There once was a policeman named Laidley Small, who didn’t deserve it. He was a policeman, sure enough, but he wasn’t small.
And he couldn’t get laid.
For months, ever since my return from six months as a hostage of terrorists in Colombia (where I was made to crave a good, stalwart cock and where I became a cum-slut), my life was one sexual adventure after another. I had sex with everybody–from other professors to a few of my students, from my father-in-law to my own father, and practically the whole damned police department.
Everybody except Bobby. Once I learned that my son was gay–the student who laid me on the desk in my own classroom told me he was Bobby’s lover–I was dying to connect with Bobby if he would enjoy a little father-son bonding, a sort of professor & college senior interaction.
And Officer Laidley Small was the key to Bobby’s lock. But I wouldn’t know that until I solved his problem, and I hadn’t even met him yet.
-==(^)==-
After my last class on Thursday, I took the sacred bottle of Jameson’s out of my desk drawer. I took a slug straight from the bottle. Everything is fine. My sex life has taken off deluxe. I was fucking everybody in my family–except my son, damnit! At age 20, Bobby was gay, so the problem was halfway solved already, but somehow he was always busy with this, busy with that. I needed the Irish whiskey to dilute my frustration.
Speaking of sex, though, I had an appointment in Coach Kaugman’s office. We fucked several times a week, and while I preferred to get laid, he was such a pure bottom, he couldn’t get it up to fuck me back, so I plowed him as the only option.
I didn’t mind, really. Kaugman was a man’s man. Forty-five or fifty, he was bald, had a dark mustache, and was built like a football player–with just a touch of paunch. Hairy, too. A pleasure to fuck.
If there is such a thing, he didn’t seem to be the “type” to be a bottom. I could relate, though. The FARC terrorists in Colombia really taught me what my asshole was for, and a combination hole-&-dick orgasm is the mightiest a man can have.
That afternoon we didn’t have the usual hump over his desk, though. He was in a particularly horny mood and wanted the Deluxe Treatment: “Come on over to my apartment, where we can get naked and yell if we want to.”
Hey, I’m all for naked yelling. Once through the door of his apartment, we didn’t even make it to the bedroom. A trail of clothes led from the front door across the carpet to the bedroom door, but there, on the floor, he fell onto his back for me, his legs up high like goalposts, and I’ll be damned if I didn’t throw a touchdown pass into his asshole, sinking it in to my balls.
We fucked for a good 20 minutes before he started his victory dance. “Oh, fuck–yeah–bastard!–ya got me!” He writhed like I was electrocuting him, and his rod splattered me with hot jizz.
As we lay there nibbling and kissing, gradually the conversation turned to sex (of course). I voiced the bottom’s lament–“What can we do, both of us want to get fucked. I’ve been a good sport, sticking it to you when you got horny over seeing my prick, but you know, I wish I could get it up the behind.”
He smiled, got up, and fetched something from under the couch. “Voila!”
He’d pulled out a big, black rubber apparatus that looked like two huge dildos at either end of a black plank. “Got it in Thailand.” He set it down on the carpet. He flexed it; the “plank” was a firm panel of black rubber with two huge dildos at either end. The plank was about an inch thick. The dildos were long and thick, pointing up at the ceiling.
“Nice cocks, but how do you use it?”
“Well, first we have to get mounted.” He grabbed the head of one of the dildos, ported it between his legs, then lowered himself onto it. “Oh, yeah! The glory of a big cock! Makes you know you’re getting fucked.” His eyes closed in bliss as he sank down over the gnarly shaft, finally sitting full on it. “Oh, it feels so good!”
He bounced a little, and finally let out a sharp gasp. “Yeah! There it is!” He looked up at me. “Look at the cock at your end–“
–“My end?”
“Yeah, you’re gonna sit on that one. At the bottom of the shaft you see that big ball-shape? Once that slips inside, it won’t slide back out unless you pull it out.” He smiled. “Like a male dog’s knot. Means you and I can move around without getting ‘un-mounted’–without the cocks coming out of us.” He smiled. “C’mon. Join me.”
I squatted over the second dildo, ported it, and sat down, spreading my legs out over his. I, too, let out a groan. “Oh, fuck, he is a big guy!” When I was fully seated–and wriggled to work the knot inside me–we faced each other, his legs spread around and behind me, my legs spread out and over his. Both our cocks were hard.
He reached for mine; I reached for his. As we stroked each other, I moved to kiss him. mecidiyeköy escort Kaugman smirked as my face moved closer. His finger moved over my lips, tracing the shape. I sucked the finger inside, tonguing it like his cock. “Oh, yeah, yeah!”
He pulled the finger out and closed the distance with his mouth, his tongue tracing my lips like the finger did. I tongued out to lick his upper lip, then the lower, and finally, our mouths came together, begging each other for more stimulation.
My whole body tingled. We both twisted and writhed on the colossal rubber dongs taming us, and Kaugman’s tongue came out and licked the sweat from my skin. When it was my turn, I bent over tightly and sucked one of his nipples. “Oh, man, you are hot,” he hissed, and I glowed with pride.
“Oh, yeah–like you’re–fucking me!” I was panting.
He kissed me again, then gave me a wink. “Watch this.”
He pushed me backward, and as I lowered myself onto my back, the big, black bazooka rotated back with me on its flexible connection. I raised my legs, allowing Kaugman to pull his legs back and move to kneel over me. We were still connected at the ass.
He moved over me, crouching on hands and knees with a “gotcha” look. With another wink, he lurched his hips, rubbing our two cocks together. At the same time, the super dildo inside me moved back and forth. “Angh!–big bastard–fucking me!!”
It was a strange fuck. The angle was a little different–our peckers and family jewels pressed against each other, but hell, it was fucking, and it sure turned us on. When he moved forward, he forced my dildo deeper inside, and when he pulled back, it brought a delicious pain from the pressure on the knot.
It was certainly the weirdest screw of my life, but in only a couple of minutes, the multiple stimulations (kisses, nipple-sucking, crotch-rubbing, and the impossible double-cocks fucking us both) made both of us go off like sticks of dynamite. I went limp under the muscle-bound stud fucking me–“Ah, yeah–fuck me, Kaugman–hot bastard!–even though his fantasy was the opposite: “Angh, Thomas–hot fucker–got me going!”
At the peak of the exhilaration, we held each other tight, our assholes clenching uncontrollably from breeding each other. The spurts of his boiling sperm burned my chest and belly, and I shot mine to mix with his, the occasional gob hitting his belly when my tallywhacker slipped from contact with his.
It was fabulous! I swear to god we had one orgasm! We both shared it! I knew exactly what he was feeling, and he knew exactly what was going through me. We knew each other; we were one body connected by a double-cock! In the frenzy of the blissful madness, I swear I sensed his spunk surging up inside me. I knew that couldn’t be true, but I swear I felt him breeding me! I wrapped my legs around his ass in my ecstasy. I wanted to let my lover know I loved his fucking; I craved his cum in me–or on me as the case may be.
When the mighty climax finally faded, and we purred through a long, long afterglow, he rolled off me, and we lay side-by-side, still connected at the asshole by the magical double-dildo. We kissed. We caressed each other. We teased and played. Finally he murmured, “Wanna disconnect? Have to pull the knots out over our assholes.”
“Mm-mm. I want to stay like this forever.”
He kissed me again. “Me, too.”
Finally, though, I said, “I’ve got to go. All good things must end.”
With a “Yipe!” and an “Ouch!” we pulled the dildo-knots past our rectums and slid out the wonderful rubber toys. “Don’t lose that thing,” I murmured, brushing my lips across his, “best invention since fire.” I limped happily out to my car to drive home.
I even passed a police car and spotted one of “my boys” inside it. A little experiment with concentrated Catuaba oil had rendered almost the entire police department as pecker-loving sluts. Ordinarily I would’ve “pulled him over” for a blowjob, but I was too fucked out.
-==(^)==-
No good deed goes unpunished, however, and every homosexual police department comes back to haunt you.
The next day I got a phone call at my university office. The town’s chief of police politely requested me to visit him at the police station.
My blood ran cold. He spoke so carefully and so politely, I knew he was performing for whatever university recorders (or recorders at the police station) were making tapes of what he said.
When I was pissed off at the police department for manhandling my son, I unleashed the powers of concentrated Catuaba on them. The near-magical herb from the Amazon had turned me into a cum-slut cocksucker while I was held captive by Colombian terrorists, and once home, puttering with some plants I grew from seeds, I developed a sort of concentrated “Instant Bottomizer” oil.
When I met the police beşiktaş escort chief, and he shook my hand (in a Catuaba-soaked glove), he got a palm full of the oil, and only a few minutes later I bum-fucked him over his own desk. And he begged me to do it again.
The end, of course, was that I bottomized nearly ever member of the police department’s patrol officers. Only the office staff were still “straight,” theoretically, but then, who really knew?
The climax, of course, was that my cum-hungry sex-slaves were assigned as the “property” of the very college students they’d roughed up. After that I didn’t know what happened to them. I suppose some of them were “freed” by their student owners. I didn’t know if they still craved to trade their manhood for a guy’s cock up their asses–didn’t know how long the effects of Catuaba would last. It seemed to be permanent with me–my boner was still as long as it had grown in the jungle, and I still loved to get fucked.
Enough time had passed that I worried the police chief might have regained some of his moxie and would hold a grudge. I gulped. Maybe he found some law they can stick me with. Like income tax for Al Capone.
But when I entered his office, he got up and held out his hand. Oh, shit, is he trying to get me back? Is anything coating his palm? But what the hell. I shook his hand.
Didn’t feel anything strange.
“Mr. Thomas, sir, we need your help.”
“Uh, sure. What can I do?”
He moved behind me to lock his office door. “First thing you can to is give me that monstrous, nasty cock of yours.” He pulled open his belt, dropped his blue pants, and bent over his desk. “C’mon and fuck me, and I’ll tell you what we need while you show me who’s boss.”
Another guy you wouldn’t think of as a bottom, the police chief–name of Smith–was about 50, crew-cut, craggy, lean face. Had a scar over his left cheek. A knife fight?
Like most cops, he was in excellent shape. Big muscles. Not terribly tall, though, about five-foot-eight or nine.
But there he was, bent over and spread for me. Damn, with such an invitation, to refuse might be a form of Resisting Arrest.
He wasn’t hard to enter. He’s done some practice. His man-pussy was flexible and eager. It clenched around me as I slid in, and he groaned. “Oh, yeah, you’re the boss, all right.”
As I thrust, he explained his problem, or tried to: “Agh, yeah–there, right there–Ah, yes!–Tell you what–we need–Oh, shit!–you to–switch over–ah, fuck, yeah!–our new guy!”
I reached under and pinched his nipples. “Oh, fuck!–Oh, shit, yeah!–Harder! Harder!!–New guy–fuckin’ big–he–rape us all–once–finds out–we all cum-sluts!”
I didn’t understand a lot more of what he said; my balls had their own agenda, and an orgasm was on me. I don’t think he made a lot of sense, either, about then. His legs trembled, and his breath came in gasps.
Blam! He beat me. His jizz spurted out over his desk–made me a little proud, really, I fucked him into a climax–but the very idea pushed me over the edge, and I bred the police chief like another of my harem. I wondered what he told his wife when he got home smelling of semen.
Anyway, when he finally calmed down enough to tell me his problem, it turned out he had a new cop, an Officer Laidley Small, who, if he was telling the truth, was a male god. He gave me the address of Small’s radar trap that day, so I went home, coated my driver’s license with Catuaba-oil, pulled on my gloves, and took off.
-==(^)==-
When I went roaring past the black the cop was so titanic he blocked out the sun.
Damn, a fucking monster! Huge! Like Superman! Damn, even to the black hair and a curl over his forehead! And a build like a–he was right!–a male god! Not an ounce of fat, strong sinews stood out in his arms–damn, and also his neck! His blue uniform shirt stretched tight over him, and it was probably an XXL. His badge jutted out at the tip of a big–and I mean big–pectoral muscle.
“Can I see your license and registration, please?” He stuck out a paw the size of a pizza platter.
Staring straight forward, trying not to look suspicious, I held up the card in my gloved hand, and he snatched it away. Damn, he’s so big, I wonder if it will have enough effect!
I watched in the mirror as he went back to the squad car and got in. Now, if it works on him, he’ll soon be falling out of the car trying to jack off.
Nope. In the mirror I saw him get out of his cruiser and come walking back to my car. Oh, shit. Still in control of himself. Is he fighting it but still able to walk? Maybe his huge size needed a little more oil.
He bent down to my window. His eyes look blank enough, though, like he’s drunk. He didn’t say anything. Could he be under the influence, after all? I risked: “You wanna suck etiler escort my cock?”
He looked astonished.
Oh, shit, what have I done?
Then he astonished me: “Are you serious? Pull it out!”
Oh, shit, he’s not acting like all the rest. I gulped. Might as well roll with it and see what happens. I pulled open my zipper and brought out the Jungle Monster. It was hard and virile. It didn’t know (or care) what was going on outside.
He pulled open my car door and dropped to his hands and knees–he was such a tall fucker, he had to get down low to be on the level of my cock. Hands under the car, he bent his head down and glommed onto my phallus like it was a water fountain at the end of Death Valley.
What a sight. Probably the biggest man I’d ever seen in my life was on his mighty hands and knees, bobbing his head up and down on my pole like he’d won the lottery. Pro technique, too. Deep-throated me with every lunge. And contented murmurs: “Mmmm, mmmm, mmmmm.”
The cop-breaking routine didn’t feature my cumming down his throat–my technique had been to seal the deal by fucking the guy bent over my car, so I cleared my throat. “Ahem! I’ve got a better place to dump my load. Get up, I’m going to fuck you!”
He backed off. “Yeah, oh, fuck, yeah!” He stood up and unfastened his gun belt.
He was wearing gloves.
It hit me: Ohmigod. The Catuaba didn’t touch him!
But there he was, pants pulled down to his knees, leaning over my car, legs spread. “C’mon, do it! Fuck me!”
Incredible experience. He was so fucking gigantic, his legs so much longer than mine, I couldn’t reach. “Get on the ground, get on the ground!” Damn, I’m growling cop language!
Instantly he dropped once more to hands and knees, and I crawled on. His ass-ring squeezed my dong as it sank in, and I had momentary worries about an asshole in a monster this strong, a rectum so powerful it could snap off my cock.
But it didn’t. He let out such moans and groans of happiness that I knew this titanic monster was a genuine, from the balls up, bottom. “Fuck me, man, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!”
Damn, he was hot, so horny he dropped his head and chest into the dirt, spreading his arms out wide–which tipped his ass up, giving me a perfect angle, and I sank in every last millimeter, grinding my balls against his. He growled and groaned, puffing into the dirt, raising clouds of dust.
When I cummed in him, I pushed him into his own orgasm (my specialty) and his own pecker shot cop-spunk so hard the globs splattered off the ground, picking up pebbles and dust, and rattled against the car.
When it was all done, I lay on him, panting and spent, and heard his deep, bass voice: “Thank you, man. You saved my life.”
Damn. Never got a compliment like that.
As he got up and pulled up his pants, dirt all over his uniform and his face, he told me he had a bottle of Jack Daniels under the seat of his car. “For medicinal purposes, you understand.” He invited me to sit with him in his car and get acquainted. Said he didn’t want to lose track of me. Wanted me to do him again. A regular.
I couldn’t believe my ears. But what he told me in the car was even farther out.
“I don’t quite know how to put this, but, hell, I’ll just say it: I’ve got problems. Such a weight on my shoulders, I don’t know if I can bear it. Everything about me is wrong. Hopeless.”
Damn, what do I say to that? I let him go on.
“I look at myself in the mirror, and I want to smash the glass. I mean, it pisses me off! I stand 6’4″, and I weigh 285 pounds. I made the terrible mistake of taking up weightlifting when I was a kid (before I realized how muscles would work against me), and now my chest is 58″, my biceps 22″ around, and I’ve got 30″ thighs. I can’t win–I have to exercise to keep fit; I can’t let all that turn into flab.”
By then I was truly shut up. What in hell is he talking about??
He reached down, unzipped himself, and out of those blue pants fetched a colossal hose. I hadn’t seen it clearly while I was on his back fucking. Son of a bitch! A monster. Thick as my ankle. His jockstrap must be cast iron. And still soft, it would hang halfway to his knee. He continued speaking:
“Even worse, I’m hung”–No shit!–“I’ve heard horny women say they look at a man’s hands. The legend is that a man’s penis is as long as the distance from the heel of his hand to the tip of his middle finger. My hand is 13½ inches long. They also say “big feet = big cock. I wear a size 13½ shoe.”
“But–but how is this a problem?” Fuck, he really is nuts!
He looked at me, pain all over his face. “Look at it this way: I ‘outdo’ anybody in the shower room. Longer. Thicker. Bigger foreskin. Balls twice as big as anybody else’s. I have physical superiority, and it’s frustrating. I could beat my fists against the wall.” He looked into my eyes. “Because I’m gay.”
“Uh, about the police department, there’s a little something you should kn–“
–“I’m dying here, and nobody will help me! I’m a bottom, and nobody will take me! Even when I find a man who’s gay, he always expects me to be the guy on top. You see my problem? I can’t get laid! You’re the first guy to fuck me since I moved here!”