David 161

David the Cop — Chapter six

I stopped sucking. I needed air. I slid his huge cock from my throat and mouth and caught my breath. I looked up at him, at those awful, emotionless sunglasses, and that scary, full-of-emotion sneer. I had to avert my gaze slightly. Just for a second, I let my eyes focus on his chest, the twin slabs of muscle hanging directly above me. My hands ached to hold them. When I would watch him through the locker room window, my eyes would lock onto those beautiful, hairy, pecs, and I'd wait for him to put his socks on. That was sweet agony for me, because he'd come out of the shower, towel himself off, maneuver those thin, tight briefs over his tree trunk legs, and the he'd sit on the bench...shirtless...and put on his socks.

I thanked heaven that his locker made him face me, and I'd watch as he'd straighten his arms and bend over to slip a sock over his toes. In doing so, he'd pull his shoulders forward and together and his pecs would bunch and bounce and flex and ripple and dance...

...and twitch

...and strain

...and squeeze

I'd imagine rubbing my face back and forth across them, and my cheeks would start to tingle and burn. I'd imagine slowly moving my face near them, so that I could just feel the faintest touch of his chest hair. I'd imagine grabbing them gently, filling my hands with them. I'd imagine him doing that thing that only guys with some development in their pecs can do: making them bounce. Oh how that creeped me out the first time I saw a guy do that, but in time the act came to fascinate me, and then to make me hot. I'd ask him to flex them, to make them hard. I imagined burying my face between them, as deeply and completely as I could, and breathing the warm air.

And now as I looked up at him, my hands jerked. In my mind I'd wanted to touch them, but I knew I shouldn't, yet my hands seemed to disobey me for a second, and then I regained control of them.

"What are you looking at?" he growled.

I swallowed hard, and I could feel in my face the strain of my expression: fear...and then shame. "Your chest," I whispered.

"What?"

I felt like a fool and a mouse. I could barely hear myself speak. "Your chest," I repeated, a little more loudly.

He widened his stance a little, and looked down at me as though he was daring me. "What about it?"

I lowered my gaze in shame. It seemed so awful to tell him that I wanted him, and I knew...I just knew that if I told him what I wanted he'd deny it. Not only deny it, but scoff, laugh, make me beg, tease me.

"I asked you a question!"

I trembled when he yelled. I wanted to cry, but I knew I had to answer. I looked up, and with a trembling voice, I said, "I...I want to touch it. I wanted to touch it."

"Didn't your mother teach you any manners?" he muttered. "Is that how you ask for something?"

I looked up at him. I didn't know what kind of game he was playing, but I didn't want to make him any more angry than he already was. But my mind was swimming. My knees hurt from kneeling on the hard asphalt of the parking lot, and I was just a swirl of pain and fear and lust and even relief...relief that I was finally with him, but shameful that he knew how much I wanted him. My throat hurt slightly from that monster cock he'd shoved into me, and yet to look at it was mind-blowing. It was right by my head and I swear I could feel the heat emanating from it. My hands were greedy for its warmth and weight again, and my lips were longing to feel the veins along the shaft sliding wetly over them as it slid in and out. I wanted the taste of it again. I wanted the girth of it again. I wanted to feel him jerk when I ran my tongue up and down the underside.

But I wanted those pecs. I looked up and confessed. "I...I want to feel your pecs, sir. Please?"

"Now that's a good boy," he said, and he kind of spread his lats and arched his back just a bit, lifting his ribcage so that the profile of his nipples became apparent. I thought I'd go crazy. So close, yet so far. I had to have them.

"P-please," I whispered.

He smacked me on the side of my face with his cock. "Your dinner's getting cold, boy."

Heartbroken, I glanced up for a split second, and then forced myself to look away, afraid that he would think I was indulging myself by just looking. I grabbed his cock and was just about to put it back in my mouth, when he said, "Wait!". I thought I saw a little smile, and then he said, "You really want that so bad?"

I nodded.

Very quietly, he said, "Go ahead."

I thought I would have felt happy, but I felt humiliated, yet my hand crawled upwards. I was ready for him to smack my hand away, laugh, and shove his cock halfway down my head, but he just stood there. When my fingers came within an inch of his chest, I experienced a moment of terror, sure that he was going to do something, but he didn't. and then I felt the soft hair on my fingertips, and I cupped my palm around the side of his chest.

"Ohhhhhh......." I sighed. I moved my hand across slowly, feeling the delicious tickle of the velvety hair, the curve of his chest, the incredible thickness of it. I pushed it softly and felt the weight of it. I let my hand sail back and forth and then I let my hand go all the way to the side, and I felt his nipple graze my palm.

He jerked. His head went back. I turned my hand and stroked his nipple with the back of my fingers. He moaned. And then I raised my other hand and I filled my hands with pec meat. He squeezed his chest together, and I knew that in a few moments, when I'd turned him into a purring tiger, I would ask to bury my face in his chest.

2004

STORY CONTINUES AT DAVID 167

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