This little vignette contains descriptions of sexual acts between two consenting officers of the law and one horny voyeur, all of whom were certainly old enough to know what they were doing. If you're below the age of majority in your jurisdiction, or are offended by the idea of men in uniform with their weenies hanging out, stop reading now.
BAD BOYS, BAD BOYS by Janus Znaiu
My boyfriend Hector and I have a little two-room summer cottage in the cashcrop farming country of Southwestern Ontario. It doesn't have a lakefront or even a river nearby like most cottages do, but we like it anyway because it's so private. It's the perfect getaway after a stress-filled week of work in the city. For a dozen years it's enabled us to escape on weekends without getting sucked into the vortex of Friday evening traffic clogging the highways leading north to the more popular resort areas.
We're virtually neighbourless, located as we are near the end of a gravel road bounded by huge flat fields and rows of stately lombardy poplars. Some of the fields are tile-drained and those are usually planted in corn or soybeans, while the rougher, more marginal land is devoted to pasture for the most part. So, apart from the occasional tractor or cattle truck, we don't get a lot of people driving by most of the time. This suits us just fine, since we like to hang out or do the gardening in the nude. Indeed, we often shuck our duds when we arrive and don't put on much more than a pair of shorts or a bathrobe until it's time to go back to the city.
Beyond our place, the road turns into a sort of rutted track that continues for about a another quarter-mile until it comes to an end at the steel gate of a large pasture field. Although the farmer who owns the grazing land only visits to check on his cattle about once a week or so, he has leveled a large piece of the headlands outside the gate. He keeps this area trimmed of weeds and freshly graveled so that he can turn his big stock truck around easily without having to open the gate first. This cleared area in front of the field's entrance is large enough to allow parking for several regular cars. Owing to its fairly secluded location, on weekends and in the summer this turnaround has just naturally become something of a makeout spot for local kids with nowhere else to party or get it on.
The track leading to it is perfectly straight, so unless someone drives in with their headlights turned off, they can be seen by anyone using the spot. This gives the kids enough time to hike up their drawers and clear away the smell of pot before the person coming down the track actually arrives. Unfortunately for the kids, the cops drive down there, headlights off, all the time.
Not a single vehicle may have passed the cottage all day, but come dusk as many as five or six cars, one at a time, will drive by at ten miles per hour and continue down the track. All will be quiet, often for as long as several hours and then, sooner or later, a cop car will come along. It usually stops at the edge of the track to line its tires up with its ruts to avoid the steep ditches on either side, then it switches off its headlights and continues down to the turnaround. Several moments later, one by one or in a group, all the cars from the Passion Pit file past our place in search of another place to hang out.
Usually, the cops come back up the road behind the scattering teens, but sometimes they hang around down there to see if any other Passion Pitters will come along. Other times, I suspect the cops just park down there to listen to the ball game on the radio or to steal some shuteye.
This past August I spent quite some time roaming the area on foot, collecting various things for our herbal medicine chest from the some of the meadows and woodlots around us. Armed with my trusty Peterson Guide to Eastern Wildflowers, I'd gather, for free, the stuff we used to pay for at the healthfood store. On the day in question, I was in pursuit of eyebright, boneset and yarrow.
I didn't get a chance to get started until well after supper and so found myself harvesting until the dew began to fall and dusk started to set in. I knew would have no trouble finding our place as it got darker, so instead of rushing right home with the onset of evening, I found a quiet spot along the fenceline I'd follow home and drank the two beers I'd had the forethought to bring along.
By the time I finished my warm Tuborgs and arranged the stuff I'd collected in my pack, it was becoming fairly dark. A thick bank of clouds had rolled into the western sky without warning, quickly blotting out what little remained of the setting sun. I plodded along the cow path that led along one side of pasture until I arrived at the spot along the paige-wire fence where it was easiest to cross. From there it was only a couple hundred yards' walk down one side of a field of tall corn to the Passion Pit and thus, to the track leading back to our place.
As I came to the end of the stand of corn, I could see through the foliage that there weren't any kids' cars at the turnaround; only a lone, white police cruiser, parked at such an angle that the driver could see quite plainly up the track and also be seen by anyone arriving. I imagined that the cop had routed whatever lovers or partiers he'd encountered there and was hanging around for a while to discourage any more kids from pulling in. I had intended to emerge from the corn field at the point where it bordered the pasture, perhaps wave hello to the cop, and continue on home, but I was stopped short by a sight that both shocked and excited me more than I could have imagined.
I spied, through the leaves of the last row of corn, a tall, lanky OPP officer. His pants were bunched around his ankles and his dark blue Y-fronts, with their white seams and waistband, were hooked by the waistband behind his tight, hairless ballsac. He was blithely stroking one of the nicest, most perfectly proportioned dicks I've ever seen!
It was common practice to relegate the duty of rousting the teenagers from this spot to one or another of the younger officers in the detachment and the wanking specimen before me was certainly one of those. He looked to me like he must have entered the police academy right after his highschool graduation; the slim, raven-haired stud couldn't have been more than twenty-one or -two.
At this point, you might be thinking, 'Oh, this is another one of those stories where some guy sees another guy jacking off and goes over and joins him'. If you thought that you'd be over-estimating my chutzpah. But what actually happened next was certainly no less hot.
I flattened myself face-down on the ground and crept to the very edge of the cornfield. Taking advantage of the cover provided by a dense cluster of tall weeds growing near a fencepost, I stopped to watch. Not forty feet away, dimly, but adequately lit by the interior rooflight light of his cruiser, the horny cop was applying long, voluptuous caresses to his stiff, wet pole. I couldn't tell from that distance whether he was leaking precum, and that's made his cock so slick, or whether he'd spit on it before I got there, but his slurpy-sounding strokes were clearly audible above the sound of the crickets.
I had the perfect vantage point from which to observe him masturbate. The young officer sat at about a three-quarters profile to where I was pressed into the tall grass and the hand furthest away from me was doing most of the work. The officer's legs were stretched straight out the open driver's side door, his bootheels dug into the gravel to give him purchase. He was clearly in no hurry. He stopped stroking a couple of times to tug on his bag or caress his thighs, always returning to his cock, teasing his dickhead with his fingertips a little before grabbing the shaft and continuing to abuse humself in the time-honored manner.
After only a few seconds of watching the cop, my own cock, rebelling against the confines of my white briefs and overalls, fleshed itself out in three strong pulses along my inner right thigh; the head and upper third of the shaft protruding uncomfortably out the leghole of my jockeys. I reached into the waist of my loose overalls and past the waistband of my jockeys. Yanking it painfully by its spongy head, I rearranged my swollen cock so that I was laying on top of it. Immediately, I could feel a familiar wetness near my navel where the leaking tip protruded from the waistband of my underwear. I withrew my hand and pressed my body into the soft ground, which still felt warm from sunlight it had absorbed all day. My cock mashed tightly against my belly, I began humping old mother earth in time with the sensuous pulls the cop was visiting on his turgid pecker. It couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes later that I could make out the form of another person emerging from the deep drainage ditch on the other side of the road. When he got a couple of meters from the other side of the cruiser, that person revealed himself to be another cop. He stepped into the light coming from the cruiser's interior carrying a roll of toilet paper in one hand and an unlit flashlight in the other.
As he came around to the driver's side, his back to me, I could hear him exclaim, "Jesus H. Christ, Jerry! What the fuck do you think you're doin'?"
I hadn't recognized him until I heard his voice. It was Cal, one of the cops who took their meals at a nearby diner where Hector and I sometimes eat. Cal and I had a nodding acquaintance of the sort one has in a place where there only are so many faces to nod at. I guessed him to be on the young side of thirty; maybe twenty-eight or so. Even though he was a little on the chunky side for my tastes, I'd always thought he was one of the more studly of the local cops I knew on sight-- he always had this really yummy-looking bulge in the front of what are essentially designed to be sexless cop pants. I'd often wondered if he had them tailored like that so he could show himself off to his best advantage.
"What does it look like I'm doin'?" asked the younger cop, letting go of his hardon temporarily, as if he wanted to give his partner a better, unobstructed view of his cock as it bobbed lewdly between them. "I got bored to death sittin' here waiting for you to finish having your damn shit." Cal switched on his flashlight and directed its beam at the younger man's straining cock. "Mercy! That's a hefty one!" he said, his voice husky and his tone betraying guarded admiration. "But you better put that thing away, before somebody comes by and gets the wrong idea. Christ, you've only been married two months--don't you get enough at home?"
He kept the bright shaft of his flashlight trained on his companion's cock and gave no indication of any intention to turn it off. From my hiding place, I was delighted. It was as though he'd focused the flashlight on the other cop's fuckpole purely for my benefit. I squirmed my butt and crunched my throbbing bone against the ground.
"I dunno. How much is enough, Cal? Anyway, you can't stand there and tell me with a straight face that you never do it." He wasn't wanking any more, but he wasn't putting his dick away either.
"Well... sometimes, you know. But not out in the open, and certainly not when there's somebody else there!"
"Should try it, Cal... evening breeze feels real good on the old Beaver Cleaver. And, Lord knows, it wouldn't be the first time a cock got jacked off in this place." The younger cop snickered and started feeling himself up again. I thought I'd cum right there and then when he stood up and, instead of reluctantly pulling up his laundry like I thought he would, he brazenly faced his partner, letting his jockeys slide down his long, slim legs to where his pants had collected.
The older officer's flashlight beam continued to be directed at the other's crotch.
Jerry resumed pulling on his dick. "C'mon Cal. Whip it on out. It'll be fun."
You could feel the tension in the air as the older cop struggled with the invitation. Cal unconsciously licked his lower lip; a visual sign that he was at least considering Jerry's proposition. It's been my fortunate opportunity to learn that when propriety and horniness clash, mores and convention are often the losers. I mouthed a silent prayer that this would be the case.
"I dunno, man... but I'm sure startin' to get fucked up," (I got a tempting, if somewhat dim, view of him rubbing his tented crotch, as if trying to make up his mind) "What if somebody sees?"
"No danger of that. Watch..." said the younger cop, reaching into the cruiser and switching on the directional spotlight so that it would be visible all the way down the bare, ditch-lined track. "If any of those delinquents we throw outa' here all the time see that light, they'll be cautious. And if they see this light on..." he added switching the red and blue rooflights on low, "they'll know for sure that we're down here and they'll fuck off somewhere else." Jerry redirected the spotlight at his reticent partner's crotch. The older cop's hand was still rubbing it with the flat of his palm, but as I only had a side view of him, I couldn't determine just how 'fucked up' he was getting. But I took it as a good sign that he was still rubbing himself and watching Jerry finger his dickhead.
He extinguished his flashlight and tossed it into the back seat of the cruiser along with the roll of toilet paper. Now both of them stood face to face in the harsh beam cast by the directional spotlight; Jerry with his curved, cut dick bouncing before him and Cal's hands fiddling tentatively with his gun holster's belt buckle.
"Well, I guess I'm horny enough. But I swear, Jerry," he treatened, "if you ever breathed a word about this to anybody, my life wouldn't be worth shit in this county. I'd make good and sure that your life wasn't worth shit either." He sounded like he was going to go for it and I was jubilant with expectation, even if the evening dew was starting to dampen me through my clothes, all the way from my tits down to my knees.
Jerry chortled "I'm not too anxious for the little woman know I still wank it with my buddies either. Fuck, who would I tell? Nobody'd believe it about you anyway, what with all them roadhouse waitresses you're always boinkin'. Shit, it hasn't been that long since you've jacked off with a buddy, has it?"
Now, there was something I never would have thought about Cal before that night. Jerry was right--Cal had a local reputation of skirt-chasing that was nothing short of legendary; known of even by part-time residents like Hector and me. He'd been twice married and, as half the township knew, he was currently cheating on the woman he lived with, a mousey, shapeless blonde who was the nightclerk down at the video rental joint.
Cal tugged at the black leather belt and I heard the slap of it as he unclasped the buckle. He scanned the darkness over his shoulder blindly. There was a hint of nostalgia in his voice, "I guess a bunch of us used to do it quite a bit back in highschool, but you know, you grow up. You go onto other things..." his voice trailed off.
His holster belt off now, Cal leaned into the car to put it on the seat. The double curve of his muscular ass stretched his cotton cop pants as he did so. The sight of his jockey legbands defined by the taut fabric sent a brand new surge of need through my straining dick.
When he returned to face his partner, he surprised me (and Jerry as well, I suspect) by unbuttoning his shirt and taking it off completely. He revealed a hairy, beefy chest and the earliest beginnings of what's known hereabouts as a Molson Muscle and elsewhere as a beerbelly. Shirtless, his voice husky again, he warned, "Just keep your eyes peeled down that road, buddy."
"You bet," answered Jerry, as he watched Cal unbuckle the belt of his trousers. He unclasped the button and I heard the gentle rasp of his zipper being pulled down. Two seconds later he stood in the spotlight's glare in his white, white jockeys demonstrating (finally) what his personal definition of 'fucked up' was. Even in profile it was spectacular. His cock formed a long, thick log in an upward angle along the seam of his briefs; its sharply tapered knob nudging angrily at the cotton fabric just below the waistband.
"Sheee-it!" marveled Jerry, his left hand returning to his own cock, "And they say I a have big 'un! Lessee that fat baby up close!" Jerry reached out with his spare hand, as if to pull the front of his partner's drawers down, but the older officer backed off slightly.
"Hey! I'll do that..." Cal said, sounding just a little too rattled that his partner would dare to actually touch his cock. He waited a moment for Jerry to return his attention to his own dick and only then did he slowly pull down on his briefs. The waistband caught his dickhead on the way down and his cock connected audibly with his lower abdomen when it catapulted back.
Cal had one of those cocks whose shaft is wider than the dickhead. It was plumpest near the middle and tapered at the end, looking for all the world like some huge spliff made of manmeat. The heavily-veined poker throbbed proudly, nearly vertical in the harsh, almost clinical lighting of the cruiser's halide beam. He curled his forefinger around the root of it and palmed its long underside. His shining purple cockhead poked out from between his abdomen and forearm.
Jerry whistled low. "Wow...Lots thicker'n mine too. What is it...about nine inches? More?"
"Dunno, Jer', I never measured." Cal spat onto his palm and smeared the lube along the shaft. He spat again and spread that generously all over that pointed, turtle-headed knob. He glanced around, quickly scanning the environs again as best he could, given the blaring light they were standing in. I was deep in shadow, so I knew I couldn't be seen. As long as I kept quiet, I would be safe enough.
At this point, you might be saying to yourself: 'Oh, this is one of those stories where someone gets caught in a compromising position by authority figures and gets abused by them. But no, nothing like that happened either.
They concentrated on stroking their cocks; their tips and pumping fists mere inches apart. The occasional moth would flutter near the lamp, causing the scene to strobe momentarily. Gradually they began to pick up speed, as one does. I couldn't make out exactly what Jerry was looking at, since he was in relative darkness from the tits up, but Cal's gaze was positively riveted to his young partner's cock.
Quietly as I could, I raised myself to a kneeling position, still hidden by the tall weeds. I dropped the bib of my overalls, letting the suspenders fall from my shoulders. Then, raising myself up to an almost standing position from which I would have been plainly visible, had it been daylight and had my subjects not been so preoccupied, I pulled my pants and underwear down in one smooth motion before crouching back out of sight again. My cock flexed as the cool night air surrounded its precum wetness. I grabbed it roughly--urgently, and began to emulate the motions my two hunky cops were treating themselves to. I smeared a fresh blob of precum along my shaft and continued pumping it, holding the foreskin back with the other hand, but I had to stop using that technique for fear of being heard, as I'd heard Jerry's smacking when I'd first noticed him. I contented myself with silently hooding and unhooding my foreskin in quick, rough tugs as I ogled the two hot policemen flogging away.
Jerry must have noticed that his cock was the object of Cal's undivided attention as he beat his meat. Between short, panting breaths, the younger cop cleared his throat. "Uhemmm. Hey, uh Cal... when you guys ...circle jerked in highschool. Did any of you ever... you know, jack each other off?"
Cal's head snapped abruptly upward and he gripped Jerry's gaze with a cold, hard expression; but he didn't stop wanking, he just slowed his tempo to a light indolent wank. In a flat even tone, he said, "Don't push it Jer'."
Cal closed his eyes tightly and sped up his stroking, as if trying to concentrate on something other than his hot partner's meat to bring himself to a climax; as if trying, suddenly, to get this scene over with as quickly as possible.
"Listen Cal... I didn't mean to..." Jerry started.
Cal's gaze returned to his partner's light dry-jacking. "Forget it, Jer. It's just that.."
Up until this point, the three of us had reached a sexual plateau of sorts and we'd maintained it for what seemed a longer time than it actually must have been. I could have stayed there forever, just like that, watching them pump their puds, but my cum was beginning to boil. I didn't know about those two, but I felt like I was only a couple of tugs away from spunking.
But another surprise lay in store.
Abruptly, Cal stopped pulling his prick and I thought at first that he was probably getting ready to shoot too. Nope.
Muttering, "Aw, what the fuck, why not?" he reached over and grabbed his partner's dick. I could only gasp and grin, as Jerry did. Jerry didn't lose a beat, though. He removed his hand from his own dick and reached for Cal's, sure now that he had permission. Cal let out a low, feral growl as the unfamiliar hand encircled his shaft. Both cocks were pointed skyward, each being pumped, forehand, by the man opposite. They fell into a frantic rhythm--a blur of fists on cocks.
Jerry turned out to be the first of us to spooge. His knees buckled in the first throes of orgasm as Cal transported him to the very gates of jackoff heaven; his initial convulsion sufficiently violent to cause Cal to lose his grip on his cock. One would have thought Jerry would resume the jacking himself when Cal let his dick go, but he didn't. Nor did he stop his two-handed pumping of Cal's. Instead, Jerry did me the enormous favor of allowing me to see his twitching, unaided rod spew long ribbons of hot, white goo all over himself and Cal. Scraping his own spunk off Cal's chest and belly to use as lube, he sent Cal over the edge a few seconds later. The older officer's ejaculation made up in quantity for what it lacked in velocity. He streamed out over his partner's jacking hand, the ground between them, and the pouch of his own briefs what seemed to be a constant, creamy lava-floe of jizz that lasted several seconds.
Rocking back and forth on my heels as I pumped, I had very recently feared I'd be the first of our little trio to pop their stones, being powerless to slow down or stop. Luckily, I was able to observe the final vestiges of both cops' orgasms before I came--and boy, did I cum! I couldn't see it of course, but I could hear the vegetation before me rustle repeatedly as each of my spurts landed. I tend to be a bit of a 'moaner' when I cum and it was all I could do to keep quiet as my whole body shuddered, wracked by the intensity of it. I bit down, hard, on my forearm to muffle the unmistakable sounds of ego loss.
The officers, spent, sweating and acting more than a little sheepish with each other, got their breath back and rearranged themselves without speaking. The toilet paper roll reappeared. Soft, but still meaty cocks were tucked back into their cotton prisons. Pants were hiked up and belts got rebuckled.
"You wanna talk about it, Cal?" I heard Jerry ask Cal as the older cop buckled his seatbelt in the passenger seat.
"Nope."
"You wanna do it again some time?"
"Yup."
Jerry smiled to himself, fired up the cruiser's engine and hit the headlights. Ten seconds later, they were just a pair of tail lights bumping their way down the rutted track. I stood up in the pitch black and stuffed my pudenda, gooey as they were, into the equally gooey pouch of my briefs and strolled the rest of the way back to our place, marveling what I'd just witnessed. I wondered if I'd ever be able to look at Cal in the diner again without lust in my eyes. I wondered if my boyfriend would be upset if I told him about it. He still harbors a few charming illusions about me that I'm hesitant to destroy.
When I trotted up the steps of our porch, Hector was waiting for me with a concerned expression, sitting in the cane rocking chair next to a jug of his homemade vin du table and two glasses.
"Bugger the cat!" he swore, "I was going to send a posse after you. Where've you been so long?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," I sighed, smiling at him like I do when I want to get his goat.
That piqued his curiosity. "Try me..."
"Okay, but first of all, how fine a point would you put on the term, 'infidelity'?"
END
comments heartily encouraged, flames cheerfully ignored. janus@greynet.net