Campus Cops By Red Cullions
Cops aren't usually hunks, but they generate an atmosphere of menace and suppressed brutality. To moderate that with a certain playfulness, I have a fantasy about "security" cops, the ones on the campus police force. I know most of them. They know me. They catch me working late or on holidays when they patrol the vacant corridors of my building. Sometimes I have to "break in" (it's not hard) when they've locked all the doors after hours.
When the building is "secured," half the corridor lights are out, giving the atmosphere a dingy ambience. Let's say I've just "broken in" (with a master key and some jiggering of bolts) and I'm rounding a dimly lit corner when I encounter the security force, two guys nearly as old as I am. One is hunky and short, probably used to work out before he gained the last 20 pounds. He's got greasy black curls and a swarthy complexion, but he's not black, he's Italian: Lt. John Russo. The other is Mike O'Connell, a gray-haired Irishman, fair faced, tall and slender, very distinguished looking.
"Halt," he cries. "This building is secured. You're trespassing."
"C'mon guys," I say. "You know me. You see me working late all the time."
"Hands up, mister." There's a twinkle in his eye. "Got any identification?"
"Not on me." I'm wearing navy blue sweats and sneakers, no pockets, no underwear; my keys are in my right hand. "I left my wallet in the car."
"Frisk him, Russo."
"For crying out loud!" I try to sidestep these flatfeet, but Russo moves his chunky bod hard against my butt, and O'Connell stands in front of me.
"Would you be resisting an officer, now?" he says.
"Hell, no. Feel me up all you want to."
"Up against the wall, mother," John laughs. "Hands above your head, legs apart."
When I raise my arms, my sweat shirt exposes my belly. John slips his hands under the cloth and pokes my armpits, then feels my chest and squeezes my nipples. Then he slips one hand down the back of my sweats, tucks a thumb into my asshole, and squeezes my nuts.
"Jesus!" I complain.
"He's clean, Mike. Except for the smell." Russo waves his thumb under my nose.
"C'mon guys. What are you up to? Give me a clue."
"John figures you for a swinger. Right John?"
"Don't tell me I'm wrong."
"Not wrong guys, but a little late. I'm 63. I haven't done any messing around for years. Besides being old and ugly, I'm afraid of AIDS."
Mike palms a pack of Trojans, then a tube of lube. "We don't take chances, Doc. How about it?"
"You both aim to fuck me?"
"Right."
"How about security? If we attract an audience, it'll be worse for you than for me."
"Trust us. We know the layout. Follow me."
We're on the ground floor, which is partly below the turf level outdoors. A door marked "Security Personnel Only -- Fallout Shelter" leads into a tunnel. Russo flicks a switch, and a bare bulb reveals some heavy duty pipes and conduits, with an access path alongside. We go maybe a hundred yards down the tunnel, make a turn, and stop. It's nearly dark here.
"This'll do," Mike announces. "You take him first, John. I'll stand guard; if I flick the light switch, get dressed and act innocent."
Mike moves back toward the door. Russo gets red in the face, and fidgets. But there's a bulge in the crotch of his uniform.
"If you're gonna fuck my ass, Lieutenant," I murmur, "I think I'm entitled to examine the weapon."
"Sure." A big grin, and his hands move to his belt.
"Let me," I say, unzipping his fly and lowering his khakis. He's wearing a bikini brief, and as I yank that down around his knees, a thick reddish brown cock, slightly twisted to starboard, springs to attention. I tongue the end of it, and Russo moans.
"Been a while for you, too?" I say.
"Long time. Mike, he always puts me off, talks a lot but won't do it, you know? I don't have anybody else, even to talk to."
I swallow as much of John's tool as I can, then lick my way to the root of it. As I mouth and massage each of his balls with my tongue, I slip a finger up the cleft of his ass, and wiggle it into the anus about an inch. John squirms.
"You can fuck me some other time," he says. "Take me up your butt now. I'm so hot I'm afraid I'll come before I get it in."
I stand and step out of my sweats. John slips a condom over his fat, throbbing penis, then turns to me and squeezes my prick and my balls. He pushes me back against the mound of conduit, and raises my legs around his neck. With a little searching he finds my hole and stuffs it with his fat schlong.
It's all I can do not to scream, but I don't want to give Mike the satisfaction.
But Mike is nervous, or maybe just impatient. About 2 minutes into the fuck he's back, standing beside us, bitching:
"Thought you were hot, John. Don't take all night. I want my turn, too. C'mon, something might happen."
"Not if you're on guard, like you're supposed to be," I pant. "Get back there, or you'll never get a crack at my hole."
He goes. Russo pumps harder. My load is building, too, and within another 2 minutes we're both spewing, trying not to shout. When we're spent, John lifts me up and hugs me.
"I meant it," he says. "You can plug my ass, if you want to."
"I want to, John. But not tonight. Mike'll be a basket case if we don't humor him. Get your pants on, and relieve him on guard duty."
Russo dresses, and heads back toward the door. But in a moment he's back.
"Mike says we don't have time. He says I took too long."
"It won't do, John. Unless we get Mike into the act, he just might play the righteous cop and squeal on us. Tell him what a great fuck I am; tell him I'm waiting for him. Tell him you'll stand guard, and it'll be great, fucking fantastic."
"Right."
I wait five minutes. Finally Mike appears, looking very uncertain. "Look," he says, "I don't know. Don't tell John, but I never fucked a man before. I'm afraid."
I smile. "Hey, Mike, it's no big deal. Trust me. Are you horny?"
"You bet."
"Then it's no problem." I move up to him, and start taking off his pants. He's half hard when I open his boxers and pull them down to his knees. I take half of his medium-sized pink cock down my throat, and give it a muscle massage. It swells. I lick his balls, and lightly finger his asshole.
"No," he says. "I'm afraid of that." I stop, and return to sucking his cock. In a couple of minutes it's red and throbbing. I reach into his pockets (on the ground at his feet) and extract a condom, then slip it quickly over the head of his tool and down along the shaft. Then I smear the rubber with lube from the tube of KY.
I'm still naked, so I turn, spread my legs, and back up into Mike's erection. Reaching behind me, I guide it to my asshole. "Push," I say.
"Won't it hurt you?"
"Sure," I say, "but I'm a big boy now; I can take it. Push."
It takes a little more encouragement to coax Mike's prong up mine, but we get there. "Now fuck me," I growl. "Surely you know how to fuck."
That stirs him, and in a few moments he's pumping the shit out of me. It takes him twice as long as John to get his rocks off, though. When he finishes, he falls on my back exhausted. For a minute I think I may have a heart case, here. But he's just winded.
"That's it for tonight, Mike. Let's hit the showers."
I'm dressed in a flash and back down the passage to find John. Mike takes a while longer to get himself together. In this private moment, I ask John if he's ever alone on duty.
"Thursday nights," he says.
"Meet me in my office at eleven," I say. "We have some unfinished business."
He winks. "Gotcha."