Fuck tha Police
Chapter 2: neighborhood patrol
It rains in the a.m. on and off. By noon, the hot air is greasy, carrying the sounds and smells of wet car tires.
Akeem approaches the unmarked cop car with a bored, know-nothing face.
Fields rolls down the window, looking well-rested, smiling.
Fuck. Akeem stiffens. Just Fields’ demented face gets his pulse thumping.
“What did I say last night ’bout coming ’round?” he asks.
“You talking back to a detective now?” Fields speaks like his old self. He nods toward the back seat: “Get in and shut the fuck up, boy.”
Akeem responds numbly, like Fields’ tone flicks a switch; he climbs into the back seat on automatic mode.
They drive a ways, then turn into the woods, down a shady gravel path. Fields parks beside a dumpster full of wood beams. It’s rusted; overgrowing with wet, wilting honeysuckle.
“Sorry to pull rank,” Fields ducks down, getting out. He opens the the back car door for Akeem like a gentleman.
“Are you fucking insane?” Akeem slams it behind him.
“Nobody saw,” Fields says, rai his hands, still with that demented fucking smile, like he’s the sane one.
Akeem takes a deep breath. “’Aight. What you want?”
“Those kids,” Fields pauses, “Who’s are they? I want to pay their education—and yours—want to help you better yourselves.”
Akeem looks down, then smiles crookedly: “You’re sick.”
Fields adjusts his erection, flushing. “It’s not about that.”
“You’re a white knight,” Akeem nods, “Heaven-sent to better us. What happened to Elijah—no, that’s not your fault. Just praise the Lord that lamb of God died for a worthy cause: ratting on his fam, raising your arrest quotas.”
“I’m not the one who shot him,” Fields frowns like he’s sorry. His fake-sympathy’s infuriating, worse than honesty.
Akeem inhales slow, controlled, then nods toward the car. “Get in the back seat and strip.”
“I’m on duty,” Fields bows his head, not disagreeing outright. “Also, last night was a mistake. I have a fiancée.”
Akeem steps closer, waggling his clothed dick. “I got enough for her too.”
Fields’ gapes. His forehead wrinkles cutely. “You’d look good with her.”
“Stretching her pussy out? Ebony and ivory?”
The detective’s body twitches and his expression flickers: sleeping, wide-eyed, frowning. He grunts. His shoulders fall.
“You came,” Akeem confirms, “just imagining me breeding her.”
Fields shakes his head. “Why... I’m still hard. Something’s wrong.”
“No shit.” Akeem raises his chin and licks his teeth. “Get in the back seat and strip.” He waits.
For a second, he thinks Fields is fighting not to cry. Then the pig blinks, straightens up, and smiles crookedly: “You’ll me?”
Akeem nods.
“No sex.”
There’s a pause. Akeem keeps his face hard. He pulls a blunt out of his back pocket and lights it.
“I’m on duty,” the pig murmurs, watching the lighter flicker out and the orange glow swell as Akeem inhales.
Akeem nods toward the car, unsmiling, tensed to grapple should he hear another ‘no.’ The pig must sense it ’cause he follows orders this time.
The blunt burns slow. He takes his time, feeling his dick stiffen, planning out the action shot for shot. When he’s ready, he stomps the blunt into the mud, then wrenches the rear door open.
The pig is nude except for his double shoulder holsters which dangle down past his pecs like a horse’s harness. His shirt, pants, and jacket lie in his lap, folded. He sits so his abs fold inward and his thick white shoulders curl—sits hunched like he’s on a doctor’s exam table, waiting to hear if his cancer’s terminal.
“Good.” Akeem opens the car door wider. “Hands and knees, ass up, head down. Back it over to the door and spread it. Wanna see the sunshine on your hole.”
“Someone might come,” the Pig murmurs, even as he’s twisting, shuffling backward on his knees. “People walk their dogs here.” The bare soles of his feet stick out, off the carseat cushions.
“Good. Arch your back, bitch.”
The pig whimpers. His hole is small and pink, framed by a dusting of fine hairs. The ass cheeks are better — rounder — than Akeem imagined. “Not bad for a white bitch. How many dicks you take up there?”
“None,” the pig says.
“Bullshit.”
When the pig shakes, his double holsters swing untethered, like udders on a cow.
Akeem slicks his fingers with sweat from the pig’s ass crack, then slides one roughly past the ring muscles.
The pig yelps and his body bucks.
“How many dicks?” Akeem demands.
“None, just this—just you—and my thumb once in the shower.”
Akeem crooks his finger, pushing inwards and downwards. The pig’s hips stutter and he groans.
“How many dicks?” Akeem waits, then withdraws his finger.
The pig’s sweaty knees slide wider. “None.” His face and neck are pressed flat against the sticky pleather seats so that his back arches and his pink whole winks.
“How many?” Akeem says.
“None—no dicks. I don’t—you could—,” Fields grunts as Akeem attempts two fingers, angling to jab the sweet spot. Bullseye! The pig yelps and bucks. His muscles tense. He takes several shaky breaths, then tries again to speak: “—Slide it between my thighs. Just use my crack.”
Akeem laughs and takes his dick out. “How many times you had it up the ass?” He presses forward, positioning his dick against the pig’s clenched hole.
The pig whines, groping his hard cock and balls; face down, slack mouth muffled by the pleather seat. “How many should I say?”
“How many perps you arrest?”
“Hundreds.”
Akeem grins: “Say ‘hundreds.’” He re-angles his cock-head against the hole.
“Hurts.”
Akeem pushes further forward. At last, the pig’s outer ring gives out.
“Hurts,” Fields’ voice is louder. His thighs shake.
“Yeah, detective,” Akeem grins, grabbing a hip roughly. “You got your prime murder suspect’s dick up your pig pussy.” He edges in-out, wincing (the pig’s too damn tight). “That hurts me too, knowing how protectors of the people abuse their status, chasing black dick while they on the job.” He shivers, struggling to withstand the painful traction. “Push out. That’s it. Yeah, that’s my perverted justice.”
“Wait,” Fields sobs, “too big—won’t fit.”
“Bullshit,” Akeem stabs forward.
The pig howls.
Above him, Akeem snarls; he’s ing Fields’ smirk as he clicked the cuffs on Elijah. He grabs the pig’s forearm, twisting it, leveraging himself over the crushed body beneath him.
“Hurts you too?” Fields gasps. “Or is it — am I good?”
“How many dicks?” Akeem keeps the pace punishing, enjoying the slap of balls against wet skin.
“Hundreds. Fuck.” The pig grinds back, driving the dick deeper.
He’s enjoying it. Akeem freezes, body tensed, gripping the pig’s hip with his free hand. “You want me to fuck your pig pussy in your patrol card? Say it. Say: ‘fuck my pig pussy.’”
“Akeem,” the pig murmurs, “Akeem, I think I’m bleeding.”
“Say it.”
“Akeem,” the pig’s voice wavers, sounding choked, “I don’t—why do you want—can we do this face to face? This way’s so impersonal, like prison sex.” He strains his neck; casting his wide, wounded eyes behind him.
“Say it.”
The pig wriggles his ass backward. “I mean, it hurts. Feels good though, knowing it brings you pleasure. I just want our first time to be face-to-face together.”
“Say it.” Akeem tilts his pelvis, angling his dick, letting go of the pig’s arm. He watches, fascinated, as the pig proceeds to fuck himself; doing a slow, painful bump and grind. “Say: ‘Please pound my pig pussy raw and sloppy.’”
“Ah shit.” The pig’s voice cracks: “Yeah, fuck my pig cunt. Breed me—your bitch, worthless.” His chest spasms on the inhale, whimpers swelling with each thrust.
Akeem quickens the pace, fucking frantically. It’s incredible. He can feel the ring muscle pulse as the pig orgasms, splattering the pleather car seat.
“So good,” the pig mutters. “Rape me. Love your dick. I’d take hundreds just for this one. Akeem, love you so much.” He’s babbling. His brain is fucked out. The fact he says Akeem’s name — re it at all— is crazy.
“Bitch,” Akeem slams forward, “Don’t say my name.”
“But I’m yours. Lord, need you—not in vain—your sacrament. The pain is love.”
And now Akeem is coming—giving in to it—as if he’s forgotten that the slippery ass beneath him belongs to the same pig who arrested his cousin; played the boy like a bitch, then released him to the wolves; cleaved his family in half.
“Thank you,” the pig exhales, arching to accept the filthiness inside him.
Akeem lets his deflating dick slide out. He wipes the slime and blood up with a sweaty cotton shirt, then tosses it across the Fields’ back.
“You’re still wearing your chest holsters,” he observes.
When Fields nods, the gun and its ammo pack swing loosely. “In case somebody caught us.” His laugh is soft and deep—fatherly almost. “I’m on duty, you know? I’d want to protect you.” He turns. His face is red and wet. He rubs a wrist across his eyes and smiles. “If you want to keep going, I could give you a break—,” he flushes darkly, “—Get on top and ride it. Or—it hurts now but we could do it again back at my place. I’d call Sanchez and Day, tell them to field homicide calls. Even if you didn’t want to fuck, even better. I could draw a bath, soap your back, massage your feet.”
“Fuck that.” Akeem straightens, “You try and get behind me in the bath, I smash your teeth. I’m done with this shit.”
The cop reaches out, clumsy with desperation. Akeem draws his fist back. He’s tensing, on the brink of a felony assault.
“No, you’re right.” Fields nods slowly, forehead creased: “I mean, it’s true—not fair to you I’m like this. I shouldn’t try and touch you all the time.”
Akeem laughs at Fields’ apology. “You wanna touch?”
The pig freezes, lips parted. Only his chest moves. “Yeah,” he nods cautiously, exhaling.
“Tha’s good,” Akeem soothes him. “Wanna clean me with your mouth?”
Again, Fields nods. His head droops. “Dunno what’s wrong with me.”
Akeem gestured to his dick, then stretches back, watching with a mix of nausea and excitement. He’s never seen a bitch agree to taste their ass before. “I own you.”
The pig shivers happily and nods. He’s laying wet kisses up and down the shaft; it’s stained red, copper-scented with his own blood.
“And I fucked you raw. From now on, any new dick you take, you bag it.”
“No, just yours,” Fields murmurs, “Only ever yours.” His pert ass is streaked honey-colored in the sunlight. Akeem hadn’t noticed the twin dimples before — not with his thumbs gouging the pig’s ass flesh.
“Bullshit,” Akeem laughs, face twisted. “But fucking you like that was my own foolishness. We’ve done it once already; now you take me raw whenever—no question, no protests, like a prison wife.”
The pig twitches violently, breathing quick and deep. His lips are feathery and hot across Akeem’s cock-head.
“You like that?” Akeem laughs. “It’s not a compliment. You’re a cop; you should know better—getting barebacked in the ’hood.”
Fields raises his head, staring blankly at the sun. His lips glisten in the gold light; they’re glazed with spit and slime. “This isn’t me,” he frowns, “What we did in this car. You’d respect me if you knew me. I’m the youngest detective ever to be promoted in this county. And I got the exact three things Detective Tanner lacks: work ethic, morals, and professional intuition. For the past 24 hours, ever since I learned you were in danger, my brain’s been stuck on how best to protect you. The real murderer is out there. He’ll come for you. Last night, after I left, I got so crazy thinking ’bout it, I had to jerk off five times just to fall asleep.”
Akeem chuckles, then reaches down, distracted by Fields’ Glock. He weighs it in his hand.
Fields twists belly-up to grant better access. He unholsters the gun and offers it to Akeem. “I’ll drive you home,” he says, “Swap this out for the firearm in your bathroom, on the toilet tank lid, when we—,” his abs tighten. He stammers. “I mean, you’ll need a gun but you can’t keep that Colt. We found 45 A casings at the murder site.”
“You saying my gun’s a match?” Akeem takes the Glock. Beads of sweat are forming, hot-cold on his temples. He lifts the barrel to Fields’ head. “I could just shoot you now.”
Fields grins, untangling his pants. “You like it?” He slides one leg through. “Worst case now, you’re just another felon with a firearm.” His laugh is warm, affectionate. “I mean, I get it. You need to protect those little kids. We’ll trade back, soon as the investigation’s over.”
Akeem lets the gun drop. His hands are trembling. “’Aight,” he decides. “If you can’t sleep tonight, you can come ’round again. I don’t sleep none, not since—.”
Fields nods: “Elijah. I know.”