succession. Matt slowly unbuttoned his holster and pants belt. My Adam's apple spasmed again. "Suck my cock," he commanded as he let his holster and pants drop to the pavement. His intense gaze in the dark stayed at me. "Don't have the hang-ups that so many of you Americans have." I just stammered, "I...I..." He continued disrobing, pulling off his shirt. "Fuck the hang-ups, man." He was looking over the bridge now, philosophizing to the city. "You're not 20, you don't have the balls yet to be bold. I'm 30. I know what I want. And I'm not afraid to say it." Then he turned back to me, staring, stoically. He had a great upper body. Lean and masculine. Firm, taut. No gym queen, just a nice piece of defined meat. I got seriously excited at the thin trail of dark brown hair coming up from his shorts to his chest. "And I'll tell you another thing," he continued, "if you don't suck my cock, you'll regret it later. You will jerk off 20 years from now reliving this night, kicking yourself for not tasting what was offered." I thought about what he was saying. Of course I wanted to suck him. It's what I came here for. I was just so stunned because I didn't think he was gay. "Do me, man. You know you want to." Here I was, next to my fantasy—and he wanted me to suck his cock! His bulging member was breaking through his white BVD's. I saw a cream stain by the fly as his fingers slipped into the elastic waist and pulled them down. He stepped away from his crisp uniform pants and damp underwear. His uniform shirt, undershirt and socks were off now as well. Stark naked now. I was in awe of this man. His engorged head, surrounded by an intense, wild dark bush, looked menacing, unnerving. And yet it called me. It called every taste bud on my tongue. I remembered why I came overseas. I was not about to let this hot opportunity escape me. I got on my knees and grasped his tight, muscular ass with each hand. My mouth immediately went to work, licking, salivating, kissing, serving. I got my lips as rounded as possible. I learned if I made my lips protrude forward like I was exhaling a smoke ring off a joint, then it was ripe for the guy's satisfaction. No teeth, just wet, sluiced up satisfaction. The dudes always groaned for it and I would groan myself as I would try and get my nose to touch his belly button while his manhood penetrated the back of my esophagus. I twisted my face and pushed it down and then up, while swirling my tongue all over his excited member. After awhile, I took one hand and cradled his ball sack. Gently, softly, I massaged his balls. I learned too if I moved my fingertips ever so slightly along the ball skin, the guy would be beside himself. I licked, slurped, tongued that shaft while tantalizing his ball sack with the slightest of touch. I even went further to his back door. Ever so gently, touching, just barely, his entrance. I knew I was doing it right. He was groaning, "Ohhhhhh, yyyyyes, fuck man, you can sock cock. He started pumping his cock into my throat softly, "Ahhhhhh, aahhhhhh, ahhhhhh, yeah, American boy suck that cock, son. Suck me. Oh FUCK, you can SUCK." I continued teasing his balls and asshole with my fingertips and taking special care to keep the lip action focused on the head, the most sensitive and explosive part of the cock. I got aggressive with my tongue and visualized beating his cock head with my tongue. This fury translated into intense satisfaction for both of us. After blowing people this way, they come back for more, I would learn over the years. "Where do you want it, man?" he asked as I continued my tongue bath of his member. I kept my face working him. That was my answer. "Here it comes, man, oh yeah, oh fuck YEAHHHHHHHH." He unloaded and I felt the spray assault my mouth. five spasms of hot, flowing, delicious, salty, oceanic brine. My mouth almost overflowed before I took him into me. His tasty seed slid down my throat. Man, I love the Netherlands! "Ladies and Gentleman, please buckle your seatbelts, as we prepare for landing," the automated voice instructed. I was excited, not just sexually from my memories of sucking cock in Europe, but of the prospect of having a really unique, fun time at this vacation. Upon retrieving my luggage at the carousel I rode the escalator upstairs wondering what I was in for when I spotted my name on a sign, held by my driver. This driver was smiling at me, piercing dark eyes, beautiful teeth, rugged face and strong physique. When his eyes glanced at my luggage for a second, I quickly took in the handsome visage to the right of his fly. I sprang to life. TO BE CONTINUED.... A New York Cop Sucks Dick Ch. 02 Slurping cum, chowing down on a stiff cock, getting fucked up the ass while burying my face into another dude's pubes, these were all images in my head by the time I was an eighteen year old senior in high school. That was the year I had to totally admit to myself that, once and for all, I was into men, into tight pectoral muscles, lean, defined arms with extruding, green veins, tight, manly hands with very short fingernails, into cock, into balls, into tight military type haircuts, into flat, tight guts, into the smell of a man's balls, into muscular shoulders, into cops and their uniforms, into sweatpants, jockstraps, athletic shorts, into men's hard asses and moist mancunt. I had some intense crushes throughout high-school on some of my favorite sports stars, particularly the studs of the 1978 NY Yankees, the World Series winners, like Ron Guidry and Bucky Dent. I was a senior, 18, on the verge of full manhood, and I'd go to sleep each night fantasizing about these pro ball studs coming to my house and having their way with me. I loved Guidry's bulge on the mound and Dent's tight bubble ass. I would fantasize that Dent would be fucking me in the ass while Guidry was holding my head down on his cock. I shot many a load into a cum rag that I kept under my bed. My dad, brother and Uncle's friends were mostly cops who'd pile into our home on Friday nights for pizza and beer, shooting the shit. Every Superbowl Sunday or World Series, my house would be wall to wall cop. And I had some crushes on a few of these supermen of the NYPD. One dude would always wear a white t-shirt with his uniform slacks and suspenders. He'd wear a fisherman's goofy hat and smoke a big cigar. His name was "Kooky" and he told off-color jokes and I loved taking everything in about him, his chest, his ass, his one crooked incisor to an otherwise bright smile, his short built legs, his firm ass, his blue eyes. I crushed on him big time my senior year. He was very hot but so were a lot of the cops that would come over. These dudes would call me "little man," because at 18, I was the youngest in their testosterone laden, macho cop world. They would arm wrestle me, tassle my hair, break my balls in a good-natured way. Sometimes their rough-housing—especially "Kooky's"—got me instantly hard. I would excuse myself to the bathroom and seriously beat my growing meat with intense, pubescent rage. After I would shoot, I'd go back downstairs and rejoin the guys for some pizza and an occasional beer if my dad was in a good mood. I was always drawn to the pants on our guests, and how awesome they looked, whether it was the patrolmen in their crisp uniforms or the off duty Sergeants and Lieutenants in their corduroys, or the detectives in their Chinos or jeans with requisite bulges aside their shiny badges. I loved how their butts looked, how their belt buckles stood sentry over their meat and teased my own cock. I was growing into my sexuality at a slow pace. Then one day I had an experience in the boiler room of a nearby apartment building that excited me greatly and helped me forward into my emerging manhood. It was a Saturday, spring afternoon and me and my favorite buddy, my handsome and athletic high school sports buddy and boon companion, Michael, were playing handball. Our perfect locale for it: against the backyard, brick façade of a garden apartment complex on a street in our neighborhood near the 106th precinct in Queens, New York. One of us would slam the old Spalding ball into the brick wall and the other would have to catch it. We drew lines on the driveway pavement and made up rules (i.e., the runner singles if the ball bounced over this line, doubles for that line, etc.) And of course, if you caught the ball at any time, it was an out. Michael was almost exactly my age, 18. Our birthdays were two weeks a part in January and our mothers over the years would throw us one big party. He looked particularly sexy that day, decked out in the cool clothes of the era: Fry boots, jeans, dark-blue hooded sweatshirt and then a faded jean jacket over that. I wanted to lay my face in his lap, bury it in the creases of his pants, feel the life behind the blue corduroy. I wanted to press my face into his ass, too, the ass I got such a good look at each time he slammed the ball against the wall. I loved that his prominent pole was always to the right of his fly and when he sat with his legs spread I enjoyed the lump at dead center. I'd mentally follow the path of that lump from the top right down to his backdoor. I can't possibly count the number of times I looked at that bulge. I doubt he ever caught me though. I liked when I would sit behind him in homeroom and catch a glimpse of his underwear tag and the slight hair on his lower back, leading down to that delicious looking ass. I felt so good around him. I wanted to taste his semen, to lick his ass, to fuck him, have him fuck me. So on this one really aggressive, competitive inning, Michael, with his toned, muscular arms slammed the ball so hard while I was taking in his ass, that even my six foot, hard-bodied frame jumping like a Harlem Globetrotter couldn't reach it. It was a home run, over the fence into the adjacent yard and right through the basement window of another apartment building. The basement window had been ajar. If he had tried a million times to do it on purpose, that ball would never have gone through the way it did. So in retrospect, maybe it was fate, maybe it was the gay gods calling me. I was thinking of his ass as I climbed the seven foot fence atop the two foot retaining wall to get to the other side. Would he be checking out my ass as I climbed? After climbing down a few feet I jumped the rest. I think I did it to impress Michael, to look cool. "Hey, dick," I called over to him, "I'll be back in a minute." At that, I walked to the other side of the apartment building where the crumbling concrete old steps lead to the basement storage and boiler rooms to this 1920s, five flight walk-up apartment building. I entered the storage room, about the size of two living rooms and full of little cages numbered according to the apartments in the building. Each cage was full of lamps, TV boxes and whatever couldn't fit in the tenants' apartment closets. The lighting was off except for what sunlight streamed in through the small transom like windows on the west side of the building. I walked over to where the open window had sucked in our ball. I couldn't find the ball, but I figured it couldn't have bounced too far off. I ventured into the room farther back, the boiler room, thinking that the ball may have bounced and rolled back there. The sound of the boiler or hot water heater was a formidable rumble that grew as I approached. There was a door before me but it was slightly open. No way could the ball have gone through the crevice of the barely open door, but curiosity sent me in. As I entered, I saw a metal flat desk, which probably was Freddy's, the superintendent's. It had an empty Dunkin Donut's Coffee cup on it, which looked new, and a ring of keys. I wondered if I would be in trouble if I got caught in here. There also were two lockers similar to high school lockers but they were transparent, with fishwire metal, allowing me to see the contents, Freddy's worker uniform shirts and pants hanging neatly. I peered around the floor some more and saw scattered clothes. I didn't know what to make of it. There was a pair of workboots with white socks on them next to a pair of jeans sloppily thrown on the floor. Atop the pants were worn boxer shorts and a superintendent uniform shirt. Maybe Freddy changed from his uniform into his regular clothes, I thought. But why would he be so neat with his clothes so neatly hung in the lockers yet scatter other clothes here? I saw on the back of a folding chair a pair of dark-blue dress slacks neatly draped over the back of the chair with a folded light blue shirt over them. At the same time I noticed the familiar insignia on that shirt, I saw on the floor next to it dark shiny black shoes with socks tucked neatly in them. This was a cop's uniform! A pair of tightey whitey underwear lay atop the uniform. A radio and club stood together behind the chair. About a foot from the radio there was a shelf with paint thinner and solvents and old rags. Tucked in the middle shelf I saw a holster with the cop's gun in it. I started to tremble with fear. I probably know this cop, I thought, but I was too scared to read the badge affixed to his shirt. Why were there clothes all over this floor? Why was a cop's stuff here? I was terrified but I became a little excited too, surrounded by this manhood, this underwear, these macho work clothes. I stared at the masculine details of the clothes and realized that was where the overpowering scent of manhood was originating. That specific smell on your fingers after you've played with your balls, rubbed your hard cock, played with your ass and erupted lava. That scent was permeating the air. I continued looking for the ball but on a subconscious level I must have known the ball couldn't possibly be in this room. On a subconscious level I was searching for something else. As the roaring boiler kept its rhythm, I grew hard, very, very hard of the overwhelming smell of testes. My eyes kept going to the clothes. I seemed much more interested in the manly clothes than anything. I walked right up to them and reached down to touch the cop's uniform pants. I know it sounds strange, but I just wanted to feel this manhood. Just to touch it. I rubbed one of the legs and then reached up and grabbed the crotch and felt a rush. I noticed as I felt the ass of the pants that the wallet was still in it. I immediately put the pants down feeling alarmed. Where's the cop, I thought. I looked at the jeans nearby belonging to Freddy, and felt the ass of those and it too contained a wallet. Why was my heart now racing? Why was my cock harder now than it had ever been in my life? I stared at the cop's pants and then looked back at Freddy's. He was the handsomest stud of the neighborhood and these were his. I had heard rumors that he was gay but I didn't know what to believe. He seemed way too masculine. I remained transfixed on his pants. His balls sat in these. His cock leaked pre-cum in these. He felt erections in these pants. These pants hugged his tight, beautiful ass, covered his hot, inviting bulge. He was about 5 ft. 10, 185 lbs, great athletic body, dark hair, brown eyes, nice smile. He organized a lot of the touch football games on the block. I've jerked off thinking about him in the past. Now, to see his underwear sitting in front of me drove me crazy, produced all kinds of shocking sexual thoughts. I'm a bit ashamed to say this, but for a minute I took his boxer shorts into my hands and then put them to my face, wiped them all over my face and inhaled deeply. I felt wetness near the fly opening and just about came. I wanted to ingest them, particularly the region where his manhood sits. I put my nose into the deep crotch and took a good whiff. I liked the smell, a lot like my hands after they've explored my cock, balls and asshole while jerking off. This was the scent of a stud, a grown man. I got intensely exhilarated and after one more intoxicating whiff I put them back onto his sexy work pants. When I bent down to put Freddy's moist underwear back exactly where I found it, I saw clearly under the boiler, a blue flame danced to the rhythmic roar of its engine. I realized that there was another small area to this room, on the other side. Could the ball have gotten way over there? No. Did I really care? It wasn't the ball; it was my maddening, enraged hard-on guiding me now. My magnetic pull to all things cop was guiding me. I instinctively walked quietly, although over the din of the boiler the SST Supersonic Jet, The Concorde, which landed at Laguardia Airport, would not be heard. As I turned the corner, I came upon the sight my subconscious wouldn't allow me to articulate vividly earlier. The two of them were there in the flesh, literally; I quickly backtracked so they wouldn't see me. My cock was now even harder after what I saw. I crouched down as far as I could and peered gingerly around again to see further. I was astonished at this sight. Freddy was in a high school wrestling match position, on all fours on a shaggy remnant rug with his mouth-watering ass facing me. His arms were muscular and reaching up where he was holding onto 2 bricks jutting from the wall. His back was exciting, a tight back with muscles. And he had a nice tan too. His ass excited me and at first it bothered me why I liked it so much. I was feeling guilty about sniffing his underwear and my loving his ass right now just exacerbated my guilt. But it turned me on. It turned me on bad. His ass was a true bubble butt, muscular, taut, firm, not much hair. Freddy was probably about 28 years old with a nice, tight, full and sexy beard. I knew the back of the other dude's head like I knew my own! It was a cop friend of my dad's! It was Sgt. Bob as I called him (his last name was too long and hard to pronounce so my dad said just call him Sgt. Bob). He had been over for my dad's Superbowl parties every year I could remember. A manly, six foot four, 200 lb. solid rock stud of studs. He used to pick me up with one arm and let me hang upside down until I cried Uncle. He was married with 3 kids and about 30 years old. How could he be doing what I saw him doing? It didn't make sense. His ass had some hair on it and his legs were a little hairy, too. Although most of his back didn't really have any hair, his lower back had a small patch of hair that excited me. He had a dragon tattoo on his upper left shoulder that I never knew about. I always liked the warrior tattoo he had on his muscular, left forearm. I was excited seeing his manhood exposed like this, his big and hairy ball sac dangling between his legs under that great ass, which was lighter than the surrounding skin. I admired his whole body, although I couldn't see his cock just yet. My excitement over Sgt. Bob being there and naked with Freddy was supplanted with my continued confusion. He just didn't seem gay to me. And Freddy wasn't the only one on all fours. Sgt. Bob was down with his butt facing me and he had his face pushed right into Freddy's ass. He appeared to be assaulting his asshole with his mouth and face! I never heard of such a thing. Freddy moved his ass from side to side, kind of writhing there as Sgt. Bob kept his face feverishly moving from side to side and up and down, all in Freddy's ass crack. I was revolted at first but then I realized how hard I was. My purple headed snake was ready to rip out of my jeans, ready to bust a serious nut. I needed to jerk off but I just stayed crouched there fascinated and horny. Although the boiler was distracting, I was close enough to hear them. Freddy was moaning loudly and whimpering alternately, "Oh yeah, oh fuck, oh yeah, suck that ass, suck that fucking ass, eat my mother fucking asshole." Sgt. Bob had both of Freddy's ass cheeks clasped firmly in his manly hands and he happily obliged Freddy's command with a continual "Ummm, Ummmm, Ummmm," which seemed to be in rhythm with the flame of the boiler. I was so turned on by this sight. Sgt. Bob's strong hands were practically ripping Freddy's ass cheeks off the foundation. He grabbed them so hard and stretched them outward so much that when he took his face out of Freddy's crack for a breath, Freddy's hole looked wide. It was seriously being opened up. I was amazed at the sight. I'd never seen a man's asshole before. It looked hot, better looking than any cunt. This was a mancunt, and it looked very inviting, so delicious. I wasn't sure if I wanted to put my cock or my tongue in it. But I just kept fixated on that hole, until Sgt. Bob's intense desires brought him back into Freddy's ass. Like some feral animal, Sgt. Bob attacked Freddy's hole with such intensity that I thought he was hurting Freddy. Tortured whimpers, spine-tingling moans and heavy breathing ensued: "AHHH, FUCK, OH GOD, AHHHHHH." Was Freddy screaming for help? My heart started to race. Was he killing him? Freddy sounded like he was hyperventilating or crying or something. "AHHHH, fuck. OOOOOO, oooohhh, AHHH." No, Freddy was not being hurt. He followed his wails and whimpers with an assuring "Don't stop, Oh God, don't you fucking stop!" After a few seconds more, Sgt. Bob stood up and I saw his impressive meat. Mine is about eight inches and his looked about that size. His cock might have been a bit thicker or it just looked that way because he was uncut. But he had a massive dark bush. He had a tight, body with some abdominal muscles showing, nice firm chest too. His legs were long and defined muscular, with the thighs being fairly meaty yet cut. He really got my juices jumping when he started to slap his cock onto Freddy's ass, like he was gently whipping him. He held his tool with his right hand and then let it drop onto his ass and kind of bounced it on his lower back and his ass cheeks. Then he started to beat Freddy's ass with his meat, slapping it around, side to side fairly hard. I thought of a cop pistol-whipping somebody. I heard no objections to this, just a lot of moaning from Freddy. Then Sgt. Bob spit onto Freddy's lower back, above his left ass cheek and rolled his cock into the spittle, like an artist dipping his brush into the paint before hitting the canvass. He placed the head of his impressive cock at Freddy's entrance and with his left hand grabbing Freddy's left shoulder he pushed in with an audible grunt from himself and a wail from Freddy. He dutifully pulled out and thrust right back in. Freddy continued to whimper like a bear in a trap. Sgt. Bob continued to thrust and pull out, I guess to prime the hole for further assault. Freddy held firmly to the dirty white bricks as the Sgt. pounded him. I liked how Sgt. Bob's ass looked as he committed this most ignominious assault upon Freddy. It got all tight and firm as he thrust himself. Freddy liked it too, "Oh yeah, fuck the shit outta me, Bob, fuck me good!" Sgt. Bob's ass got rounder and more inviting to me as he pulled out of Freddy's ass. At one point he was thrusting out and in so hard that upon pulling out I got a glimpse of his own asshole as his cheeks naturally spread from the sodomite body position. He had a few hairs on his hole. It looked so fucking hot and dark and sinister and inviting and moist and delicious and warm. I wanted to go into that secret, private world of Sgt. Bob. As quickly as I would see his hole it would disappear as his firm beautiful ass went back to tight and squeezed formation as he continued driving his meat harder and harder, pounding his uncut cock farther and farther into the beaten, abused and conquered ass. Was this even possible? I didn't even know a cock could go all the way into a guy's ass. He had eight inches of pole completely into Freddy! In and out, in and out, he was using him like you would use a sex toy. Then the pace picked up even more and Sgt. Bob started ferociously pumping, fucking him in and out, up and down, side to side. He was using his cock like a lever, going up and down pumping his ass like you'd pump up a carjack while changing a flat. Then he's wildly fuck side to side, as if he were trying to rip his ass wide open. While Sgt. Bob seriously pumped his ass, I got turned on by the sound of the slapping of his balls against Freddy's lower buttocks and upper thighs every time he shoved his meat in. Slap, slap, slap, slap, slap. Every time he slammed into him that sweaty slap would shake my soul. As he pumped he took his left hand and rubbed gently Freddy's left ass cheek. Like he was owning it or something. It looked hot. As he pumped into him harder, he'd slap his ass a little bit and rub it. "You're mine, man, you're mine," he intoned as Freddy lay totally, deliriously compliant. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck, me, oh fuck the shit outta me....." A New York Cop Sucks Dick Ch. 02 My coiled, leaking snake was busting at the seams of my Levi's. I didn't have the nerve to take it out and yank, but I started rubbing myself hard through my pants. I grabbed my cock and squeezed and then rubbed, squeezed and rubbed. I could see a wet cum stain coming right through the denim. I had creamed my pants good. This wasn't just a sexual awakening; I was having some type of sexual revolution. As Sgt. Bob continued to pump and grind into the muscular ass of the building superintendent I always admired, I heard rustling to my side. "What the fuck are you doing, man? I've been waiting 10 minutes." I put my index finger to my lips, instinctively to quiet him. The boiler's ferocity thankfully kept us from being discovered. He whispered to me, "What?" I'm sure Michael saw me rubbing myself. How could he not have? And if I stood up he'd surely have seen my raging hard on and cum stain. What the fuck was I going to do now? Before I could say anything, he leaned over me and peered around the boiler. "Holy shit," he whispered. "I know, they are fucked up faggots. But it's like a trainwreck that I can't not watch," I countered. Can't not watch? Would he buy that? Didn't he see me rubbing myself while watching? "Who are they?" Michael surreptitiously asked, as the wet slapping and pumping sounds continued to excite me. "Freddy, the super and one of my dad's cop friends." Michael studied them further as Sgt. Bob was fucking so fiercely that Freddy's arms looked intensely strained holding the wall, keeping the depraved assault back before his head would be slammed into the brick wall. "Fucking shit! I knew Freddy packed fudge but that's Sgt. Bob!" I nodded. Michael was crouched down to the left of me but he was semi standing so he could see around the boiler. This involved him being very close and leaning somewhat over me. My face was almost touching his belly. His tight fitting, small t-shirt left about an inch of skin visible below the shirt line to the top of his jeans. As we heard Freddy's cries: "FUCK THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF ME," this little viewing of the treasure trail of hair going from Michael's belly button down below the visible elastic band to his underwear was making me very aroused. My face was practically touching his belly! Was he going to see my hard on? How could I make it go down with the continued background action: "Fuck my ass, fuck it good!" As I felt his t-shirt gently brush my left cheek, and as I watched Sgt. Bob's ass move in and out as he pumped Freddy, my cock creamed some more. There was quite a wet spot on my lap. There was no keeping this rod down, though. I had too many exciting stimulants. I could smell the laundry detergent on Michael's clothes. It made me hornier than I had ever been. I'd have given my left nut to be able to reach over and kiss his balls that sat behind those Lee corduroy pants so close to my lips. My face was just inches from his cock as we watched this hot action in front of us. Sgt. Bob was an animal, "You like this eh? You want this like a bitch. I tell ya bud, I'm liking it as much as you," as he continued pounding. "Here it comes, son, here comes the fucking mother load!" Then we heard an exultant moan as the Sergeant at arms pulled out and ejaculated all over Freddy's back and shoulder. One of the spurts reached up to the back of his head, leaving a blob of what looked like industrial glue in his hair. Freddy turned over and we could see his very tight, muscular body. He had an average sized cock but it was perfectly straight with an exciting looking mushroom head. I couldn't take my eyes off the treasure hair trail that went from his firm, muscular chest down to his beautiful cock. His sack was big and he had a lot of hair surrounding his meat. I was suffocating with sexual excitement. I had let out some involuntary short breaths that Michael certainly heard. "Dude," Michael whispered, "This is fucked up shit, let's get outta here." "I know." But we remained and looked as the tall Sgt. Bob kneeled before a now standing Freddy. They were profile to us now. Sgt. Bob took Freddy's cock into his mouth and started moving his lips and head all around and down onto the dick. At one point he spit onto his dick head for lube, I gathered. He was taking the whole cock into his mouth but coughing when it got too deep. I had never seen a man pleasure another man. This was so fucking exciting. I had seen porno images of women servicing a dude but never a masculine man going to town on another man's meat. This was what real sexual excitement was about. As the sergeant kept sucking him, Freddy said, "I'm gonna come man, I'm gonna cum a fierce load. You want it?" We heard, "MMM HHH." I guessed that that meant Sgt. Bob would be taking Freddy's sperm into his mouth. "Ah fuck, yeah, suck that meat, suck my fucking cock! You sure you want it man? I haven't cum in 5 days, this is gonna be a ton of hot shit, man. Some fucking load I'm gonna dump down your cop bitch throat, man. You gonna be able to take it, little man, my little bitch, eh?" "MMM HHHH," again was the reply as Sgt. Bob, strapping hockey player, decorated NYPD police officer and idol of mine, continued the electrifying head and mouth dance upon his master's menacing meat. Michael and I stood transfixed. I suppose as a way of compensating for our continued ogling, he let out another "This is so fucked up." And I agreed with him, although my cock was deliriously thinking otherwise. Michael had baggy corduroys on so I wasn't sure if he had a hard on. The folds of the pants were such that it could have been an erection that I spotted through his pants or just my undying hope. His groin was so near my face that I could see a tiny lint ball on his bulge. I continued to cream my pants, cream my underwear, cream, cream and more cream. I had virtually pissed myself with my ejaculate. "Here it comes, son, here comes the fucking Midnight Express!" [An obvious reference to the Brad Davis film out in 1978, a Turkish, homoerotic prison movie where a New Yorker gets jailed for carrying Hash at the airport.] "AHHHHHH," was all we heard from Freddy as he grabbed the back of Sgt. Bob's head with both hands. "AHHHHHHH," as he dumped his hot seed into his willing subordinate's mouth, throat and stomach. Some of the jizz trickled down the Sergeant's chin as it was too much to swallow in one gulp. Freddy took his dripping cock and pressed it to the Sarge's wet chin, attaching the excess and then feeding it gently to the insatiable cop who taught me once how to tie a fisherman's knot and who arm wrestled me and let me win sometimes. As Sgt. Bob licked the last of the stringy, raw, egg-white looking ejaculate, Michael and I felt the show was over. Again to compensate for our homosexual staring, Michael whispered, "So fucked up." And, again, I feigned disgust in agreement, "Yeah, come on, this is sick" as we both stood up and tiptoed out to the other room. "I found the ball by the way." "Where?" "Right on the window sill. It never completely entered the room." "Figures. Nothing is easy." "Dude," Michael's tone changed. "You got serious wood. You creamed your pants." He pointed to my eight inch raging shame and my noticeably wet lap. My shame turned to excitement when I looked at his own groin region. "Hey, so do you!" "Yeah, but I wasn't rubbing mine while I was watching that shit. What the fuck was that about!" He looked away, a bit speechless for a second and then responded. "Look, we don't need to tell anybody about the shit we saw today, kay? Not ever. I don't want any 'a this shit being talked about in school or any place." "Okay, it's a deal." "Don't bring it up. Not ever." It was an order. "Okay," We shook hands and avoided eye contact as we walked out and up the stairs. "Hey, you're still eating over tonight, right?" Michael asked. He seemed to instantly bury the scene we witnessed. "Yeah, I wouldn't miss Terry's ravioli for nothin." We always joked with each other, calling our mom's by names, telling sordid mother jokes. The only reason we weren't too offended is we'd immediately counter with one of our own lewd and infantile remarks: "Please tell your mom to stop with the multi-colored lipstick. My cock is starting to look like a rainbow." "I will. As long as you tell yours that she's like a 7-11 store. Open 24/7." That would usually follow with punching each other in the arms and wrestling. I always liked wrestling Michael. For the joy of just being close to him. But I was having much, much stronger ideas about being close to him now. I kept quiet about that day. Neither of us mentioned it, not for a couple of years until we were both NYPD rookie cops and in Michael's basement having a few beers and wrestling... TO BE CONTINUED...