Mounted Cop34 minutes of an awesome read

I was riding Blaze down one of the paths that had been closed to the public. It was getting on to late afternoon and the end of my shift. After this last round through the park I’d be heading back to the stable barracks where I’d check in Blaze shoot the bull with my fellow officers, head for home. It was warm and dry. not that sticky muggy heat that makes New York like a giant closed-in steam bath.

The sun shone through the leaves, dappling in a changing pattern the ground and Blaze and me. Riding always makes me horny, and as I rode I stroked and rubbed my iron, thrusting down my left thigh, rubbing against the saddle. My summer uniform seemed to be hot, maybe because I was hot and aroused. My cap with the leather brim seemed to stick to my scalp: my short-sleeved gray-blue shin seemed plastered to my body though I knew damn well it wasn’t. My navy blue britches with the Oared hips and the tan stripe down the side, ordinarily very comfortable since I had had them tailored, seemed tight and confining. My knee-high gleaming shiny black spit-polished boots glinted in the sun. My .38 revolver in its holster hung heavily from my side. I twisted in the saddle, attempting to find relief, only making myself seem even hotter. My cock burned, and I rubbed it, making it throb and jerk.

Blaze knew I was bothered; he danced along the path. He was a good horse, a deep chestnut with a startling white patch on his left Hank that sort of resembled a draw ing of a flame, which is how he got his name. A good horse, responding well to a good rider And I was a good rider, a damn good rider. Blaze and I made a good team, partners. It was almost as if each of us knew what the other was thinking.

This dim path was in a fairly rugged section of the park where the base rock under all of New York City shoved up into the open air: steep path, boulders, trees, sudden hollows, clearings.

At the top of a rise Blaze stopped suddenly, his cars pricked forward. He tossed his head and looked fixedly to the left, motionless. I craned my neck through the rhododendrons and saw finally a familiar shape, but one that had no business being there. I dismounted, drawing my .38, and went forward on the path to a break in the shrubs. Looking through. I was another horse, tethered to a tree in a small clearing: Cordury. Officer Farrell’s mount. Then I heard grunting sounds and whimperings, and quiet cries. I eased through the break, rubbed Corduroy’s nose, slipped around his tree and the huge boulder next to it, and looked. After a minute I grinned and came back to Blaze. I led him from the path and tied him next to Corduroy: the two horses breathed heavily and began cropping grass. I went back around the boulder, and watched.

Officer Farrell was there, all right, his navy riding britches and shorts shoved down below his knees, stopped only by the shiny black knee-high boots, his summer shirt up around his waist, his cap and gun belt lying on the ground. Before him, stark naked with his clothes scattered all over the ground, was a tall young boy, about 15, long dark hair, on his hands and knees, ass toward Officer Farrell and Officer Farrell, one of New York City’s finest mounted patrolmen, was fucking the shit out of that young kid.

My cock leapt to greater attention.

“You’re so big in my ass. God… so big, copper… so big, please, please,” the kid was gasping, “my ass, you’re fuckin’ my ass, please, please.”

“Goddam punk,” panted the cop between breaths, “goddam punk, asking for fuckin’, beggin’ for it, feel my cock, feel my big cop cock up your ass. I’ll teach you to flirt, to come on, goddam cocktease, goin’ to feel my cum, feel my cum all the way up that shitty asshole, goin’ to feel my cum cum. CUM. CUM!” His hips bucked swiftly and then he froze, his eyes closed as his cum spurted deep up the ass of the chicken now sprawled face down on the ground under the weight of the fucking peace officer. “I’m CUUUMMMIIINNNNGGG! AAARRRGGGHHHHH!”

They lay silent, panting, the kid sighing “please, please,” over and over.

I waited, unseen, watching, my .38 in hand, a tight smile on my face.

Officer Farrell grabbed the kid’s hips and drew him back up into the doggie position, his cock still buried in the tight clenching hole. He was ready to fuck again.

“That’s beautiful.” I said sarcastically, “beautiful: cop fucking kid in the park. What better way to spend an afternoon.”

Heads turned, they stared at me. Officer Farrell’s face draining white in shock. The kid suddenly scrambled forward, a sucking sound echoing as the fat erect cock came free of his hole, and he scurried to me on his hands and knees. “Please, please, help me, please. He fucked me; that cop raped me! Please, help me. I’m bleedin’, please, please.” He grabbed me around one leg and turned in against my thigh.

I raised the .38. “Well. Officer Farrell? What the hell do you have to say for yourself?”

“Kerry,” he mumbled, “Kerry—Kerry—No—” He spread his hands. His prick was dripping with cum.

“I’ll take care of you later. Stay just as you are. Don’t move.” I turned to the kid. “You OK, son?”

“I’m bleedin’. I’m bleedin’–I’m goin’ to tell. I’m goin’ to tell—” He began to sob. “I’m bleedin’.”

I knelt next to him and cradled his head against my chest, patting him on the back.

“There, there, son, easy, easy,” I said soothingly. “Let me check you out, see about that bleeding. Stand up, turn around and bend over, son, I got to look at you asshole to see if it’s bleeding.” He bent. With my free hand I gently spread the cheeks and looked at the rosy pucker. It was closed, rimmed with the drying white cum that leaked from deep up his ass. There was no blood. I patted his cheeks gently. “Nothing wrong with that ass,” I said, reassuringly, “nothing a hot bath won’t cure. No bleeding.” He stood up. “You’re OK. Though you’re going to be somewhat sore for a day or two, probably.” I stood up.

“I’m goin’ to tell.”

I held up the .38. He stopped talking.

“How’d this happen?”

They both talked at once till I stopped them. Then the kid went first.

“He gave me a ride on his horse and we came in here and then he threw me down and ripped my clothes off and fucked me and then you came.” He said a lot more, but this is the gist of it.

Mounted Patrolman Michael Farrell also said a lot, and this is the gist of it: “The kid’s a flirt and got me all hot and bothered, flashin’ his ass, beggin’ to be fucked, beggin’ to suck my cock. And I was horny from ridin’ Corduroy— ridin’ always makes me horny and he wanted fuckin’ so bad. So we came up here. He said he knew a place and no one’d come since it’s closed to the public. So we came and he stripped down and pulled down my britches and he sucked my cock and he spread his legs and he slipped my cock up his ass and we fucked, and then you came. Honest, Kerry, honest. I didn’t rape him. Kerry!”

I interrupted him. “No way of proving either story. Tell us your name, son.”

“Brendan.”

“Well. Brendan, if you tell anybody this story you’re going to get this officer in a lot of trouble, and your family’ll get a lot of publicity, and so will you. The kids at your school will probably call you a cocksucker and a lot of other names. I think you’d better let us in the police force take care of this officer; we know how. And, Officer, if this story comes out, who’ll believe you? That a young kid lured you, a cop, a peace officer, guardian of morality, into fucking him? They’d have you up on charges so fast.., child molestation, sodomy, corrupting a minor… You’d be known as the chicken-queer cop, the chicken-hawk cop, and you’d have to quit the force, and…” I paused to take a breath. “And your family’d suffer, too; think how your mom and dad’d like it, knowing the neighbors were calling you queer, cocksucker, chicken-hawk cop. True or not, that’s what they’d say. Everyone’d believe the kid before you. Now, this is what I think we should do.”

I noticed that his prick was soft now, hanging down below the shirt tails, a drop of glistening while at the tip.

“You, Brendan, you tell nobody about this, and you, too, Officer, you say nothing, and I’ll say nothing; but, Officer, Mike, you put yourself in my hands for disciplinary action, for being so foolish, so stupid, to take a kid up here, and on duty and in uniform, yet, for chrissake! Where’s your head, Mike? In your cock? Better me than the disciplinary board. Mike. This okay with both of you? We all say nothing, and I discipline you, Mike?”

“Yes,” said Mike, heavily. “Yes. Okay.”

“Okay, I agree.” said Brendan, one hand rubbing his sore ass. “Okay. But he hurt me when he fucked me. I agree… if I can fuck him back.” His other hand caressed his hard cock, surrounded by the newly growing hair.

“Jesus, kid!”

“No, please, please. Brendan, please; Kerry, he’s been fucked lots, he said, lots. Please, he didn’t get hurt, don’t let him fuck me.”

“An eye for an eye; an asshole for an asshole.”

“Jesus, Kerry! Brendan! Please! Please!” He shuffled forward on his knees, britches dragging into the ground.

I jerked up the revolver. “Stop right there.” Astonished, he obeyed.

“Why shouldn’t Brendan get a little of his own back? Why shouldn’t you be willing to take what you dish out? Especially since it’ll save your ass with the department? Get on your hands and knees.” He did not move until I pointed the .38 directly at him. “On your hands and knees.”

“Kerry. Jesus, be careful with that.”

“I’m always careful with that. Dumb ass, you’ve seen me handle it often enough in the barracks.” My tone changed. “Now, then. Mike, you’ve agreed to accept my discipline, and the first part of that discipline is going to be what Brendan suggested; he’s going to fuck you. Yeah, the kid is going to fuck you, and that’ll make it even-steven.”

“Kerry, please, please don’t let him do this to me, don’t let him fuck me. I’ve never been fucked. Please. Kerry, anything else. Kerry, please, don’t let him…” His voice trailed off and he bowed his head, defeated, knowing he was helpless to save his ass.

“Okay, son? You fuck his ass and you keep your mouth shut about what’s happened here this afternoon. You talk to nobody except him and me about this, understand? If I hear you’ve spilled to anyone else, you’ll regret it. You’ll regret it, understand?”

“Yeah. I understand. I won’t talk to anyone else. Cross my heart,” in a sudden reversal to boyhood.

“Okay. Go fuck him; he’s waiting for you.” Brendan started toward the defeated man on his hands and knees. “Wait a minute. He’s never been fucked; it that true?” Mike nodded, not looking up. “His first time. You’re going to cop a virgin cop, kid, and it’ll hurt the first time, so you help him along. He didn’t give you any pain that I saw, so you give him as little as possible. Fair’s fair. So you get down there and suck his asshole a little bit, make it good and wet and slick, make it a good fuck for my buddy, Mike the peace officer.”

Brendan hesitated, but my .38 soon had him on his hands and knees behind Mike, his pink tongue flicking against the white asscheeks covered with red hair that matched the thick thatch on Mike’s head. After a bit I pushed his head up against Mike’s skin, forcing Brendan’s nose into the asscrack, his mouth smack against the brown puckered hole. “Lick, kid, lick, you’re going to fuck my buddy and make it easy on his virgin ass, so lick, lick!” He licked. Mike showing all the signs of a good assrimming, working his ass back against the slobbering mouth. Brendan’s prick was hard, tight against his belly, a hefty unclipped six inches, a good cock for a fifteen-year-old!

I dragged him away from that ass and shoved him in front of Mike’s face, forcing the boy cock deep in Mike’s throat, saying that a wet cock is even better for lubrication than a rimmed ass. It was obvious that Mike had sucked cock before, even though he was doing it reluctantly here, taking it all the way down, making Brendan dance and gasp as he worked on it. Three minutes only, and then I dragged the kid back to the waiting ass and lined it up and shoved it in, slowly but firmly, steadily. Mike winced and cried out “Jesus God and Joseph!” when the head burst through the protective sphincter, pain shooting through his body, but by the time Brendan was all the way in, seven or eight strokes later, the pain was gone and Mike, no longer a virgin, was wiggling back toward his fucker. Mike was a natural? I watched them rutting and thought how I could use the disciplinary power Mike had given me; he might think this would be the end of it, but it was only the beginning.

Brendan was pounding into the now receptive ass, shoving Mike forward across the grass toward the boulder, riding Mike, breaking Mike in. I reached under Mike’s belly and found a throbbing steel-hard cock, oozing wetness. Mike was turned on, all right. I wondered if he were turned on by the chicken, by the fucking, by the submission, by having me watch his humiliation, or possibly by me myself, or just by sex. I’d find out.

I released Mike’s cock just in time, for he was fucking my hand as Brendan fucked his ass. I didn’t want him to cum, at least not right then. I leaned against a tree, watching, until just a few minutes later Brendan shouted and shot. He fell over Mike’s back, panting. Mike still on his hands and knees, supporting his fucker. My hand cupped, rubbing my throbbing prick.

“Okay,” I said, after a minute or two, “that’s enough. Get dressed, kid.” Brendan nodded and pulled out, a popping sound echoing as he left that well-fucked no-longer-virgin ass. He picked up his clothes and covered his developing body… navy tank top, faded jeans, dirty sneakers. No shorts, the light jeans showed everything he had, to advantage. None of the clothes were ripped; he had said that Mike ripped them from his body. I noted the discrepancy.

He looked at us, me against the tree, my .38 in hand, my hand over the hard bulge at my crotch. Mike on his hands and knees, ass hanging out, just as he was when Brendan pulled out; I had stopped him when he moved to rise and dress.

“Remember the bargain, kid.” I said.

“I remember.” He looked at Mike. “Damn good ass, copper.” He swaggered out of the clearing to the path. I followed to make sure he had left.

Brendan gone. I checked the horses; they were OK. I went back to Mike, still on his hands and knees.

“Goddamit, you stupid cop, what the fuck’re you doing putting the make on a kid? And in public, yet? Goddam fuckup! You so horny you can’t control yourself? You fuck up this way often? You need a keeper, someone to keep you from fucking up. Stupid shit!”

Mike hung his head and then looked up.

“Kerry. I didn’t lie to you. He put the make on me, and I… I couldn’t resist. No excuse. I just couldn’t resist. Maybe I do need someone to keep me from fucking up. I didn’t lie to you, Kerry.”

I leaned back against a tree, legs widespread.

“You stupid shit, fucking up like that. You got too much going for you to be allowed to fuck up. I’m going to take you in charge, give you some discipline, keep you in line, keep you from fucking up. What you need is someone in charge, and that’s me, by God, understand, that’s me! You got a body that needs discipline. Well, by god. I’ll see to it that you get discipline, and lots of it; no need for you to pick up kids on the street. I like you, Mike, and because I like you I’m going to take the trouble to keep you in line.”

“Kerry, I swear. I didn’t pick him up, he picked me up, it was like a blitz. He came on so strong, so sure of me, so certain, and I was so horny from ridin’. My cock was so hard! It was as if he knew in advance I was horny and hot… and hard! Kerry. Kerry, I couldn’t resist. I’ve never made it with a kid before. I was so horny.”

“Yeah. I know how horny you get riding; I’ve seen you when you get back to the barracks after shift. In the shower I’ve seen that rod of yours when you try to keep it hid and out of sight because it’s so big and hard… just like it’s big and hard now, isn’t it, Mike? Aren’t you hot and hard, even now, when you’ve fucked that boy ass and had your own ass ridden? Aren’t you still hot and hard, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Kerry, yes, yes.” and he fumbled with his hidden prick, “so hot.” He began to jerk himself off.

“You let your cock alone!” I barked. Startled, he dropped it and looked up at me. We locked eyes. “You let that cock alone. You touch it when I tell you to, when I give you permission. Don’t you forget, you’ve given yourself to me for my discipline, and that means you’ve given yourself to me for me to decide what you shall do, or shall not do.” My free hand massaged the tube running down my left pants leg; the material was so tight I felt that I was strangling there as it crossed the joint of my hip and got into freedom where the britches flared out to the side. “You’re so hot. I’ve got something that’ll cool you down, and, yeah, cool me down, too. Watching you and that kid made me so goddamn hot! And you’re going to cool me down. Get over here! Crawl over here, you goddam redheaded fucking cop. Crawl!”

Never losing his gaze with me. Mike crawled until he was at my feet, his auburn hair shining where the sun hit it, coming through the trees. My .38 was pointing straight at him and the other hand was slowly opening my fly, but Mike was looking into my eyes.

“Look at my hands, you punk cop. See what I’ve got for you.”

He lowered his eyes and looked. He choked back a gasp.

One hand held my erect hot ivory cock with its fiery red head sticking past the enveloping foreskin, ten inches of hard pulsating prick: and the other held the .38, aimed straight at his head.

“Kerry…” he swallowed.

I chanted, paraphrasing the old military rhyme:

This is my revolver.

This is my gun.

One is for firing.

The other for fun.

I laughed and he shuddered.

He whispered. “Kerry.”

“You’re going to get some discipline, Officer Farrell. That means you’re going to take my orders. That means I am your superior. That means you will call me ‘Sir.’ Understand?”

Slowly he nodded his head. “Yes, Sir. I understand, Sir.”

“Kneel.”

“Yes, Sir.” obeying, rising from his hands and knees.

“Open your mouth.”

He obeyed. His eyes, frightened, stared at my hand as I slowly moved it so the .38 was directly in front of his mouth.

“Put your hands behind your back.”

He obeyed.

“Stick out your tongue.”

He obeyed.

I rested the tip of the barrel on his tongue. His eyes were fastened on my fingers holding the stock and the trigger guard. I slowly moved the weapon until the barrel was in his mouth.

“Now, Officer Farrell, suck my .38; make love to it. Think how you’d rather be sucking my cock. Do a good job and maybe I’ll let you suck my cock. Suck!”

He sucked.

Gingerly at first, he sucked, wetting the barrel with his spit, pointing his tongue and putting it to the hollow core of the tube, moving his head until he was face-fucking himself on the barrel. His hands were tightly clenched behind his back, and bending over him I could see white knuckles. He was terrified, and his terror made him excel in following my orders.

I pulled the gun back and put it next to my dick, tip of the barrel even with the cockhead. My fleshy rod was longer. Pre-cum glistened in the piss hole and fell in a shiny strand toward the ground. Both barrel and cock entered his mouth. He sucked, his eyes tightly clenched now, his mouth taking the two hard tubes all the way down to my fingers on the trigger guard. I drew back and put the gun on his shoulder, driving my cock back into the grasping hot wet cavity, all the way past the throat barrier until his nose was buried in my dark hair, his nose scratching against the zipper on my pants. He fuck-faced himself until I felt the fires rise dangerously high inside me, and then I pushed him off. He fell sideways.

“Now your ass. Mounted Patrolman Farrell, now your ass. Now you’re really going to be a mounted patrolman, ‘cause I’m going to mount you, going to ride you, going to fuck you. You think you’ve been fucked just ‘cause that kid Brendan fucked you? Now you’re really going to know what it’s like to be fucked. Get on your hands and knees and crawl backwards to me.”

I squatted down while he obeyed, his red-haired ass moving smoothly as he backed to me, the muscles in the thick thighs gliding under the skin.

I put the barrel of the revolver against his asshole.

He stopped, shuddering, when he felt the cold metal. “Oh. God. Ker… Sir. SIR! Please, Sir, please. Are you goin’ to kill me, Sir; please. Sir: please don’t kill me. I’ll do anythin’, Sir. Kerry. Sir, please, please…” He began to sob with terror, choking, tears running from his eyes.

“Kneel up…” I wiggled the barrel against the flesh in the crack.

He obeyed, crying.

“Strip off your torso.”

His fingers fumbled, but soon he was naked except for the britches and shorts bunched at his knees and for his boots.

“Put your hands behind your neck.”

He obeyed.

I pulled the .38 away and stood, walked around him and looked him over. I had seen him many times naked in the barracks and in the shower, but had never dared to take my time and openly check him out, always fearful that some chicken-shit fag-hater would get ideas. I had seen Mike glance more than once at particularly humpy cops, lick his lips when looking at cocks and balls, get partially hard and try to hide it. I was sure he was gay, a closet gay, and now this afternoon was proving it.

Mounted Patrolman Michael Farrell had fiery auburn hair which tumbled about his ears, just exactly regulation length in the back; he must have had it styled every few days to meet the requirements. His eyebrows were brown, his thick moustache the same as his hair. His deep-set eyes were a vivid cornflower blue. His jaw was square. Damn handsome!

His shoulders were thick, his pecs firm and separated by a deep valley, his belly shit! He had a body that just wouldn’t quit. His pecs were covered with the same auburn hair hiding the full nipples, but between the pecs and the pubic jungle he had no body hair at all, his skin smooth and gleaming with sweat in the dappled sun. More jungles grew in his arm pits. His thighs were covered with the red hair which seemed to spring from the burning bush that hid the base of his cock, a cock I knew was somewhat above average when soft… unclipped. Now his cock was hard and nearly as large as mine. The plum-sized head was deep purple, iridescent with a satin texture. He was 180. 6’ even… 27, terrified, weeping, and hard.

Behind him, I dropped to a crouch and pressed the muzzle of the .38 again against his asshole. He shuddered and drew in a deep breath, holding perfectly still. My other hand snaked around his body, feeling the silky smooth, lightly tanned skin, fitted itself over the curved pectorals, brushed the fiery soft mat of hair. I tweaked the nipples gently, teasing them into full erection, glided down over the washboard belly into the jungle of hair that grew below-. The back of my hand smoothed the thick erect stalk as my palm rubbed his lower belly, his rod pointing toward the sky. Then my fingers spread and cupped his hanging balls in their thin-skinned, hairy sac. They dangled six inches below the root of his ivory cock. He shuddered again and gasped. “Kerry, Sir “ and jerked back against me, driving himself upon the cold metal against his ass, forgetting in the sensation of having my hand on his balls that he had a cops .38 against his asshole. His hands jerked apart behind his neck, until he suddenly remembered and stiffened, joining his hands again. His head slumped forward in submission. “Sir,” he said softly. “Sir, you got my balls in your hand and your 38 in my ass, Sir. What are you goin’ to do, Sir? What’re you going to do to me, Sir. Please tell me. Sir.” He was no longer weeping. I nuzzled the metal a little harder against the yielding flesh.

“Do to you?” I asked, just as softly. “Why, Officer, I’m going to fuck you.” And I jabbed the barrel hard against the ring of muscle and forced it inside his body. He cried out and fell forward, catching himself on his hands. He stayed still on his hands and knees, my fingers holding his rising balls, the other hand holding the .38 which was now jammed an inch up his ass. Great, heaving gasps came from deep within his chest, while between them he moaned. “Please, Sir, please, please, please.”

I moved between his legs.

“Did you know Edward the Second of England was murdered by having a red hot poker shoved up his ass?” I poked the barrel another inch inside. “And all you’ve got is two inches of cool metal.” I began to fuck him, working the barrel in and out, the skin of the ring grasping the metal as if it did not want to let it go. With each shove inward and outward came the recurrent groan. “Please, please.” I squeezed his balls harder, twisting them, and he groaned harder. I released the .38, leaving it stuck in his ass, and fisted his cock with my right hand, keeping a grip on his balls with my left. His cock was still as hard as steel; he was terrified and turned on.

I released him and he stayed in that position, not daring to move so long as the .38 was up his ass. My hands roamed his body again, feeling it quiver under my touch. His nipples were erect, blood-filled.

Then I went back to fucking, the barrel going in as deep as it could. We worked out way across the ground to a tree, me always keeping the barrel going in and out of that tight hole, the barrel coming out streaked with sticky white cum and traces of brown shit. At the tree I made Mike stand slowly, keeping the barrel deep inside him, the fist dildo he had never had, one he’d remember a long, long, time. All resistance had drained out of him. There had never been much; my domination had been too sudden for resistance to build up… and he accepted the metal working his ass, even wiggling his butt side to side to met my corkscrew thrusts. He stood with his arms around the tree, hanging on to it, feet apart to give me easy access to the fully exposed and helpless channel. The .38 was meeting no skin resistance now, the way cased by the coating of cum.

Leaving it jabbed in his ass. I undid my buckle and shoved my britches down to my high boots, my straining cock finally exposed to the free air and sun. It’s full length was wet from the juices that had leaked from the sensitive head. I didn’t remember being this hot in a long time; my body seemed to be a furnace in a nuclear reaction, and I didn’t want to waste the imminent cum on the inside of my pants. I jerked the .38 out and shoved my cock clear in without missing a stroke. When Mike felt the larger intruder in his ass he cried out, but bucked back eagerly as he realized the .38 was gone… that my cock was in. He began meeting me thrust for thrust, moaning joyously as the fear of death receded.

Too close to cumming. I stopped all movement. My arms wrapped around his chest, my fingers twined in his hair. My right hand still held the .38 as I worked it between us, forcing it back up his ass next to my cock. Then I began to fuck him with both rods… a double fuck, stretching his hole even wider, opening him up once and for all. What Brendan had begun. I was finishing.

He was stiff again, unresponsive, knowing the barrel was back in his ass, and that wasn’t very pleasurable for me. After a bit I removed the barrel and shoved it into the holster. Only my big prick was left in his hole, and now he was meeting it again thrust for thrust. All my senses were concentrated in my cock, and after a few more strokes I could hold back no longer.

The volcano erupted. I was intoxicated with passion. I plastered myself against the captive cop hanging on to the tree; I bucked and shot: eight, nine, ten full blasts deep into the willing hot channel before the last few weaker spurts found a new home inside Officer Farrell’s body.

All the while I was cumming I was shouting, and he was yelling too, although the intensity of my orgasm made his voice dim to my ears, as if it came from another planet. I pulled loose and fell heavily against a close-by tree for support. Mike followed me, falling next to me, both upright but finding it hard to stand. Mike’s cock was softening, dripping, and I could see the white cum from his load caught in the bark of his tree, running down to the roots. He had shot when I had. Wonder what kind of fertilizer cum makes… thought flashed through my mind for no reason.

I sat on the ground, pulling Mike next to me, centering his mouth over my groin, pushing his mouth down on my cock, working his head up and down while he cleaned it. Seeing his own joint stiffen and get hard again. I worked the .38 out of it’s holster and he cleaned that, too, with his mouth. His cock got fully hard. I bolstered the .38 and snapped the leather shut. I was hard, too.

“You came when I fucked you.”

“Yeah. Kerry, Sir. Yes. Sir. I did. I guess… You turned me on. You turn me on, Sir.”

I patted his shoulder. “Good man, Officer. You just remember that ‘Sir.’ Now, get dressed.”

We both dressed. Mike brushing the leaves and dirt off our uniforms.

“We will continue the discipline at my place on Friday after our shift.”

“Yes, Sir; Friday after our shift.”

I gave him the address. “You will spend the weekend.”

“Yes. Sir.” He grinned.

Mounting our horses, he went his rounds and I went on mine, separate ways. Until Friday.

I wondered if I would ever tell him that the safety on my .38 was in position so it could not have fired. Or if he had figured that out. I thought about Mike Farrell a lot. I wondered if I dared make any long range permanent plans concerning him.

At the stable. I took care of Blaze’s check-in, and in the adjoining barracks I took care of my end-of-shift duties. My uniform needed personal attention after the day’s activities, so I wore it home instead of changing into civvies and leaving it in my locker.

I live with my son in a townhouse I inherited from an aunt, located in Greenwich Village; my former wife, remarried, lives in L. A. My son and I live in the two bottom floors; the two upper floors form one apartment rented to a sympatico tenant couple. I was 17 when my son was born, divorced at 18, given his custody.

I jabbed the ground floor bell five short rings, the signal we use to let whoever is home know who is at the door. Only a second after I rang, the door opened; my son, obeying orders, had been waiting for me.

“Hi. Dad, how’d it go after I left?”

My 15-year-old son was naked, his prick erect and sticking up toward the sky as it always is when I come home to him. The prick fringed by his thick pubic hair, hair I had told him I’d shave off for his 16th birthday. His torso was also beginning to show hair, and he’d probably be as furry on his torso as his dad: pecs, belly, shoulders, back, ass, arms, legs. Like mine, his hair was dark. His face resembled his mother’s, but in a masculine way; his features did not resemble mine, though we had the same black eyes. At 5’ 10” he was only 2” shorter than me. I outweighed him, but he was still a growing boy, growing into a naturally defined muscularity, like his dad. His cock seemed to grow even as I looked at it, day to day.

I tousled his hair as he shut the door before I headed down the hall toward the bedroom; he followed

“Great, Brendan; it went just great. He’s coming over Friday for more discipline. For the weekend.”

“Wow! Did you fuck him, Dad?”

“Yeah. I fucked him real good. He won’t forget it. Friday you can fuck him again.” Brendan’s cock jerked. “And he’ll fuck you.” His cock jerked again. “And I’ll fuck you both. String the two of you up, beat the shit out of both of you.” His cock had a glistening white drop at the piss hole. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, Sir.” and Brendan bent over to kiss my hand. “Does he know about me?”

“Nope. He’ll find that out Friday when you open the door to him, naked and hard, with your leather collar around your neck. That’s when he’ll find out today was a set-up. You did a good job with him, son; I’m proud of you.” He beamed with pleasure. “Come here.” He came to me; I took him in my arms and he enfolded me in his; our lips locked, my tongue exploring his mouth. He sucked on it, dragged it in, trying to get it to the back of his throat. His prick was up against my belly, and mine was trapped inside my britches. He’d take care of mine, but there was no hurry; we had all evening, all night. And we both knew he’d take care of it several times before morning. I slid my hands down his back, cupping his checks, opening the crack, fingering the tight asshole. He moaned, pressured himself closer against my uniform.

I released him and sat in my chair, my blood racing. God! My son intoxicated me! And so, I remembered, had Peace Officer Michael Farrell.

“How many more are left, Dad?”

Brendan sat cross-legged on the floor at my feet, his boy cock thrusting proudly upward between his thighs. He didn’t dare touch it without my permission.

“Three more mounted cops: Martin. Blake, and the new guy, what’s his name—Gordon. We’ll get them before the summer’s over. And then we’ll have had all the interesting mounted cops currently assigned to park detail. But the one I think we’ll keep will be Farrell.

“I like Officer Farrell best. Dad; he’s got a good cock. He really fucked me good. I like his red hair. He’s the only red head you’ve brought.”

“I like Officer Farrell, too. He’s got a lot more to him than a good cock and red hair. In a couple of years you’ll be going off on your own, and that’s as it should be. I know by then you’ll be fully trained to act in any situation, top or bottom. I think maybe Officer Farrell… I think maybe I’d like to have Officer Farrell around here after you’re gone.”

Brendan knell at my feet, hands clasped.

“He’s not goin’ to come between us, is he Dad? I don’t want him to come Friday if he is. You’re not changin’ the rules, it’s still you and me, isn’t it. Dad, please. Dad. Sir?” The words tumbled out.

“It’s still you and me. Brendan. Nothing will change between you and me, son; nothing will change except what changes are natural. Nothing between people remains without changing. Don’t worry. This is all a long way off.” I rubbed his head as he knelt between my legs, his head against my thigh, nose pressed against my great imprisoned cock. “It’s still you and me, Brendan, still you and me, even if others join us. One day it may be you and me and Mike Farrell; one day you and me and Mike and your own special friend or lover. It’ll always be you and me, even if there are others, even if we are separated by miles. I love you, Brendan. I love you! Okay?”

“Okay. Dad.” He grinned up at me. “I love you, too, Dad.”

I grinned back.

“Right now my boots need polishing.”

“Yes, Sir.” and he slipped to the floor, ass up, and bent his boyish head, kissed the left boot, licking clean my leather mounted patrol policeman’s boots, spit-shining them, licking them clean, his red tongue caressing and polishing the leather, just as I had trained him to do a dozen years earlier.

Officer Farrell would spit-polish them on Friday.

There’s nothing like a good spit-polish shine on boots.