A New York Cop Sucks Dick Ch. 02

My coiled, leaking snake was busting at the seams of my Levi's. I didn't have the nerve to take it out and yank, but I started rubbing myself hard through my pants. I grabbed my cock and squeezed and then rubbed, squeezed and rubbed. I could see a wet cum stain coming right through the denim. I had creamed my pants good. This wasn't just a sexual awakening; I was having some type of sexual revolution.

As Sgt. Bob continued to pump and grind into the muscular ass of the building superintendent I always admired, I heard rustling to my side.

"What the fuck are you doing, man? I've been waiting 10 minutes."

I put my index finger to my lips, instinctively to quiet him. The boiler's ferocity thankfully kept us from being discovered.

He whispered to me, "What?"

I'm sure Michael saw me rubbing myself. How could he not have? And if I stood up he'd surely have seen my raging hard on and cum stain. What the fuck was I going to do now? Before I could say anything, he leaned over me and peered around the boiler.

"Holy shit," he whispered.

"I know, they are fucked up faggots. But it's like a trainwreck that I can't not watch," I countered. Can't not watch? Would he buy that? Didn't he see me rubbing myself while watching?

"Who are they?" Michael surreptitiously asked, as the wet slapping and pumping sounds continued to excite me.

"Freddy, the super and one of my dad's cop friends."

Michael studied them further as Sgt. Bob was fucking so fiercely that Freddy's arms looked intensely strained holding the wall, keeping the depraved assault back before his head would be slammed into the brick wall. "Fucking shit! I knew Freddy packed fudge but that's Sgt. Bob!" I nodded. Michael was crouched down to the left of me but he was semi standing so he could see around the boiler. This involved him being very close and leaning somewhat over me. My face was almost touching his belly. His tight fitting, small t-shirt left about an inch of skin visible below the shirt line to the top of his jeans.

As we heard Freddy's cries: "FUCK THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF ME," this little viewing of the treasure trail of hair going from Michael's belly button down below the visible elastic band to his underwear was making me very aroused. My face was practically touching his belly! Was he going to see my hard on? How could I make it go down with the continued background action: "Fuck my ass, fuck it good!"

As I felt his t-shirt gently brush my left cheek, and as I watched Sgt. Bob's ass move in and out as he pumped Freddy, my cock creamed some more. There was quite a wet spot on my lap. There was no keeping this rod down, though. I had too many exciting stimulants. I could smell the laundry detergent on Michael's clothes. It made me hornier than I had ever been. I'd have given my left nut to be able to reach over and kiss his balls that sat behind those Lee corduroy pants so close to my lips. My face was just inches from his cock as we watched this hot action in front of us. Sgt. Bob was an animal, "You like this eh? You want this like a bitch. I tell ya bud, I'm liking it as much as you," as he continued pounding. "Here it comes, son, here comes the fucking mother load!"

Then we heard an exultant moan as the Sergeant at arms pulled out and ejaculated all over Freddy's back and shoulder. One of the spurts reached up to the back of his head, leaving a blob of what looked like industrial glue in his hair.

Freddy turned over and we could see his very tight, muscular body. He had an average sized cock but it was perfectly straight with an exciting looking mushroom head. I couldn't take my eyes off the treasure hair trail that went from his firm, muscular chest down to his beautiful cock. His sack was big and he had a lot of hair surrounding his meat. I was suffocating with sexual excitement. I had let out some involuntary short breaths that Michael certainly heard. "Dude," Michael whispered, "This is fucked up shit, let's get outta here."

"I know." But we remained and looked as the tall Sgt. Bob kneeled before a now standing Freddy. They were profile to us now. Sgt. Bob took Freddy's cock into his mouth and started moving his lips and head all around and down onto the dick. At one point he spit onto his dick head for lube, I gathered. He was taking the whole cock into his mouth but coughing when it got too deep. I had never seen a man pleasure another man. This was so fucking exciting. I had seen porno images of women servicing a dude but never a masculine man going to town on another man's meat. This was what real sexual excitement was about.

As the sergeant kept sucking him, Freddy said, "I'm gonna come man, I'm gonna cum a fierce load. You want it?"

We heard, "MMM HHH." I guessed that that meant Sgt. Bob would be taking Freddy's sperm into his mouth.

"Ah fuck, yeah, suck that meat, suck my fucking cock! You sure you want it man? I haven't cum in 5 days, this is gonna be a ton of hot shit, man. Some fucking load I'm gonna dump down your cop bitch throat, man. You gonna be able to take it, little man, my little bitch, eh?"

"MMM HHHH," again was the reply as Sgt. Bob, strapping hockey player, decorated NYPD police officer and idol of mine, continued the electrifying head and mouth dance upon his master's menacing meat.

Michael and I stood transfixed. I suppose as a way of compensating for our continued ogling, he let out another "This is so fucked up." And I agreed with him, although my cock was deliriously thinking otherwise. Michael had baggy corduroys on so I wasn't sure if he had a hard on. The folds of the pants were such that it could have been an erection that I spotted through his pants or just my undying hope. His groin was so near my face that I could see a tiny lint ball on his bulge. I continued to cream my pants, cream my underwear, cream, cream and more cream. I had virtually pissed myself with my ejaculate.

"Here it comes, son, here comes the fucking Midnight Express!" [An obvious reference to the Brad Davis film out in 1978, a Turkish, homoerotic prison movie where a New Yorker gets jailed for carrying Hash at the airport.] "AHHHHHH," was all we heard from Freddy as he grabbed the back of Sgt. Bob's head with both hands. "AHHHHHHH," as he dumped his hot seed into his willing subordinate's mouth, throat and stomach.

Some of the jizz trickled down the Sergeant's chin as it was too much to swallow in one gulp. Freddy took his dripping cock and pressed it to the Sarge's wet chin, attaching the excess and then feeding it gently to the insatiable cop who taught me once how to tie a fisherman's knot and who arm wrestled me and let me win sometimes. As Sgt. Bob licked the last of the stringy, raw, egg-white looking ejaculate, Michael and I felt the show was over.

Again to compensate for our homosexual staring, Michael whispered, "So fucked up."

And, again, I feigned disgust in agreement, "Yeah, come on, this is sick" as we both stood up and tiptoed out to the other room.

"I found the ball by the way."

"Where?"

"Right on the window sill. It never completely entered the room."

"Figures. Nothing is easy."

"Dude," Michael's tone changed. "You got serious wood. You creamed your pants." He pointed to my eight inch raging shame and my noticeably wet lap.

My shame turned to excitement when I looked at his own groin region. "Hey, so do you!"

"Yeah, but I wasn't rubbing mine while I was watching that shit. What the fuck was that about!" He looked away, a bit speechless for a second and then responded. "Look, we don't need to tell anybody about the shit we saw today, kay? Not ever. I don't want any 'a this shit being talked about in school or any place."

"Okay, it's a deal."

"Don't bring it up. Not ever." It was an order.

"Okay," We shook hands and avoided eye contact as we walked out and up the stairs.

"Hey, you're still eating over tonight, right?" Michael asked. He seemed to instantly bury the scene we witnessed.

"Yeah, I wouldn't miss Terry's ravioli for nothin." We always joked with each other, calling our mom's by names, telling sordid mother jokes. The only reason we weren't too offended is we'd immediately counter with one of our own lewd and infantile remarks:

"Please tell your mom to stop with the multi-colored lipstick. My cock is starting to look like a rainbow."

"I will. As long as you tell yours that she's like a 7-11 store. Open 24/7."

That would usually follow with punching each other in the arms and wrestling. I always liked wrestling Michael. For the joy of just being close to him. But I was having much, much stronger ideas about being close to him now.

I kept quiet about that day. Neither of us mentioned it, not for a couple of years until we were both NYPD rookie cops and in Michael's basement having a few beers and wrestling...

TO BE CONTINUED...