Corrections Officer

[Barratboy]

It’s very rare that I go to the local bear bar. For one, I’m a little guy. Oh, I’m tall enough, I clear six feet with a little left over to spare, but I’m pretty slim (and that’s on a week where I’m feeling good about myself, otherwise I have to use the dreaded “skinny” word). Thing is, I’ve always been interested in the bear type. Unfortunately, those husky, rough, stocky guys rarely seem to like little guys like me. I’m not a large guy, have dark red hair that turns brown on my head, but stays a dark read on my goatee, chest, and everywhere else. I’ve also got mismatched eyes - the right one is green, the left one is blue. They’re both pretty dark, and it’s hard to tell until you’re up close, but every now and then, someone notices, and they always get extra points. But, regardless, I’m a little guy.

One guy once said, “I’d be afraid to break you.”

Hey, I might like getting broken.

I’m digressing, where was I?

Oh, right. I had a rare weekend off from working my retail job, and having a confident day, I decided to head out to the local bear-pub. I sat out on the patio for most of the late afternoon with a book, since it was nice weather, then went inside and stuck my book behind the bar with the bartender and set about to some bear-watching.

One of the benefits of Ottawa having only one real bear-bar is that all the bears come visit. Even better, being in the nation’s capital has the added bonus of attracting a lot of travellers (though, I’ll admit, Toronto and Montreal have more traffic, and I’ve sure had fun at the bottom of a big ol’ pile of bears in both cities, but I’m digressing again).

I’m sitting at the window-table, which is round and normally seats about five, but it’s early and no one is really here yet - and a lot of people are outside smoking (yeah, anti-smoking laws, it sucks. I don’t smoke, but man do I love to watch a stocky man puff on a cigar). And then in walks a man in - I kid you not - a security guard outfit.

Now, normally, I’d think to myself, “Roleplay.” But it’s a tad early, and he seems to have a really “real” outfit, right down to highly polished boots. He’s about my height, but he’s a big guy - stocky in the right ways - not a cut muscular body-builder, more like what you’d call “Farm muscle.” He was strong in a beefy stocky way that you know came from honest hard work, not gym bunny stuff.

Add to that a full beard and hair dark enough that you could see it all over his forearms and I was thinking it might be worthwhile to get arrested.

Anyway, he grabbed a beer, and sat down to drink it, looking around vaguely. He caught me staring at him, and so I nodded and tried to look nonchalant. He nodded back and went back to his beer. That’s about typical.

After I finished my drink (and he was on his second beer), I wandered past him (nice thick hands, and - lo - a wedding ring), and went to the pool table. Normally I just watch, but I was bored, and I figured I could stare at the officer stud between shots at the table without looking too obtrusive. He was near the end of the bar, well within sight of the pool table in the lower room to the rear of the bar.

I put down my loonie, and when the current game ended between two bears I vaguely knew from the “Bear Brunches,” I got to play the winner. I am willing to admit that I chatted up the two to see if they knew the uniform man, and they said they didn’t. When he strolled over on his third beer and put down a loonie, I suddenly wished I could play pool worth a damn. Suddenly, however, the bear I was playing got very bad at pool (he winked at me as he sank the 8-ball by “accident”) and I ended up playing with the officer.

Oh man. I could barely speak. For one, he’d undone the first two buttons on his dress shirt now, and there was a veritable forest of black hair in there to play with. For two, he was being friendly enough. I learned that he was here for some sort of cop/peace-officer/corrections-officer parade and event. His arm-badge said “Correctional Services Correctionnels, Ontario.” The man worked in a prison in a fair sized city up north.

Have I mentioned I could barely speak?

Married, no kids. Damned good pool player. I was struggling for the game not to end quickly, but I lost pretty fast, and he offered me another shot. I laughed, told him I sucked (unintentional advertisement, I assure you), but he shrugged and said he had the rest of the day free, and that the parade proper didn’t start until the next day.

I found out he was in the Lord Elgin (nice place), had his own room, and did I mention I could barely speak?

Then the bombshell. When I asked him what brought him to the Centretown Pub, he says, “I was just walking and it looked like a good place for a beer.”

Crish-crash for the hopes and dreams of this little otterboy. Married, Prison Guard... straight. Oops. Part of me wanted to tell him that he was in a gay bar. The other part of me figured that if he hadn’t noticed the way he was getting ogled, and how swishy the bartender was, then he had no right to be a corrections officer anyway.

As the bar filled up, I noticed him casting odd glances around, and we played another three games (I actually won one when he missed the 8 ball at the end), and I bought him a beer for the sole reason of gloating to the rest of the bar with my eyes that yes, I was here with the prison guard. They could do without knowing he was straight and married.

We were crammed in at the bar when he finally turned to me and said, “You’re gay.”

I couldn’t help it. He stated it with such vague unease that it made me laugh. Here was a big strong husky stocky prison guard stud and he’s uncomfortable with a little guy like me. I’m probably giving myself too much credit - there was a bar full of bears by this point, all looking at him. I managed to wipe the smirk off my face and nodded, and said, “Yup. It’s okay, I saw your ring.”

He looked at it, smiled, and had another swig.

Talk was better then. He eased up on the topic, and I admitted that it was fun to be chatting with him in front of all the other bears. Then I had to explain what a bear was. He laughed at that one. He asked a few intelligent questions about a guy my age being in this particular bar (I’m 26, and the average patron was likely in his late thirties/early forties), so I explained my “tastes” in older stocky beary men. By this point I was tipsy (like I said, little guy I am, third or fourth beer by now), so I was likely flirting a little. He eventually glanced at his watch, saw it was nearly midnight, and said he should probably try and find his way back to his hotel.

Well, being the consummate gentleman I am, I offered to walk him to his hotel, which he accepted easily enough. I left the bar with the stare of a dozen envious bears on my back, and I soaked it up happily.

While we were walking, however, his questions got a little bit more intense, and I started to wonder about my new friend the security guard.

“How long have you liked older guys then?” he asked.

I told a particularly poor-taste story of how I got my first real hard on as a twelve year old sitting on Santa’s lap as a gag with some friends.

“So you like older older men,” he said.

I shook my head, and said I usually preferred men in their late thirties, like himself.

He grinned at me through that awesome fucking beard and said, “Son, if you think I’m in my late thirties, then you’re welcome on my lap anytime.” He laughed a little while he said it, but the combination of “Son” and the notion of sitting on his lap had me hard. My jeans were a little too tight to be comfortable, and I got all tongue tied, but managed to say “Yes, sir.”

He glanced at me, and smiled at that, and suddenly the look in his eyes struck me as more than friendly. I got even harder.

Unfortunately, as anyone knows who has lived in Ottawa, the Centretown Pub and the Lord Elgin Hotel aren’t that far apart. I was there before I wanted to be, and gestured to the doors, “There you are, sir.”

He nodded, “You like saying that, eh, son?” Another thrill at being referred to as ‘son.’

“Saying what?” I tried to be a little coy.

“Sir,” he said, and smiled again, “Like the guys we’ve got in the cells.”

Oh help. I swear to God my knees got weak.

“Yes, sir,” I managed again, but it came out wobbly.

He looked at the hotel again, and then at me, and said, “Come on.”

I had no trouble saying “Yes, sir,” that time.

In his room, which was a nice little room with two windows on one of the corners, and a fairly large bed and two chairs, he turned on the television, and yanked his shirt out from his belted pants. I got a brief flash of a stocky hairy torso, and swallowed hard. He flipped on the television, and then sat on his bed. I stood there awkwardly for a moment, and then sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Some of the guys offer to suck me,” he said, in his rolling deep voice, “They say no one sucks a cock like another guy.”

My mouth watered, and I said, “Sounds about right, sir.”

“Would cost me my job,” he said, and looked at me, “So I never found out.”

I nodded.

“Suck my dick,” he ordered. Oh man, I can’t tell you how my whole body jerked when he said it. I pretty much threw myself at his crotch, and started to undo his belt.

“Yes, sir!” I said, and in about four seconds I had his belt undone, his zipper down, and tugged down his white briefs enough to get his cock out. Thick, uncut, and fuck did he have a hot man scent going on. Hairy bush tickled my nose as I started licking his shaft a little. Even soft he was thick, and I knew that he might not be long when he was hard - maybe six and a half inches - but he’d be thick.

I swallowed him, and he got hard pretty damned quick. I dug my tongue under his foreskin, and licked around his cockhead. He liked that, and grabbed the back of my head with one hand and shoved me down on his cock when I did that.

“Yeah son, suck that dick,” he moaned, in his grumbly voice, “suck it good, fuck yeah.”

I went down on him with a vengeance, and he got so hard and thick my spit was dribbling down his shaft and getting his pubic hairs wet. He kept shoving my head down agains this crotch, and once he did it so forcefully that I started to gag. He pulled me back, and as his cock slapped up against his hairy stomach he said, “I thought you could suck cock good, son.”

“I’m sorry, sir!” I said, and he smiled at me with a really hot look in his eyes.

“That’s how you want it, eh?” He shoved my head back into his crotch, “Lick my balls, son. Lick em good.”

I sucked on his balls, licked them, and said, “yes sir!” as often as I could between licks. He mashed my face into his groin, then put my mouth back on his cockhead again and ordered me to suck. I sucked.

It got faster and hotter, and wanting to test the boundaries a little, I put one of my hands under his shirt and ran it over his furry chest. His pecs were hard with my sucking, and he felt like he looked - like a stocky football player or something. He didn’t move my hands, so I kept exploring. With one hand I wrapped my fingers around his cock so I could give his cockhead more attention, with the other I found one nipple in his hairy chest and started to roll it between my thumb and forefinger. That god a deep moan.

“Fuck yeah, son, suck my cock... play with my chest... you want it, don’t you, son...”

“Yes sir! I’m your boy!” I gasped out, and went back to sucking again. His balls were drawing tight, and I could feel his entire body tense.

“You want my cum down that throat, son? That what you want?”

I just sucked harder, running my tongue around his cockhead furiously, and he grabbed my head with both hands and shoved me down his meat - I felt his load shoot into my throat, and I nearly gagged again, but he held me fast on his dick. “Fuck yeah, son!” he yelled. I swallowed furiously, but quite a bit of it leaked out around my lips and onto his bush. He grunted, fucking my face, and I swallowed more. Finally, he slumped back, and released his hold. I kept sucking, and then released his cock and licked up all the cum from his pubic hairs. Fuck he was hot - salty and slick.

I lay there on his legs, and he smiled down at me. I licked my lips, and said, “Thank you, sir.” He put his rough thumb in my mouth, and I sucked it. He chuckled, “You keep that up, boy, and I’m gonna want it again.”

Boy. Fuck. Nothing makes me hotter than bein called Boy. Goddamn. I suckled his thumb more insitantly, and he grinned, “Get up, son.”

I got up, regretfully, but I had a belly full of cum and that would have to be enough. But he just got up, went to the bathroom, and wiped off the bits of his cum that were on his bush. When he came back out, the shirt was undone, revealing his hot stocky fur-covered chest, and he was only wearing his briefs, having left the pants in the bathroom. He stood above me beside the bed, and grabbed my crotch, feeling my hard on.

“You’re turned on, eh son?”

“Yessir,” I said. I was never going to tire of saying that.

“I ain’t gonna suck that, boy. I ain’t no pussyboy.”

“Nosir!” I said. He smiled, and leaned right into my face, “You making fun of me, boy?”

“No Sir!”

He smiled, “Sometimes the boys make fun of us guards. Think we’re stupid. You think I’m stupid, boy?”

“No sir!”

“Good,” he said, but he was still holding my crotch. God it felt good to have this hot fucking stud holding my hard-on, even through my jeans.

“You get fucked, boy?”

I writhed! “Yes sir, please sir!” He kept a hard grip on my dick.

“The guys say they suck better than a chick, and you proved that right. They also say they fuck better than a pussy - is that right, boy?”

“Oh yes sir!” He was squeezing. It was starting to hurt my balls but fuck it was turning me on. “Please sir, fuck me!”

He laughed, and let go, “Show me your ass, boy.”

I fumbled with my pants, but got them off as fast as I could, and tugged off my briefs the same way. Obediently, I rolled over on my tummy, and put my ass up in the air like a good pussyboy. He held my ass with both hands - gripped it roughly with those awesome calloused hands, and I got so damned hard all over again. I balanced on one arm and jerked my cock with the other, but only got in one stroke before he’d grabbed both my hands and wrestled himself on top of me. My cock was pressed against the bed, and I could feel his hard on again through his briefs, right near the crack of my ass. I writhed.

“Don’t you know that boys aren’t allowed to touch themselves on my watch?”

I moaned, “No, sir! Sorry, sir!”

He kept my wrists in one of his big hands, and started reaching for something. He couldn’t reach, so he dragged me up a bit, and I stumbled, but he kept me on my feet as we walked to the closet by the door. My hard-on strained out ahead of me, and I could feel the hair on his forearm against my back. Fuck I needed to cum!

He grabbed something, and before I knew it, he was shoving me back towards the bed, climbing back on my, pinning my legs under his own knees, and then, with a quick and obviously practiced motion, he cuffed me.

The feel of hte handcuffs make me moan out loud.

“You can’t touch yourself now, boy.” He let go of my wrists, and I started to struggle. He laughed. Oh man. He grabbed my ass again now, one cheek in both hands, and rubbed. “My wife never lets me fuck her ass, boy. Says it hurts. It hurt, boy?”

“Yes, sir!” I tried not to sound pathetic, and was rubbing my cock against the bed furiously. Oh man oh man...

“I don’t care if it hurts boy, I’m gonna fuck that ass. Looks nice and tight, boy. Better than a pussy, right boy?”

“Oh yessir!” I was nearly yelling now, and he laughed, enjoying my frantic humping of the bed. With a yank from both hands, I was up on my knees again, my face pressed against the bed, but my cock up away from the bed, rock hard and aching.

He spat at my hole, and I thrashed. He laughed again, “Gonna fuck your ass, boy.”

“Please sir, fuck my ass sir! Ride me hard, sir!”

He pulled his cock out of his underwear again, and teased me by putting his cockhead at my hole. “You want that boy?”

I tried to shove my ass back onto his cock, but he kept my ass in place with his hands. The strength of him turned me on and was pushing me over the edge, I was writhing, “Please sir, fuck me, fuck my ass, plow this boy!” I kept chanting it over and over.

He shoved himself into me with one brutal thrust, and I fucking saw stars! I screamed with it - he filled me up with his thick fucking cock up to bursting, and with only one glob of spit I was on fire! It burned, it felt like he was breaking me up inside, and I yelled.

He grabbed the back of my head with one hand and shoved my face into the covers of the bed, “Fucking tight ass, boy!” he yelled, “You wanted it rough, boy, you’re gonna get fucked!”

“Please, sir! Wait.. You’re... ahhh!” was about as far as I got before he pulled himself back, and just before popping his cockhead out, he shoved himself back in again, and I was screaming again. He did this three or four times, a slow pull out, and a rough fuck in, and I felt myself collapsing under him. Only his hands, now back on my ass, kept me on my knees for him. My hands were straining in the cuffs, and without any more warning, he started to fuck me faster.

“Fuck yeah boy, tight fucking ass... better than pussy... fuck yeah... take it, boy, take it...” He grunted while he assaulted my ass, and through the burning it started to work into that rubbing that feels fucking awesome - the slamming of a cock inside that lets you know you are being ridden by a fucking man. I moaned again, feeling my hard on returning, and he started getting more verbal.

“You little pussyboy, you take that cock, you’re just a fucking pussy fag, arent you boy?”

“Yes sir!” I would yell, over and over, while he slamfucked my ass. Before long, his pace went from fast to furious, and he started shoving me down with each thrust, his hands biting into my ass they were clenching so hard. I could feel his dick getting thicker, and fuck I was mad with it, I started begging.

“Give me your load sir! Cream this boypussy, sir!”

He let out a long, harsh yell, and fucked me so hard my knees started to bounce up off the damned bed, and with his yell he shot a hot liquid load up my ass. His second load wasn’t as big as his first, but the feel of it shoved me right over the edge and came as he collapsed on top of me. He lay there, heavy on top of me, dick still inside me throbbing last bits of cum down my hole, and I could barely breathe. My ass felt like it would never get tight again, and leaked his cum. My shoulders burned from the cuffs, and he rubbed his beard against my neck, moving his mouth to my ears, and said, “Better than pussy, boy.”

He rolled off me, but left me cuffed like that while he got himself cleaned up. He was fucking rugged looking - cum dripping from his cock, his underwear wet with it, his shirt all rumpled and pits wet with sweat, chest hair damp with it. He washed his face, and cleaned his cock, then he made me ask him to be released, a process that involved many “Sir”s and begging. He let me spend the night, and in the morning he fucked me again, this time with me on my back, arms still cuffed behind me, so he could watch my face. He said he liked that better, and ordered me to give him his number, and gave me an extra “Correctional Services Correctionnels, Ontario” badge.

Apparently, these Correctional Officer Parade things happen on a semi-regular basis. I can’t wait for the next one.

I also wonder if he’s as worried about his job anymore. If he’s not, I’m damned fucking envious of the convicts in his home town.

[Guest pozpig46]

hot story WOOF

[Hotload84]

Ah, one could only dream....

[MAIKOL20]

Love your story man, would love to have an adventure like this one. Sucked off and gave my pussy to a married cop once instead of a getting a ticket, but It was a quickie, you really had fun with this dude.