White Collar Tales Bill Drake (billdrake@hotmail.com)
WARNING: The following is for adults only. It contains depiction of sexual acts between men. If this offends you or is inappropriate for you to read, go no further.
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White Collar Tales #11 Junior Prosecutor
Looking back, it was a funny twist of fate being assigned to courthouse nightwatch duty to cover for Officer Reynolds, but as a career cop I followed orders. Besides a night off the street beat would be welcome. Manhattan summers were tough for law enforcement, and besides, the air conditioning was a bonus.
So it was a little after 1 AM. The building was empty and dark. Til I got to the third floor, where a low incandescent light filtered down the hall from an office abutting the DA's. I considered following procedure, radioing it in and unholstering my gun. But then again, I had a pretty good idea someone was working late. And I think I knew who it was.
As I turned the corner, my suspicions were confirmed. Patrick McCready, 28, was fresh from Notre Dame Law School. As assistant district attorney, he did a lot of the heavy lifting for the prosecution team, and tonight was no exception. The young man was buried eyebrow high in photocopies, casebooks, coffee cups, and takeout cartons.
"Working late again, Prosecutor?" I called out as I entered the plush cherry-wood-and-leather office. Fuck, something about that smell was a turnon! Surreptitiously I arranged the family jewels in the tightening crotch of my blue polyester trousers.
He looked up from his paperwork and smiled. "Well, if it's not my favorite officer! Your testimony Thursday gonna hold up this time?"
"Hey," I growled, and plopped my uniformed butt down on the one edge of desk not covered in papers or books. "Don't blame me for your lousy case. I played that one by the book and you know it. How long you been holed up here anyway?"
"Since 8 this morning," he sighed, wheeling back his chair and surveying the paper detritus and looking up at me in an expression of bemused exasperation. Patrick McCready sure had one handsome mug. Hook nose, bright Irish eyes, creamy skin, and a smile that threatened to break out of his grimace. Even the 1AM stubble couldn't hide the fresh face.
"That's no way to live," I declare.
"It's my job," the attorney replied matter-of-factly. "I get up, throw on a suit, come in, and work til I can't keep my eyes open anymore, then I crawl back to my apartment." He lifted up a file folder and tossed it down again demonstratively. "Hell, I've had to cancel three dates this week."
"Balls must be backed up, huh?"
"You cops have real potty mouths," he laughed. "Yeah, I'd say I'm backed up. Bad."
I could almost smell the horniness wafting off his body, along with the ninety-dollar-a-bottle cologne. I scooted along the edge of his desk and ran my finger along his striped silk tie, all the way up to his half-windsor knot. "Think maybe your favorite officer can help you out?"
He closed his eyes and lifted his head back. Already those dime-sized nipples were firming up underneath his starched blue dress shirt and a thick boner was pushing its way to erection underneath his pinstripe trousers. He let out a breath and opened his eyes again. There was hunger in them. "Fuck, yeah," he croaked.
I started to kneel down between his legs, but he stopped me. "No time for that shit. I gotta pound one out bad. Help me clear this goddamned desk off."
For such a well-dressed professional man, Patrick could cuss as much as the boys at Precinct. Especially when he's horny.
We cleared off a spot and I removed my gun and nightstick, placing them gingerly to the side, but not so far away I couldn't smell the gun oil from a recent cleaning. I unbuckled and let the weight of the leather belt pull my pantlegs down. I immediately felt Patrick's smooth hand on my cop butt.
"No underwear. Nice. Does Officer Friendly always come prepared?" he taunted. I heard the desk drawers open and him ruffling through their contents. His hand pushed up the shirttail draping down my backside while his other popped a cap and squeezed out some liquid, which soon was being applied to my tender rosebud.
"Unnnh..." I moaned, mashing my cheek against the cool, smooth surface of the wooden desk. One finger penetrated me, then two. I don't know if it was his years of Catholic education, but somewhere along the way, this assistant DA had become a master at fingerfucking. Too bad he considered it strictly preparation. All too soon, those skilled fingers were replaced with a blunter instrument. His bare, fat cock nudged against my manly gates and bored its way in.
I knew the hotshot attorney was horned up and determined. I'd just underestimated my own sex drive. It had been too long, and this lawyer's cock was stirring up something deep in me. Again.
So when he pressed forward, my sphincter opened right up. I parted my legs the best I could and arched my back like a cat in heat. Patrick penetrated deeper, in one slow, smooth thrust, till he bottomed out and his fuzzy nuts brushed against my hairy perineum.
"So fucking good, man," he hissed, then flexed his cock deep inside of me, loosening my inner trench up while my hole relaxed and got used to his hard wide spike. "I'm not gonna last long in this ass."
"'s OK," I muttered in a hoarse sex grunt that resonated off the walls of the empty office. "Fuck as hard as you like. Go for broke, man." I braced for the consequences of my words.
Sure enough, Patrick pulled back and pounded in hard. He powerdrilled my upturned ass like I was virgin oilfield ready for exploration. I grunted and gripped the desk edge til my knuckles turned white.
I turned my head and looked over my shoulder. "Take it easy there, big boy," I huffed in my meanest beat growl. "That ass will still be there twenty minutes from now."
The view from below was magnificent. The man was still dressed in his shirtsleeves. Blue shirt, with white collar and French cuffs, diamond cufflinks, Rolex watch, loosened tie, dark red suspenders holding up his pinstrip trousers. He'd merely unzipped, so that beautiful doublewide cock poked straight out of his fly and straight into my quivering butt.
His bangs fell into his forehead as he fucked away. His winning smile was now pure sneer. "You come here to lecture me on how to fuck?"
Yeah, he was cocky alright. But I have to admit that beneath the pain and discomfort it was starting to feel real good. Those green-grey eyes bore down on me, watching every shift in my facial expression as I started to enjoy it, started to get hard again. That sneer broke back into a smile as he watched the middle-aged beefy cop beneath him relish the roughness.
I lay my head down, relaxed my shoulders, and surrendered to the sensations. I shuddered to think what the boys in Precinct would say if they saw me. Officer Mike McCready... decorated cop, family man, burly guy, tossed face down on a desk and used. By his own flesh and blood no less. Spreading my legs for my son, feeling my boy's buttery-smooth hard cock piston in and out of someplace it had no business even fantasizing about, my offspring's weighty balls slapping against me, reminding me how much family seed was gonna be pumped into me and soon.
I didn't have to wait long. Patrick started to warn me, but all that came out was a tangled string of grunts. It wasn't English, but I knew the language he was speaking. It was the same thing I was thinking, deep inside. The desire to feel his sperm flood my cop hole. And it did. Nice, thick, custardy volleys of my son's splooge irrigated me from the inside.
Finished, he plopped back on the leather chair, wet hardon still poking straight out of his crotch. I pulled my uniform back on, not caring if my boy's seed soaked the seat of my trousers. Hell, maybe I'd send him the dry-cleaning bill. I rearranged my belt, stick and gun back to regulation, but didn't for a second take my eyes off my boy. He nodded silently in thanks and stuffed his sated cock back into its pinstripe casing. He noticed where the sperm overflow had dribbled down his leg and onto his wingtip oxfords. Grabbing a cloth, he carefully daubed the material clean, then lifted his feet up to the desk to polish the leather back to an impressive shine.
"Yeah, dad, I think I'll call it a day. Can't work without a few hours rest, can I?"
"Fucking always did tire you out, didn't it?"
He paused, then nodded. "Yeah. I could go again right now, if I didn't need to sleep so bad."
He turned off the light and we left his office. I locked up the door behind us. Patrick didn't wait for me, but as he walked down the hall I called out after him. "I get off shift at 6:30, son. Want me to stop by?"
"You know where the extra key is, Dad."
"Yeah," I said to myself as I looked up at my oldest son's name etched in black on the glass window of the office door. I had to have been the proudest S.O.B. father in the five boroughs.