*** PLEASE CONSIDER MAKING A DONATION TO THE NIFTY ARCHIVE, LARGE OR SMALL OR BOTH! Your donations make this resource possible for all of us to enjoy! http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html ***
-
This is a work of fiction. My experiences and likes influence all my writing, so there might be a nugget or two of truth somewhere within, but don't worry, it's carefully hidden... Any similarity with actual people or places is entirely coincidental.
-
This story involves interracial sex between adult men. There is lot of crude stereotyping, role play, nasty and demeaning language and other things that might be called kinky or just plain ignorant. If any of this offends you, please leave now.
-
If you are underage or if reading this is illegal where you are for any reason, please leave now.
-
Your feedback is welcome and appreciated. ------------------------------------------------------------
Catherine and I were at dinner catching up when I felt one of my phones vibrating in my pocket. I recognized it was Darryl, so I excused myself from the table and headed towards the bathrooms.
The text really caught my attention.
DARRYL: Hit me back ASAP, got some sheriff who know about what we did tryna bullshit me
I dialed his number.
ME: Hey
DARRYL: Dude, what da fuck, some sheriff said he knew what we been up to in da basement.
ME: I know. I talked to him too.
I wasn't going to give Darryl the whole story now. He didn't know I had been blackmailed in to sucking this guy's dick. I certainly had no reason to think he would contact Darryl. This was getting interesting, but not in a good way.
DARRYL: Yea, he said some grimy shit about how he knew secrets about me and you and said he was gonna bust our shit.
ME: He's not going to do anything, I won't say not to worry but I really think this is something that can be controlled. I'm working on it.
DARRYL: Fuck man, I don't need some shiesty cop on my ass. He was talkin' bout me owing him a favor now. What da fuck this nigga talkin' bout man?
ME: I don't know. Probably nothing. Try not to worry about it man. I'm working on it now. Text me his number. And did you catch his name?
DARRYL: Naw, he ain't said nuthin' other than he was a sheriff deputy and he would contact me later.
ME: Ok, thanks. I'm sorry, Darryl. I'll take care of it.
DARRYL: Do that, man. I don't wanna mess with no cops and he don't wanna be messin' wit me...
ME: I agree. I will take care of it.
DARRYL: Aiight.
ME: Let me know if he contacts you again.
DARRYL: Yep.
He hung up.
Fuck... This was more complicated all the sudden. So this asshole deputy sheriff was playing both of us. He was even less trustworthy than I suspected. I figured it was going to cost me money and probably some ass, but it might be more expensive than I imagined. I actually wouldn't mind fucking with him again. The more I thought about him the more I was attracted to him - in a way. But, damn...
What in the world was he hoping to get out of Darryl? Money? I couldn't figure it out.
I knew that I would see the sheriff sooner or later. It looked like I would be seeing him sooner. But I still needed to think this through.
Poor Darryl. All he wanted was some head and now he's in all kinds of shit. My courtroom hideaway was starting to look like a stupid idea after all. I needed some self control.
I finished my dinner with Catherine and made my excuses to get home early. She was tired too so she probably didn't even notice my unusual hurry to part ways. If she had, she would have likely written it off to me getting some dick. In fact it was about dealing with the aftermath of getting some dick, but I'm glad I didn't have to explain...
I needed to talk this through. Duda was the only real option.
I texted when I got home but got no reply. His car was there so I took a chance and knocked on his door. He opened wearing only boxers, wet from the shower, but still shrouded in a cloud of smoke. Some things never change...
Once I made sure there wasn't some chick laying in his bed trying to recover from a sexual onslaught, I settled in and told him I needed to bounce ideas off of him.
He put on a wifebeater and long, thin shorts, as if that really was much of a coverup, and joined me for a beer in the living room. The weed smoke was making my head spin, and as I talked I found myself staring at Duda's bare feet. He looked to the ground to try and see what I was looking at, but it wasn't registering. I needed to focus on something other than my best friend's sexy body, so I started my story.
I told him about what had happened. I half expected he would be shaking his head and calling me out several times. But he stayed pretty calm and just watched me as I told him all that had happened.
I asked him what he thought this sheriff was up to, what he wanted and what I should do. I gave him my theories on how he might be trying to blackmail both of us, using the embarrassment we might both feel to play off each other and make us more likely to cooperate. Duda didn't ask me any questions, he just listened as I brainstormed on what my next move should be. Finally he spoke.
"Who knows what da fuck dis muthafuckin sheriff want," Duda said. "But as I see it, ya got only two fuckin options. Ya can play hardball with this muthafucka and run da risk he gonna expose ya whore-ass to the world, or ya can play along and do what da fuck he says."
"But," I started to say...
"Hold on, dumb ass, I ain't finished... If dis muthafucka decide to fuck wit ya it ain't jus you dat's on da line. Ya got ya thug boyfriend faggin out so when peeps hear about dis shit, if they hear, he ain't gonna be too happy wit yo ass either. You prolly be aiight but ya gonna be shown to all ya fancy colleagues and friends as the nasty, but lovable, little whore ya really are. Seem like option one is dumb as fuck."
"Option two," Duda continued, "is jus go to fuck along. Ya boyfriend is already a fuckin crook so why da fuck he care, whatever da fuck it ends up bein. You already dropped to ya knees for dis nigga and ya can probably get outta whatever shit he tries to get ya in. He prolly just wanna fuck ya anyway, take a little paper outta ya pockets. And you prolly wanna bend over for his black dick any fuckin way, so why ya care? You got yaself in dis situation, now it time to pay da fuck up."
He smiled a knowing smile.
"Ya know what ya gotta do, Sy. And ya know ya faggot-ass prolly gonna end up likin' it any fuckin way."
That's what friends are for, I guess...
The call finally came, as I knew it would. Unknown number. I didn't even bother to save it. I knew I would never get a call or text from that number again...
The sheriff gave me an address and time to meet him. Late. Odd part of town. And come alone, although I don't know who he thought I might bring with me... The police?!?
It was a warehouse of sorts, with a large gate blocking the entrance that had been unlocked and was standing wide open. I drove slowly in the dark parking lot until I saw another car, hundreds of yards in the far back of the yard. It had to be him.
I pulled in near his car, killed the lights and just sat there. No movement or light from the other car, so I guess we were playing a waiting game. I gave it another minute and then opened my door and got out. I had come this far, there was no point in being shy. I walked around to the front of my car and leaned on the hood, looking towards the other vehicle. I just stared. I had gone first. It was his turn.
Seconds later the car door opened and the sheriff got out. He was wearing street clothes, jeans and a dark leather jacket. It wasn't a bad look, actually...
He moved around to the front of his vehicle and also leaned on the hood. So we were facing each other, both just staring. A standoff.
He motioned with his hand for me to come his way. What the fuck, I was already here, I might as well play along. So I walked over...
"I knew you would come," he said with a wicked grin.
"Yeah, you were right," I said back, trying to show as little emotion as possible.
"I was fuckin' tempted to just turn ya faggot ass in for that shit in the courthouse. Let all ya colleagues know what a nasty freak you are. Lettin' street trash criminals dog ya out in a broom closet." That grin never left his face.
I wasn't going to say shit at this point. He was going to say what he wanted eventually. But there was no point in trying to stop him from playing these little mind games, trying to punk me down with the nasty talk and insults. He assumed he was softening me up. I was already soft enough. The fact I had come to a dark warehouse parking lot in the middle of the night was proof of that...
"But then I got ta thinkin... Your faggot ass might come in handy. All it takes is a dark dick and you on ya fuckin' knees. Ya might end up bein' useful as fuck.
"So, you want some more head?" I asked him, point blank.
"No, bitch, I ain't come all the fuckin way out here ta bust a nut. I know ya thirsty, bitch, but this business," he said grinning, but the wicked part was still there.
"So, what do you want," I asked.
"I want ya to shut the fuck up, damn..."
He didn't like a lot of questions. I was familiar with that routine. Under these circumstances, and with this type of guy, it made sense.
"On Thursday there's a guy coming up on a gun and drug charge. Name is Tito. Tito Lamark. I need you to represent him. Get him off."
"That's it," I asked.
"Yeah, that's fuckin it..."
"Why do you want me to represent him?" I asked, genuinely curious.
"Because he need a fuckin lawyer and I know ya can fuckin help him. Why da fuck ya care?" he sneered at me.
"I don't. OK. I'll do it."
"Yeah, I know ya fuckin will..." he said as he turned, looking away.
I looked over at him. For an older guy he was impressively built. The uniform was never a fetish of mine. I thought this sheriff looked a hell of a lot better in his tight jeans and leather coat. He shifted positions a bit. I swear I saw his hard dick pressed against his thigh, bulging in his jeans. He was horny.
"Am I supposed to service Tito in addition to being his lawyer," I asked, feeling a bit bolder when I saw the sheriff was stiff in his jeans.
He swung around and looked at me like I was crazy.
"Nah, ya dumb faggot. He don't roll like that. Why ya gotta fuck every damn criminal in town?"
"I didn't know what you expected," I responded.
"Yea, well we know what your nasty ass expects," he said, shaking his head.
"So, is that it?" I asked.
"Yeah, he said.
I leaned off the car and stood up straight. He stayed where he was. I turned away, thinking that was it. He wasn't done, though.
"Ya ain't leavin' yet, bitch," he said in a low tone.
I turned back around. He was rubbing his dick through his jeans.
"I thought you weren't out here to bust a nut? Just business?" I asked in a mocking tone. I was horny too, and he could get it. But I couldn't help myself being a bit of smart ass.
"This ain't about gettin a fuckin nut. It's about makin' sure ya know who calls the shots..." he said with a sneer.
That was a lame line. I knew it. He probably knew that I knew it. But his dick was hard, so he didn't really care. And frankly neither did I...
"Drop ya pants and bend over," he ordered.
I did as he instructed. I went a step further and quickly kicked off my shoes and slipped my pants completely off. I knew I would appreciate the freedom of movement very shortly.
I heard him undoing his pants and jacking his already hard dick. I had seen that dick before, so I knew without some lubricant this was not going to be fun.
"Can I suck you to get it wet?" I asked, trying to be helpful - and hopeful...
"Nah, Imma spit on it. Dat's all the fuckin lube ya faggot ass is gonna get," he said as he pushed me down over the hood of the car.
So it was gonna be a grudge fuck. I was horny as hell for this guy, but still I thought a little bit of spit as the only lube was taking things too far. I didn't want to go home bleeding.
I heard him spitting and I could hear him sloshing the wetness on his dick. I guess that was as good as it was gonna get.
He pressed his dick head against my crack, and rubbed the tip up and down, repeatedly rubbing my hole, teasing it. I was trying to enjoy the sensation as much as I could, and I could feel my own dick throbbing beneath me. It was gonna hurt in a minute, so I wanted to jet all the pleasure I could...
After a few minutes of spitting and rubbing his dick on my ass, he suddenly pulled away. I wasn't expecting that, and immediately began to fear he was going to try to lunge in like a spear. He still had a hand on my back, so he was in position to do what he wanted.
I was surprised when I heard what sounded like him lowering himself to his knees. The next thing I knew I felt his hot tongue licking my crack. Damn. The biggest surprise of the evening.
I couldn't help but moan. He wasn't gentle, or caring, or even all that interested in exploring my ass with his tongue. He was spitting and cramming his tongue in my hole, making it as wet and messy as possible. It was a means to an end. But damn, it still felt good as hell. I would have loved to have seen his strong, burly self back there on his knees eating the hell out of my ass. But feeling it was all I was going to get.
Suddenly he pulled back, spit a big wad on my ass and stood up.
"I know ya faggots love that shit," he said, trying to make me feel bad, I guess. It didn't work.
His dick was back in my crack, and I felt him grab my hips and press forward. We were on this time, no doubt.
His head passed the lips of my hole, and again I couldn't help but moan. His tongue had done an incredible job of loosening me up and getting it all wet back there. He got the first inch or so in with little pain or much effort.
"Ya ready for this dick, bitch?" he asked me in an aggressive, dominating tone.
"Yeah," I replied, and meaning it.
He pulled out leaving the tip just barely past my entrance, and then pressed forward again, grabbing my hips for leverage. He dug in about halfway in one thrust.
"Fuck," I grunted, unable to escape the invasion. "Oh, fuck," I groaned again.
"Imma bout to fuck ya, bitch, hold da fuck on..."
Out he came, again leaving just the head in me, and then he lunged forward. I was pressed against the hood of his car, my dick grinding on the metal beneath me. The sensation was indescribable.
As he pulled out I was able to shift my leg so my dick wouldn't be crushed, and it was just in time. He plowed back in, again balls deep, and pressed his whole midsection against me. The sheriff had done me a favor with that sloppy rim job, but he wasn't taking any precautions on fucking my ass. And literally no precautions. About the fifth time he lunged forward and bottomed out I realized I hadn't said shit about a condom. I was such a fool. But it was too late now.
This guy, either by choice or by necessity, fucked me by throwing all his weight on the downstroke. He wasn't fucking with his hips. He was pulling out in the normal way, but when he was going in he just threw his whole body forward and let gravity do all the work. It was like having a baseball bat stuck up your ass while you're getting body slammed. It was all I could do to breathe.
And he went at me, for several minutes nonstop.
My instinct was to hunch forward on the hood so I could poke my ass up and arch my back. Tops love that open access. But I wasn't sure how much longer I wanted this to go on. His breathing had already picked up its pace, so I sensed this wasn't going to be a long fuck. About five or so minutes in I sacrificed my own comfort, put my poor dick at risk of being crushed and leaned flat against the hood of the car. At the same time I pulled my legs a bit closer together and did my best to clinch my asshole, trying to vice grip on his dick. I knew he would feel it.
"Gottdamn," he grunted in response.
I knew immediately that my plan was working.
He started throwing himself down a bit harder and a bit more recklessly. He was a little more unsteady as he pushed himself up and out of me, and my ass squeezing on his dick as he pulled out each time wasn't helping. I knew he was getting a wild ride too.
It took about two minutes of that vice grip on his dick to hit pay dirt.
He collapsed on top of me as the first blast of nutt shot inside me.
"Fuckin faggot. Fuckin faggot. Fuckin faggot."
He half whispered, half groaned with each blast of cum. It was a half-hearted insult, and it didn't even come across as a slur. It just came to him. "Fuckin faggot" was just what was in his head as he nutted. Lord knows people say some weird shit when they cum.
And then in seconds he pulled his rapidly softening dick out and was standing behind me, trying to catch his breath. I was doing the same on the hood of his car.
"Clean this shit off," he growled.
I did what was expected. I licked and sucked his dick and balls, enjoying the taste of his cum and the burning hot skin, the smell of my ass and his dick intermingled.
When he thought I had done enough, he pushed me off him, stood back and started to pull up his pants. Game over.
I wiped my face on my shirt sleeve and then got dressed myself.
We shared a quiet couple of minutes together as we got dressed and back to normal. It was a post-fuck, post-hook up silence that two dudes know so well. The smell of sex in the air and on our bodies said all that needed to be said.
He walked around to the driver's door and paused before he got in.
"Take care of Tito."
"I will," I responded.
"Fuck this up, and that ass is mine, bitch," he said as he got in and closed the door.
His nut was already leaking out of my ass. I guess irony wasn't his thing...