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I Go Down for Angelina

By: Coxswain



Anything to save her from him

Life was good. As police chief of the sweetest little town in the country--we used to say Quiquonia had so many "Qu's" in its spelling because it was the quietest little town in the state--I was in charge of a real-world Mayberry. I was the Andy Griffith--Chief of the Quiquonia PD.

The only crime in town was the occasional parking ticket. The only juvenile gangs were the basketball or football teams at Quiquonia High School. No drugs, no drunken teenagers. I didn't even know any who smoked. I figured police chief was about the softest job in town.

Home life was even better. I bragged my wife Nancy was the best cook in the county; her apple pies won blue ribbons at the fair every year. My daughter Angelina, just turned 18, was a cheerleader, just about to graduate from Quiquonia High, and we planned for her to go on to college and continue her studies in art. Even at her age she had already sold a few of her oil paintings.

What a beautiful girl. Like a porcelain doll, a tiny little thing, Angelina stood five feet tall, slender and delicate. Her long, dark hair swirled around her face like windblown silk, and her big, blue eyes were deep, soulful pools I knew would one day enchant some lucky young man. God, she was beautiful.

And good. A decent, innocent girl. Never heard her cuss, not once, not even when she got mad. 

She was innocent about sex, too. It fell to her mother to give her the birds & bees talk, so I was astounded the day we were at a friend's wedding--when the priest said, "You may now kiss the bride," in the momentary silence, Angelina's 10-year-old voice piped up, "Is he spreading the pollen on her now?"

Oh, gee. I'll have to watch out for her--she'll be easy prey for any horny boy. She really was innocent about sex. Many of the paintings she did were of glorious, smoking hot nude women, enough to give me a hardon as I looked at them. But to her they were pure art. Nothing animalistic.

As her father, of course, I was more cynical. As she grew older and blossomed into a gorgeous young woman, I kept a very watchful eye over any young men paying her any attention. I even began picking out "boys I liked for Angelina," not that I ever set her up with any. She didn't date very much. Good kid, not boy-crazy at all.

One particular "boy I liked for Angelina" was Angel Ubach, a young man from Uruguay who moved to town with his family two or three years ago. He had joined our Quiquonia Police Department High School Academy (which had turned out to be one of the most successful public relations ventures the department had ever tried). We had dozens of letters reading:

"I have always wanted to be a police officer. So when I found out that I could get hands-on experience in high school, I jumped at the chance. During the years I was in the Quiquonia Academy, I learned a lot. We went on trips to test our navigational and physical skills, we learned about laws and their classifications, we met amazing people with many years of police experience, and great officers like Chief of Police Cormorant."

Anyway, Angel--he pronounced it "On-Hell"--was exactly the clean-cut kind of boy I was looking for with Angelina in mind. Funny: their names were even alike. He was a very handsome boy, 18, tall and strong. Although from Uruguay, his family was of Italian descent; he didn't look Hispanic, his skin was much lighter. With his black, curly hair and dark brown eyes, he looked like a young Antonio Banderas. He spoke accented English but spoke it well--no trouble understanding him, and he never misunderstood instructions. I actually began to think about ways I could get him and Angelina together.

Life was sweet. Well, semi-sweet. Lately, for the past several weeks, Angelina seemed to be in a funk. Not her usual, perky self. Tired all the time. Circles under her eyes. One day I even caught her smoking a cigarette in her bedroom.

She put it out quickly, of course, then told me she was just experimenting, but I was worried. I glanced over her shoulder. She was painting another nude. This time a male.

She had done male nudes before, one or two, always from photographs, never from a live model, but this one was different. She had painted him with an erection. A nice, big one. So Angelina knew what a hard cock looked like. It was fully detailed.

In Angelina's bedroom, a frilly, lace-trimmed place that looked like the salon of a princess, the painting of the hard-cocked male was like a turd in a punchbowl. I was worried. Her grades were fine. No trouble with the school or teachers. I wondered what was bothering her. Was she having boy trouble?

One day a thunderstorm interrupted my golf game, and I had to go home quite a bit early. Not really trying to, I nonetheless opened the door quietly and stepped into the house without making a sound. Nancy was out for the afternoon at a meeting of her ladies' society, and Angelina was still in school.

That's why I was surprised to hear someone crying out from the direction of Angelina's bedroom. I couldn't make out the words, but that was Angelina's voice, and she was excited. I hurried upstairs, worried, but the closer I got, the more I realized they were not calls of distress but rather moans of passion.

Astounded, I leaned my golf bag against the wall and tiptoed closer. Outside her bedroom door, I could understand the words: 

"Ram that hard cock up me! Stretch my hot pussy, you bastard! Oh, yes, do it! Treat me like shit! Eeeeee! Deeper! DEEPER!"

Oh, my God, is that Angelina? My little angel? The little girl who went to church every Sunday? I'd never heard her say anything worse than "darn."

For a minute or two I heard nothing but grunts and squishy sounds, then, "Ohhhh, you got me, you bastard! Annnnnh, I'm cumming!! Oh, God, I can feel it! Surging up through me, you son of a bitch! God, it's boiling! Ah, Jesus! God!"

I was dumbfounded. I could smell sperm. I crept closer, and as I very carefully grabbed the doorknob, I heard, "Ahhhh, God, I surrender! Oh, knock me up! Pump that hot cream all the way up to my tits! Fill me up, I'm your jizz-bitch!" 

Couldn't believe my ears. My hand grew sweaty on the doorknob. Jesus Christ, can that be Angelina? Then I heard, "You big fucker, do me again! Ram that thing up me! Make me scream!"

Again? They're going to do it again?? Who in hell is in there with her? I was confused. If whoever it was had been hurting her, I would gave barged in there with a baseball bat. But Angelina was begging him for it.

I couldn't stand it any more. I had to see. Silently I opened the door. And I saw them.

Crouched on the pink coverlet of her bed, his ass toward me, the young stag slid a motherfucking giant of a cock into the hot, drooling snatch of my innocent daughter. She wanted it so bad, her boiling lust actually changed my anger to horniness--rather than go stomping in there to beat the shit out of her lover, she was getting into it like such a slut, all I could do was stand there and watch! 

And something else: I couldn't believe the masculinity of whoever was fucking her. She had to be in pain. Anything as big as that guy's cock would barely fit into a mare. Poor Angelina. With my own eyes I saw her pussy stretched wider than I could imagine--wider than I could spread Nancy's. God, that kid's bigger than I am. Way bigger. Couldn't see his face, though.

My poor cupcake. As her father I felt her pain as I watched the guy's huge scrotum swinging back and forth with his lovemaking--Jesus, he's going to last a long time--his balls haven't even cinched up for his orgasm yet. But another side of my brain watched his thick pole taming my daughter, and I felt like a stevedore--a non-participant dutifully holding the honeymoon couple's suitcases while they fucked away.

Couldn't help but admire his balls: two huge egg-shaped masses in a hairy leather bag. Father-power. That scrotum could impregnate the whole town. 

His ass-cheeks were handsome, too. Hard loaves of muscle, humping back and forth, fast for a while, then slow, working up to reach his goal--to spray his white, slimy paratroopers into my tiny daughter's virgin territory.

Damn, he was good. Angelina looked up at him with fascination and amazement--more like shock and awe. Worship. Panting, her mouth open, Angelina held onto his back. And before my astonished eyes, she raised her legs, crossing them over his back, angling her pelvis to let that big cock in even deeper. God, she wants him!

I couldn't stand it. My cock was so hard, if I stumbled against the door frame, I would dent it. I couldn't watch the horny movements any longer--I pulled out my cock and stood jacking myself while I watched. God, what a show!

And the damnedest fantasy crept into my mind: What would this guy be like on his wedding night? Imagine him crouched above, lowering himself down, about to mount, his huge, throbbing cock drooling precum as he lowers it between my spread legs, nudging it against my ass--

What? My ass?? What in hell am I thinking? Jesus Christ! I leaned back against the wall, panting, and I wiped the sweat from my forehead. What the hell came over me?

I looked back into Angelina's bedroom. The stud hadn't yet bred my daughter--still humping her hot and heavy. I was never so turned on in my life! God, he was good, screwing her with a lascivious, curlicue stroke, rotating his hips, gouging that big cock of his through her like a corkscrew. I couldn't stop myself: kept wondering what that felt like, kept imagining it happening in my asshole.

Then he turned his head. Looked to the side, and I saw his face. Jesus fucking Christ! It was Ubach. On-Hell Ubach, the high school police intern I talked to that very day! 

Angelina was in love. She lay there, lurching her thighs at him-- Am I going to be this boy's father-in-Law?--but my attention was more on On-Hell's urging, commanding, dominating, colossal cock! I was ashamed when I realized it, but with every outstroke, my eyes devoured the slimy-slick organ, hot to watch it. I was amazed at the huge yaw it caused in my daughter's cunt. The tight-stretched lips were bright pink, fevered, and hot. 

He started to get his gun--the fucking took on a more determined, more desperate urgency. Angelina screamed, "Oh, God, Angel, I've never cummed so much! Over and over! I can't take it any more! Take me! Do it! BLOW ME FULL!!"

I didn't know how he stood it. Hearing that fuck-drunk scream pushed me over the edge. I shot into an orgasm and stood there, jacking arcs of cum into the air as my daughter begged the bastard to fuck her to death. 

And he did. Suddenly he stopped, slammed full-length, balls-to-the-wall in her, and like a cheerleader, she screamed and lurched under him, egging him on. From the stiffness of his body, I knew he was cumming. Up my daughter. No rubber. 

Fuck!

But something else: I could not deny I was so horny, so turned on at watching them, the very fact that he had barebacked my daughter and even then was likely impregnating her with triplets made me so fucking nuts, I actually cummed again! Unbelievable! One orgasm on the heels of another! Jesus Christ, he turns me on!

I heard myself. What the fuck did I just think? No, oh, no! I can't be getting hot over an 18-year-old boy!

But it was true. My mouth watered. If I had one sliver less self-control, I would've sneaked into the bedroom and licked at that big cockshaft as it went in and out of my Angelina, but I stood there panting as he finally pulled it out.

And to my enraged, fiery, overwhelming lust, Angelina got up, bent over him, and sucked that huge thing into her mouth--or tried to. Mostly licked and sucked over the huge flare of his cockhead. Couldn't deny it: my brain was screaming to me that I  wanted to do that!

With the last shred of my self-control (and self-respect), I picked up my golf bag and tiptoed back down the hall. In the kitchen I poured myself a glass of cold water, drank some, splashed the rest over my face, and leaned back against the wall. When my pounding heart finally slowed, I walked to the front door. I opened it and slammed it shut. "Angelina, I'm home! I'll be in the den if you want me!"

In the distant room, I sat back in the leather chair, my brain buzzing. The tactical ball was in her court. How would she get rid of Ubach without my finding out? She couldn't exactly walk to the front door holding hands with him--or holding his cock. God, I would love to hold that cock!

No, I would not! I'm straight! I am not a queer! I'm the goddamned Chief of Police and a family man! I wished Nancy wasn't at her meeting. I needed a good fuck to click me back on track.

But that On-Hell has the handsomest cock I ever saw.

Had to admit it. Most often a man's penis is an ugly, shriveled, wormlike thing between his legs, or in porn pictures a nasty animal extension from his body, red and gnarly, slick from the spit of pre-photo fluffers. But On-Hell's cock--frozen in my memory in permanent impressions from the few seconds I got a full-length sight of it--was "handsome." No other word for it.

And I got another weird sensation--affection. Naw, can't be! But it was stunning, no two ways about it. The father of all cocks hung between that kid's legs. I would fight the feeling, of course, but I sensed a growing urge in the back of my mind to make sure I passed by every time On-Hell went to the police station showers. God, what a dong! 

My poor daughter. On-Hell had a "nailhead" cock--a broad cockhead with a wide, flaring spread like a giant mushroom. Angelina has to be pregnant. That big plug wouldn't let a single drop of cum leak back out. I'll have to make sure she gets some morning-after pills. But from the look on her face, she didn't care. From her expression, she would be in afterglow for days. She looked so pleasured, I figured she just got a new religion. 

I remembered her pussy. Stretched. Wowed out. Like her crotch was a donut with a big, big hole. It hit me that even a guy with a cock as big as mine--and I've got enough to be proud of--couldn't pleasure her now. The bastard has ruined her for anybody else. I sure hope she can tighten up again. And that very idea gave me another rush of lust about On-Hell's mighty cock. Jesus, what a super-organ!

As I automatically rubbed my hard pipe inside my pants, I heard whispering and hushed giggles. Angelina was sneaking On-Hell out the back door. I sat still, listened hard, and heard the door quietly close. He was gone.

A few seconds later, "Hi, Daddy!" She walked into the den. Face was flushed, hair mussed. Even her clothes looked careless. No doubt about it, Angelina had been fucked. I smelled the sperm and pussy odors. And sweat. Poor thing, too inexperienced to realize she was giving herself away. God, look what that guy's cock has done to her! I've never made Nancy that fuck-drunk.

Angelina had On-Hell's cum-smell all over her. And that made me even hotter for him.

As Angelina went back to her bedroom, I fought the feeling but knew it: I had to get naked with On-Hell. But for revenge. To fuck the bastard who fucked my baby. I'm going to cornhole On-Hell!

That night I slugged it to Nancy. Took her rough. "What's come over you? Have you been drinking again? Take your weight off me! You're sweaty!"

Shit. I'm a five on a scale of ten.

I got up early in the morning and jacked off in the shower. At least my hand wants me. While shaving, I heard low moans coming from the direction of Angelina's room. Once again I silently turned the knob and opened the door. She lay on her bed, naked, her legs spread on the pink cloth. Her fingers twiddled her clit as she moaned, "Angel, Angel, Angel."

Jesus Christ, On-Hell is the Fuck King!

All the way to the police station, I couldn't stop thinking of his huge cock. Every tree was veined and bumpy. Every streetlight had a wide-flared cockhead. Every fire hydrant seemed to be ejaculating. When I got to the station, my dick throbbed so hard, I could barely walk. Glad to take refuge behind my desk.

After On-Hell was due to come on duty, I buzzed to have him report to me.

He stepped into my office nervously. I'd designed the place to look intimidating. No windows. One wall was a library of books, thick ones with gold-lettered bindings, legal works, medical dictionaries, treatises on weapons and warfare. 

The opposite wall was covered with photos and portraits of former chiefs and fallen Quiquonia cops (of which there was only one, Lt. James Evan, who in 1963 fell off a Thanksgiving hayride and broke his neck). The pictures were in solemn, formal, heavily carved wood frames. In front of that wall was a single chair--and anyone seeing it would realize instantly it was an interrogation chair. A spotlight across the room focused on it.

At the far end was my desk, a huge, black, carved mahogany giant that weighed half a ton. Anybody paying any attention to the desk would realize (with beads of sweat breaking out on his or her forehead) the carvings were of tortured, damned souls writhing in agony as they were tormented by demons and devils. 

Lighting along the floor behind my desk backlit me, putting my face in shadow until I raised my head and leaned back, when the shadows made me look satanic, like we did as kids, holding a flashlight under our chins.

Everybody was nervous as they entered my office, but On-Hell was even more jittery. For him I had a "final touch." On the floor under my desk burned a special aroma candle I got from a mail-order house--odor of brimstone. In case he wasn't thinking about standing in the Throne Room of Hell, I wanted to put that picture in his mind. 

The poor jerk, no doubt fretting somehow I knew about him and my daughter. I threw him off the scent: "From your record here, Ubach, it looks like you're going to make a fine cop." I smiled. "I'll have to introduce you to my daughter sometime." 

He looked up startled, then, figuring an outraged father about to come down on him wouldn't say such a thing, he relaxed. Visibly less tense. "That--that would be nice."

By then I had trained my hardon down my blue uniform pantleg, and I stood up. "I want to take you on a patrol with me--explain some of the administrative duties of upper ranks of the police while we cruise through the neighborhoods."

"Thank you, sir, that would be great!"

We walked out to my squad car and got in. I began driving around town, a meandering patrol, and I gradually steered the conversation around to the subject of sex. "There was a case we had when one of our own cops got caught up in a gay-sex ring. We set up a sting operation, and the poor bastard got caught in it. We couldn't believe what we heard on the tapes of him: 'I'm your bitch,' the poor debauched bastard said. He was a real queer. 'Bumfuck me,' he said. 'Let me drink your jism!' "

I looked over at Ubach. He was shifting nervously in his seat. "What do you think about that? Sick, no?"

He gulped. "Yes. Sick."

"There was a whorehouse in town a few years ago. We got tapes of the perps in there, too. The prostitutes really talked dirty. 'Give me your cum, you big cocksucker,' they'd say. 'Let me suck that big, hard, cock!' "

All that was bullshit, of course. Worst vice Quiquonia ever had was a woman who sneaked extra white beans into the Friday Afternoon Bingo at the VFW lodge. They caught her when her winnings had reached something like $12.50. Before she could sock it away in a secret numbered account in Switzerland.

"It was tough," I went on. "Even the cops we had on the sting operation had to fight the urge to take part in the orgies." I glanced over at him. Yep, he was hard, a big blue bulge in the front of his pants. "In fact, we had to develop a screening program for officers to be assigned to the vice squads. 


I Go Down for Angelina



"Oh? What did you screen for?"

I pulled the squad car off the road and parked behind some trees. "As a matter of fact, when we processed the data, we found that the men with bigger cocks actually had better self control. The policemen with smaller dicks were somehow more peppery, those more likely to lose control of themselves in the sex stings."

He gasped. "Is that true?"

"According to the computer printouts from our data. We took down the physical characteristics of every cop on the force, and one of the determining factors turned out to be cock size."

"God, that is unbelievable."

"Yes." I paused. He'd bought it. "As it turned out, my own cock is the cut-off point." I unzipped my pants. His mouth dropped open as I manhandled my hard cock out into the open air. I looked at him solemnly. "This is as small as your cock can be." 

He gaped. 

"Any smaller than this, and your personality will be too easily aroused for many of our special assignments." I lowered my voice. "Let's see yours."

Deer in the headlights. Wondering if, after all, I knew about him and my daughter. I could see his brain working: what if this was some weird attempt to get even, punish him, cut off his cock!

I repeated. Firmly. "Let's see it, On-Hell."

He unzipped his pants, reached in, and fetched it out. Poor show. Nervous and frightened, his cock was a shriveled pickle. Nothing to turn any heads in the shower room. "Ah, too bad. That's smaller than mine. Looks like you might be the horny type, On-Hell."

"No! It is just--it is always--I can make it--IT IS BIGGER THAN THIS!" He looked at me desperately. "Here, let me show you!" And he started stroking himself as I watched.

Uphill climb. Who can get hard with his boss staring at him, watching him with a dick much bigger? But On-Hell jacked away, and it grew. Taller. Fatter. Bumpier--the veins filling out. And the head flared into that gigantic mushroom.

I remembered it. The big, strapping organ my daughter begged to kiss, suck, and impale herself on. Ridiculously huge! Up close, even bigger than I remembered. The thing that made Angelina yell like a whore!

I could smell it again. The scent of his balls rose up like an exploding storm cloud, and a terrible urge rose up in me. No! I've never been a cocksucker! I'm not going to be one now! But I couldn't stop staring at that handsome organ. "You see, Chief? It is big!" He looked over. "Bigger than yours," he added quietly. 

I couldn't help myself. I reached out and grasped it. Fuck! My fingers don't close around it. This is how wide poor Angelina's cunt had to stretch! I tried not to, but I couldn't help but stroke him, caressing that huge thing, fondling it. Damn! Like holding a big, leather-covered PVC pipe. Soft, warm, and loose-skinned at the surface, iron-hard underneath. 

I looked up into his eyes, and in them I read triumph--he saw me succumbing to him, and I realized that the next natural step was for me to bend over and suck him.

But I took control and turned the tables. "Suck my cock, Cadet Ubach."

"Wh--what?"

"You heard me. Get over and suck my dick."

For a split second, the air crackled with the electricity of clashing wills--his outraged masculinity versus my overwhelming authority and power. I won. 

Finally, hesitating, he bent over, and his mouth glommed onto my throbbing cock. He was hesitating. Not what he expected to happen. 

I let him suck me for a while, lunging my cock down his throat, but when I felt my orgasm starting to build, the time for Angelina's revenge had come. "Get your pants off, Ubach--and don't stop sucking my cock!"

By then he had submitted to me--once he sucked my cock, he had the name. Anything else couldn't make it any worse. He fumbled with his belt and began shucking down his blue uniform trousers.

Finally, with his pants down and off, along with his underwear, I grunted, "Let's move into the back seat." 

The city had given me a Cadillac for my Police Chief car. Big black one. Blue lights tucked behind the grille. I thought it looked like a Mafia boss's ride, but it sure came in handy for what I was doing then. The back seat was as big as a double bed, and the black leather upholstery was soft, warm, and sensual. 

On-Hell knew what was coming. His boss was going to fuck him. He was going to be on the police version of the casting couch--the back seat of a squad car. And he did it. He lay back on the seat, spreading his legs. No fucking on pink silk this time, asshole. Now you get it on black, manly leather!

But as I dropped my own pants, standing outside looking down at him, something came over me. He was hard, damned hard. Ah-hah. Loverboy must swing both ways. But that gigantic cock of his did that hypnotic thing over me again. 

I saw it lunging in and out of my poor Angelina's drooling cunt, and I heard her filthy talk, fuck-drunk, skewered on this kid's huge organ. A terrible craving swept over me. I've never been fucked by a man, but by God, this kid makes me so fucking horny I want to try it! I felt myself breathing hard. I can't remember feeling this horny for the longest time--he's made me wonder if I need a cock inside me!

As I crawled into the back of the car to mount him, On-Hell raised his legs and spread them--but at the last second, I crawled in over his legs until my knees planted on either side of his chest. Then I positioned my ass over his cock--and lowered myself down over the giant cock of an 18-year-old kid!

Oh, God, what am I doing?? But I felt that big cockhead nudge at my asshole. Yeah! 

I settled back on it slowly. Never did anything like that before. Knew it would hurt. Yow! Fuck! Didn't think it would hurt that much! Never felt anything like it. 

On-Hell's big cock stretched my ass-tunnel out to the size poor Angelina's cunt had been the night before. God, is this what she felt? The poor thing! Damn, it hurt! Felt like I sat down on one of the SWAT team's M-16s. I was at full military stretch, gradually sliding down his unbelievable length. 

Meanwhile, watching me with astonished eyes, On-Hell gasped, "Dios me libre! La hija y ahora el padre!"

I was not as ignorant as he thought--cops have to learn some Spanish these days. What he said was God save me, first the daughter and now the father!

He looked up at me with a bemused expression, suddenly the one in charge. He was full in--I had lowered myself until my pelvis pressed down on his, his cock up my guts to the max. Then the hard part started. I couldn't make good fuck-strokes raising myself up and sitting back down, so I rose about half his cock-length and crouched over him. On-Hell lurched his hips up into me, doing the fuck-strokes himself.

God, it was something! Never felt anything like it. As my shitter gradually grew used to the terrible stretch and the rasping friction as his cock moved in and out, what had been just an asshole and my guts became my glowing fuck-tunnel--a new love-organ--and gradually I came to feel what set Angelina on fire.

God, I love this! Once a purely practical cavity between my legs, my asshole became a hot black hole sucking my universe into it in a glorious, mind-boggling crescendo of pleasure. Not the same as the familiar pleasure in my cock, being fucked was a whole new realm of ecstasy. My asshole purred with a feeling almost an orgasm, but not quite, and it went on and on--constant, stunning pleasure.

So this is what it's like! I knew I was covered with his sperm-scent. His balls had marked me. I breathed it in with every panting gasp.

I wanted him to go faster. Deeper. I opened my mouth to beg him but caught myself. Goddamn it, I'm still the boss!

But I was in the hands--or impaled on the cock--of a young master. On-Hell started that rotating-pelvis thing he did with Angelina, and he turned my sphincter into the Gate of Paradise. Tears came to my eyes as he took control of my backdoor. The more he thrust up into me, the hotter I got, and finally my cock chimed in, adding its own fiery sensations to the overwhelming bliss. As if the hot, giant cock up my ass had turned my whole body into smoke, in an out-of-body experience, I exploded, vanished, blew away like a ball of flaming gasoline. 

Never felt anything like it. Ecstasy in both my cock and my asshole--like opening two eyes for the first time. A roar of pleasure consumed my whole body from the center of my crotch. As I felt myself cumming--shooting great jets of sperm into the air to splatter down on On-Hell's chest and face--the pleasure actually spread out from the glowing area between the my cockshaft and my asshole, frying my whole body.

Incredible. Pleasure so intense I wondered if I'd live through it. Because the rough texture of On-Hell's mighty prong rubbed against my old-man prostate with every stallion stroke, the pleasure never stopped! Constant, mind-melting ecstasy!

He had me. In every way. I was just a piece of meat at the end of his cock. Helpless. Couldn't fight him. At his mercy. Crouching there trembling in the terrible, unending pleasure.

I could never have stopped it. I would have crouched there servicing him until I dropped over dead. Finally he called a halt: in my euphoria I vaguely felt him withdrawing. "No, man, no," I gasped, realizing he had done it--made me beg him. 

But the moose-cock slid back out of my ass, leaving me with a terrible power-vacuum, empty of the life-force that had sustained me. All my earlier curiosity and desire, the later fiery pain, and now the overwhelming pleasure-frenzy combined into a fiery craving: He had to do it to me again. Over and over. All day. All night.

Once he was out of me, and my burning body began to wind down from the super-stretch and the glorious passion, I floated down into an afterglow so intense I saw showers of sparks before my eyes. God, am I dying? Do we have to get a paramedic out here because I've been fucked to death?

I looked down at the huge plowcock. Slimy with white smears. He had bred me. I hadn't felt it, too overcome with the tidal wave of ecstasy. He'd barebacked both me and my daughter. We were both his bitches. 

But when I raised my eyes from his cock to his face, I swear to God, the only feeling I had was gratitude. The fiery son of a bitch looked up at me in victory. "Tell me what you are thinking," he commanded. "Speak!"

"Your body is the hottest thing I've ever seen." I gulped, then continued--"When I saw how you fucked Angelina, oh, my. I knew it then--I wanted to be your bitch so bad. You fucked the cum right out of me twice--just now and once before, when I jacked off as I watched you in action!" He smiled and reached up to pat my head. "I was made to be someone's bitch, and the story of how you tamed my daughter really got to my cock and my heart."

As I spoke, I really felt like a bitch. "Thank you, you super-sexy man," I hissed, and I bent down and kissed him.

Well, for as much as I begged, he wouldn't do me again, so both of us got out of the car, pulled our pants up, then drove back to the station. I showered before I let anybody get around me. On-Hell's mighty balls left a spoor-trail over everybody he got.

From then on, life was hell. Couldn't get On-Hell out of my mind. Fuck, it's so hot. I'm in the police station right now, trying to do my paperwork, and the guy sitting next to me just fucked me senseless. I have to do everything in my power to conceal my pretty obvious delight with him. Now, hour after hour I find myself staring at him, worshiping his perfectly toned, rock hard body. I can't help playfully flirting with him in an effort to try to see if I can coax a bulge in his pants. I'm sure he's mostly straight, as I have seen him mauling another cop--a female--in her car after duty one night. Hell, I'm supposed to be straight, too, as a married man, but fuck, I want to feel his hard cock sliding in and out of me again!

Worse, I knew Angelina was nothing to him. He wasn't faithful to her. Just used her.

I found myself in an incredible situation--sharing my daughter's lover. Fucking him behind her back. As I explored the guilt and satisfaction of being my daughter's boyfriend's slut bottom, I realized it was an old story, and I loved it--I realized it was a natural fit for me since I had to admit I identified with bottom protagonists in the adventures. It had happened: I finally got out there and tried sex with men. Then I was hooked. Thanks, On-Hell.

No denying it: my asshole was On-Hell's anytime he wanted it. I was his bitch. But I was still Angelina's father, and for as much as I craved On-Hell for physical reasons, he was not doing my daughter any good emotionally. To him she was just a cunt.

I made a resolution--one that would not be very unpleasant to keep. Beginning the next day, I arranged to have Cadet Ubach report to my office three times a day. He brought me my coffee in the morning, following which I locked my office door, lay back on my big, black desk, and spread my legs for the kid to stuff that giant salami up my ass and make me cry Uncle.

At noon he reported to my office, locked the door behind him, then dropped to his knees to mount the naked Police Chief crouched on his hands and knees for a doggy-style on the carpet. I never let him go until he had cummed in me at least three times. And by then lunch time was about over.

Every afternoon, just before 5:00 p.m. checkout time, Cadet Ubach knocked on my office door, stepped inside, pulled down his pants, and stood there while I sucked him off, gulping down his cream as an appetizer for the dinner Nancy would have waiting for me at home. Cadet Ubach's duty was to get himself hard again in time to fuck me up the ass as I stood holding onto the coat-rack, spreading my legs, gripping my buttocks to spread them around his huge crowbar. Once he had me nice and dripping, I let him go for the day.

After this schedule had gone on for a couple of weeks, I saw Angelina become more and more distraught. Nervous. Irritable. Restless. Like she needed a good fuck but couldn't get one. Like her lover was too tired out.

And one day it happened. She came running into the house, her face wet with tears. "I hate him!" she screamed. "I'm glad he's gone!" 

As Nancy ran to her, I tried to act like I hadn't figured out what was wrong. "What's wrong, Angelina?"

"My boyfriend and I just broke up!"

"You had a boyfriend? How come you never told us about him?"

"I don't know, I don't know! But it's over now! He's out of my life!"

Nancy hugged her and smoothed her hair. "There, there, honey. You'll find another boy, one who'll treat you nice."

As a matter of fact, Nancy was right. Not long thereafter, Angelina did indeed meet a nice boy, who became her steady. And something else: Angelina re-did her bedroom. No more pink. She styled it with mature earth-tones. Angelina had grown up.

On-Hell's hell went on, though. The daily tri-fucks continued until high school graduation day. A week or so later, instead of trying for a job on the Quiquonia PD, Ubach left town. I heard he got hired by a police department in Mississippi. I missed him. My asshole really missed him.

But one day I happened to glance into the station shower room and spotted Officer Benchley. Well-hung guy. He looked me straight in the eye, and a message flashed between us.

Looks like I might use up the big tube of lube I keep in my desk drawer, after all.

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