Date: Mon, 25 May 2009 14:10:21 +0000
From: Bill Drake <billdrake@hotmail.com>
Subject: White Collar Tales 11: Junior Prosecutor

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.

Comments to billdrake@hotmail.com. For more of my stories, check out the
Authors page of Nifty, or join my Yahoo group:
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/drakestories/


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.