Sergeant Jordan and Officer Lavelle faced the alleged perpetrator across the interrogation room table, though the crime he had been apprehended for was far from alleged, since they'd confiscated a bag of assorted drugs in his possession. The table where they sat was made of wood and looked to be forty years old, nicked and scarred. The chairs were nearly as ancient, wooden seats and backs, fastened on with round metal studs into metal rods that formed the legs and framework. The chairs and table were the only contents of the small, rectangular room, and filled it to near capacity.
"Come on, Frank, we know you're running now with Madsen's Gang." Sergeant Jordan ventured. He was a big, brawny hulk of a police officer, who filled out the black uniform to near-bursting, and none of it was fat. His arms were thick wads of muscle shoved into the short-sleeved shirt, he kept his hairy arms folded on his chest and sat cocked back in his chair from the table by one leg pushing against the table-top. The hair on his head and hair on his arms were both medium brown, the color of dust, the color of faded leather, the color of desert sand at sunset. "We don't want you busted for drugs nearly as much as we want him. You talk to us about Madsen, and we can let you go, no problem. New laws just down from the legislature, we get to make deals like this now. So come on, tell us all about Madsen's operations."
"I don't know what you're talking about." the perp responded with the sly smile. He thought he had them, it was obvious in his face that he felt the master of the situation even though he was the one still wearing handcuffs. "Can you get me out of these cuffs now?"
"I'm still trying to remember where I put the keys." Officer Lavelle said. Smaller than Sergeant Jordan, he had the same build, just on a slightly smaller scale, and his jet-black, tightly kinked hair on top of his head hadn't seemed to manage to cover his arms, the little hair he had there was near invisible against his skin the color of fresh-tanned dark leather, the color of batter-dipped deep-fried chicken, the color of stained oak furniture. These two cops didn't play "good cop, bad cop", they played, "we're two mean cops and you're in trouble, punk!" and they played it well. Leaving the perp in cuffs was all a part of the routine.
These two made an intimidating team in the field, many a punk had nearly pissed his pants when confronted by them while in the act, they usually could sit the punk down like they had this one and he would sing like a canary, squeal like a pig, rat on his own brother.
Except this perp wasn't buying the tough-guy act. He wasn't a lightweight himself, with his broad shoulders covered inadequately by a red tank-top, his breasts making a shelf below his round, battered face. His hair was dirty-blond and his skin was fairer than either of the two officers, though Jordan was only a few shades darker, and unlike the officers, he had a mustache, a big beer-strainer shelf of hair over his lips, raggedly trimmed some days ago, perhaps, it was over-long and in need of clipping.
The perp writhed in the cuffs behind his back and the shoulders rippled his trapezius muscles like a dancer. Not some pretty ballerina, but a frowzy-looking, battered whore strutting on the stage, wearing less than the law allows, about to squat down on some vaguely penis-shaped object while bald-headed men drooled from the chairs set too close to the stage. That kind of dancer was evoked in the ripple of his muscles.
"We got all the evidence we need to convict you, you know." Sergeant Jordan pointed out. "Got the kid you were selling to ready to finger you while his mother watches him do it, got the dope you planned to sell him and some other packets besides, plenty of other dope here, some pot, some meth, a few crystals, more than enough to keep you from pleading personal use in court, you were there to sell and you had a store-wide selection of merchandise in that gym bag."
"It wasn't my bag." the perp said. "I must have got the wrong bag at the gym by mistake." Even he didn't believe that. "So why are we even talking?" he settled for saying.
"Because as bad as I want to scrape you scum off the street, I want Madsen more." Sergeant Jordan growled. He let go of the table with his leg, and his chair crashed down hard enough to make you think the thin round legs had bent from the crash. The perp flinched, his first break.
"So tell me, Franklin, Frank the Fake, Friendly Frank, and a few other monikers we haven't picked up yet, what do we have to do besides turn you loose to get you to tell us all you know about Madsen?"
"Blow me." Franklin responded snidely.
"Is that all?" Sergeant Jordan took it like a serious comment. No anger, no smirk, nothing, just as if it were a serious offer. "I blow you and you talk?"
"Nah." Franklin said, his voice cracking, he was nervous and jabbering to cover it up. "You'd have to do more than blow me. Both of you would have to take a swing on my dick, and you'd have to swallow it, besides."
"Is that all?" Lavelle said to him. Again, neither of the officers were smiling.
Franklin looked at them, puzzled. They weren't being baited. They ought to be getting mad, not acting like this was some serious bargaining they were doing. He hesitated then apparently decided to play it on through. "Yeah, that'll do it." he said. "You blow me and swallow the chunks, and I'll tell you all you want about Madsen."
"What do you think, partner?" Jordan asked Lavelle.
"I want Madsen." Lavelle agreed. "I want him bad."
"Me, too. So let's do it." Jordan said. "Franklin, you got yourself a deal."
Both officers stood up. Franklin was confused, worried. "Hey, now, guys, just a minute here...."
"Sorry, but a deal's a deal." Lavelle said as he approached from Franklin's left side. Jordan was on his right. "You're not allowed to back out now."
"What are you guys going to do?" Franklin said as they picked him up. "Man, I got rights!"
"We read you your rights." Jordan said. "Now you got the right to get blown by your friendly neighborhood policeman."
Franklin's his light-blue shorts were tugged off of him. Lavelle rubbed the round globes of Franklin's ass. "Shame he didn't ask for an ass-fucking, too." He said. "Be fun to work this pair of buns over."
"He asked for a blow, we give him a blow." Jordan said.
Lavelle turned him around, the perp's blond face dumbfounded and still. "Who goes first?" Lavelle asked matter-of-factly.
"I'll start him off." Jordan said. "Sit him on the table."
Lavelle pushed Franklin down so he was perched on the table's edge, a heavy, solid table, it didn't even shudder under the weight of the big blond perp being sat down on it. His cock was unfurling like a flag in a light breeze, stretching slowly upwards under the pair of rough eyes regarding it.
"Watch me and learn how you do it." Jordan said as he knelt down at Franklin's feet. Franklin watched him, wide-eyed, mouth open. The poor perp just didn't know what to make of this!
If his eyes had been wide before, they were popping when Jordan's large jaw hinged open that surprisingly small mouth which converted into an "O" and dove down over his pink-sphere-topped shaft.
"Hey, hey, hey!" Franklin said. "Damn, man, you're, oh, oh, man, you're, oh, oh!"
Jordan wasn't giving him any chance to complain, he was already bobbing on Franklin's meat, his head and neck moving on the thick pud like a busy oil pump on the western Oklahoma plain. His lips were shining in the white flourescent light of the interrogation room, they turned themselves inside out as he pulled up on that long, pale-brown pud, until the head distended the foreskin, then he slid it back down, and the lips wrapped themselves back together again, to vanish as he rolled them down the cream-filled shaft, until the blond hairs of the pubes covered his lower face. Then he rose again and the sheen of the cock grew with every plunge and release, glowing with the thick coat of cop-spit it was being slathered and loved with. Slowly his tongue swirled around the swollen head; it danced round and round, as his head gently bobbed back and forth, while one brawny hand slid around to palp his buttocks the way Lavelle had, squeezing that big butt-orb into pliable jelly under his powerful fingers. Lavelle's hands worked the chest, sliding and teasing across his taut, broad chest, feeling the slabs of his pecs, then the gently rising mounds of his nipples to pinch them delicately, but then harder and harder until the perp groaned.
"Uuh, oh, man, yeah, yeah!" the perp groaned. "Fucking great, pig, fucking great!"
"Yeah, suck his dick, buddy." Lavelle said, his eyes blazing as he watched his partner swallow the punk's man-pole. "Really milk that fucker, make him cream like he never did it before."
"Oh, man!" Franklin groaned and threw his head back. "Man, I'm being sucked off by a cop right in the precinct. My friends are never going to believe this when I tell them."
"You like that?" Lavelle said. "You want more, he'll give you more."
"Let me see you help him out." the perp panted. "You both got to, that was the deal."
"Yep, that was the deal all right." Lavelle grinned. "Scoot over, buddy, let me have a share of it."
Jordan relinquished the cock, now coated slimy gray with his saliva, and Lavelle took it into his brown mouth, smoothly shining brown skin covering the shiny white prick. A small frown furrowed his face, as if he was concentrating very hard on the task in front of him, and his tongue swirled first around on the cockhead, the tip of it probed the thick oval cockslit, then danced up and down the shaft as his lips played back and forth, still caressing the cock, not swallowing it yet at all. Then, Lavelle took first the cockhead into his mouth, and his tongue crawled like a fat snake over the head, rasping across the tender glans. Slowly, Lavelle began to inch more and more of the long cock into his mouth, moving his soft lips up and down on the heavy, turgid shaft, sucking it like a fat lollipop, wet and glistening with Jordan's saliva. Lavelle placed his hand on the base of the shaft and slowly moved it up and down along the shaft in unison with his mouth.
Jordan moved up to hover over the blond culprit, placed his talented mouth on one hairy, distended nipple, sucked the tight button hard, drawing it in and pulling as if the essence of the ages was within if only it could be persuaded to come out.
"Oh, God!" Frank the Fake moaned. His body, unable to lie on the table while his hands were cuffed behind him, and also unable to sit upright without blocking the pair of horny mouths playing over his prod, settled for moving sinuously, like a snake, arcing backwards until the face was pointed at the ceiling, then rousing to rise up until he was bowed and able to feast his eyes once again at the pair of handsome hunks in black "Man, both of you. Let me see both your lips on it now, man."
The two officers complied, and Frank was able to look down and see the pair of tongues darting back and forth over his cock, both the exact same shade of pink, though coming from faces of two colors. They were the same, pink tongues, and black uniforms, one on each side, playing the perp's prong like an accordion. Then Jordan moved down to wrap his lips around the side of the shaft, pressing it across his mouth without swallowing it, and Lavelle moved to match him, so that the two policemen were kissing each other around the blond prick.
Then they moved in tandem and the blond stud groaned even lustier.
"OH, YEAH!" he crooned. "Man, I'm going to fucking blow my nuts!"
"Yeah, come on, blow them." Jordan said. "I'll keep working this shaft from the side while my partner waits with his mouth open, so you can see your pud shoot right into his hot pink mouth. Would you like that, Friendly Frank?"
"Yeah, do it!" Frank gasped out.
Jordan began to work the pud in the sideways manner he had before, while Lavelle knelt in front of the enraged pud, his mouth open, leaving a bright pink pit of his mouth and throat visible. Frank watched this mouth hang there, while he panted, sweat pouring off the stud and the rank smell of sweat and human lust musk overwhelming the small room.
"Ah, ahh, hah, hah, HAH, HAH!" Frank groaned while Lavelle lapped out with his tongue, just touching the cockhead while Jordan kept working the foreskin over it. "Ah, hah, hah, hah!"
Lavelle reached up and twisted Frank's nuts hard, and Frank groaned in pain and the pain converted to pleasure and he was erupting, a shower of white jism flew onto the black man and his black uniform, splattering his face. Long, white, arching ropes of streaming, pearly, boiling sperm spewed upwards and then over towards the waiting black officer's face.
And Jordan moved down to push his face into the line of fire, and Frank got to watch with his glazed, crossed eyes as some of his jizz flew right into Jordan's open mouth.
Frank fell back onto the table, and the two officers stood up and right in his line of sight as Jordan licked at Lavelle's face, cleaning him off, then extending a sperm-laden tongue into Lavelle's mouth and Lavelle sucked it clean.
"Man, now let me see you suck your buddy off, Sergeant." Frank ordered.
"That wasn't part of the deal." Jordan said brusquely.
"Deal?"
"Hasn't word gotten on the streets yet? Courts got tired of interrogation-room plea-bargains that didn't stick. So they gave us the power, let us poor working stiffs make the bargains and they'll enforce them. You agreed to tell us about Madsen in exchange for your freedom and a blow job. Which we just gave you. If you don't cooperate now, the court is required to double your jail sentence."
"Without parole." Lavelle chipped in.
"Instead of ten years for drug sales, you'll get twenty. Maybe twenty-five."
"Twenty-five?" Frank said.
"Hey, punk, you think we did all this for the fun of it?" Jordan snapped at Frank. "We made a deal, and you're going to keep it. If not, believe you me, I'll see to it that Madsen finds out all about the deal you made."
"We have it all on tape." Lavelle said. "I can have a copy in his hands in the morning."
"No shit?" Frank said doubtfully. "I never heard of this!"
"New law." Jordan said. "Can you imagine just how pleased Madsen will be when he hears you bargaining his secrets for a single, lousy blow-job?"
Frank looked at them and his lower lip started to quiver. "Twenty-five years in jail? No parole?"
"Not for violation of the plea-bargain." Lavelle assured him. "That's written in clear. You can make parole for anything but the plea-bargain. And that jail term is tacked onto the end of the rest of them, you don't even start earning time against it until all the rest are completed.."
Frank was quiet for a time. His cock was thoroughly deflated, and only its sticky, shiny quality told of the enraged tower it had been a short time before. "I don't know anything." he said.
"Tell us what you do know." Jordan said gruffly. "We find out you lied, that breaks the plea-bargain, too."
"Shit, some of his jizz got on my notes." Lavelle huffed.
"So lick it off." Jordan said. "That was the deal."
Lavelle licked it off. "Okay, Frank, tell us what you do know."
"My contact ain't with Madsen, it's with a guy named Albin...."
And Frank continued to sing like the proverbial canary.
The lieutenant was waiting when they came out and waited until Lavelle had taken Frank back to the holding cell.
"How did it go?" he asked.
"That new law works like a charm, sir." Jordan said. "A couple of layers of bigger hoods between him and Madsen, but we got enough to bring in a couple of guys who'll know more. We'll work the same trick on them."
"Do your best. I want to go to the judge for a warrant on Madsen by the end of the week."
"Don't worry." Jordan said, a grin on his rugged face. "Lavelle and I will milk it all out of them by then."
THE END