Luis Adam Bree
Forum Regular
Young Officer Landon finally spoke.
"This is nuts. Pure nuts." He canted his head in AKA's direction.
Their eyes met and held in the dark. "Have I been wrong about you altogether?
Is this not your car? Are you not who the license says you are at all?"
"This is indeed my car," AKA assured him, "and, yes, that is my real
license with my real name and my real address on it. I am exactly what I seem
to be. Up to a point, that is."
Landon exhaled a perplexed sigh.
"Then what the fuck is all this? Bringing me out into the middle of
nowhere like this?" He jerked his head against the restraining neck-strap.
"Fucking belting me to the car seat like this! I don't get it! I just the fuck
don't get it!"
AKA placed the officer's gun on the top of the smooth, night-shadowed
dashboard and turned his attention to the automatic seat controls. He pressed a
button, and the thickly cushioned passenger seat slowly began to purr its way
backwards.
Young Landon uttered a surprised, "Huh?!" as the seat slipped back, then
further back, then softly bumped to a stop at its extreme rearward limit.
With the press of another button, the seatback began to recline.
"Jesus, man!"
The exclamation was the result of the shock the young cop felt when he
realized that he needed to push himself up and back in order to escape the
distinctly unpleasant constriction that the lowering of the seat instantly
placed on his neck.
AKA kept his finger on the button until the seat was about three-fourths
the way down. It was designed go all the way down, of course, and AKA knew that
he eventually might want to do just that, but, for the moment, this was a very
nice angle to start with.
AKA surveyed his now seriously anxious, semi-reclined captive.
Talk about sexy! That body in that uniform! That face awash in those
shadows! Those eyes staining to see through that darkness!
AKA's pulse picked up bigtime.
Leaning to the left, he bent down and began to untie the policeman's
shiny black left shoe. He expected some sort of protest. An instinctive,
resisting kick or two, at least. But young Keith Landon's foot remained
surprisingly inert, completely unresisting.
AKA lifted the foot and tugged the shoe off.
A slight but not unpleasant odor of warm young-male foot-sweat rose into
the air.
AKA turned his attention to the other shoe.
He met as little resistance with it.
At this point, getting the shoes off was as much a practical matter as
anything else. A much younger AKA had seen THE GODFATHER (Part One) when it
first came out. He had enjoyed, but did not necessarily wish to repeat, the
dramatic strangulation scene in that movie in which the fairly handsome jerk who
was being garroted in the front seat of a Corleone family auto shattered the
windshield with his frantic, hard-soled kicking. AKA had actually thought at
the time, I bet that wouldn't have happened if they had taken the guy's shoes
off.
AKA caught hold of both of Keith Landon's shoes, then sat up, turned and
dropped them in the back--on the floor behind the driver's seat, where, he
noticed, the young cop's cap had ended up as well.
"Feel more comfortable now?" AKA asked with a smile.
He reached out and placed his left hand on the policeman's knee.
The young man's sexy lips parted.
His confusion-filled eyes widened.
Yes, there was no doubt about it. Officer Keith Landon finally had a
clue.
He anxiously licked his lips.
AKA less anxiously licked his own.
Then he moved his hand up along the twenty-five-year-old's hard, hot
thigh.
The texture of the uniform was smooth, rich-feeling. A light,
pre-winter wool? Maybe.
The tensed flesh underneath felt even better, however.
Why prolong the suspense? AKA wondered.
With that, he brought his hand up and then down, directly on top of the
bunched, zipper-defined cloth gathered at the policeman's crotch. He located
the dick--which, although at rest, was easy enough to identity--and manipulated
it away from its lefty, tucked-away, heads-down perch. A little more
manipulation, and it slipped up and onto the left hip, into a small tunnel made
by the crumpled cloth of the pants there.
It extended at once.
AKA never ceased to be amazed, as well as amused, at this phenomenon.
That a guy could be in the kind of situation this guy was in and STILL get a
hard-on was one of life's greater mysteries, but so it was. And had always been
in AKA's experience. With only two exceptions. But they had been wimpy wusses
both.
"You gotta be . . . kidding me," Keith Landon finally managed to say.
His voice was disbelieving, breathy--indeed, nearly breath-less.
AKA stroked the still extending rod. It was going to be a nice slim six
(maybe even seven?) inches, it seemed.
"You going to tell them about this as well, Keith?" AKA replied. "When
you turn me in, that is? After I give myself up like you want?"
The cop's cock wasn't as hard as it could get--AKA could tell--but it
was hard enough for now.
He reached up and began to undo the thick, heavy holster.
"I ain't gay, man! I ain't no way gay!"
"Who said you were, Keith?" asked AKA as he wrestled to loosen the
holster's big square silver buckle. "But I've said it once, and I'll say it
again, a dick's got a mind of its own. Lift up." Landon actually obeyed. The
buckle came undone. Landon sank down. "Again," AKA ordered. Landon once again
arced up. AKA jerked the holster free, out from under its wearer, and tossed it
into the back as well.
AKA decided he needed more access, more elbow-room. Returning to the
seat controls, therefore, he pressed the button that would lower his own
seatback. And back it went, all the way down--or nearly. A special feature
that AKA had specifically requested.
AKA shifted up so that he could more easily get at the cop's pants.
The young policeman's mouth, which had been open, opened even wider.
AKA undid the hook at the waist, then the zipper.
"So how much head have you ever been given in your life?" he asked as,
having spread the flaps, he began to tug the pants down off the young man's
slender, hard-boned hips. "You do know what I mean by head, right, Mr. Eagle
Scout?"
As the pants descended, a pair of gorgeously form-fitting white boxer
Jockeys came into view. The young cop's half-aroused dick was beautifully
etched underneath the underwear's sexy stretch-fabric.
AKA stopped and drew a finger up the length of it.
The cock actually jerked under the cloth.
"Looks to me like joyboy wants to come out to play. What do you think?"
Leaning over, AKA proceeded to tug the pants down the thighs and then
over the knees. A wide scar ran diagonally across the left one.
AKA tapped it.
"How'd you get that?"
"Grade-school. I fell off a bike."
The voice was low, interspaced with soft, barely audible inhalations.
AKA drew the pants all the way until they were bunched at the ankles.
"Knees up," AKA ordered.
Young Landon obeyed.
Gripping the cuffs, AKA pulled the pants off altogether.
Landon began to drop his legs.
"Not yet."
The legs rose back up, and AKA pulled off first one, then the other of
the two finely-ribbed, dress-black stretch-socks.
In the old days, AKA might have used one of these socks to strangle
Keith Landon to death. He had had a fetish at the start of his career about
killing his targets with a piece of their own clothing. But like many things in
life, the routine had gotten a bit boring after a while, so AKA had launched out
into other and even more interesting modes of dispatch. Still--he pulled the
sock to its full (and fully serviceable) length--this might be a nice way to off
the cop, he thought. He would just have to wait and see how the spirit moved
him. AKA often didn't know himself how he was going to finish a guy until the
very end.
"Okay, you can put your legs down now."
Landon dropped his long, slender, bare feet to the floor.
Bending over, AKA massaged the fronts, then the backs of the lower legs.
Young Keith Landon's calves were both rock-hard and baby-smooth. As
were his fabulously lean and shining thighs. The chest and arms would
undoubtedly be much the same since legs as smooth and hairless as this almost
always portended an equally smooth and hairless upper body.
AKA licked, then kissed, then nibbled at the scarred left knee. As he
did so, his right hand moved up along the tensed, hard-muscled thigh, reached
the form-fitting boxers, then slid up and over them until his fingers bumped
against the by-now, no-question-about-it, fully aroused, still imprisoned seven
slender inches of Landon joyboy mancock.
Rising up, AKA leaned back, propped himself up on his elbow, then
changing hands, gripped the rod beneath the cloth, squeezed, and looked to see
Keith Landon's reaction.
The young man's eyes were shut tight, but his face was charged with a
heady combination of shock, resistance, yet undeniable (if totally involuntary)
pleasure.
AKA flipped around and knelt in the car seat.
Time to see the kid's chest.
The young cop's eyes immediately fluttered open.
"What?" he murmured.
His head rose up against the neck-restraint.
His eyes darted down to see what AKA was now up to.
AKA began to undo the buttons of the shirt.
"Please, Mr. . Don't do this. Please."
The tone of the pleading took a good ten years off Keith Landon. As a
result, AKA had no trouble at all imagining what he had looked like at fifteen
or sixteen. He had surely been as hot then as he was now. Even hotter, if you
preferred them younger. AKA often did, in fact, but not tonight. No, not
tonight. This smooth-bodied mid-twenties hunk on the verge of getting married
was exactly what the doctor (or was it the Dark Gods?) had ordered. AKA had no
complaints, no complaints at all.
"Relax and enjoy it," AKA responded. "Isn't that what a girl is
supposed to do? Besides, apart from the fun of it, I'm doing this for a reason,
you know. By the time we're through, you won't be able to tell a fucking soul
about this. I mean, imagine if all those macho, pot-bellied old-timers heard
about this! You'd be out of a job for sure. Thus, you will forget you ever saw
me tonight, right?" AKA tugged at the shirtfront. "Right?"
"Right."
For the first time, it was not so easy to judge young Keith Landon's
sincerity, but AKA suspected that if he should up and decide to let the cop
go--and he actually had let a few go in his time--the young man wouldn't have
the balls--if AKA could use that expression--to go through with the arrest.
Girls might scream "Rape!" and run to the police, but not your average guy.
Especially not your average, heterosexual, rookie policeman type of guy! AKA
would bet the farm on it.
He undid the last button and pulled the dark, autumn-thick,
rich-textured cop-shirt open. Underneath was a sleek, sleeveless, rib-knit
T-shirt and, outlined under it, two flat, firm, perfectly proportioned pecs.
AKA cupped one, then the other.
"You are one fucking gorgeous guy, you know that?"
The young policeman took a long, deep, noticeably ragged breath.
"Your girl is one lucky piece of ass. Because you two are already at
it, aren't you? I mean, nobody these days, not even a straight-as-an-arrow
little Eagle Scout like you, waits till after the wedding to start screwing, do
they? Do they?"
AKA reached down and tugged the T-shirt up over Keith Landon's
rock-solid, if not quite six-pack abs.
"And I bet you're one good pussy-pounding motherfucker of a fucker too,
aren't you?"
AKA pushed the T-shirt higher, exposing the full expanse of the stomach,
then the middle-chest, then the firm, hairless, perfectly proportioned pecs
above it.
"Jesus! They don't get any better than that, do they?"
Shoving the T-shirt up onto the young cop's neck, AKA dropped his head
and began to mouth the pointy, nickel-wide nipples, which immediately tensed and
hardened.
"Okay. Okay. You've had your fun. You're right. I won't tell . . . I
couldn't . . . I couldn't . . . tell about this."
Then Keith Landon sobbed. He actually sobbed.
AKA ignored him and sucked, first one, then the other tasty, pointy
male-hardened nipple.
As he sucked, his hands once again dropped onto the young cop's crotch.
Still hard after all these years!
As his left hand massaged the long, slim, hard-boned dick still trapped
beneath the smooth white Jockey boxers, AKA smiled against the firm flesh at his
mouth, then tongued the sexy vale between the perfectly molded pecs, then licked
his way up between the hard-ridged collarbones, into the delicate pit at the
bottom of the sweaty, violently pulsing throat, then, proceeding all the way up
to and under the hoisted T-shirt, licked and sucked his way onto the throat
itself, or at least that part of it below the thick, restraining,
not-to-be-dislodged (until AKA wanted it dislodged) leather neck-strap.
"This is nuts. Pure nuts." He canted his head in AKA's direction.
Their eyes met and held in the dark. "Have I been wrong about you altogether?
Is this not your car? Are you not who the license says you are at all?"
"This is indeed my car," AKA assured him, "and, yes, that is my real
license with my real name and my real address on it. I am exactly what I seem
to be. Up to a point, that is."
Landon exhaled a perplexed sigh.
"Then what the fuck is all this? Bringing me out into the middle of
nowhere like this?" He jerked his head against the restraining neck-strap.
"Fucking belting me to the car seat like this! I don't get it! I just the fuck
don't get it!"
AKA placed the officer's gun on the top of the smooth, night-shadowed
dashboard and turned his attention to the automatic seat controls. He pressed a
button, and the thickly cushioned passenger seat slowly began to purr its way
backwards.
Young Landon uttered a surprised, "Huh?!" as the seat slipped back, then
further back, then softly bumped to a stop at its extreme rearward limit.
With the press of another button, the seatback began to recline.
"Jesus, man!"
The exclamation was the result of the shock the young cop felt when he
realized that he needed to push himself up and back in order to escape the
distinctly unpleasant constriction that the lowering of the seat instantly
placed on his neck.
AKA kept his finger on the button until the seat was about three-fourths
the way down. It was designed go all the way down, of course, and AKA knew that
he eventually might want to do just that, but, for the moment, this was a very
nice angle to start with.
AKA surveyed his now seriously anxious, semi-reclined captive.
Talk about sexy! That body in that uniform! That face awash in those
shadows! Those eyes staining to see through that darkness!
AKA's pulse picked up bigtime.
Leaning to the left, he bent down and began to untie the policeman's
shiny black left shoe. He expected some sort of protest. An instinctive,
resisting kick or two, at least. But young Keith Landon's foot remained
surprisingly inert, completely unresisting.
AKA lifted the foot and tugged the shoe off.
A slight but not unpleasant odor of warm young-male foot-sweat rose into
the air.
AKA turned his attention to the other shoe.
He met as little resistance with it.
At this point, getting the shoes off was as much a practical matter as
anything else. A much younger AKA had seen THE GODFATHER (Part One) when it
first came out. He had enjoyed, but did not necessarily wish to repeat, the
dramatic strangulation scene in that movie in which the fairly handsome jerk who
was being garroted in the front seat of a Corleone family auto shattered the
windshield with his frantic, hard-soled kicking. AKA had actually thought at
the time, I bet that wouldn't have happened if they had taken the guy's shoes
off.
AKA caught hold of both of Keith Landon's shoes, then sat up, turned and
dropped them in the back--on the floor behind the driver's seat, where, he
noticed, the young cop's cap had ended up as well.
"Feel more comfortable now?" AKA asked with a smile.
He reached out and placed his left hand on the policeman's knee.
The young man's sexy lips parted.
His confusion-filled eyes widened.
Yes, there was no doubt about it. Officer Keith Landon finally had a
clue.
He anxiously licked his lips.
AKA less anxiously licked his own.
Then he moved his hand up along the twenty-five-year-old's hard, hot
thigh.
The texture of the uniform was smooth, rich-feeling. A light,
pre-winter wool? Maybe.
The tensed flesh underneath felt even better, however.
Why prolong the suspense? AKA wondered.
With that, he brought his hand up and then down, directly on top of the
bunched, zipper-defined cloth gathered at the policeman's crotch. He located
the dick--which, although at rest, was easy enough to identity--and manipulated
it away from its lefty, tucked-away, heads-down perch. A little more
manipulation, and it slipped up and onto the left hip, into a small tunnel made
by the crumpled cloth of the pants there.
It extended at once.
AKA never ceased to be amazed, as well as amused, at this phenomenon.
That a guy could be in the kind of situation this guy was in and STILL get a
hard-on was one of life's greater mysteries, but so it was. And had always been
in AKA's experience. With only two exceptions. But they had been wimpy wusses
both.
"You gotta be . . . kidding me," Keith Landon finally managed to say.
His voice was disbelieving, breathy--indeed, nearly breath-less.
AKA stroked the still extending rod. It was going to be a nice slim six
(maybe even seven?) inches, it seemed.
"You going to tell them about this as well, Keith?" AKA replied. "When
you turn me in, that is? After I give myself up like you want?"
The cop's cock wasn't as hard as it could get--AKA could tell--but it
was hard enough for now.
He reached up and began to undo the thick, heavy holster.
"I ain't gay, man! I ain't no way gay!"
"Who said you were, Keith?" asked AKA as he wrestled to loosen the
holster's big square silver buckle. "But I've said it once, and I'll say it
again, a dick's got a mind of its own. Lift up." Landon actually obeyed. The
buckle came undone. Landon sank down. "Again," AKA ordered. Landon once again
arced up. AKA jerked the holster free, out from under its wearer, and tossed it
into the back as well.
AKA decided he needed more access, more elbow-room. Returning to the
seat controls, therefore, he pressed the button that would lower his own
seatback. And back it went, all the way down--or nearly. A special feature
that AKA had specifically requested.
AKA shifted up so that he could more easily get at the cop's pants.
The young policeman's mouth, which had been open, opened even wider.
AKA undid the hook at the waist, then the zipper.
"So how much head have you ever been given in your life?" he asked as,
having spread the flaps, he began to tug the pants down off the young man's
slender, hard-boned hips. "You do know what I mean by head, right, Mr. Eagle
Scout?"
As the pants descended, a pair of gorgeously form-fitting white boxer
Jockeys came into view. The young cop's half-aroused dick was beautifully
etched underneath the underwear's sexy stretch-fabric.
AKA stopped and drew a finger up the length of it.
The cock actually jerked under the cloth.
"Looks to me like joyboy wants to come out to play. What do you think?"
Leaning over, AKA proceeded to tug the pants down the thighs and then
over the knees. A wide scar ran diagonally across the left one.
AKA tapped it.
"How'd you get that?"
"Grade-school. I fell off a bike."
The voice was low, interspaced with soft, barely audible inhalations.
AKA drew the pants all the way until they were bunched at the ankles.
"Knees up," AKA ordered.
Young Landon obeyed.
Gripping the cuffs, AKA pulled the pants off altogether.
Landon began to drop his legs.
"Not yet."
The legs rose back up, and AKA pulled off first one, then the other of
the two finely-ribbed, dress-black stretch-socks.
In the old days, AKA might have used one of these socks to strangle
Keith Landon to death. He had had a fetish at the start of his career about
killing his targets with a piece of their own clothing. But like many things in
life, the routine had gotten a bit boring after a while, so AKA had launched out
into other and even more interesting modes of dispatch. Still--he pulled the
sock to its full (and fully serviceable) length--this might be a nice way to off
the cop, he thought. He would just have to wait and see how the spirit moved
him. AKA often didn't know himself how he was going to finish a guy until the
very end.
"Okay, you can put your legs down now."
Landon dropped his long, slender, bare feet to the floor.
Bending over, AKA massaged the fronts, then the backs of the lower legs.
Young Keith Landon's calves were both rock-hard and baby-smooth. As
were his fabulously lean and shining thighs. The chest and arms would
undoubtedly be much the same since legs as smooth and hairless as this almost
always portended an equally smooth and hairless upper body.
AKA licked, then kissed, then nibbled at the scarred left knee. As he
did so, his right hand moved up along the tensed, hard-muscled thigh, reached
the form-fitting boxers, then slid up and over them until his fingers bumped
against the by-now, no-question-about-it, fully aroused, still imprisoned seven
slender inches of Landon joyboy mancock.
Rising up, AKA leaned back, propped himself up on his elbow, then
changing hands, gripped the rod beneath the cloth, squeezed, and looked to see
Keith Landon's reaction.
The young man's eyes were shut tight, but his face was charged with a
heady combination of shock, resistance, yet undeniable (if totally involuntary)
pleasure.
AKA flipped around and knelt in the car seat.
Time to see the kid's chest.
The young cop's eyes immediately fluttered open.
"What?" he murmured.
His head rose up against the neck-restraint.
His eyes darted down to see what AKA was now up to.
AKA began to undo the buttons of the shirt.
"Please, Mr. . Don't do this. Please."
The tone of the pleading took a good ten years off Keith Landon. As a
result, AKA had no trouble at all imagining what he had looked like at fifteen
or sixteen. He had surely been as hot then as he was now. Even hotter, if you
preferred them younger. AKA often did, in fact, but not tonight. No, not
tonight. This smooth-bodied mid-twenties hunk on the verge of getting married
was exactly what the doctor (or was it the Dark Gods?) had ordered. AKA had no
complaints, no complaints at all.
"Relax and enjoy it," AKA responded. "Isn't that what a girl is
supposed to do? Besides, apart from the fun of it, I'm doing this for a reason,
you know. By the time we're through, you won't be able to tell a fucking soul
about this. I mean, imagine if all those macho, pot-bellied old-timers heard
about this! You'd be out of a job for sure. Thus, you will forget you ever saw
me tonight, right?" AKA tugged at the shirtfront. "Right?"
"Right."
For the first time, it was not so easy to judge young Keith Landon's
sincerity, but AKA suspected that if he should up and decide to let the cop
go--and he actually had let a few go in his time--the young man wouldn't have
the balls--if AKA could use that expression--to go through with the arrest.
Girls might scream "Rape!" and run to the police, but not your average guy.
Especially not your average, heterosexual, rookie policeman type of guy! AKA
would bet the farm on it.
He undid the last button and pulled the dark, autumn-thick,
rich-textured cop-shirt open. Underneath was a sleek, sleeveless, rib-knit
T-shirt and, outlined under it, two flat, firm, perfectly proportioned pecs.
AKA cupped one, then the other.
"You are one fucking gorgeous guy, you know that?"
The young policeman took a long, deep, noticeably ragged breath.
"Your girl is one lucky piece of ass. Because you two are already at
it, aren't you? I mean, nobody these days, not even a straight-as-an-arrow
little Eagle Scout like you, waits till after the wedding to start screwing, do
they? Do they?"
AKA reached down and tugged the T-shirt up over Keith Landon's
rock-solid, if not quite six-pack abs.
"And I bet you're one good pussy-pounding motherfucker of a fucker too,
aren't you?"
AKA pushed the T-shirt higher, exposing the full expanse of the stomach,
then the middle-chest, then the firm, hairless, perfectly proportioned pecs
above it.
"Jesus! They don't get any better than that, do they?"
Shoving the T-shirt up onto the young cop's neck, AKA dropped his head
and began to mouth the pointy, nickel-wide nipples, which immediately tensed and
hardened.
"Okay. Okay. You've had your fun. You're right. I won't tell . . . I
couldn't . . . I couldn't . . . tell about this."
Then Keith Landon sobbed. He actually sobbed.
AKA ignored him and sucked, first one, then the other tasty, pointy
male-hardened nipple.
As he sucked, his hands once again dropped onto the young cop's crotch.
Still hard after all these years!
As his left hand massaged the long, slim, hard-boned dick still trapped
beneath the smooth white Jockey boxers, AKA smiled against the firm flesh at his
mouth, then tongued the sexy vale between the perfectly molded pecs, then licked
his way up between the hard-ridged collarbones, into the delicate pit at the
bottom of the sweaty, violently pulsing throat, then, proceeding all the way up
to and under the hoisted T-shirt, licked and sucked his way onto the throat
itself, or at least that part of it below the thick, restraining,
not-to-be-dislodged (until AKA wanted it dislodged) leather neck-strap.
