[SS-1636] Policeman Booty

POLICEMAN BOOTY

The worker drove the same yellow car past the loading docks every morning. He always slowed down. Not for the traffic. For the officer in the blue shirt and the heavy vest. The vest said POLICE across the back, but honestly, the worker was looking lower. Those pants were tight, hugging every curve. The officer’s butt looked hard as a helmet and round as two fists pressed together. Every day the worker made up a dumb question—about parking, about a detour, about nothing. He just wanted a reason to see that face and then sneak another look at those glutes.

One gray afternoon he did it again and forgot the lane. The car drifted a little. A quick chirp of siren snapped him back. The officer tapped the window and pointed toward the warehouse across the street. “Pull in there,” he said. Calm voice, soft smile. The worker’s stomach flipped.

Inside the big open bay it smelled like rain and oil. The officer leaned on the door and said, “You were swerving.” The worker nodded and stared at the floor, then at the officer’s hips, then back up. He couldn’t hide it. The officer saw everything.

“You keep looking at me,” the officer said. Not angry. Just stating a fact.

“Yeah,” the worker said. “I keep looking.”

There was a small pause. The officer glanced at the open door, then at the worker again. “This is off-duty,” he said quietly. “You can leave right now. No ticket. Or you can stay. Your choice.”

The worker’s mouth went dry. “I want to stay,” he said.

The officer set the clipboard on the hood and took off the vest. The shoulders under the shirt were wide. The tie hung loose. Buttons opened, one, two, three. The worker reached without thinking and put a hand on that famous backside. Warm fabric. Solid muscle. He almost laughed from nerves. “Sorry,” he whispered.

“Don’t be,” the officer said, shifting closer. “Just be sure.” The worker nodded. The officer kissed him then—simple, not rushed, like testing the water. The worker kissed back and felt his own body forget the office and the emails and everything.

Hands found belt loops. The worker squeezed, left, right, slow. The officer made a low sound that felt like a reward. He turned a little, braced one palm on the car, and pushed back gently so the worker could feel the shape and the weight. Those pants were doing overtime. The worker buried his nose in the blue cloth and laughed again, weak with want.

“Been watching you for weeks,” he said.

“I noticed,” the officer answered, breath warm on his cheek.

They kissed more. They pressed together, waist to waist, chest to chest. The officer guided the worker’s hands, up the strong back, down to the firm curve again, like a lesson. The worker held on and moved with him—slow at first, then not so slow. The bay echoed with soft noises and muffled words. The officer’s body was steady as a wall, and the worker used it, learning the angle, the push, the sweet give and return of those hard glutes. Heat pooled; breath tangled; the moment cracked open and carried them both.

The officer unzipped his pants, freeing his thick, hard cock. The worker’s hands roamed, exploring every inch. He gripped firmly, feeling the officer’s length and girth. The officer groaned, a sound that sent shivers down the worker’s spine. He leaned in, kissing the officer deeply as their bodies moved in sync.

The worker fumbled with his own zipper, desperate to feel more. The officer helped, his hands sure and confident. They pressed together, skin on skin, the heat between them intense. The officer’s hands roamed, gripping, squeezing, exploring every curve and line. The worker matched his touch, their bodies moving in a dance as old as time.

The officer turned, bracing himself against the car. The worker positioned himself behind, hands on those firm glutes, feeling the power and strength beneath his fingers. He leaned in, kissing the officer’s neck, his back, his shoulders, as he pushed into him. The officer moaned, a sound of pure pleasure that spurred the worker on. He felt the officer’s asshole clench around him, hot and tight.

They moved together, a rhythm that built and built, until the worker couldn’t hold back any longer. He came with a shout, his body shaking with the force of it, filling the officer’s ass. The officer followed soon after, his own release intense and satisfying, spilling onto the car.

After, they stood close, laughing a little, shirts crooked, tie hanging wrong. The officer fixed his vest and looked the worker over like checking a mirror.

“Eyes on the road next time,” he said, still smiling.

“Not easy,” the worker said, glancing down, then back up. “But I’ll try.”

“Good,” the officer said, tapping the car twice. “Drive safe. And… you know where to find me.”

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