Ken James Fiction


Hot Hustler (from Cruising Cop)

"You look like a cop." The kid was standing at the edge of the street, bent over to talk through the open car window.

Sam Avery smiled. "I am a cop." The kid's expression didn't change. "But I'm not here to bust you."

The kid's expression still didn't change. "So what do you want?"

Sam pointed his index finger at the car pulling away in front of them, then jerked it backwards at the line of cars behind his. It was Friday night and the line was exceptionally long. "Same thing as those other guys."

The kid studied him briefly. "All right. Ten for a blow job in your car. Fifty for my ass. And you rent the room."

Sam pulled three twenties from his wallet and held them out. "This okay?" The kid nodded. A horn honked behind them. "Then get in."

The kid jumped in and closed the door. Sam pulled away from the young men spaced along the street. During the day, it was a major avenue. At night, this stretch belonged to the men. The women were two miles further south. The police swept the area every couple of months, driving the hookers and hustlers to other parts of town for a few days, but no operations were scheduled for the next few weeks.

"You got a place?" the kid asked. "I know a cheap motel where they don't ask questions."

"Sure." The kid gave him the address of the Victory Motel. Sam knew the place. It had been a hot sheet motel through his cop father's and grandfather's days.

Sam studied the kid in the glow from the passing streetlights. He was at least 18, unlike too many of the boys Sam had seen in the line tonight, and slightly built, with vaguely Mexican features.

"What's your name?" Sam asked.

The kid looked at him. "Pete. What about you?"

"Sam." He almost held out his hand, but caught himself. This was his first time, but he knew you didn't shake hands with hustlers.

The Victory Motel was a pair of two-story 1950s cinderblock buildings facing each other across a decayed parking lot. The buildings had rust-stained concrete stairs and balconies, wrought iron railings long overdue for painting, window air conditioners inside steel cages, and steel doors, painted battleship gray.

The desk clerk was a bored middle-aged black lady. She hardly looked away from the YouTube sermon she was watching on the ancient CRT bolted to the counter. "Twenty dollars for two hours." She took his money and handed him an old-fashioned key.

Room B-117 was on the ground floor of the left building. Sam opened the door, reached into the darkness, and flipped a switch. Lights came on and he stepped into a small shabby room with worn shag carpet and curtains that looked like burlap bags.

Pete followed him, pushing the door shut, shaking it in the frame to make sure it was closed, then turning the deadbolt.

There wasn't much furniture: a double bed with sheets and pillowcases, but no blankets or quilts, a nightstand on each side of the bed, a splintered plywood dresser, and two straight chairs. Doors in the back wall opened into a tiny closet and a primitive bathroom. Battered lamps on the nightstands provided the only light. A cracked mirror was mounted over the dresser. A cheap print of a lighthouse hung on the wall behind the bed.

Pete and Sam stood still, looking each other over. Sam was 6' tall and weighed 200 pounds, with blue eyes, short brown hair, and a weightlifter's build.

In the light, Pete looked smaller and more Mexican than he had in the car, four inches shorter and 60 pounds lighter than Sam, with light olive skin, brown eyes, and thick combed-back black hair. A few silky-fine hairs on his upper lip formed an almost-invisible mustache. Despite his small size, he showed a wiry strength and a fighter's grace. Animal cunning lurked behind his dark eyes. A long-time street kid.

"What now?" Pete asked. "You didn't pay 60 bucks to look at me." Without waiting for an answer, he kicked off his sneakers, stripped off his skimpy tank top, then unzipped his skin-tight blue jean cutoffs, pushed them down around his ankles, and stepped out of them. He wasn't wearing any underwear.

Sam's boner grew as he stared at Pete's crotch. The boy's uncut cock and balls were darker than the rest of his skin, growing out of a thick black bush. He looked challengingly at Sam. "Come on. Let's do it."

Pete's cock stiffened when Sam cupped his balls. It was unusually long and thick for a guy his size, with a conical head peeking from its foreskin.

Sam wrapped his other hand around Pete's cock, stroking his shaft and gripping his foreskin with his thumb and index finger, rubbing the fleshy hood over his cock-head. This was the first time he'd touched another man's hard cock. It felt even better than he'd imagined.

Pete put his hand on Sam's crotch, rubbing his swollen prick through the stretched cloth. "Gonna suck me?"

Sam stared at Pete's hard-on, imagining that stiff tool in his mouth, throbbing and squirting pulses of hot cum. That was just too . . . queer.

"No." Sam unfastened his jeans and let them fall to his ankles. He'd gone commando and his hard cock sprang to attention. It was longer and thicker than Pete's stiff pole, with a flaring mushroom-shaped head. "You're gonna suck this."

"Okay." Pete sank to his knees and wrapped his fingers around Sam's rigid shaft. His hand felt different from a woman's.

"You know." Pete looked up at Sam. "You're different. Sexy. Most of my tricks are old guys, with wives and kids."

Sam wasn't sure what to say, so he didn't answer.

Pete looked wary, then smiled. "I'm just saying it's fun doing you." He squeezed Sam's balls and stroked his shaft while licking and sucking his swollen cock-head.

Sam had started dating in high school and had girlfriends through college, the police academy, and his year on the force. Most of them had sucked his cock reluctantly, even after he'd gone down on them and made them come. This was the best blowjob he'd ever had.

Pete moved faster, bobbing up and down on Sam's cock, gradually taking more of his length in his mouth and down his throat while jerking Sam's shaft and squeezing his tight balls.

Sam grabbed Pete's head to hold it in place and fucked the kid's face. Pete seemed to like it rough. He sucked Sam's driving cock frantically and squeezed Sam's nuts hard enough to hurt. Somehow, that was a big turn-on.

It was too much. "Oh fuck!" Sam gasped. He rammed his hot rod down Pete's throat, shooting pulse after thick pulse of hot cum.

Sam stood still, stroking Pete's thick black hair. His cock was still hard in the boy's mouth. He suckled it while fondling Sam's balls.

Pete finally let Sam's cock slip out of his mouth. "Told you."


"You're different." Pete stood up. His cock was stiff as a steel bar, with his foreskin completely retracted. Pre-cum leaked from his tip and ran down his shaft. "Doing you's fun. Not just a job."

"Good." Sam took the little squeeze bottle of lubricant out of his jeans pocket, set it on one of the nightstands, and looked at Pete. His cock was rock-hard, like Sam's. "I'm gonna fuck your ass now. You ready?"

"Oh yeah," Pete answered. "How do you want me?"

Sam pointed to the bed. He'd fantasized about this, usually while watching gay porn on the Internet and jacking off, but sometimes while fucking his girlfriend. "On your back."

Pete lay on the bed with his legs open and his feet flat on the mattress. Sam picked up the little squeeze bottle and knelt between Pete's raised knees. He spread a thick line of lube along his index finger, then pressed his finger between Pete's buttocks. He felt around for a moment before finding the hole, then slid smoothly inside.

Pete's stiff cock jerked violently. "Oh fuck!"

"You like that?" Sam pulled his finger out, applied more lube, then slid it back up Pete's butt.

"Oh Jesus!" Pete's asshole clamped Sam's finger. "Fuck me. Good and hard. Now!" Sam pulled his finger out. Pete folded his legs against his chest, lifting his ass higher and spreading his butt cheeks wider.

Sam smeared lube over his stiff pole, pushed his flaring cock-head into the center of Pete's puckered brown asshole, and pressed forward. The kid was super-tight. Sam inched forward, gradually stretching Pete's asshole. His anal muscles suddenly relaxed and Sam's cock slid smoothly up his butt.

Sam stopped with his balls pressed against Pete's buttocks. He finally had his dick up an asshole. It felt great, like the first time he'd fucked a girl. Maybe better.

"Wow!" Pete was grinning. "That's a fucking great cock!"

Sam held still. The kid's asshole felt like a pussy, but way hotter and tighter. "And you've got a fucking great ass." He wrapped his hand around Pete's stiff cock, smearing it with lubricant.

"Then fuck it!"

Sam pulled out slowly, staring at his thick shaft emerging from the kid's asshole, followed by his swollen cock-head.

He stopped with the tip of his cock-head barely kissing Pete's puckered hole, then pushed back inside. Pete gasped and his stiff cock jerked. Sam paused briefly, then pulled out and rammed Pete's ass again.

After taking a few single thrusts, Sam fucked Pete steadily, pulling almost out, then driving home.

"Madre María!" Pete gasped, stroking his hard cock in time with Sam's driving rod. "Fuckin' Jesus, that's good!"

Sam was bent forward, with his face a foot from Pete's, looking into his liquid brown eyes, wanting to kiss his lush lips but holding back. Like sucking cock, that was just too queer.

Sam grabbed Pete's ankles and pushed them outward and away, spreading the boy's legs like wheelbarrow handles.

"Oh! Fuck" Pete jacked his hard cock as Sam rocked his spread legs in a long arc, slamming his ass hard enough to shake the flimsy bed.

"I'm getting close!" Sam gasped.

"Come on," Pete said. "Shoot that big gun. Up my butt."

Sam came, firing a long pulse of cum up Pete's ass. He pulled back, rammed Pete again, and fired another hot shot. Then another, while Pete sprayed thick juice on his chest and belly.

Sam let go of Pete's ankles. He lowered his feet to the mattress, keeping Sam's cock deep in his ass.

Once again, Sam wanted to kiss Pete's lush lips, run his fingers through that thick black hair . . .

"That was good." Pete squirmed under Sam. "Great, actually." He moved again and Sam's cock slipped out of his ass. "But I kinda think . . ."

"Yeah." Sam sighed. "Time to get cleaned up and go."

They took a quick shower together, then tried to dry off with the thin motel towels.

Sam dropped Pete at an all-night diner a few blocks from the cruising strip, then went home, drank a beer, and went to bed. He fell asleep fantasizing about the sexy young hustler's hot tight ass, hard cock, and lush lips.

This is a sample from Cruising Cop,

for sale on Amazon, Smashwords, and other ebook distributors.

Copyright © 2020 by Ken James