Hayden: A Quick Spanish Desert
By: Magog
Hayden made his way back up the stairs to his condo. He could still feel Damyn’s body churning in his stomach.
The two police officers were still where Hayden had frozen them, the shorter white cop with the little beer gut and the cute Latino cop standing there with the hard-on pressing out from the inside of his dark blue pants were there in Hayden’s living room frozen like fully clothed mannequins in some uniform store window.
Hayden looked down on the hardwood floor and saw the long stream of semen, he’d extracted from the Latino cop, stretched across the boards.
“Oh yeah,” he said. “A mess to clean up.” He grinned as he tapped the Latino officer once on his olive cheek. “Your frosting.”
Hayden turned away from the officers to address the long toothpaste streak on his floor. He turned his right palm up to produce a small test tube. With his other hand he wiggled his fingers.
Like a vacuum cleaner had sucked it up, the stream of man juice streaked into the tube.
Hayden placed the container in his shirt pocket.
He nodded his head deeply. The two officers came to life.
“So, Mr. Prentice,” said the short stocky white cop, probably much younger than he actually looked. “You haven’t seen Mr. Reich since three days ago, is that correct.”
“Yes, that is correct, Officer. And even that was only in…passing.” Hayden forced back a smile at the pun.
“Very well, then. But we may have to get back to you with further quest…”
“OOOOOOHHHHH,” the Latino cop yelled. “Oooooo-oooooo-oh!”
Hayden and the short white cop stared at him.
“Officer Torres? Is everything okay?” the cop asked.
Torres looked quite embarrassed. He’d just had an orgasm in his pants and had no idea why. He fidgeted uncomfortably while looking at his partner. “Uh, I will meet you back in the…the…car,” he said, still feeling as if his cock had just exploded in a whore house.
“Are you okay,” Hayden asked. “Anything I can do for you?”
“No…no, thank you, Mr. Prentice. I’ll…I’ll just be in the car.”
The officer left the apartment quickly.
After a few more apologetic moments, the short white cop got to the car, getting in on the passenger side.
“Torres,” he said, “What the hell was that?”
His hands on the steering wheel, Torres looked sheepishly at his buddy.
“You’re not going to believe this, Haggerty. But…I…I came in my pants up there.”
Officer Haggerty howled with laughter, his little jiggly gut bouncing behind his buttons.
“You what?”
“I had an orgasm. I had a wet dream while wide awake." He looked away, shock on his perspiring face. "A fucking awesome one too,” he whispered to himself.
For a long while Haggerty laughed. He’d never heard of a guy having an orgasm in his pants just like that. To say nothing when there were only guys around.
Torres turned the ignition, checked to see if the roadway was clear, and started driving.
On the way back to the station he had to endure the full brunt of Haggerty’s crass sense of humor and convince his unrelenting partner that he'd been thinking of a woman at the moment he'd blown his wad.
After a quarter of an hour, they finally got to the station.
“I shouldn’t have told you anything, you know that?” Torres said.
“Sorry, but that’s really funny stuff. You had a fucking...ha-ha-ha....orgasm just like that, out of the blue.”
He patted the officer on the back. “But don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone. But you are going to owe me dinner for a month.”
“Deal,” Torres said, relieved his secret would be kept. If that got out around the precinct, he'd be ruined. He'd never hear the end of it. He'd HAVE to transfer.
As they exited the bright blue squad car and entered the station house, a small brown bird watched them from a clump of nearby trees.
While Haggerty filled out the reports, Torres excused himself. He had to take a shower.
There was oddly no one in the showers, when usually there were about five other police officers.
Torres was hoping that at least he’d get the chance to see that real good looking officer Harris. He always got a secret rise from that cops great thick muscular hairy legs.
Torres placed his gun, holster, and ammo in his locker. He grabbed a white towel and closed and locked the metal door.
He removed his clothes, letting them all just lay on the floor, at the foot of the locker.
He wasn’t a particularly muscular man. He was stout and thick, with very little fat.
He had thick calves, a plump round dark ass with faint hints of light stretch marks on the underworked cheeks, but a nice deep lower back that gave him the appearance of a bulky and strong torso.
He wore a thin gold necklace with a crucifix with Jesus on the cross around his thick neck.
He hung the towel on a stall and grabbed a bar of fresh smelling soap. He turned on the water, and after testing it for the right temperature with his puddgy hand, stepped in and began enjoying the nice warmth of the rushing water.
He could not believe he’d cum like that in his pants. He looked down. Small drips of semen still oozed out of his hardening cut cock.
He thought Mr. Prentice was handsome, and was definitely checking him out, but being a closet homosexual, the cop would have never thought of actually acting on it, let a lone cumming his pants like that and yelling out like that in front of witnesses, in front of Harris, a known homophobe.
He placed the soap on the dish and closed his eyes, letting the now hot water run through his dark, spikey, militarily cut hair. His cock erect, his balls dripping white foamy lather.
He had to catch himself because he almost slipped. It felt as if the current by his feet has suddenly gotten stronger…deeper.
After a few more moments of having to fight to keep his balance, Officer Torres opened his dark eyes and looked down.
The drain was the size of a throw rug at his feet, its holes the sizes of oranges, and the water was now up to his knees.
He looked up. Large streams of water almost drowned him.
Choking, he struggled through the current under him and the waterfall above to get out of the shower.
He turned, still gasping for air, to look up at the nozzle. It was about twenty stories up.
The room, everything, the sinks, the towel hanging for what seeme like hundreds of feet up, were humongous. He must have been about two to four inches tall.
“Hello, Officer Torres,” said a familiar voice from somewhere above.
He turned.
Hayden scooped up the tiny screaming, kicking man.
“Thank, you,” Hayden said. “I like my fruit to be washed before I eat it. And I'd say right about now you are squeaky clean. Now for the icing on the cake.”
Hayden held the test tube over Torres and poured the cop’s own semen all over him.
“I don’t have time for a long foreplay,” Hayden said as Torres spit and sputtered the jizm off of his lips, trying in vain to get his spooge out of his eyes and hair.
“Being in a police station kinda makes me nervous," Hayden continued. "But before I ate you, I wanted you to be in your own sweet, Latino sauce.”
Hayden opened his mouth and held officer Torres, by one of his thick ankles.
Torres was dripping and almost completely covered in cum, the golden crucfix around the cop's neck swinging from side to side, dripping semen from Jesus's nailed feet.
Hayden dropped the officer, yelling for help into his waiting, salivating mouth, swallowing him immediately, and unceremoniously....
so very tempted to chew.
Cum-soaked Torres was terrified as he was forced down a long dark tube, his arms pinned tightly to his sides, and into a free fall.
He found himself splashing around, semen in his eyes, and in complete darkness, in some dank smelly place for a long horrified moment when his foot brushed against something.
Fearfully, he reached down under the bile.
At first he thought it was a log, but it…It was soft.
He reached his hand cautiously to touch it. Something felt like…it was….a penis and a pair of balls attached to…
Torres couldn't get away from the digesting body of Damyn fast enough.
He howled and screamed for mercy from god.
“Let me out. Please. I promise I won't think of men anymore. Please," he begged.
He turned and pressed his back against the wet, spongey walls in fear when he thought he heard laughter from all around his prison.
His ass cheeks began to tingle.
His toes were getting warm.
As his body became tingly like a foot did when it fell asleep, the officer wailed with unrestrained terror.
All semblance of Officer Torres' bravery was gone.
In the span of seconds he had become the most craven coward as his body was quicky turning into food.
He gripped his crucifix with the fist of his hand as he prayed.
A few moments later, Haggerty, still chuckling, noticed Torres' clothes all bunched up on the locker room floor.
He saw the towel hanging and heard the water running so he figured before he left for the day, he’d just go over to the shower and give his partner some more shit about what had happened.
The water was running hot, and there was the towel, but there was no Torres.
He checked under the doors of the toilet stalls for feet.
No one was there.
Haggerty, not wanting to get his uniform wet, reached over behind the nozzel and turned off the shower, thinking it odd that Torres would leave the water on like that, his uniform on the floor, and that the towel was still dry.
Why would Torres leave the water running, especially when Seattle was experiencing a drought?
He walked back over to Torres' clothes, looked around, ensuring no one was there. He quickly picked up the man’s dark gray boxer shorts that were on his discarded heap of clothing, and a sock.
Haggerty took in a long deep, fulfilled sniff of musk, and an ever-so-delicate faint whiff of urine.
He poked his wide red tongue in the rear section of the damp, scenty, underwear and took a quick lick, a discreet slurp of the crotch, getting a nice saline taste of recently dried cum.
Having no idea that this would be the closest he’d ever get to Torres again.
The End