Not to sound like I’m high on my own supply, but I’ve always known I was an attractive dude.
Not trying to be a dick about it. It’s just the truth. I’m a 5’11”, blond athlete who works out like 5 times a week and adheres to a strict diet. I’m not on steroids and not overly-bulky like a bodybuilder. But I train every muscle group in my body and pretty much have an all-around functional and aesthetic physique.
My whole familiy have been blessed with Scandinavian facial genetics. Strong cheekbones, defined jaw. When I was scouted by a model agent, I was told I had a great jaw shape that photographs well and looks even better with a little stubble. My hazel eyes go green or gold depending on the sun. I keep my blond hair short. And I’ve got a tan most of the year because I my wife and I love to sunbathe.
People tell me I look like Alexander Ludwig. I can kinda see it, I guess...
Women have admired at me my whole life. Men too, if I’m being honest, though I never thought much about that. I was the guy other dudes wanted to grab a beer with and other guys’ girlfriends stared at a half-second too long. I knew it. I liked it. I didn’t make my looks my whole personality, but I wasn’t blind.
Basically, I’ve a very lucky man. For most of my life.
I mean, the first 20 of my life were like a fucking a highlight reel of all the best parts of growing up in a middle-class, All-American family.
I grew up in South Carolina. Middle, or Lower-middle-class. Mom taught school. Dad fixed cars at the local garage and came home with grease in the cracks of his hands. We didn’t have money, but always we had enough to live a decent life.
Me and my siblings were all athletes. That was just the rule in our house. You came home, you did your homework, you went to practice. In high school. I played football, basketball, and baseball. Varsity in all three. And captain of both the football and baseball teams. Now, I wasn’t the biggest guy on any of those teams ( 5’11” will keep you honest) but I was fast, I was coordinated, and I wanted it more than the kids who were bigger and lazier. Coaches loved that. So did everybody else.
All my classmates treated me like I was famous. That’s not an exaggeration. Hallways opened up. Teachers let shit slide. Girls bent over backwards to try to get in my pants. During my senior year, I was homecoming king and prom king.
The cherry atop all of this is that I managed to snag the most beautiful girl in whole school, heck probably the sexiest girl in all of South Carolina. Adrianna Alves. My current wife, Adrianna Alvest, to be specific.
Dark hair, olive skin, that mouth, that body. She did theater, which I used to give her hell for until I sat in the back of the auditorium one night and actually watched her. She was the hottest girl in school and she knew it, but she wasn’t mean about it. We started dating in the end of my Junior year that was it. We homecoming king and queen. The couple everybody said wouldn’t last past graduation because “those never do.” Joke was on them. I put a ring on her. Even today, she still looks at me like I’m the guy who walked her out of that gym under the cheap spotlights.
Those years were easy. That’s the part I didn’t appreciate. Friday nights under the lights. Weight room before school. Friends who would’ve thrown hands for me. A loving mom who packed my lunch and a dad who never failed to show up to my games looking proud as hell. Adrianna in my truck. My fingers in her pussy. I thought that was just what life was. I thought it kept going like that forever.
I enrolled in college right after graduation. Criminal justice, maybe business. Something stable. I wasn’t trying to be a brain. I was trying to be a man with a job and a house and a wife who didn’t have to worry. Two years in, I still thought I was on that track.
Then my mom dropped dead of a heart attack at 48.
That sentence still doesn’t sound real when I say it. One day she was grading papers, packing lunches, and doing laundry. Next day she was gone. No warning. No long hospital goodbye. Just a hole in the middle of the house where the whole operation used to run.
Dad folded after that. Not all at once. Piece by piece. The garage. His health. Whatever was left of him that wasn’t already tired.
I dropped out of college after two years to support my family. Somebody had to make money. Somebody had to keep the lights on and put my two younger brothers through school and pretend we were still the same family we used to be.
At first, I bounced between gigs. Nothing that stuck. Nothing that paid like it needed to. I was in my early 20s, still built like a stud, still married to the girl that all the dudes wanted, and yet I was scared as hell we were going to drown financially.
Then I got an interview with Scott Hepburn. Yep, that Scott Hepburn. The who’s multi-billionaire family practically owns the state of South Carolina.
The man interviewed me himself. That should’ve been my first clue this job was different. Most rich guys let somebody else hire the help. Scott looked me up and down quitely, green eyes intimidating as hell, and offered me security work on his Hilton Head estate. Night shift. Real money. Benefits. The kind of stable paycheck that meant Dad’s bills and Jackson’s school weren’t a monthly panic attack anymore.
I took it. Of course I took it. Dream job, I told Adrianna. Dream job, I told myself.
That was two and a half years ago. I’ve been working on the Hepburn estate almost every night since. I know the gates, the cameras, the gym, the way the Atlantic looks black at two in the morning. The guys on the security team like me. I like them. A lot. They almost make me feel like I’m the start athlete in a southern high school all over again.
6 months ago, Scott threw an employee appreciation party at a beachfront hotel.
That’s the point when my life turned upside down.
I didn’t see what happened in that bathroom. I wasn’t in there. I was at the bar being the friendly popular guy I usually was. Bumpin’ fists, cracking jokes, letting people clap me on the shoulder. And I got shitfaced pretty quick.
I got so drunk so quickly that a buddy had to walk me out of the party early. I woke up the next morning in a hotel room wearing nothing but my boxer briefs. With a splitting headache and no memory of most of the night.
Early that afternoon I got a call from my buddy Max Armstrong. He was the first one to tell me about the rumors.
Adrianna and her friend Betty. They got with my boss, Scott. In a locked bathroom. My wife got on her knees…and…and….and she dishonored me.
Max Armstrong was the cousin of my best friend Travis Armstrong. Max was 28 years old, worked as a cop as his main job, but worked as a part-time security guy for Scott Hepburn about 15 hours per week as part of a training program that Scott used to attract talent.
“I’m just tellin’ you what people are saying, man,” Max told me. “Dude, I wasn’t in there. Nobody I talked to was in there. But Betty was running her mouth after, and you know Betty. She don’t keep nothing to herself when she’s drunk.”
I sat on the edge of the hotel bed in my underwear with the taste of whiskey still in my mouth and a headache trying to split my skull in half. Late morning light was coming through the curtains. My phone was hot in my palms.
“Say it again,” I said.
Max exhaled. “Scott pulled Adrianna and Betty into that bathroom off the ballroom. Locked the door. Betty said they both got on their knees. She said Scott took it out and it was… dude. She said it was huge. Like, porn huge. She said Adrianna didn’t even hesitate.”
I laughed. It came out wrong. Too sharp. Too quick.
“That’s bullshit.”
“I know. I know it sounds like bullshit. That’s why I called you instead of letting you walk into work tonight and hear it from Dougie.”
“Adrianna wouldn’t do that.”
“I’m not saying she did, Logan. I’m saying that’s the rumor. I figured you’d rather hear it from me.”
I thanked Max. I don’t even remember hanging up. I just remember sitting there staring at the carpet like the carpet had answers.
Adrianna. I loved that woman. I loved her in the stupid, simple way you love somebody you’ve been looking at since you were seventeen. She was it. She was the whole point of the last decade.
The thought of her on her knees for another man made my stomach drop out. I felt sick. Actually sick. Like I might have to go throw up in the hotel toilet and then sit on the floor until the room stopped tilting.
Scott Hepburn. 6’4”. Built like an AFL ruby player. The epitome of “tall, dark and handsome. Perfect black hair and green eyes.
He was my boss. The guy whose name was on my direct deposit. The guy whose family pretty much owned the whole fucking state.
I imagined him owering over her.
That’s the picture that showed up whether I wanted it or not. Scott standing in that bathroom with his belt open and Adrianna looking up at him. Her mouth twitching in lust. Him so much bigger than her it was almost funny. I could see his hand in her hair. I could see her looking up at him the way she used to look up at me.
I told myself to stop.
I was 100% straight. Always had been. I fucking love girls. Tits and pussy were my whole menu. I’d never looked at a dude like that. I’d never wanted to. The idea of another man’s dick in my head was supposed to be disgusting.
It was disgusting. But it also wouldn’t leave.
Betty’s voice, through Max, kept looping. *Huge. Porn huge.*
I’d heard locker-room talk about Scott before. I always ignored it. I always told myself I shouldn’t be even thinking about my boss’s dick. I’m not wired like that.
Except now I was sitting on a hotel bed 9 in the morning having just heard a nasty rumor about my wife…and my own dick was getting hard in my briefs.
4.5 inches. That’s all I’ve got. I’ve always had a small cock. It thickened up against the cotton and it still looked like a joke compared to the thing I was picturing. I looked down at twitching dick like it had betrayed me.
“The fuck is wrong with you,” I said out loud.
Nobody answered.
I should’ve called Adrianna. I should’ve gotten dressed and driven home and looked her in the eye and let her tell me Betty was a liar. That’s what a man does. That’s what I told myself I was going to do.
Instead I leaned back on my hands and the picture got clearer.
Scott’s cock.
I didn’t have a photo. I didn’t have shit except a drunk woman’s word and my own messed-up brain filling in the rest. So I filled it in.
I pictured him pulling it out of those expensive slacks and it just keeping coming. Not a normal dick. Not a “pretty good, actually” dick. Eight, eight and a half inches. Thick. The kind of thick where a girl’s fingers don’t meet around it. Heavy. Veined. A fat head with that ridge you can see from across a room. I pictured it already half-hard when he took it out, then filling the rest of the way while Adrianna stared at it like she’d never seen a cock in real life before.
Shape-wise I kept landing on the same thing. Straight. Mean. Not curved cute. Just a thick straight pipe with weight to it. The kind of cock that hangs when it’s soft and looks like a weapon when it’s hard. I pictured his balls tight underneath it, big, full, the kind you don’t even want to think about if you’re the husband.
Pubes.
That one stuck. Scott always looked clean in clothes. Perfect hair. Nice watch. Golf-course rich. But I didn’t picture him shaved. I pictured dark hair. Dense. A black bush at the base of that thing, trailing up toward his navel a little, the same dark hair I’d seen on his forearms and at the collar of his shirts. I pictured Adrianna’s nose almost in it. I pictured that contrast. Her pretty face, her olive skin, her mouth opening around something that thick with his hair against her forehead.
My stomach turned.
My dick got harder.
I hooked a thumb in my waistband and shoved my briefs down to my thighs because I couldn’t stand the fabric on it anymore. There it was. My little four-and-a-half-inch thing standing up off me, flushed, already wet at the tip like it had any business being in this conversation. It looked stupid. It looked like what it was. A jock’s body and a boy’s cock.
I wrapped my hand around it anyway.
I’m not proud of that. I’m putting it in here because it happened, and lying about it now would be a different kind of pathetic.
I stroked slow at first, jaw tight, staring at the wall. I told myself I was just worked up. Hangover. Stress. The rumor. Any guy would get hard thinking about his wife being sexual, even if the thought made him want to put his fist through drywall. That was the story I sold myself. I am straight. I was thinking about *her*. Her mouth. Her knees on hotel tile. The sounds she makes when she’s into it.
Then Scott’s cock slid right back into the middle of it.
I imagined the size of it next to my hand. Next to *me*. If that thing was in the same room as mine it would’ve made mine look like Cheeto. I imagined Adrianna wrapping both hands around him and still having shaft left to suck. I imagined her lipstick on it. I imagined spit running down to that dark bush. I imagined Scott’s voice, low, telling her good girl like he had any right.
My fist sped up.
I thought about the shape of the head pushing past her lips. Thick. Blunt. Stretching her mouth the way I never had. I thought about her trying to take it and gagging a little and doing it anyway. I thought about Betty right there beside her. I thought about Scott looking down at both of them with those green eyes and not thinking about me at all.
I loved my wife.
That was the fucked-up part. I wasn’t fantasizing because I didn’t care. I was sitting there wrecked about it. My chest hurt. My throat was tight. I kept seeing her wedding ring and that bathroom lock clicking shut.
And I kept stroking.
Short strokes, because that’s all the real estate I’ve got. My cock disappeared in my fist. The head poked out wet. I smeared precum around with my thumb and hated how good it felt. I imagined Scott’s dick so clearly I could’ve drawn it. Thick shaft. Dark pink head. That ridge. Vein along the top. Black hair curling around the base, dense enough you wouldn’t see skin. Heavy balls sitting behind it. The whole thing looking like it belonged on a man who took whatever he wanted.
I imagined it laying on Adrianna’s tongue. I imagined it hitting the back of my wife’s throat.
I imagined Scott’s hand on the back of her head, not rough, just sure, like he already knew she was going to finish him.
“Fuck,” I breathed.
I was going to cum. I could feel it gathering low, fast, the way it always did when I got this worked up. I tried to picture Adrianna with *me*. I tried to put myself in the bathroom instead of him. My brain wouldn’t do it. It kept putting Scott there. Six-four. Shirt still on. Belt hanging. That giant cock shiny with my wife’s spit. My beautiful wife looking up at him like he was the one who’d walked her out of the gym under the cheap spotlights.
I came with my teeth clenched and my hips kicking up off the mattress.
It wasn’t a big load. It never is. A few weak spurts over my fist and onto my stomach, my little dick twitching like it had done something impressive. I sat there breathing through my mouth, hand still wrapped around myself, cum cooling on my skin, hangover pounding behind my eyes.
For a second I felt nothing.
Then I felt everything.
Shame. Anger. That sick drop in my stomach again. Love for her so sharp it made my eyes burn. And under all of it, this ugly little aftertaste I did not have a name for, because I am not gay, I have never been gay, I like women, I like my wife’s pussy, I like her tits and her ass and the way she says my name when I’m inside her.
I don’t like men. I don’t like my boss’s dick. Yet I just came in a hotel room thinking about it anyway.
I wiped my hand on the sheet like that would undo it. I pulled my briefs up. I went to the bathroom and washed my face with cold water until I looked like a person again.
Max Armstrong.
My name’s Max Armstrong. I’m 28 years old. I’m 6’2”, and built like an elite cross-fit athlete. I lift heavy and I eat a shit-ton of protein. I’ve always been complimented for my well debeloped chest and ass, but the best part of my body, in my opinion is my arms. Thick as hell. The type of thick muscular arms that required superior genetics on top of just hard work and discipline.
I’m an Endomorph. Wide. Dense. Building a sexy, strong body has always come easy to me.
I’ve got dark hair and dark eyes. And I’m fuckin’ hairy as shit. Not a little trail, not a polite patch. Dark curly hair all over chest and covering my abs. Even thicker on my thighs, the whole thing. People notice my muscles first. Then the hair. Then my voice. It’s deep. I’ve naturally always had a deep, sexy voice.
I’m a cop for 30 hours a week and I pick up 15 more on Scott Hepburn’s security detail. Night work. Same roster as Logan McMillan, which is how I know him. My cousin Travis Armstrong is one of Logan’s best friends, so Logan’s been in my orbit a while. Most people clock me as straight. Deep voice, muscular hairy body, the way I stand. They’re always surprised when they find out I fuck men. I’m not going to dress it up. I’m mostly gay. I just don’t advertise it, and I don’t owe anybody a coming-out speech at a traffic stop.
That night I was on patrol. Residential streets. Quiet. I liked those kinds of nights.
I still felt like shit about the call this morning.
Logan had sounded wrecked. Not angry-wrecked. The other kind. The kind where a dude’s trying to keep his voice level and it’s not working. I’d told him straight because that’s just my style. Bro code. You hear your boy’s wife was on her knees for the boss, you don’t pussy-foot around it. You call him. You say it. You hang up when you’ve said what you needed to.
That was the logic.
It still sat wrong in my chest, though. Logan clearly loved that girl. Everybody who spent ten minutes around them knew it. Hearing him go quiet on the other end of the line had made me want to take the sentence back and find a softer way to say it. There wasn’t a softer way to break it to him though. All his coworkers are saying that his wife got down on her knees and sucked the boss off. I didn’t invent it. I just delivered it.
I told myself that again and kept driving.
Then a pair of headlights came at me sloppy.
Residential street, parked cars on both sides, and this sedan was drifting like the guy behind the wheel was having a seizure. Left. Right. Over the center. Brake lights for no reason. I hit the flashers, followed him a block, and when he finally nosed toward the curb I boxed him in before he could invent a better idea.
I got out. Warm night. Cicadas. My boots on the pavement.
The driver had his window down before I even got there. Music still going. Some bass-heavy shit. Backwards hat. Light brown hair sticking out around it. Handsome face, and I mean actually handsome, not bar-handsome. Clean bone structure. Sharp jaw. Looked like the kind of pretty-boy who spent all day making TikTok dances that young girls and gays drooled over.
He wore a pale blue polo with the collar popped like a douchebag, unbuttoned too far down a smooth chest. Khaki shorts sitting low. White socks. Slide sandals. A silver chain. The hat was a navy snapback with Greek letters I didn’t bother reading. He smelled like tequila and expensive cologne.
He grinned up at me like this was a content opportunity.
Then I realized I knew the face. Judd Paul.
Some 20-year-old influencer. Every girl in America had that kid’s clip in her algorithm for the past three years. Then he came out as bi and the internet lost its mind for a news cycle. I don’t follow that shit and I still recognized him.
“License and registration,” I said.
He blinked slow. “Yes, officer. Absolutely. Love the law. Huge fan.”
His speech was already thick. Not falling-down yet. Soft around the edges. He fumbled the glove box, laughed at himself, and produced a license that said he was telling the truth about the name.
“You know why I pulled you over.”
“Because you think I’m sexy?”
“Because you’re swerving across a residential street.”
“Oh.” He squinted at the flashers like they’d personally betrayed him. “Yeah. That tracks.”
“Step out of the vehicle.”
He did. Taller than he looked sitting down, but still looking up at me. Polo wrinkled. Hat backwards. Sweaty brown hair poking hout. That pretty-boy face tipped to the side almost like he was mogging, trying to figure out if charm was going to work.
It was not going to work. I had him put his hands on the roof and I patted him down enough to make sure I wasn’t going to find a bottle or a surprise. Warm skin. Lean. Not my type on paper. Too smooth. Too young. Too famous.
“I’m gonna need you to blow into this.”
I held up the breathalyzer.
Judd looked at it, then at me, then back at it.
“Duuuudeeee….you have really nice arms,” he said. “Has anyone told you that? Because they should. They’re like… illegal.”
“Blow.”
He leaned in, wrapped his mouth around the tube, and made it look like a joke he was proud of. Number came back the way I knew it would. Way over.
“You’re drunk, Judd.”
His eyebrows went up. Happy about the name. “You know who I am.”
“I know you’re over the limit.”
“You’re hot though. The whole—” He gestured at my chest, my badge, the whole uniform like it was a costume I’d put on for him. “And that voice. Do you talk like that on purpose?”
“Hands where I can see them.”
“They are. See?” He showed me his palms, then ruined it by smiling. “I came out recently. I don’t know if you heard. It’s been a whole thing. Girls are mad. Guys are weirdly nicer. Anyway. You ever hook up with a boy? You can tell me. Cop to citizen.”
“I’m on duty.”
“That’s not a no.”
“Turn around. Hands on the car.”
He turned, mostly. Then he didn’t. His knees went and he listed sideways into me like his bones had clocked out. I caught him under the arm. He was lighter than he looked and heavier than he should’ve been, dead weight and tequila. His face hit my chest. His hat bumped my jaw. For a second it was just a drunk kid collapsing on a cop in a quiet neighborhood, which happens, which I know how to handle.
Then his hand found the front of my pants.
Not an accident. Not a brush. He palmed me through the uniform, fingers spreading like he’d been thinking about it since the window came down, and he made a little sound against my chest that was half laugh and half something else.
“Jesus,” he muttered, sloppy and pleased. “You’re big all over, huh.”
I grabbed his wrist and took his hand off me.
Hard enough that he felt it. Not hard enough to drop him in the street.
“That’s enough.”
Judd blinked up at me, still hanging on my shirt with his other hand, eyes glassy, mouth wet, that influencer face suddenly very close and very stupid.
“Sorry,” he said. He did not sound sorry. “You’re just— you look so straight. It’s confusing. Are you gonna cuff me or are you gonna take me home? Because I vote home. Your home. I’ll be good. Or I won’t. Your call, officer.”
I should’ve had him on the hood and a cruiser on the way.
I stood there with a drunk, twenty-year-old, social media celebrity leaning on my chest, my cousin’s best friend’s marriage blowing up in the back of my head, and the feeling Judd Paul’s handprint still warm on my crotch.
“Turn,” I said. “Face my cruiser.”
I shoved him against my car. Hands behind his back. Cuffs on. Pretty sure that’s standard procedure when a drunk 20-year-old shithead grabbs a cop’s dick on the side of a residential street. I wasn’t playing a game with it. Not yet.
The sexy shithead laughed when the metal closed. “Kinky.”
“Quiet.”
I patted him down again. Vape pen in the right pocket of those khaki shorts. I pulled it out, held it up in the flare of the headlights, and dropped it in my own pocket.
“That’s mine,” Judd said.
“Not anymore it isn’t.”
He was still leaning into me. Still smiling. Still sloppy. Light brown hair stuck to his forehead under the backwards hat. That face was even worse up close. Clean bone structure. Perfect, clear skin. He was so pretty, yet still masculine.
I told myself I was doing my job. Then my hands did a second pass that had nothing to do with a vape pen.
He didn’t pull away. He pushed back into it.
I slid a hand under the polo and found smooth, warm skin. Tight abs. A little sweat. I dragged my palm up to his chest and felt him breathe against my fingers. No chest hair. Soft pecs over a lean frame. He made a sound in his throat that was not a protest.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I like that.”
“You grabbed me first.”
“I know. And I’ll do it again soon as you uncuff me.”
I unbuttoned his khakis. He sucked in a breath and let me. My hand went down the back of his shorts and found a firm, round ass, no underwear. Slut.
I squeezed. He moaned, loud enough that I checked the street. Dark houses. Full moon already up. Nobody on a porch.
I came around to the front and found him hard. Not huge. Average, maybe a little better, and fully stiff in my hand. I wrapped my fingers around his cock and rolled his balls with my thumb. He dropped his head against my chest and moaned into my uniform like he’d been waiting for it since the window came down.
“Fuck, officer—”
“Call me Officer Max.”
“Officer Max. Please don’t stop.”
I spit on my fingers, worked it between them, and slid my hand back behind him. I found his hole and teased it. Slow circles. No rush. He was tight and hot and he pushed back on my fingertip like he wanted it in. I didn’t give him that yet. I just pressed enough that he felt it and kept stroking him with the other hand.
“Yes,” he whispered. “Yes. I’m into this. I’m so into this.”
That was the line. Not the sloppy grin. Not the crotch grab. That sentence.
I took the cuffs off.
He looked at his wrists, then at me, confused for half a second.
“I’m not doing this as an arrest,” I said. “You’re drunk. You’re over the limit. I can call you a ride and write this up like a grown-up, or you can get in the passenger seat and we go somewhere that isn’t in front of somebody’s mailbox. You say no, this ends. You get a ride home. That’s the whole menu.”
Judd licked his lips. The tequila was still there, but his eyes were tracking me now.
“Passenger seat,” he said. “I wanna go somewhere with you, stud.”
I put him in the front. Not the cage. Seatbelt on. I called it in as a stop with no transport and took the next ten minutes on back roads until the houses thinned out. Empty county stretch. Trees. A turnout in the grass. Full moon bright enough that I could see the lines of his face without the flashlight.
I parked. Killed the engine. Left the radio low.
Judd was already undoing his seatbelt. “Officer, if you don’t take your cock out I’m going to lose my mind.”
We got out. Full moon shinging down on the field. Warm night. He followed me off the shoulder into the dark grass without me putting a hand on him. When I told him to strip, he did it quickly. Hat first. Polo. Chain. Slides. Shorts. He stood there naked in the moonlight, 20 years old, lean and athletic, smooth chest, tight stomach, that handsome face gone slack with nerves and want. His cock was still hard. He was beautiful. I’m not going to pretend he wasn’t. Famous-kid beautiful. The kind of body people paid to look at on a phone, except now it was right in front of me and shaking a little.
“On your knees.”
He went down in the grass. Looked up. Backwards-hat tan line on his forehead. Mouth open.
I unbuckled, opened my uniform pants, and pulled my cock out. I left everything else on. Badge, shirt, boots. It hung there in the moonlight, then filled the rest of the way in my hand. Thick. Heavy. Close to 10 inches when it’s hard, and it was almost fully hard. The head was already wet.
Judd stared at it.
He actually laughed, one short disbelieving breath, and then he didn’t laugh.
“No. FUCKING. way.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s— Duuuudddeee. That’s not real.”
“It’s real.”
He looked from my cock to my face and back again, eyes wide, still on his knees, still naked, still there because he said he wanted to be.
“Holy shit,” he whispered. “I can’t believe that’s what you were walking around with.”
Judd Paul didn’t wait for an order.
Judd leaned in and put his mouth on the head of my cock like I would pull it away and stuff it back in my pants if he waited a second longer. His mouth felt good. Wet. Warm. But too fast.
He went after it the way an inexperienced teenager goes after something he’s seen in videos and hasn’t practiced. Short, sloppy sucks. Too much tooth on the edge of it. Spit already everywhere. His tongue working overtime and not hitting anything useful.
It still felt pretty good. A pretty boy on his knees in the grass with a mouthful of me was always going to feel good. But it was messy in the wrong way. Inexperienced. Like he thought speed was the same thing as skill.
“Easy,” I said.
He didn’t ease up. He bobbed quicker, gagged on the top four inches, pulled off, went right back down with tremendous enthusiasm.
I took a handful of that light brown hair and stopped him.
His eyes came up. Moonlight on his handsome face. Mouth wet. Lips already puffy.
“I said easy, bud.”
“Sorry. You’re just—” He looked at my cock again, still holding it at the base with one hand because both hands barely covered what was left. “There’s a lot of it.”
“Then stop trying to take too much of it.”
I kept my grip in his hair and fed him the head again. Slow. I made him sit on it. Made him get the shape of it in his mouth before I gave him more. Thick head stretching his lips. My voice low.
“Tongue. Underneath. There.”
He tried. He was a quick study when somebody held him still. The next stroke was better. Wet seal around the head, a little suction, his spit running down the shaft into my fist. I pushed deeper and his throat jumped. He made a noise around me and his hands came up to my thighs, fingers digging into the uniform pants.
I didn’t take it out.
I held him there with my cock on his tongue and my hand locked in his hair and let him feel the size of the problem. Then I started moving his head myself.
Short at first. Just the first few inches. In. Out. In. His lips dragged along the vein. Drool hit the grass. I watched his jaw work and his eyes water and I didn’t ask if he was okay because he’d already put his mouth on me without being told, and every time I pulled him back he chased it.
“That’s it.”
I gave him more. Not all of it. I’m close to 10 inches and thick enough that 90% of men aren’t able to take more than half of it without retching. I punched the next few inches into his mouth and his throat closed around the head. He gagged. Hard. Spit spilled over his chin and onto his smooth chest. I pulled him off long enough for him to drag air.
“Fuck,” he rasped. “Max—”
I put him back on it.
Rougher now. I used his hair like a handle and fucked his face in a steady rhythm. Not wild. Controlled. Hips rolling, fist guiding, my cock sliding over his tongue and bumping the back of his throat on every other stroke. He sounded wrecked. Wet choked sounds. Little moans when I let him breathe. His knees had to be getting marked up in the dirt and he didn’t care. His own cock was still standing off his stomach, ignored, leaking onto the grass.
I looked down at him because the picture was the point. Famous 20-year-old kid. Naked. Excellent face ruined with spit and throat-mucus. My uniform still on, badge and belt and boots, and this thick cock stretching his mouth open like it didn’t belong in the same county as him.
“Look at me.”
He did. Eyes glassy. Drool stringing from his bottom lip to my shaft when I drew back.
I slapped him on the face with my hand. Then with my dick.
“You grab a cop’s dick, this is what happens.”
Judd tried to say something and I slid back in and turned it into a gag. His throat fluttered. I held him down on as much as he could take and felt his tongue panic against the underside. Then I let him up, spit hanging off his chin, and immediately took his mouth again.
I got mean with the pace after that. Longer strokes. Deeper. The wet sound of it carried in the quiet field. He stopped trying to do a technique and just took what I gave him. When I shoved too far he gagged and grabbed my thighs and still opened for the next one. I wiped spit off his cheek with my thumb and pushed the same thumb into his mouth beside my cock for a second, just to feel how little room there was.
“Sloppy,” I told him. “You suck like a virgin bitch.”
He pulled off enough to talk, voice shot already.
“I haven’t had one like *that*.”
“Yeah. I know.”
I put him back to work. Both hands in his hair now, holding his skull where I wanted it, fucking his throat in short heavy strokes that made his eyes tear up. He moaned through it. Kept moaning. Snot running up his face and sticking to the corner of one eye. Spit down his neck. His pretty influencer face looked used.
I could’ve finished. The heat was there, low and mean, building every time his throat squeezed the head. I didn’t. I backed off whenever it got too close and just let him slobber on the first half while I breathed through it. His lips were red. His jaw was going to hurt. He kept leaning in anyway, chasing it whenever I gave him an inch of slack, like he’d decided the only job he had in that field was keeping my cock wet.
I held him on the head and rubbed it over his tongue. Slow again. Mean again. His hands were shaking on my pants.
I stepped back and stripped.
Boots. Belt. Uniform shirt. Undershirt. Pants. The whole thing in a pile in the grass. Moonlight hit me and Judd made a sound like he’d been punched.
“Jesus Christ.”
He was still on his knees, mouth wrecked, staring. I knew what he was looking at. The size of me first. Chest. Abs. Arms. T
hen the hair. Dark and curly across my chest, running down my abs, thicker the lower it went. I don’t shave it. I rarely do. I know it makes gays turn into absolute fags. Their minds break when they see my body hair…then it shatters when they touch it….melts when they sniff the manly musk off it.
“Come here.”
He came up off his knees enough to reach. I caught his wrist and put his hand on my chest.
“Go ahead.”
He ran his fingers through it like he couldn’t believe it was real. Chest first. Slow. Then down the middle of my abs, catching in the hair, dragging through the sweat. He did it again. And again. His other hand joined in, palms flat, fingers spreading, combing through me while his breath went ragged.
“You’re so fucking hairy,” he whispered. “I thought— I didn’t think you’d look like this under the uniform. Max. I’m losing it. Fuckkk I’m sooo horny for you, Officer. I’m actually losing it.”
Judd Paull’s cock was leaking precum. He looked stupid with want. His pretty-boy face, was shiny, all coverd in spit and throatslime.
I picked the cuffs up off the ground.
“Turn around. Hands behind you.”
He did it immediately. Metal closed around his wrists. I put a hand between his shoulders and folded him forward onto his elbows and knees in the dirt. Doggy. Ass up. That lean athletic back. Smooth. No body hair on him except for his armpits. The contrast was filthy.
I stood over him and dragged two fingers through the mess on his face. Spit. Slick. Whatever he’d left all over his chin and cheeks from taking my cock. Then I rubbed my fingers around my shaft and gathered the throatslime that was there. I my slimed up fingers it to his hole.
He jumped when I touched him.
“Relax.”
I pressed the pad of my finger against him and worked the spit in circles until the splintcher muscle gave a little. Then I pushed in.
Judd’s head dropped.
“Ughhh—”
One finger. Slow. In to the knuckle, out, in again. I hooked it and found what I was after. His whole body jerked.
“Shittt dudddeee…ahhhh.”
I added a second finger and opened him. Scissored. Pressed down. He shoved back on my hand like he couldn’t help it.
“Holy fuck— Officer— that— shraaa….ah yeah…mmmm”
His voice broke apart. Not words anymore. Sounds. I kept going. Two fingers became three, and three made his thighs shake. I fucked him on my hand in a steady rhythm, curling, stretching, giving him pressure and then more pressure. He moaned into the grass, loud, sloppy, the same way he’d sucked me.
“Soo— suh— so goodddd—”
“Yeah. I can tell.”
I worked a fourth finger in.
He screamed.
Not pain. Not quite. The sound ripped out of him and went across the field and his hole clamped down on my fingers like it was trying to keep them. I didn’t stop. I packed him full and split him open on four and held it there while he shook, wrists cuffed at the small of his back, ass pointed at the moon, that pretty-boy body locked up and leaking under him.
“Fuck— fuck— Max— I can’t— it’s so— ahhh—”
I kept fingering him through it. Deep. Mean. Thorough. Until his moans went high and broken and he was pushing back onto my hand every time I pulled out. I could’ve put my cock in him right then. He was open enough. I didn’t.
I eased my fingers out and let him hang there, panting, hole twitching.
“Tell me, faggot. Besides my cock in your mouth,” I said. “What else do you fantasize about.”
It took him a second to find English.
“W-ww-What?”
“Fantasies. Talk.”
Judd swallowed. Still folded in the dirt. Still cuffed.
“CNC,” he said. Quiet. Then less quiet. “Consensual non-consent. I think about getting taken. Like I don’t have a say. Cops, honestly. Or just some big guy who doesn’t ask. I jerk off to that. A lot. Shitt, I’ve never told anyone tat before.”
“Youre a fucking freak..”
“Yeah.”
I crouched so he could hear me without turning his head.
“If we do that, it’s still a scene. You get a word that stops everything. No cute shit. No maybe. You say it, I stop. Cuffs come off. We go home. Clear?”
“Clear.”
“Pick a word.”
“Mango.”
“Mango,” I repeated. “You say mango, we’re done. You can say it anytime. Before I put it in. While it’s in. After. Understood?”
“Yes. Mango. I understand. I want it. I want you to use me like I don’t get a vote. Just— that’s the word.”
“Good.”
I stood up and walked over to the pile of clothes. Found my wallet. Tore a lube pack open with my teeth. I slicked my cock in the moonlight, the whole thick length of it, base to head, until it was shining and ready and way too big for the hole I’d just had four fingers in.
Judd looked back over his shoulder, saw it, and let out a shaky breath.
I grabbed the 20-year-old frat-boy’s hair, tipped his head back, and drove my cock straight down his throat in one shove. All the way. His eyes went wide and his throat seized around me. He gagged hard, then retched, spit and air punching out around the base. I held him there for a beat so he felt it, then pulled out. A string of spit followed. He coughed into the grass, coughing again, trying to get his lungs back.
Then grabbed his hair and I shoved him down into the dirt.
Judd hit the dirt on his side, cuffed hands trapped behind him, and I put my boot on his face. Not my full weight. Enough that his cheek was pressed firmly in the grass.
“There you are,” I said. “Famous little shit. Girls all over their phones for this face and look at it now. Bigger stronger man making you eat shit.”
Judd groaned under my boot.
“You slobber on a cop’s cock in a field and you still think you’re somebody. You’re a slutty hole with a TikTok following. That’s it.”
I pressed a little more. He didn’t say mango. His dick was still up.
“I’m going to rape the shit out of you,” I said.
“Please,” Judd said. It came out wet. “Please. Mercy. Officer— Max— I’m sorry. I’m sorry I drove like that. I won’t do it again. I swear. Please don’t—”
“Too late.”
“I’ll take the ticket. I’ll take anything. Just— please. I’m sorry.”
I took my boot off his face and rolled him onto his stomach, then hauled his hips up by the cuffs until he was face-down, ass up again. I spat on his hole, added the lube already on my cock, and lined the head up against him. Thick. Heavy. He felt the size of it and his breath went shaky.
Judd’s voice cracked.
“Please don’t. Please. I’ll be good.”
He did not say mango.
I stayed there, head of my cock pressed to him, and waited for his hole to relax abit.
Then I pushed.
Just the head. Slow. I felt him try to shut me out and I didn’t give him the angle to do it. The ring of muscle stretched around the thickest part of the head and then it popped in, and Judd screamed into the dirt.
“Ahhh— FUCK—”
I held there. Only the head. Letting him feel the width before I gave him another inch.
“Shhh…shh…Breathe.”
“DUDE— you’re too big— UGHHHH—”
I put a hand on the small of his back, right above the cuffs, and fed him more. An inch. Then I stopped. His hole was a tight white stretch around my shaft in the moonlight. He kicked once in the grass and I pinned his hip with my other hand. “Relax, little man…just let it happen…let yourself get fucked…”
“Oh— it FUCKING HURTS, dude— HOLY SHIT—”
I spanked his ass hard a few times. “I said shut the fuck up and relax. The more you fight it the more it’ll hurt.”
I wasn’t rushing it. Painal only works if you don’t lie about the size and you don’t pretend it’s going to feel like a finger. I’m close to ten and thick. He asked for the scene. He had a word. He wasn’t using it.
I gave him another inch.
Judd’s voice went high and broken.
“AHHH— fuck, fuck, fuck— Max— Officer— it’s too much— UGHHH— I can feel it in my stomach— SHIT—”
“Take it. Scream all you want. Nobody around for miles. You’re fucked.”
I kept my hips steady and let his body fight the stretch on its own. Slow pulses. Tiny rocks. Not a slam. Just weight, sinking, opening him on the middle of my cock while he yelled. Spit and lube ran down his balls. His back was shaking. His wrists twisted in the cuffs and went nowhere.
“HOLY SHIT— dude, please— it’s splitting me— AHHH FUCK—”
“You’re doing it anyway.”
Another inch. He screamed again, raw, no acting in the sound. I leaned over him, chest hair dragging his smooth back, mouth near his ear so he got the voice.
“That’s it. Open. You wanted a man who doesn’t ask. This is what that cock feels like.”
“It HURTS— it hurts so fucking bad— UGHHHH— oh my God—”
“Say the word or take the next inch.”
He gasped. Didn’t say mango. I gave him the next inch.
Judd’s forehead hit the ground. His mouth was open on nothing.
“AHHHH— PLEASE, Officer— you’re in so deep— I can’t— I can’t— OH MY GOD THAT HURTS—”
I still wasn’t all the way in. There was more. I held what I had buried in him and let him flutter around it, that frantic tight squeeze of a hole that had never had to deal with this. My own breath was low. Controlled. I wasn’t going to lose it in the first half. I wanted him to feel every bit of the rest.
I pushed again.
Slow. Mean. Inexorable. His scream tore across the field and his thighs tried to crawl out from under me. I hauled him back by the cuffs and seated another thick inch inside him until my hair was almost flush to his ass and he was making a wrecked, punched-out sound on every breath.
“Look at you,” I said. “Famous little frat boy with a cop buried in his ass on the side of a county road. Hurts, doesn’t it.”
“YES—Ahhh— dude— please go slow— please— UGHHH—”
“I am going slow.”
I pulled out an inch and fed it back. Not a thrust yet. Just teaching his hole the shape of me. He screamed through that too, voice cracking, words falling apart into the same filthy loop.
“Too big— too big— AHHH FUCK— Officer…Officer please—”
I put my chest to his back, pinned him, and kept inching until there was nothing left to give. Balls against him. All of it. He shook under me and let out a long broken yell that didn’t have a word in it.
I stayed there, buried, one hand in his hair, and spoke against the side of his head.
“That’s the whole thing. You’re going to feel this tomorrow. You’re going to feel this next week. Now shut your mouth and get used to it.”
I clapped a hand over Judd’s mouth and started fucking him for real.
No more inching. No more teaching. I drew back until the head dragged at his rim and drove back in to the base. His scream died in my palm. What came out instead was muffled, wrecked noise — pain and pleasure smashed together with nowhere to go.
We were both sweating through it. I was so worked up that night air felt hot by now. I could smell us immediately, thick and close. His leftover cologne getting overpowered by the sharp scent of an aroused young man.
I could smell my own pit musk. And a hint of the warm man-stink trapped in my chest hair from wearing a uniform all night and then doing this. It hit me low in the gut. Animal. I didn’t fight it. I dropped my head and let my sweat drip all over horny frat boy I just conquered.
As I fucked like a dog, sweat ran off my face onto his shoulder. Off my neck onto his spine. Off my hairy chest onto those smooth athletic back muscles, dark curls leaving wet tracks down him every time I bottomed out.
Every drop carried my masculine smell with it. He was slick under me. Marked as my property. I was slick on top of him. Every thrust made a filthy wet sound and kicked up more of it, sweat and ass and my cock working in lube, the whole mix of pheromones turning us both on.
I fucked him like I was an animal. Breeding his bitch.
Deep. Heavy. I was wolf humping a bitch. That’s what it looked like and that’s what it felt like. I covered him. I stayed in him. My chest hair dragged his back and smeared my wet man-scent onto him. I used the cuffs as a handle and hauled his hips back onto every stroke so he took all of it whether his hole was ready or not.
He moaned into my hand. High. Broken. Painful moans at the stretch-in. Pleasured gasps on the drag-out. Both at once. I wondered if he could how well he could smell me from under my palm…my masculine stink coming off my armpits and the damp hair on my chest. It turned me on more than his hole did. Dirty. Honest. Nothing pretty about it.
I reached around.
His cock was hard. Fully hard. Slick at the head, slapping his stomach when I drove in. I wrapped my fist around it and felt the proof. Famous kid getting wrecked on a county road, face in the dirt, breathing my sweat, and his dick hadn’t quit.
“Yeah,” I growled against his ear. “That’s what I thought.”
I fucked him harder.
The intoxicating sweat smell got stronger in the best way. It was fresh sweat, my fasvorite kind.
My balls bounced against his ass. Eventually Judd started struggling again. He writhed. Twisted. Tried to crawl forward in the dirt like there was an exit in front of him. His shoulders rolled. His wrists yanked against the cuffs hard enough that the chain clicked and bit. It didn’t matter.
I had size and leverage and I wasn’t working hard to keep him pinned. I dropped more of my weight across his back, pinned him to the grass, and kept breeding that hole in long mean strokes. Sweat poured off my jaw onto his neck. My hairy chest plastered to him, wet and messy. His ass stayed where I put it. His cock stayed stiff in my hand.
I eased my hand off his mouth enough for air.
Judd sucked a breath and the words came out wrecked, almost swallowed by the next moan.
“Max— wait— I gotta piss— I need to piss—”
“Hold it. Don’t you dare fuckin’ piss yourself.”
Judd’s eyes were wet. He shook his head like that was going to change the order.
“I said hold it. I’m not finished.”
I pulled out. He made a punched sound when the thick length left him too quickly. I flipped him onto his back in the grass, cuffed hands trapped under him, chest forced up.
Missionary. Moonlight illuminated Judd’s handsome face and that lean athletic torso. His cock was still hard, laid up on his stomach, and I could see him tremblihg, fighting the piss behind it.
I planted a knee, leaned down, and put my armpit over his face.
Not a hover. I covered him with it. The hair in there was dark and matted with sweat, and the smell coming off it must have been intoxicating. A whole day under my uniform plus rigorous sex must’ve built up a sexy, masculine funk. I mashed it down until his nose was in the wet hair and he had no choice but to breathe me.
Judd didn’t turn away.
He opened his mouth and went after it like a dirty bitch. Tongue first, dragging through the slick hair, then his lips, sucking at the skin underneath like he could get more of the stink out of me. He inhaled hard. A hungry, ugly sound. I felt his tongue rake the wet crease, felt him mouth at the hair, felt him try to bury his whole face in it. Spit from his ruined mouth mixed with my sweat. He licked a long stripe from the back of the pit forward and moaned into the musk.
“That’s it,” I said. “Breathe it. That’s a man’s scent. Not that pretty-boy cologne you showed up in.”
He whimpered and kept going. Nose, mouth, chin, all of it shoved up into my armpit. He sucked sweat out of the hair. He kissed the soaked skin. He made a filthy little noise every time I shifted and a fresh wave of that heavy pit-stink rolled over him.
“Look at you. Spoiled little frat boy influencer. Young and rich and good lookin. You were on the top of the world a few hours ago. and you’re licking sweat out of a cop’s pit like a common faggot. Pathetic.”
I ground my armpit on his face another few seconds, then pulled off. His skin was shiny with it. He chased my arm with his mouth like I’d taken food away from a dog.
I shoved down and then rammed my cock back into him in one stroke.
I fucking love missionary style. I could see everything. His abs clenching and jumping. His face wrecked and wet with my pit. I braced over him and fucked as hard as I could. Full weight. Full length. The slap of it was loud. His hole swallowing my thick 10” cock.
His mouth fell open on a scream I didn’t let him finish shaping.
Seeing the open mouth, I gathered it and spat a thick loogie straight into his mouth. It hit his tongue heavy.
“Swallow.”
He did. Throat working, eyes on me.
I spat again. This one on his face. A long wet string across his forehead and down. Then another loogie…on his nose. And another on his cheek. It ran. It pooled in the corner of his eye. By the time I was done his face was glazed, spit catching the moonlight, dripping off his jaw onto his neck. It looked like he’d already been cummed on.
“Keep it there.”
I fucked him as hard as I could.
Deep, punishing strokes that shoved him up the grass. He screamed. He moaned. Pain and pleasure stacked on top of each other until I couldn’t separate the sounds. His cuffed wrists jerked under his back. I kept pounding that hole, sweat dripping off my hairy chest, the smell of my pits still sitting on his spit-and-sweat covered face.
Then I put my hand on his lower stomach and pushed.
Right on the bladder. Firm. Mean. No warning.
Judd’s eyes went wide.
“Max— I can’t— I can’t hold—”
He pissed through his erection.
It came out in a hard, long jet, forced past a cock that was still stiff, spraying up his own abs first, then higher as his body seized. I kept my hand on him and kept my cock buried and watched it happen. Piss hit his definied abs, sheeted down the cuts of that athletic torso, ran in dirty rivers over his ribs and chest. Another pulse jumped higher and splashed his collarbones, his neck, then his chin. I angled him with my weight and the next burst caught his cheek, his mouth, the spit already on his face, until he was wet with himself from forehead to hip.
I loved watching this sexy frat boy’s own piss run his own pretty face. On that smooth chest. Running off him into the grass while I was still inside him.
The whole time Judd pissed himself, I fucked him through it. His piss got forced out in ugly pulses every time my cock shoved in and my hand stayed heavy on his bladder. Hot spray jumped his stomach, his chest, his throat. Some even splashed my hiary abs.
“That’s it. Piss on yourself, you pathetic bitch.”
Judd moaned, high and wrecked, still hard, still jetting on his own skin. I slammed in to the base and felt his ass clamp down around me, tight and wet and twitching from the stretch and the shame at the same time.
“Fuck— unngh— Jesus, youre so big officer.”
I dropped over him, hairy chest sliding on his piss-soaked torso, and drove harder. Long strokes. Mean strokes. The wet slap of my hips on his ass mixed with the sound of him still pissing between us.
“This ass. Fuck. This ass is unreal. Tight little jock-boy hole gripping me like it doesn’t want me to leave….Nngh— fuck— take it—”
The orgasm started low. Heavy. The kind that rolls in from the spine. My balls drew tight. My cock swelled inside him. I didn’t pull out. I planted and fucked through the first wave.
“Unngh— shit— here it comes—”
I buried myself and started pumping cum into him.
It lasted a long time. First pulse hit so hard my vision narrowed and a grunt tore out of me..
“GAHHHHHH— fuuuck— that’s it— take that load—”
I kept thrusting. Short, brutal, deep. Another pulse. Another. Thick ropes dumping into that wrecked hole while piss was still sheeted across his face and chest.
“Uhhhgn— God damn— your ass is milking me— greedy little bitch—”
Judd shook under me. I grabbed his jaw, made him look at the mess he’d made of himself, and kept spending in him.
“Covered in your own piss while a cop knocks you up. Such a dirty little slut boy…..Nngh— hold it. take it…”
I ground against him, cock kicked again, another long shot punching into his guts. The smell of us was filthy. My sweat dripping on his piss. I moaned like an animal.
“Fuck yes. Fuck yes. That hole’s perfect. Hot. Tight. Made to get bred.”
I slammed in and stayed there, hips jerking, still emptying.
“I’m putting it in you. You feel that? That’s me. You’re getting’ my babies, bitch. Gonna knock this pretty-boy ass up and send you home leaking….Unnngh— shit—don’t clench, just take it—”
Another pulse. Then another. My thighs shook. I was still coming, still talking, still fucking those last thick spurts as deep as they would go.
“Ahhh— fuck— take my kids— take ‘em— uhhhgn—”
I collapsed onto him, cock buried to the hair, still twitching, still feeding him the last of it. My voice went wrecked and low against his ear.
“Dropped my whole load in you, bitch boy. You’re gonna walk around tomorrow with a cop’s babies in your belly and your own piss dried on your chest.”
I didn’t pull out. I stayed in him while the last aftershocks ran through me, grunting every time his ass fluttered and squeezed another drop out of my cock.
After my orgasm ran its course, I pushed my torso up but kept my cock inside Judd.
I wanted admire the beautiful frat boy that I just completely conquered and dominated.
Judd was a wreck, and glistening in the moonlight. That handsome face shiny with spit and pit-sweat and his own piss. Piss ran down his cheek, his throat, that athletic chest, the tight stomach. Grass stuck to his shoulders. His light brown hair was dark with sweat. The perfect bone structure was still there. It just didn’t look like a poster anymore. It looked used and dirty.
I pulled out. He winced. I rolled him, uncuffed him, and hauled him up to sitting.
“Clean it up. Use your own clothes to wipe yourself off.”
He blinked at the pile. Polo. Khakis. The whole sloppy outfit.
“With those?”
“Don’t make me tell you twice, bitch.”
He took the pale blue polo and started wiping. Piss off his chest. Off his abs. Off his neck and face. The shirt went from popped-collar cute to soaked and yellow-dark in about twenty seconds. He used the khaki shorts on his thighs and the grass stuck to him. He looked worse when he was done, not better. That was fine.
“Uh…can..can I cum?” he asked. Quiet. Almost polite. His cock was still hard, twitching, neglected.
“Not yet.”
I got dressed. Then I walked him to the cruiser, naked holding his own clothes in his hand, and shoved him into the backseat. Door shut. He sat there bare-assed on hard seats with his ruined clothes in his lap while I got behind the wheel and pulled back onto the county road.
“Now,” I said. I caught his eyes in the rearview. “You can make yourself cum. Don’t make a mess I have to explain.”
He didn’t need a second invitation. The naked 20-year-old jock in my back seat wrapped a fist around himself and started stroking like he’d been waiting the whole night for permission. I watched him in the mirror. Even sitting down his body was lean and athletic. Mouth open with pleasure. So filthy. Still beautiful with his hair all sweaty and messy.
It took Judd less than a minute. He came hard.
A huge load. Thick ropes up his stomach, his chest, one streak that hit his collarbone and started sliding. He jerked through it with a broken sound and kept spilling, more than I expected out of a drunk twenty-year-old who’d already pissed himself in a field.
“Eat it.”
His head came up, and I saw his wide eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror.
“All of it. Don’t’ want you dripping a fucking mess in my car.”
Judd looked at the cum on his own skin, then he bent and did it. Tongue on his chest. Fingers scooping what he couldn’t reach, into his mouth, swallow. He got the streak off his collarbone. He licked his stomach clean. He didn’t argue. When he ate all his own cum off his body, he sat straight.
We arrived back at the same location where I pulled him over. His car was sittling there right were it had been before. I was surprised nobody towed it. It was a late night in a quiet neighborhood though.
“Put your clothes on.”
He pulled the piss-soaked polo over his head. It clung. Then his. Damp, stained, grass in the pockets. The backwards hat.
I pulled up behind his SUV.
I got out, opened the backseat door, and nodded at his car.
“Out. Back into your own car you go.”
He climbed out stiff. Wincing when he walked.
“I’m letting you off easy, boy,” I said. “No ticket. No station. You go home. You don’t drive like that again.”
Judd swallowed. Nodded.
“Thank me.”
“Thank you, Officer….I mean it. That was fucking amazing”
A surprise look spread across my face.
Judd continued. “That was the craziest most amazing sex I’ve had in my life. Literally never felt that high before. No one’s ever been as rough or raunchy. Fucking amazing dude. Let’s do this again.”
I looked at him one more time. I didn’t respond. Then I got in the cruiser, shut the door, and drove off. The street went quiet behind me like none of it had happened.
