COPS & FARMERS Part I, Chapter 1 Please send me feedback at bttmgear@gmail.com!
I recognized the sound of Officer Sean's car on the gravel drive. He didn't have to turn on the sirens for me to know he was driving his patrol vehicle--a Ford SUV, POLICE emblazoned on the side, and heavy all-terrain tires that crunched through the material of the farm's driveway. He hadn't warned me what time he was coming. He rarely did. But I knew his patrol schedule, and he'd sent me a text earlier that day: "be ready."
I was ready.
The car stopped at the side of the house, parked next to my truck. It was a couple minutes before the car door opened. He liked to keep me waiting. Then, finally, his boots hit the gravel.
He'd told me to be ready, and that meant a few things:
First, I had cleaned up and cleaned out. He liked that I worked the farm, and he didn't mind me sweaty--we'd both be sweaty soon enough--but he didn't want the smell or the dirt I was typically covered in by the end of a day.
Second, I'd dressed my part. His tastes were broad, but they always included rubber--a full suit, shoulder zip entry and a zip from the crotch down around to the ass, black and glossy with three blue stripes along the side and sleeves imitating Adidas branding. I kept the Adidas theme going with blue soccer shorts and a gold, Sweden soccer jersey. Shoes were a gamble, but I figured I could start with blue Nike cleats and take 'em off if he told me to. And for now, until we got further into the night, I'd kept on one of my trucker-style baseball caps, worn backwards so the brim wouldn't get in the way of what I knew he wanted first.
Third, I knew what he wanted first, so when he finally opened the side-door of the farmhouse, I was already on my knees.
Neither of us had said a word or even looked at each other before I was reaching to unclasp his duty belt. It fell to the floor with a heavy thud, utility pouches and equipment hitting the floormat as my hands shifted to his fly. I hesitated before unzipping, pausing long enough to stroke his crotch through the fabric of his pants. He'd told me to be ready, and he sure was. Even the dark slate fabric couldn't hide the bulge of his cock, and I ran my thumb along the shaft of it before reaching back to his fly to unzip the crotch and pull his pants and compression shorts down just enough to free his hardening dick and hanging balls.
For the first time since he'd walked into my house that night, I looked up into his eyes. Stern eyes, but he was grinning. He knew what I wanted.
I waited. Patiently.
And he made sure to keep me waiting. He stepped around me, cock swinging past my upturned face, further into the house behind me, heading straight for the basement door. I heard his boots, heavy on the stairs, then a chuckle when he'd reached the bottom.
"Get down here."
His first words that night. I obeyed, my cleats making lighter taps on the steps. He was standing in front of one of my two leather couches down here, at a side table that was covered in cock rings, and he was in the middle of stretching a thick, black, neoprene ring around his ballsack. With the ring situated, he snapped his fingers and gestured sharply for me to kneel again; again I obeyed, looking up at him with my mouth watering and his cock and stretched balls hanging in front of my face.
Finally, he nodded with a smug smile.
I was on his cock in a heartbeat, my tongue sliding down his shaft and my lips settling into his tangle of pubic hair. He may have wanted me clean, but he was sweating buckets, his hair thick with it and my nose full of the smell of the twelve hours his cock and balls had just spent in that uniform. I'd closed my eyes as I'd begun to suck his dick, enjoying that smell and the scratch of his hair on my face each time I went down. The brush of the neoprene ball stretcher and occassional whiff of that material amidst the smell of his sweat only got me going more.
I was fucking ready.
His second words that night:
"You want this, boy?"
And he shoved his crotch into my face, wrapping his hands firmly around my cap and pulling my head onto his cock.
I wanted it. All of it.
I relaxed enough to take his dick as deep as he required--his hands holding my head in place while he thrust a few times before settling into forcing me to deepthroat him. He was hard, but not his full length yet. I kept my tongue working at the base of his shaft, and reached a hand up to where his balls were hanging, groping and tugging at them while I worked his cock in my mouth. He finally released my head with a sigh and I pulled back enough to gulp air before diving back down. I kept my lips around his head for a moment, sucking a little while I tugged hard at the ring around his sack.
His sigh turned to a moan for a moment, but he stopped himself suddenly. He pulled my head back down to deepthroat him before pushing me off just as suddenly. He took a step backward and sat down on the edge of the leather couch, his ass sinking into it, but his cock and balls still hanging loose.
He only needed to give me a look, and I obeyed.
He was still wearing his patrol uniform, except the belt left at the door, and I shuffled forward to kneel between his pant legs, stroking the fabric briefly while I got into position. He grabbed my cap again but didn't force me onto his cock--I was going for it anyways--he kept just enough pressure to keep his hands on my head as I pulsed up and down his cock, slick with my saliva and his sweat. The smell was stronger than ever, his sweat and the neoprene of the ring around his balls and now the smell of the leather under him.
He let me suck him for a few minutes, twice forcing me to deepthroat him again, leaving me gasping for a breath when he finally released my head from his crotch before going down again. When he started to moan again, he pushed me off his cock, grabbed my head, and turned me to look up at him--his face, not his cock.
He held me there long enough to take him in for the first time that night. Cropped brown hair, neatly kept beard, in his late thirties. His brown eyes were sharp, staring into me more than at me. Fucking got me, those eyes. I'd obey those eyes even if the rest of him didn't come with. The rest of him did come with though, thank god. Five-eleven, thick necked, heavy enough to look a little stocky but a wrestler's build that meant all his size was muscle, not fat. Those muscles were barely held in by the fit of his uniform, crisp dark fabric, short sleeved with neat buttons and collar, compression underneath; his badge and weapon were left in the patrol car, but we both got horny when he kept the rest of the uniform on after a long duty.
He'd looked me over during those seconds too. He'd made it very clear what he liked about me from the beginning. I was in my mid-twenties, tall at six-three, and lean, a swimmer's build with muscle that lacked bulk but made up for it with definition. He kept fit by working out, I kept fit by working. Sandy hair, faded to skin on the sides and back but long enough on the top that he could grab it when he wanted to, and when I didn't have it kept up under a cap.
After a few moments, the sharpness in his eyes softened just long enough for him to confess,
"Damn, Jeff. You look hot."
He realized he'd broken from his position of authority with that compliment, and, before I could reply, he'd already shifted back,
"Get me another ring, boy." Then, when I'd reached the table, "Make that three rings."
Ha, I could guess what he had in mind. I grabbed three more identical to the one he was already wearing and shuffled back to where he was seated on the couch.
He grabbed one from me and quickly wrapped it around the based of his cock, nestling it into his pubes and taking just a moment to get himself settled. His cock reacted almost instantly; a couple pulses and he was at his full seven inches but, more importantly, thicker and harder than before. I knew he was done with the blowjob, then. He began to take the other two cock rings, but paused, grinned that smug smile again, and sat back on the couch instead.
"Stand up, boy. I want to see this gear."
I stood, feet spread and hands behind my waist as though ready for military inspection, and he did inspect. He was in charge, always, but in moments like this, it felt just a bit like I was the one with the power as his eyes traveled up and down my body, drinking me in, tracing the lines of my muscles under the rubber and appreciating the folds of the jersey across my chest and shorts at my crotch.
He gestured at the cock rings he'd left in my hands,
"Put those on, both of them around your balls. I want 'em hanging tight."
I knew I could make a little show of this, so I took my time sliding the soccer shorts down just past my hips so the top of the crotch zip was accessible, then slowly unzipping the crotch just enough to reach a hand in. I started to grope myself, but he caught it immediately,
"Hey, hands off. I'll tell you when you can touch yourself."
When he could tell I'd shifted my hand further down to my balls, he continued,
"Just get those on and zip back up, boy."
I pushed the zipper further down, enough to reach my other hand to my balls, using both hands to wrap each ring around my balls and shifting them until everything was hanging well. I looked back up at him, reclining on the couch, while I zipped back up and returned the shorts to my waist.
He stood, joining me in the middle of the room, looked like he was deciding what he wanted next. Then suddenly he frowned and keeping his voice level, low, and gruff he commanded:
"Up against the wall. Hands on the wall, above your head, boy."
It was when he didn't raise his voice for emphasis that I knew I was in for it. He was going to be rough tonight.
I could take it.