ROGUE COP
By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
Officer Dayton was furious! His own partner, damn it! The stolen drugs had been taken by his own, green-recruit, new-buddy, fresh-as-a-fucking-daisy, wet-behind-the-ears-rookie partner!
He glowered at Jimmy the Snitch again. "You're sure about this?" he growled, the ten bucks in his hand.
A slender, blond crack-head, Jimmy was short on drugs and twitching, his eyes watched the money carefully. He could buy a few crystals of crack for that ten! "I'm sure." he said. "The cop's first name is Danny. Last name is Richard, I think."
There wasn't anybody else it could be, not with the physical description Jimmy had given him. His partner, Daniel Pritcher, had taken drugs from the evidence locker, and his car--Pritcher's own car!--had been seen on the streets, dealing out the dope. A routine bust had netted the police some of the pills, their markings making their source indisputable, the rumor that it was a cop who was doing the selling on the streets, and he had gone to Jimmy the Snitch. His source. His fucking source for all the scum that dirtied these streets.
He hadn't pegged Dan that way, he seemed a little too clean-cut, even. Prompt in his duties, scrupulous about keeping his uniform tidy, eager to do right, he even was making friends with the street kids and vendors, the important first step to being an effective cop on the beat.
He was probably planning to use those kids for his sales. Did Pritcher really think the force was so dumb they would let a stream of drugs go out of their locker without trying to follow it?
The fact he was Dayton's partner made the whole thing personal. Very personal. Dayton knew darned well he could end on the wrong side of a bullet with a crooked partner.
Well, the first thing he could do is make Pritcher sorry he'd ever chosen Dayton to be his pigeon! Really sorry!
This was his frame of mind as he stormed into the locker room that evening. He and Pritcher were on the night shift; the four shifts rotated around every four months, so that if you drew Christmas Day one year, you could count on having it off the next three. With a new partner to take through the ropes, night duty had sounded good. Dayton had called in some markers, everyone else had cleared out and left him and Pritcher alone in the locker room, and would for the next couple of hours. Sometimes a partner had to take care of his own; nobody asked questions when you asked. The same way the captain had called Pritcher in for a surprise evaluation that had put them a half hour behind their on-duty time.
Pritcher was at his locker, tugging on his boots when Dayton walked up to him. Well-built, muscled, fresh-faced, with dreaming blue eyes and lips that begged you kiss them, Pritcher looked up, and a genial smile lit up his too-young face underneath the mustache that tried to lie and make him older--tried and failed. "Hey, Dayton." he said. "Sorry I'm running late, but the Captain yanked me in and went over a lot of old ground."
"Really?" Dayton leaned against the locker and waited.
Pritcher finished pulling on his boot and stood up. "Yeah, I don't see what he wanted to ask me all that for. Doesn't make a...." He'd noticed Dayton's look. "What's wrong?"
"You're what's wrong." Dayton said. "Punks like you make me sick!"
"Hey, hey?" Pritcher backed up as Dayton advanced on him. "What's up your ass tonight?"
"You're up my ass!" Dayton said. "You've been busted, kid. You know what they do to a cop in prison? Well, it's not half of what I'm going to do to you right now."
"Now just a minute." Pritcher said as he kept backing away. He hit a wall and was stopped. "You got me confused with someone else, I haven't...."
Dayton slugged him right in the face. Pritcher was baffled, he didn't even raise a hand to defend himself until it was too late. Then the fist turned into a palm to massage the cheek adorning a baffled expression, which whinnied to him, "Dayton, pal, buddy, listen to me...."
"Shut up! Shut the fuck up and stay shut up!" Dayton bellowed. "You got a major set of lumps coming before I call in the watch commander and have your ass hauled upstairs and book you...."
Pritcher chose that moment to try to break and run, but Dayton was on him in a moment. He caught hold first of the back of Pritcher's pants, that big black belt, then Dayton squirmed and then all he had was the belt loop at the very back. He had two fingers inside it, though, and when he clenched that hand into a fist and hit Pritcher hard in the back with the other, that pants fabric just gave up the fight. It ripped, first the seam that ran between those firm little buttocks of his, and then a lateral tear took off across both buttocks at once. But then Dayton had hold of Pritcher's belt again and this time he was able to catch a good hold and haul Pritcher around, slam him into a locker, then over to the bench in between the rows. Pritcher ended up on his knees and hands on the floor, his chest on that bench, and his butt perked upright. And with that landing, all the fight went out of the young rookie.
Dayton slapped those pert little buttocks. "Yeah, there's some big, black bruiser in jail is going to be plowing these creamy white buns of yours every night. Then he'll start selling them to the other inmates for a pack of cigarettes. Did you know you would end up like that when you pulled those pills out of the evidence locker?"
"But I didn't!" Pritcher whined. "Dayton, you got to listen to me!"
"I don't got to listen to nothing." Dayton said. "You're a bad cop and a lousy thief, and I got the goods on you. The whole force knows it; yell all you want, they won't come help a cop gone bad!" He slapped the buttocks again. "Yeah, there's going to be a fat black dick shoved inside these in less than a week. Maybe we got even someone in lockup here we can put you in with, let you see what it's going to be like. I bet they'd like seeing you in full uniform except for these torn pants and bare butt, all theirs for the night."
Pritcher's only response was a whimper. "Please." he murmured again, loud enough to be understood.
"It's all a rogue cop deserves, being some big stud's pussy-hole." Dayton said. He felt his cock stirring in his pants, the thought of those pink melons being plumbed by some thick, dark dick, and the idea and the desire came together. "Tell you what, though, being how you're my partner and all, I'll help you out. I'll get you started on your new career as a walking fuck-hole."
"Oh, God, Dayton!" Pritcher breathed. "Please, I don't know what people have told you, but they're wrong, man, wrong!" Please believe me!"
Dayton unzipped his pants and reached in, pulled out his cock. God it was hard! He'd love tearing into this little butt. Always been such a damned pretty ass, wiggling at him here in the locker room, and on the beat, he'd done nothing but watch that ass and wonder what it'd feel like wrapped around his cock all nice and tight and clutching and warm and quivering! Yeah, man, hell, yeah!
He hawked spit into his gloved hand and wrapped it around his prick, massaging that saliva on, feeling the rushing sleekness of spit on leather, black leather, ready to dive into a cop's ass, shit, yeah! "Better give you a little lube." he grunted. "Bet you're a virgin butt, aren't you?"
"Yeah!" trembled Pritcher. "Please, Dayton, partner, I'm begging you to listen to me. Let's go sit somewhere and talk this over. I know I can make you understand if you'll just....Nghhh!" That was when Dayton's cock first touched Pritcher's little tiny tuckerhole.
"Shit, you are a virgin!" Dayton said when the timid little sphincter fought him back valiantly, then he grinned. It wouldn't hold up to the hard rod he was packing right now. "Here comes the shaft, kid!" And he rammed it into the tender butt, felt the flesh clinging, tearing as he plowed into it.
Pritcher just moaned, a long, slow sobbing sound that was despair and betrayal and submission. His body trembled all over, like a race horse before the starting bell, the slight tremor rippling the muscles all over. The rumpled cop's uniform was composed of gray lines on black cloth, the gray was highlights from the curved material of the folds and the overhead flourescent lights, the only definition in what was otherwise featureless black. And the leather belt at the waist, from which depended keys, a nightstick, handcuffs. All black and grays, and in the middle of it, those pretty pink buttocks being knifed apart by his darker, dun-colored prick.
Dayton grunted as his cock felt the body adapting to him. He let it do that, just a little, he wanted this to hurt the young rookie, then he began to hump at that butt, hump it the way he'd always wanted to, hard and fast, harder and faster than he'd even imagined, because now that butt, those luscious, curvaceous, callipygian buns, they belonged to a thief and dope dealer, and they'd never be as beautiful to him again! He moaned in his frustration at losing that desirable butt for this detestable ass, and yet they were the same, and he wanted them, wanted them still, and he wanted them to punish their owner, punish him hard for betraying him, betraying his own partner, by selling out, taking the easy road, not being a TRUE policeman!
His cock boiled with the need for revenge, it throbbed with the lust for punishment, it drooled slimy precome with the thirst for retribution. Every thrust he made with it was like the lash of the whip, and Pritcher was sprawled out like a child being spanked, and his cock was the paddle, he made those thrusts count, wringing every ounce of pleasure for himself and every ounce of pain for Pritcher. Bastard, he wasn't going to get it so easy ever again!
Then he heard it. A low moan, and it wasn't pain. "Shit, you're getting into this?" He asked in disbelief.
"Uhhhh!" Pritcher responded.
Dayton reached down, incredulous, and grabbed hold of Pritcher's cock, and it was hard and it was firm and it was solid and it was pulsing. "Damn, you are!" he growled. "You total little slut, you've been wanting my dick all along, have you?"
"Oh, yeah!" Pritcher moaned. "Harder, harder!"
"You're damned right I'll do it harder!" Dayton snarled. Punish this fucker, punish him! He could have had me, he thought, and instead he went and sold dope on the street! Well, now he's got me, let him feel how it is when a man fucks him and fucks him to last!
If he'd been rough on Pritcher before, it was nothing like what he was doing now. Long, hard, rowdy thrusts into Pritcher's butt, ramming him, stabbing him with his prong, feeling the hot, heavy flood of juices boiling around his cock, not blood, not any longer, just gentle fluids from Pritcher's body greasing him, easing the way for his dong. Damn it, he wasn't supposed to be enjoying this!
Pritcher enjoying his cock, he'd dreamed of that, soft mornings in a shared bed lit with golden light of the afternoon, the warmth of daytime slumber, the grease of sweating bodies intertwined, and now that dream, that fantasy, was gone for good!
He roared, "You fucker! You goddamned, shit-faced, monkey-assed fucker, you took it all from me, all of it!" And he hunched with a furious pace, his cock was a stick of dynamite in the hole, the fuse was burning, it was flaming down his shaft, it was there! Ka-boom!
Orgasm wrenched him, wracked him, knocked him down it was so hard, he sprawled out on top of Pritcher's prostrate form, felt his badge press like a stamper upon Pritcher's back, felt his belt buckle catch on Pritcher's belt, black on black, cop on cop, two partners, one voice, one against the mean streets, but no more, no more! "Shi-i-i-i-i-t!" he screamed out in the mournful cry of climax, of ejaculation, of loss.
Pritcher was making small sounds under him, a timid sheep in the hold of a ravenous wolf about to devour him, guh-huh-huh-guh, and there was the rain-like sound of jizz hitting the tile floor beneath them, that sound, that pattering, permeated Dayton's senses lost and reeling in the blackness of ecstasy, he had made Pritcher come, they had shared this orgasm, shared it as he had always dreamed of, lusted for, wanted, and it was not what he wanted, not anymore, now Pritcher would go down to the jail and some convict would soon revenge himself upon all cops by slicing Pritcher's beautiful face, his wonderful body, so warm and so right in his arms, lost to the call of dirty money and drugs, lost forever, and he sobbed as he caught his breath after, the long sighs of betrayal and despair, wishing this had been so different, but it never would be, ever.
And a sound he hadn't expected to come, the door to the locker room slamming open. "Hey, Dayton! Dayton!" It was Kunstler, damn him!
Dayton staggered to his feet. It had better be good! "Over here!" And to Pritcher, lying there. "Sit up, damn it. It'll cover you."
Pritcher did, wincing in pain as his butt contacted the wooden bench, but he was seated and thus decent so long as nobody looked at him carefully and noticed the torn and molested pants.
Kunstler came over, looked at them. "Thank God I got here in time." he said.
"What is it?" he said.
"That drug dealer." Kunstler said. "It ain't Pritcher."
"What?" Dayton said. He was going to kill Jimmy the Snitch!"
"They just brought him in. A dead ringer for Pritcher, even the same kind of car! It was mistaken identity! Man, I'm glad you didn't beat up Pritcher like you planned to." Kunstler said.
Dayton's voice went very soft. "Leave us alone again." he said.
"Uh? Oh, okay. Sorry for doubting you, Pritcher." Kunstler said. "Once you see the guy, you'll know. A dead ringer, honest."
Babbling, Kunstler walked away. Dayton waited until the door sounded again. Turned to look at his partner.
"I told you it wasn't me." Pritcher said.
"Yeah, you did." Dayton said. "I won't try to apologize, words wouldn't do it. I owe you one, man, big time. Whatever it is, you just let me know."
"Just promise you won't ever doubt me again." Pritcher said.
"I won't." Dayton said. "I promise you that. I should have talked to you first, but Jimmy was so positive it was you. I don't know what else to say."
"Can you loan me a pair of pants?" Pritcher said, standing up.
"Uh, sure, sure, I got an extra uniform here, you know that."
He fetched them contritely, and Pritcher put them on, and said, "Now let's go out on patrol like nothing happened."
"Sure, sure." Dayton said. He'd be able to find the words to apologize somehow during the shift.
"And afterwards, you're going to come home with me." Pritcher said.
"Sure, sure." Dayton repeated. Personal servant, yard work, whatever, he'd do it.
Pritcher grinned. "And when we're there, we'll play `bad cop' again, but do it the right way this time."
Pritcher turned and walked away from his dumbfounded partner who stood there with mouth hanging open, watching him. Watching once more that adorable, redeemed ass as it waggled itself around the corner and vanished.
Then, shaking himself alert, he raced to catch up with it.
THE END
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