Motorcycle Cop Turns Bi

by Coxswain

A phyiscally larger cop was lured into suck the cock of his wife's ex-lover and he submit even more by receiving the larger endowed younger man's seed from his rear end.

I had just closed escrow on a house I found in Manhattan Beach, a better part of Los Angeles County than my old digs--closer to the beach. I spent the day moving in my furniture, and as the sun went down, to celebrate I drove to a restaurant I saw on Sepulveda Boulevard. I sat at the bar and ordered a Knob Creek and soda--a little 100 proof whiskey was just what I needed.

I took a sip and looked around--and almost choked. Damn! That's Camille. I hadn't seen her since the divorce. She sat at a table across the room, looking the other way. I set my drink down and gave her the once-over. Fine. Still fine.

We hadn't gotten along in daily life, but the nights, oh, the nights. Fucking her was violent, a horny struggle. Her pussy was the storming, furious eye of a hurricane. Hurricane Camille.

Camille could outshine any Hollywood starlet. Long, blonde hair. A body that beyond any horny description in a porn book. And that pussy. My cock stiffened from the memories.
 
I picked up the whiskey and walked over. "Hello, Camille. Long time no see."
 
She was startled. "Grant! What are you doing here?"
 
"Got a promotion. Decided to move closer to the beach."
 
"But here? Manhattan Beach? That's where I live--"
 
"--Hey, how could I know where you'd gone. I guarantee I didn't move here to stalk you!"
 
She smiled. "Yes. That was a long time ago." She sipped her drink. "Did you get married again?"
 
"Nope. Footloose and fancy free."
 
She giggled, then murmured almost to herself: "This is incredible. This is going to blow his mind." She looked up at me. "You remember the good times we had?"
 
"Do I? Why'd we ever break up? I'm getting a hardon just thinking about what you can do in a bedroom."
 
She smiled, and her voice dropped to a low, sultry moan. "How'd you like to do that again? Sit down, Grant."
 
That caught me by surprise. I sat across from her. "I thought, uh, you said you were, uh, you know, married." Under the table, she put her hand on my crotch. "Oh, yes, I remember this big thing. You kept me sore, you bad boy." She squeezed my bulge, and my cock strained to straighten out. She looked up into my face and smiled. "My husband and I want a threesome. You want to get into a threesome with us?"
 
I choked again on my drink. "A threesome?? Two men and a woman? Is he--"
 
"--Gay? Bi? Nope. He's straight. Just wants to watch. I've been telling him for a long time that I need a little more variety, and he finally said yes as long as he can watch."
 
Did that ever sound familiar. Camille and I broke up because she could never keep her legs shut. She fucked everybody in the neighborhood. But she caught me one day fucking one of those same neighbor guys. For some odd reason, she took offense that I should be bi and fucking her tricks, and the argument escalated into divorce.
 
Asking for a ménage a trois, therefore, was not a surprise, coming from Camille. I thought about it: What's the harm? I would love to get some of that boiling pussy. A heavy session with Camille always left me walking funny the rest of the day.
 
"Yeah," I said quietly. "I'd like that. When do you want to do it?"
 
"Right now. Come home with me. I've already arranged this with him."
 
"Yeah." I smiled, "Like old times."
 
She squeezed my crotch again. "Let's hope this big thing hasn't grown old."
 
We left the restaurant. She drove off in her car, and I followed in mine. Camille lived on the other side of Manhattan Beach--farther from the water. She pulled into the driveway, and I parked out front. She hurried into the house, leaving the door open. I followed, my dick getting harder with every step.
 
Nice place. Not ritzy, but nice. She was behind the bar, mixing drinks. "Take a seat on the couch. My husband will be home in a few minutes. His shift is just about over."
 
As I sat down, I looked over at her. "What does he do?"

Instead of answering, she pulled open her blouse, showing me those gorgeous tits, and my mind went blank. All our years apart dropped away as I got up and hurried over to her, knocking over a glass as I grabbed those flame-throwers and thumbed her nipples into hard bullets. Oh, the memories came rushing back as I bent down to take a big nipple into my mouth.
 
"Ah, God, yeah! Grant, you were always good with my tits!"
 
A touch of sanity cut through my lust-haze. "Shouldn't we wait for your husband?"
 
As if on cue, a key clicked in the lock, the door opened, and in stepped God. A huge man, a giant--almost had to stoop to get through the door--and as he stepped into the room, my blood froze in my veins. He wore the silver motorcycle helmet with a blue stripe, the mirror sunglasses, the .45 pistol, and the khaki summer uniform with the fucking shiny badge of the California Highway Patrol! A motorcycle cop!

The ceiling was falling in. Ohmigod. Caught like a fucking rat! A true monster, the man had to be at least 6'5" and built like a Sherman tank. The sunglasses hid his eyes, but he had a square jaw, a broad nose, and a mouth in a dangerous sneer. "So he's the one?" A voice like a cement mixer full of gravel.

I was looking death in the face. I glanced around for a window, a back door, anything. I'll be lucky to live through this.

Hey, I'm no wimp; I'm 6 feet tall and weigh 198. I work out at the gym and go jogging three times a week. But compared to Man Mountain, I was a Boy Scout. He'll kill me without even trying. And he's going to try. I couldn't see his eyes through the mirror sunglasses, but I saw his clenched fists. Caught me flat-footed. Alone with his wife.
 
I glanced over at her. Sweet revenge, is it, Camille, you bitch? The damned slut had tricked me in there to be killed by her cop husband. Set me up by baring her tits.

She smiled back. "Grant, this is my husband, Harley."

Harley? Harley the motorcycle cop? If I wasn't scared shitless, I would've laughed. Poor guy probably got a good ribbing in CHP locker rooms. --but no, anybody who laughed at Harley the Hulk would be lucky to get away with only a broken jaw.

He took off the mirror sunglasses and the helmet. Marine Corps buzz-cut brown hair and--Jesus!--black, soul-less eyes like a shark. Oh, God, this is going to be bad. He glared at me, his giant biceps flexing, stretching the short sleeves of his uniform. He opened his mouth for another growl--Here it comes. I'll hear how I'm going to die--"Wife's been tellin' me for a long time she wants to try a threesome. I guess you're the one we do it with."

I couldn't believe my ears. Knock me over with a feather.

But he wasn't smiling. He stared into my face, eyes unblinking, like a lion looking at a trapped impala. "I'll go along with it," he growled. "Whatever she does with another man, I get to watch." It was exactly the same tone of voice, the same fury he would use to say, "Ya gotta ask yourself one question: 'Do I feel lucky?' Well, do ya, punk?"
 
He went on. Same murderous voice: "So, you gonna fuck my wife while I watch?" Oh, shit, this can't be real. It's a trick. The second I say anything about fucking her, he'll tear my guts out.
 
He turned to Camille, staring at her bared titties. "I see you got started without me." Breathing hard, I moved slowly from behind the bar, calculating how long it would take him to unsnap the trigger-guard on his holster and if I could make it to the door before he could pull out the .45. He glared at me, then reached over the bar to tweak Camille's nipples. Now's the time. He's distracted. But he looked up at me. "Why don't we all strip down?"
 
Huh? Do what? Frozen stiff, I stared as he unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it on the counter. Ohmigod! Massive chest. Like a battleship. Turrets of muscle. Shoulders like a freeway bridge. The white undershirt stretched over his chest so tight it outlined every muscle, even his nipples jutting out. Everything in Super-size. He must weigh over 250 pounds!

Superman in a CHP uniform. Batman with a motorcycle helmet. I gulped. He was pure sirloin, but I was about to be hamburger.
 
He growled at me. "Well?"

I began to inch toward the door, unbuttoning my shirt. He unbuckled his gun belt and dropped it on the bar then unbuckled his belt and pulled open those tight tan pants. Damn! Hips like a granite statue. Okay, now's the time to make my break. His pants are down, and I've only unbuttoned my shirt. Then he pulled down his jockstrap. I fully expected to see a cock like a shotgun, but--I'll be damned!--the giant stallion had only about six inches, maybe seven. Hey, nothing to be ashamed of, but nothing to brag about, either, but certainly not to the scale of his gigantic body.
 
I got a shot of adrenalin. It's as simple as this: when I crawled out of the gene pool, I had a prize cock: the inches, the diameter, the sexy foreskin. Even as a kid I had a cock that always won me admiring glances in the showers, and although Officer Harley could toss me around like a rag doll, I still had the biggest cock in the room.

I don't know what came over me, but I put off the Big Escape for a minute or two. I just had to show him.

I unbuckled and shucked down my pants, then yanked down my shorts. Camille got me hard, but the terror of her husband had "retracted" me, so I had to show soft. But no problemo. Hey, I've got eight inches soft, big around as his can of Mace.
 
He noticed. Stared, in fact. Gazed at my cock like he'd never seen one before, and damn, I started to harden up.

Camille was the first to speak. "God," she hissed, "I forgot how big that thing is!"

Bad move. He jerked around to look at her. "Forgot??"
 
Oh, shit, now she's going to get it. But she smiled at him. "Grant is my ex-husband. We were divorced two years ago."
 
Harley's turn to look stunned. "Ex-husband? You mean you've already--"
 
Suddenly my neck was in the noose again. "No," I yelped, "I just happened to see her in a bar on Sepulveda, and--well, she said--you wanted to--" Oh, shit, I'm digging myself in deeper! Harley croaked like a horny tuba, "Okay, Ex, let's see you fuck her."
 
Again, I couldn't believe my own ears. Camille reached out and took my hand. While Harley and I were watching each other drop trou, she had stripped down to the buff, ready to play. She pulled me after her toward the bedroom. This is one for the books. The biggest fucking cop in the whole world wants to watch me fuck his wife! Just before we reached the bed, Camille suddenly turned around to face me, dropped to her knees, and Oooh! her mouth glommed around my cockhead, and both her hands gripped the shaft, jacking me as she sucked away. I groaned and lurched my hips. Oh, yes! Harley moved past me to sit on the bed, staring at his wife slurping at my cock. Staring like he was hypnotized. Moving closer and closer until his face was inches from Camille's drooling mouth. His own mouth hung open in lust. Harley was horny. Hard dick. Seven stiff inches eager to Protect and Serve.

And no signs of aggression.

I was "okay" (so far), but the whole situation was so fucking surrealistic, I had trouble getting up a full hardon. But the longer she sucked me and the deeper I sank into her throat, the more I warmed up, and soon I was at a full-on throb. But Camille astonished me again. Without warning, she backed off my cock, leaving a long string of her spit and my precum dribbling from her lips.

She grabbed the back of Harley's head, pulled him closer to me, and pushed my cockhead against his lips! Oh, fuck, don't! No! Now I do get killed! He struggled against her, but to my astonishment, it was a "show-struggle." He could have batted her away like a mosquito, but he gasped in a hoarse whisper. "No! I ain't no gay! I can't!"
 
"Come on, Harley, my love, you know you want to." She pulled his face closer again. "Go on, Harley, suck it!"
 
"No! Please! I'm not queer! Don't make me!"
 
I watched in amazement. "Please?" "Don't make me?" No way in hell could she "make" him do anything. He outweighed her by at least 125 pounds, and he could sweep her away with his index finger. Nothing could have made him move closer to my cock--but he was moving. Slowly. Hesitantly. As if her hand on the back of his head was more than he could withstand.
 
"No, no, I can't! Don't make me! Please don't! I'm no fairy! Arggh!" His voice dissolved into a hoarse, animal gargle, his jaws opened wide, and he took my cockhead into his mouth. "Mmmmf!"

Delirious, unbelieving, I rammed it to the back of his throat, his lips tight around it all the way and my eyes clenched in ecstasy. The biggest CHP motorcycle cop in LA County is sucking my cock! I had to see him. I had to see this happening. I opened my eyes and looked down.

His mouth was in a big O around my cockshaft--I'm about three inches thick--and his eyes were closed. He liked it!

The whole, goddamned experience was so supernatural, it could have blurred over the sex, but the idea, the very idea of a huge highway patrolman unable to keep himself from sucking my cock pushed my button so hard I shot straight to the climax. Before I knew it, Blam! Oh, God, oh, Jesus! The pleasure was so intense I blacked out for a couple of seconds, but I got him! I cummed so hard I could feel the jism shooting out in globs stretching the vesicles in my nuts like baseballs blasting through a garden hose. The big cop choked as a gush of traffic-ticket revenge surged down his throat.
 
And he swallowed. I thought a straight guy, even one somehow blackmailed by his wife into sucking somebody's cock, would spit it out afterward, but every drop went down his throat--I saw him gulping. It was wonderful, incredible, mind-blowing. My knees were weak. I would never forget this.
 
When my softening cock finally slopped out of his mouth, he was blushing! Pure embarrassed. Redder than a drunk. "Oh, my God," he groaned, "what have I done?"
 
Suddenly I saw the potential, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. The ball was in my court. I've turned out a few guys before, and I knew the signs. I knew what he had to admit, what he had to hear: "You, my big cop, just sucked my cock, ten hard inches of reckless driver. You are a cocksucker." He hung his head.
 
I reached down to his chin and lifted up his face. "You're hot. You can suck cock like a pro." Some drools of jism oozed from the side of his lips. "Is that my sperm? Why, yes it is. You liked sucking my cock, didn't you?"
 
He blushed even redder.

"Didn't you?"
 
His voice was a hiss. "Yeah."
 
"Say it. Say it out loud."
 
"Okay, so I sucked your cock! I ain't gay!" His voice sounded like a panther's growl, scaring me again--I can still get maimed if this brute repents.
 
I risked it all. I shoved my soft dick against his lips--Please, God, don't let him back away from it "Want to suck it again? Get me hard again?"

He didn't move. Oh, shit.
 
I rubbed it back and forth on his lips. "You're a cocksucker now, you know. Can't change that. Might as well enjoy it."
 
It worked. After thinking a moment--Yeah, it's true, cop. Welcome to the world of cocksuckers--he closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and sucked me in, nursing on my soft cock, getting it harder.

"Yeah, that's it. You know you like it."
 
He backed off me, and the growl was back: "This don't mean I'm a queer! I'm just doing it this once!"
 
Good sign. The right answer--What I am now doing does not mean I'm less of a man. "Yeah, but you've already sucked my cock twice." I looked into those black, scary eyes. "You want to suck it again? Tell me."

He made a choking sound, almost like a sob. "All right, all right, I'll suck it. Lemme suck it." He looked up at me. "I'll suck your cock," he hissed, "just tonight! Don't you tell anybody!"
 
YES! I was fully hard again, and when I brought my cock closer to his face, he glommed onto it eagerly. Success! Something had clicked inside him. He had crossed a line he thought impossible. With one hand he cupped my balls, and I knew it: I was going to turn this big cop. He had crossed one line, but I was going to break him completely.
 
"Hey, how about me?" Damn. Camille wanted attention. As I turned to her, I got an inspiration! Maybe I can use this bitch to take him by surprise. I fell back onto the bed, already hard from Harley's surrendering mouth. "Think you can ride this bucking bronco, baby?"
 
With a groan, she crawled over to me, straddled me, and guided my cock to her drooling snatch. "Oh, yeah, oh, yeah, baby! I've really missed this big thing!"

I glanced over at Harley. He winced. A stab like that from your wife can hurt.

Too bad. He had a decent cock, nothing like mine, but a good size. Nothing to wince about. Camille was a cruel bitch. But it didn't matter. Before this night was over, I was going to change Harley's point of view. He wouldn't give a shit about Camille any more.

Moaning and panting, Camille lowered herself onto my throbbing pole. "Oh, baby," she squeaked, "it's so goddamned big! It hurts! I remember that hurt. God, it turns me on!" She skewered herself on me in short jerks, followed by long pauses to let her long-unaccustomed pussy adjust to the stretch. For my part, I lay back, my hands behind my head, looking up at the horny woman impale herself.
 
Slowly, slowly, uttering little whimpers of pain, and stopping suddenly when the stretch hurt too much, she lowered herself, and after a long, horny process, her clit ground into my pubic hair, and I was in her to the hilt. She fell forward onto me, squashing those wonderful tits onto my chest, groaning like feeding time at the hog trough. She lurched herself on me, fucking in short jabs, then she rose up to sit again, enjoying the deeper penetration. "Ahh, God, I love this."
 
She raised and lowered herself on my pleasure-rod, sighing and panting, groaning wordless sounds, her eyes shut as the orgasms played over her face: "Aaaah," then a minute later, "Ohh, oh, God," and still later, "Oh, oh, oh--YES!"

Meantime, Harley had scrambled over to kneel beside her on the bed, and finally he leaned over to kiss his copulating wife, sucking on her tongue while she moaned with each hit on her G-spot. With his back to me, I could admire Harley's ass. Damn. Two granite boulders. Legs like beef haunches. With Camille in ecstasy, I reached over and ran my fingers up and down Harley's ass-crack. With a moan into Camille's mouth, he reached down to stroke himself. I worked a finger into his asshole. He gave a surprised lurch of his hips, and I heard him gasp through his kiss, but he didn't move away or struggle. I worked the finger in deeper, and he moaned again.
 
Once I was finger-fucking him, I worked in a second finger. Again the surprised lurch, the pause to "get used to it," and the lust-drunk moan. Then I got him with three fingers. Same response. In fact, his hips were lurching back against my fucking fingers.
 
Still iron-hard and slopping in and out of Camille, I took a deep breath. Although Harley had sucked my cock, what I planned next for him could easily turn out to be the last thing I ever did.
 
I pushed Camille over the edge into another orgasm, gave her a few good afterglow strokes, then pulled out and shoved her to the side. "Now it's Harley's turn! On your back, Harley. Camille, get ready!"

Weak from her climaxes, she knelt there, eyes dull with lust, not knowing what to do. Harley looked confused, too, but he lay back and spread his legs, his cock jutting up hard and ready. Finally catching on, Camille moved over to impale herself on him, but before she could, I nudged her aside, grabbed Harley's mighty legs, lifted them up high, and pushed my cockhead against his asshole, pressing against it, nudging it open, shoving it to spread wider.

This was the game point. He could still change his mind (and break my back), but Harley was lust-drunk, drunk enough that (I prayed) his craving would be strong enough to let me in.

 

"No! No you can't do this!" Oh, shit! but he spread his legs even wider, and as I pressed my cock against his pucker, reaching my fingers down to his nipples, he didn't struggle. He gasped, wide-eyed, open-mouthed. It had to hurt; his virgin ass would have a big stretch to get my cock inside. But I was slimy with Camille's juices, so in a few seconds, and with a sharp yelp, Harley let me in--my cockhead popped inside his rectum.

 

It was the hottest thing I ever did. I got the cherry of a goddamned CHP motorcycle cop! The muscle-bound monster spread his legs for me! Fucking Harley was unlike a score on anybody else. It was like mounting a Caterpillar tractor, like sticking my cock up the tailpipe of a monster truck.

 

I was so lust-drunk, with a simple tightening of my ass, I would have gone over the falls, climaxing just from entering Harley's incredible asshole. In self-defense (hell, I didn't want it to end so soon) and knowing the pain he was going through, I held still, letting him get used to my size, letting his ass-muscle stretch out.

 

And letting it sink into his brain: 1. I am a cocksucker. 2. A man is fucking me. 3. I am no longer a virgin.

 

And the most important of all: 4. I am no longer straight.

 

I lowered myself onto his chest, staring into his eyes. He groaned, shivering, arching his back. His voice was a hiss. "Ah, God, that hurts."

 

"It gets better," I whispered. "The worst is over. Just hold on a minute. You'll see." I pushed again, slipping him a couple more inches. He caught his breath again, but his body didn't stiffen like at first. I gave him more inches until I was in him to the balls, and then I knew I had him. If he hadn't thrown me off while busting his cherry or during the first in-thrust, I knew from then on he would be in my power.

 

I began the out-stroke, which (I remembered from my first time) is the beginning of the ecstatic feelings a man can get from his asshole--his pain was in the first stretching, but once open and skewered on my cock, the sensation in his ass became a delicious pleasure, a slimy friction, like the bow playing over a horny, sweating, male violin.

 

Sure enough, as I pulled back, he flinched but then began to groan, "Yeah--don't hurt so bad now, it--it don't hurt--don't hurt--oh, Jesus!--it feels good!" Then I started fucking him for real. Faster, deeper, rougher.

 

Soon we both were panting, and as the frenzy grew, I grunted to him "Something else, man: I got your cherry. Your ass is mine. You will never forget this day. Nothing will ever erase it. You will never forget me--and that you are my bitch."

 

He stiffened at that, and for a second I thought I might have just shot myself in the balls, but gradually he relaxed. Lightning-bolts of a new pleasure were streaking through his body. I remembered that first feeling: he was discovering the mind-blowing ecstasy a man can get from his asshole (who knew?) and the incredible pleasure he could get from another man. "Ahh, God," he groaned in the long, deep, husky song we all have sung.

 

From then on it was like fucking a furnace, hotter and hotter. Sweating like a marathon-runner, Harley grunted like his wife did, hunching his ass back against me, gripping the sheet in two mighty fists. As the tension built, I wondered if he might be about to cum. His cock was hard as an iron stake, and--I'll be damned!--as I watched, his grunts arched up into a loud yell that sounded almost like panic, and he lurched up with his hips, almost catapulting me off him (but not quite).

 

I could read his eyes. His civilization was crashing down, buildings collapsing, people screaming, everything he knew going up in the gigantic fire between his legs. As he looked up at me, he was begging, clutching, lost in the atomic explosion in his crotch, grasping at me as his only hope in the apocalypse he was going through. No LA earthquake ever shook him like this.

 

With a scream like an attacking lion, he shot the biggest jet of sperm I have ever seen, an ejaculation so long it splattered up his chest, over his face, and onto the pillow beyond. And he had not touched himself.

 

His head dug back into the pillow as he moaned in ecstasy and the joy of discovery. Still I lunged away at him, sealing him as mine forever. I never had such a horny partner, such a natural stud, such a male god. Once he got over the initial pain, he fucked me back like a West Hollywood pro--making me wonder if he was indeed a total innocent. He was just too fucking good!

 

But he had to complete his first fucking, had to get his first breeding. I thrust into him with all my might, rearranging his guts, wowing his asshole out to a size convenient for future lovers.

 

He was beyond belief. Multiple orgasms. Never knew a man who could do that. After cumming once in the mile-long sperm stream, he rode with me as I fucked my way to my climax, and when I finally got my nut, jammed it in all the way, and held in deep, he let out another long groan, "Yeah, yeah! Do it! Breed me! Knock me up!" Breeding Harley was a pleasure-blast that had me seeing stars, but as I went out of my mind, I saw the big stud shot out another burst of sperm. Again without jacking himself!

 

After shooting my load deep into his guts, I fell forward onto the mighty body--and splatted into the big mess of cop-spuzz on his belly. Slumped onto him in exhaustion, still with my cock up his ass, I heard him moan, "Oh, my God, that was hot."

 

Breathing hard, we lay quietly for a while, calming down. Finally I crawled forward on him and kissed and nuzzled his ear, pulling my softening cock out of his ass. He murmured, "God, I'm gonna miss that." Good answer, good answer. He's signed the Agreement. As I nibbled his earlobe, I swear to God he let out a sound like a purr. I wallowed on the huge body, slick with our sweat and his semen, the bulges of his hard muscles like a set of hard leather pillows.

 

Camille sat with her back against the headboard. She smiled down at Harley with a sly expression, and I wondered. Camille was one devious bitch. We divorced for a thousand reasons; one was that I caught her playing the slut with the neighbors. Another was that she caught me fucking one of those same neighbors. But still another was that Camille was a complicated, scheming, untrustworthy grifter.

 

In all the time we were married, I never knew what she was thinking, and in the end, I knew I couldn't go on. I was her meal ticket, not her lifetime partner.

 

Somehow Camille had set up Harley for this conversion. I wasn't sure if she had looked for me personally; maybe I was just a happy coincidence, but I was sure she had done this for a reason and not because she wanted strange cock. I looked down at him. Harley lay with his eyes closed, his mind no doubt crashing through a hundred ceilings as he shot skyward, above the macho prison that had always caged him. Finally seeing himself as he really was. Camille had something planned for him, and somehow I knew it was not going to be good.

 

I nibbled at his ear again. "What are you thinking, Harley?"

 

His voice was soft. Very deep, but soft. "A hell of a lot has changed for me."

 

"You sorry?"

 

"Don't know yet. God, is my world different--but right now I've never felt so goddamned pleasured."

 

I nibbled his ear again. "What are you, Harley?"

 

"What do you mean?"

 

I licked his ear. "What are you?"

 

He paused for a long moment, let out a big sigh, and growled, "A cocksucker." Long pause. "I liked it when you did me. You made me your bitch." He lifted me off him like lifting weights and looked in my face. "I'm your bitch." As he said that, his hips suddenly lurched, and I felt a spurt of something hot and wet across my belly. He groaned, "Ahh, God, I did it again! I cummed just from saying that!" He rolled back and forth, wallowing me in his spermy muck. "Jesus, I really am yours." Never had I turned a man so completely.

 

He looked down at me. "Okay, man, want to fuck your bitch again?"

 

I rolled off. "Later, Harley. I'm all fucked out for the moment." I squeezed his thigh. "But I'm gonna have you every way but Sunday. I'm gonna teach you everything you can do to please your man,"--he wriggled his ass--"and I'm gonna fuck you so silly, you'll be bowlegged." He let out a soft groan.

 

I glanced over at Camille, still with that Cheshire-cat smile. "I think we just turned a big corner for you, Harley," she said as she patted his head. Somehow her smile made my blood run cold. I felt sorry for the poor guy.

 

The evening was at an end. Somehow I knew that Camille's plan had been fulfilled, and that Harley's life would not only never be the same, I had no doubt she had something in mind that would turn the big man's life into hell.

 

I pulled on my clothes, and Harley, still naked, walked me to the door. At the doorway, I turned to him, took him in my arms--holding him around the belly, no way could I reach around his shoulders. He bent his head, and we kissed. God, what a kiss. I have kissed men and women before, but lightning bolts never cracked between us. God, this is heavier than I dreamed! Suddenly I realized, and I realized we both realized, that we were attached. This big monster wanted to be my bitch, and I wanted to be his top. We had found our mates.

 

We exchanged phone numbers. That night he called and told me to meet the next night at so-and-so intersection, and we began a clandestine series of traffic stops:

 

On a dark, moonless night, I would drive through a backstreet of warehouses and chain link fences near the docks. I often cruised that neighborhood checking to make sure my security guards were doing their jobs. But on special nights I would spot the flashing blue lights of the police in my mirror. A motorcycle cop was busting me.

 

I pulled over beside an old building, a dark place where the streetlight was broken. The cop got off his motorcycle and a moment later peered in my window. Damn, he was big. Blacked out the stars. "May I see your driver's license and insurance, sir?"

 

I handed him my license and Geico papers.

 

"Please step out of the car, sir."

 

I got out.

 

"Let's move to the other side of your car, sir, out of the traffic."

 

I smiled. There was no traffic. At midnight the street was deserted. He walked behind me as I moved to the darker area, and when I reached the far side, I heard a clunk--something hitting the ground, something heavy like a rock. I turned and looked back.

 

He had unbuckled his gun belt and dropped it to the ground, and he was fumbling with his belt buckle. "Get your pants down," he growled quietly. "I've been thinking about you all day. I'm so horny I'm going nuts!"

 

I pulled open my trousers and fetched out my cock--commando that day--and he sighed, "Yeahhh, there it is! God, I love that big thing!" With that, he dropped to his knees in the dirt, bent over, and sucked my cock, his silver helmet bobbing in the shadows.

 

I, too, had lived for this moment. When I felt his tongue diddling my piss-hole and teasing the trigger patch just under the head, I shot to an instant climax. Ka-blam! A gush of my sperm shot into his mouth, and he gulped it down, sucking for more. I shotgunned him three or four more spurts, and he swallowed every drop. His blowjobs always got to me quick.

 

In the months before he finally got rid of Camille--turned out she actually planned to rent him out as a "genuine California Highway Patrol cocksucker"--if he had given me a ticket for every traffic stop on me, I would be in Leavenworth.

 

We're roommates now. Our sexual athletics now in solitary confinement--well, not so solitary. I hope I never get off parole: I know nobody in LA gets as much cop ass as I do. 

 

Link: https://web.archive.org/web/20170226070727/https://www.literotica.com/s/motorcycle-cop-turns-bi