Good Cop, Bad Cop
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Officer Hunter’s face turned crimson as he balled up his fist clutching the ten dollars. Damn it. My wet-behind-the-ear-rookie partner stole the drugs from the lock-up—my own fucking partner. He growled again at Tommy, his informer. “You’re sure about this?” he asked, waving the money before the kid’s eyes.
A hollowed checked, meth-head, Tommy watched the money with eagle eyes. He was short on money, twitching from the lack of drugs. That ten spot would dull his need, the ache in his mind. “I’m sure… It was a cop…André… André Creed…I think.”
It had to be his partner. It couldn’t be anybody else—not with the description Tommy supplied. Hunter’s partner, André Creed, had stolen the drugs from the evidence locker. The informer told him that it is was Creed, in his own car, on the streets, dealing to the hustlers.
The whole thing stunk. André seemed a little too preppy. Prompt in his duties, meticulous about keeping his uniform shipshape. Zealous to do right, he even had made friends with the street kids and vendors, an imperative beginning to being a valuable officer on the beat. He was undoubtedly planning to use those kids for his mules. Creed must have thought the force would let a barrage of drugs go out of their locker without trying to follow it. The actuality that he was Hunter’s partner made it personal. Hunter knew darned well he could end up on the wrong side of a bullet with a dirty partner.
The first thing he would do is make Creed sorry he’d ever chosen Hunter to be his sucker— very sorry.
With a new partner to take through the ropes, night duty had sounded good.
Hunter stormed into the locker room that evening, searching for Creed. He had called in some markers and everyone else had cleared out, leaving him and Creed alone for the next couple of hours. Sometimes a partner had to take care of his own. Nobody asked any questions.
Creed was at his locker, tugging on his boots when Hunter walked up to him. Well-built, muscled, fresh-faced, ebony-skinned with dreaming brown eyes and lips that begged you to kiss them, Creed looked up, a warm smile lit up his too-young face underneath the mustache that tried to lie and make him older. “Hey, Hunter. Sorry I’m running late, but the captain yanked me in and went over a lot of old ground.”
“Is that so?” Hunter leaned against the locker.
Creed finished pulling on his boot and stood up. “Yeah, I don’t know why he wanted to do that. Doesn’t make a…” Creed raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”
“You,” Hunter sneered. “Punks like you make me sick!”“Hey…hey?” Creed backed up as Hunter advanced on him. “What’s up your arse tonight?”
“You’re up my arse! You’ve been busted, kid. You know what they do to a cop in prison?
Well, it’s not half of what I’m going to do to you right now,” Hunter growled.
“N-now…j-just…a…minute.” Creed stumbled as he backed away. He hit the wall and stopped. “You got me confused with someone else, I haven’t—”
Hunter slugged him right in the face. Bewildered, Creed didn’t even raise a hand to defend himself until it was too late. Hunter’s fist turned into a palm to massage the cheek.
Adorning a dazed expression, Creed whined, “Hunter…pal…buddy, listen to me...”
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up and keep it shut!” Hunter bellowed. “You got a major pounding coming before I call in the Watch Commander and have your arse hauled upstairs and booked.”
Creed sprang for the exit, but Hunter was on him in a minute. He caught the back of Creed’s pants, his fingers latched onto his duty belt. Creed squirmed and all Hunter had was the belt loops that form an x at the very back. He had two fingers through them, clenched his hand into a fist and hit Creed hard in the back with the other, the fabric gave up the fight, ripping the seam running between those firm little buttocks of his. Then a lateral tear took off across both rounded mounds at once. Hunter grabbed hold of Creed’s belt again, he hauled Creed around, slammed him into a locker, then over to the bench in between the rows.
Creed ended up on his hands and knees on the floor, his chest straddled the bench, his arse upright. With the landing, all of the fight went out of the young rookie.
Hunter slapped those pert globes. “Yeah, some big bruiser in jail is going to be plowing that black arse of yours every night. Then he’ll start selling you to the other inmates for a pack of cigarettes. Did you realize that when you pulled that crystal out of the evidence locker?”
“But I didn’t!” Creed argued. “Hunter, you got to listen to me!”
“I don’t got to listen to nothing,” Hunter barked. “You’re a rogue cop and a crummy thief, and I got the proof. The whole force knows it. Yell all you want. They won’t come help a cop gone bad!” He smacked Creed’s arse again. “Yeah, there’s going to be a fat cock shoved inside these in less than a week. Maybe we even got someone in lockup here. We can put you in with him and let you see what it’s going to be like. I bet they’d like seeing you in full uniform except for these torn pants with bare arse, all theirs for the night.”
Creed whimpered. “Please.” He murmured again, louder, “Please.”
“It’s all a rogue cop deserves…being some big stud’s whore,” Hunter roared, his cock stirred in his pants. The thought of some thick white dick plowing that black arse the idea and his desire came together. “Tell you what though, being how you’re my partner and all, I’ll help you out. I’ll get you started on your new career as a walking fuck-hole.”
“Oh, God, Hunter,” Creed protested. “Please, I don’t know what people have told you, but they’re wrong, man, wrong. Please believe me,” he screamed.
Hunter unzipped his pants, reached in and pulled out his rigid hard cock. His mouth drew up into a sneer. He’d love tearing into this little arse—such a damned pretty arse, wiggling at him in the locker room. On the beat, he’d done nothing but watch that arse and wonder what it’d feel like wrapped around his long fat cock, all nice and tight, clutching, warm and quivering. Damn I am going to love this!
He hawked-spitted into his gloved hand, wrapped it around his prick, massaged the saliva onto the shaft, the scent of leather filled the room. Working the foreskin down off the head, ready to dive into the cop’s arse, he grunted, “Better give you a little lube. Bet you’re a virgin whore, aren’t you?”
“Yeah.” Creed trembled. “Please, Hunter…partner…I’m begging you to listen to me. Let’s go sit somewhere and talk this over. I know I can make you understand if you’ll just...Ughhh!” Hunter’s cock touched Creed’s tight puckered hole.
“Shit, you’re a virgin.” Hunter gruffed when the timid little ring fought back valiantly. He grinned. It wouldn’t hold up to his pulsating cock. “Here comes the shaft, kid.” He rammed it into the tender hole, felt the flesh clinging, tearing as he plowed into it, sinking his ten inches in deep.
Creed moaned, a long, slow sobbing sound, despair mixed with betrayal and submission. A tremor rippled his muscles all over. The leather belt wrapped around his waist, holding his nightstick, and handcuffs shook as Hunter’s white cock knifed apart his black abyss.
Hunter grunted as his cock felt the boy’s arse adapting to him. He paused, letting Creed adjust to his presence—just a little. He wanted this to hurt the young rookie. He hooked his thumbs in the boy’s crack as he watched himself pull his shaft out to the head. He groaned, thrusting back into his partner’s hole. He fucked hard and fast—harder and faster than he’d even imagined. Because now that arse, those luscious, dark melons, belonged to a thief and dope dealer, they’d never be as beautiful to him again. He moaned in frustration at losing that desirable arse for this detestable thing, yet they were the same. He wanted them—wanted them still. He wanted to punish their owner, punish him hard for betraying him, betraying his own partner, by selling out, taking the easy road, not being a true policeman.
His cock boiled with the need for retribution, throbbed with the lust for punishment, it oozed slimy pre-cum with the thirst for vengeance. Every thrust he made was like the lash of the whip, Creed sprawled out like a child having his arse spanked, Hunter’s cock was the paddle. He made each thrust count, wringing every ounce of pleasure for himself and every ounce of pain for Creed. Bastard. He wasn’t going to get it so easy ever again.
A low moan filled the room, it wasn’t pain, but pleasure. “Shit, you’re enjoying this,” he shouted in disbelief.
“Ohhhh!” Creed responded.
Hunter reached down, unconvinced. He grabbed hold of Creed’s cock. It was hard, it was firm, rock solid and pulsating. “Damn, you are,” he growled. “You total little slut. You’ve wanted my dick all along, have you?”
“Oh, yeah,” Creed moaned. “Harder…Fuck…Me…Harder…Deeper!” He spewed out between thrusts.
“You’re damned right I’ll do it harder,” Hunter snarled. Punish this fucker. Punish him! He could have had me. Instead, he went and sold drugs on the street. Well, now he’s got me, let him feel how it is when a man fucks him and fucks him to last!
Hunter plunged violently, long, hard, and rowdy into Creed’s arse, ramming him, stabbing him with his cock, feeling the hot, heavy flood of juices boiling around his cock, not blood—not any longer, just gentle fluids from Creed’s body greasing him, easing the way for his ramming. Damn it, he isn’t supposed to be enjoying this!
Creed enjoying his cock, he’d dreamed of that, along with soft mornings in a shared bed lit with the golden light of the afternoon, the warmth of daytime slumber, the aroma of sweating bodies intertwined, now that dream, that fantasy, was gone for good.
He roared, “You fucker! You goddamned, shit-faced fucker, you took it all from me, all of it!” He hunched with a furious pace, his cock was a stick of dynamite in the abused hole, the fuse burned, it flamed down his shaft, it ignited.
The orgasm wracked him, tore through him and knocked him down with its force. Hunter sprawled out on top of Creed’s prostrate form as his cock pumped his seed into his partner. He felt his badge press like a stamp upon Creed’s back, his belt buckle catch on Creed’s belt, black on black, cop on cop, two partners, one voice, one against the mean streets, but no more, no more! “Shi-i-i-i-i-t,” he screamed out in the mournful cry of climax, of the loss he felt as his balls expelled their juice into the boy’s arse.
Creed made small sounds under him, a timid sheep in the hold of a ravenous wolf about to devour him. Splat-drip-splat, rain-like sounds of jizz as it hit the tile floor beneath them. The pattering permeated Hunter’s senses. Lost and reeling in the blackness of ecstasy, he had made Creed cum. They had shared this orgasm, shared it as he had always dreamed of, lusted for and wanted. It was not what he wanted, not anymore.
Now, Creed would go down to the jail and some convict would soon revenge himself upon all cops by slicing Creed’s beautiful face, his wonderful body, so warm and so right in his arms, lost to the call of dirty money and drugs, lost forever. He sobbed as he caught his breath after the long sighs of betrayal and despair, wishing this had been so different, but it never would be— ever.
The door to the locker room slammed open. “Hey, Hunter! Hunter!” It was Knight, damn him.
Hunter staggered to his feet. This had better be good! “Over here,” he called out. “Sit up, damn it. It’ll cover you,” he spat to Creed, still lying there.Creed winced in pain as his arse contacted the wooden bench, but he was seated and decent so long as nobody looked at him carefully and noticed the torn and molested pants.
Knight came over and looked at them. “Thank God I got here in time.”
“What is it?” he barked.“That drug dealer,” Knight cried. “It ain’t Creed.”
“What?” Hunter bellowed. He was going to kill his informer.
“They just brought him in. A dead ringer for Creed, even the same kind of car! The information was wrong! Man, I’m glad you didn’t beat up Creed like you planned to.” Knight sighed.
Hunter’s voice went very soft. “Leave us alone again,” he mumbled.
“Uh? Oh, okay. Sorry for doubting you, Creed.” Knight apologized. “Once you see the guy, you’ll know. A dead ringer, honest.”
Babbling, Knight walked away. Hunter waited until the door sounded again then turned to look at his partner.
“I told you it wasn’t me,” Creed spat.
“Yeah, you did.” Hunter uttered. “I won’t try to apologize. Words wouldn’t do it. I owe you one, man…big time. Whatever it is, you just let me know.”
“Just promise you won’t ever doubt me again,” Creed asserted.
“I won’t,” Hunter agreed. “I promise you that. I should have talked to you first, but Tommy was so positive it was you. I don’t know what else to say.”
“Can you loan me a pair of pants?” Creed breathed, standing up.
“Uh, sure, sure. I got an extra uniform here, you know that.” He fetched them contritely.
Creed put them on. “Now let’s go out on patrol like nothing happened.”“Sure…sure.” Hunter blurted. He’d be able to find the words to apologize somehow during the shift.
“And afterwards, you’re going to come home with me,” Creed ordered.
“Sure, sure,” Hunter repeated. Personal servant, yard work, whatever, he’d do it.
Creed grinned knowingly as he held his cuffs out on one finger. I have to remember to pay Tommy the other twenty for going along with the plan. He looked at Hunter. “And when we’re there, we’ll play good cop, bad cop again, but do it the right way this time.”
Creed turned and walked away.
Dumbfounded, his partner stood there, his mouth hung open, watching him, staring once more at that adorable, redeemed arse as it waggled itself around the corner and vanished.
Shaking himself alert, he raced to catch up with it.
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Nice short story. Would love if you can expand it by adding BDSM or any cop fetish related stuff in details—worshiping his boots, uniform etc. Anyway, thanks for writing and sharing it.
Cheers! X
