Date: Sun, 18 Jan 2009 23:47:24 -0500
From: tommyhawk1@aol.com
Subject: Surveillance story

			       SURVEILLANCE
			   By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
		      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
			WWW.TOMMYHAWKSROGUEMOON.COM

The van was perched in an alley behind some buildings that had seen better
days. I carried a Thermos of coffee and a big brown bag that held my lunch
and a bag of potato chips. Nothing else. In my line of work, you have to
watch yourself on these long watches. You can gain ten pounds a week
without noticing.

The van door opened as I approached. Flannery. "Thank God you showed up,
Pierce."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Hey, you never know." he said. "I do these surveillances, I find myself
thinking how I could be stuck here forever, you know?"

"You been alone too long." I said semi-sympathetically.

"Well, it's your turn now." he said. "Oh, by the way, the television in the
van is out."

"Shit." I said.

"On purpose." he went on. "Big brass said that we had to keep our eyes on
the suspect. Guess they're afraid you'll be too busy watching the late,
late movie to notice when he gets dressed and leaves."

"Is he in bed?"

"Yeah, just got in." Flannery said. "So hurry up and confirm he's safe in
bed so I can get the fuck out of here."

I got in the van and looked at the screen. A one-room apartment, currently
the bed in center, the view magnified for a close-up. "Yeah, that's our
baby." I said.

"Thanks." Flannery got out of there. "Have fun watching him
snore. Remember, the television set is broken and so's any radio you
brought along with you. They check up on you and find you not watching that
screen like it's a suspense drama, your ass is grass and they've got the
hedge-trimmers ready."

"Your ass." I said. "Go on, get out of here."

Hell, Flannery was right. We work an eight hour shift, and our job is to
watch a suspect for any suspicious activity. The hell of it is, a
twenty-four hour surveillance is dull as hell. If you had a buddy with you,
you could talk, maybe. Without one, the television set was your best
friend, even the small-screen model. One eye on an old movie, the other on
a sleeping suspect. Except they didn't trust us poor low-level slobs to do
both at once.

I saw motion and concentrated on the screen. The guy was getting a phone
call. Cell phone set to vibrate, I hadn't heard a phone ring. I made a
note, we'd have to find out the cell phone number and put a trace on
it. All my suspect did was listen, then he said good-bye (I got that much
voice on the tape, anyhow) and hung up. He'd sat up on the bed.

I knew who he was, from his file. Jackson Heath, a small-time hood running
with the Kragen gang.  His name had come up on a half-dozen cases, we were
hoping he was the key that would unlock the entire organization. The file
had contained a picture of him. Young, dark-haired, that too-cute punk that
seems to crop up time and again. I'd known that.

I hadn't known, though, what a...totally gorgeous bod!...this guy had on
him. I worked the controls to get a better look, pulling back to see all of
him. Wide shoulders with magnificent arcs of biceps, just a dusting of hair
on his forearms, deeper one on his chest, deeper still on his lower legs,
and an enticing line from his navel down to the bush hidden in his
briefs. The chest was washboard like, narrowing to a so-slender waist, the
legs lithe and smoothly muscled and beautiful. I was getting all this from
the equipment we had in the room, the cameras used a combination of
infrared and enhanced technology to give me the best possible image. A good
bit of light was coming from the windows, I got him in a sort of bluish
glory.

And then he turned on the light. My computer went from infrared bluish
color to full-flesh glory!  Then he lay back on the bed. Peculiar, the FBI
agent in me got alert for a while. He must be waiting for
something. Somebody. I got ready to record whatever happened next. Whatever
he did, it would be preserved for prosperity and any case that came from
it.

Only he wasn't doing anything much. Lying on the bed with the covers beside
him in the light, his beautiful brown body splayed out. One hand was up and
brushing lightly over his chest, that idle movement of a man who had been
awakened and couldn't sleep or didn't want to.

Brushing up and down those wonderful muscles, the tips caressing the hairs
into dozens of scintillating fibers upon his skin. The sound system we had
bugged his apartment with was delicate enough to pick up the soft "oooh!"
sound he made as his fingers wandered southward down his body.  Then again,
the delicate sigh, "ooohhhh!"

And now that hand went down to his briefs, the old, worn, sagging things he
wore were scant hindrance as he felt out his manhood and gripped his
hardening prong.

"Shi-i-i-i-i-it!" I said as I peered at the screen. Hell, this was better
programming than I'd get on the television even if it had been working (and
we had satellite!). Didn't this guy know we were taping him? I'd thought he
did, word was he had been told by the leak in the department we hadn't
plugged yet.

But if he did know.... "Shi-i-i-i-it!" I said again.

He was fishing in his briefs now, both hands, working his dong now, his
hands busy inside his briefs.  He knew I was here. The fucker was putting
on a show for me!

I hit three buttons on the console. First button turned off the recording
it was making. The second rewound it. The third erased it. The FBI didn't
need to see Jackson Heath putting on a show for a lonely FBI agent late at
night! Hell, no!

It didn't take long for me to get my own pants unzipped. If I was going to
be entertained by this punk, I was going to enjoy it! My pud, nine inches
of hard FBI dong, arced up and I wrapped my hand around its uncut shaft.

Jackson had his briefs tucked under his balls, I was looking at a beautiful
shaft, maybe a bit shorter than mine but not by much. Both hands were
pumping now, slowly, so slowly. Putting on a show.

"Mmm, yeah!" I murmured. "Come on, you bastard, put on a show for me. You
lousy two-bit punk, get that dick hard, pump it for me, hell, yeah!"

Jackson's head turned my way and he opened his mouth, his tongue came out
and made a long, lascivious circle around his lips. Damn, he knew about the
camera, no way could he aim that at me any better! Wondered if the fucker
knew it was me, here in the van in the dark, my cock in my hand, beating it
while watching him! Shit, look at that bastard, his legs raised up, his two
hands jacking his rod, God, I wanted to suck that huge shaft of his, make
him writhe like that for me, yeah, come on you rat-punk bastard, pump that
pud, milk that man-meat, squirt that load, you shit-head, you fucking lousy
bastard!

"Ah-ah-ah-hah!" came the voice on the screen.

"Yeah, come on, squirt it, shoot it, shoot it hard, shoot it!" I murmured
at him.

"Ah-ah-ah, gah-ha-hah-gah!"

"Shoot it, yeah, shoot it!"

And his head fell back to the bed, the legs slid down flat, and his cock,
his beautiful cock, sprayed up into the air, hot majestic sprays of white
jizz, flying up, arcing over, landing on his bronze chest and turning into
pearl-colored puddles.

"Oh, God, AH, AH-AHH-GUHHH!" I shot my own wads onto my chest and stomach,
staining my jacket and my shirttail, soaking myself with my love-juices,
hot steaming clumps in the van's cramped quarters.

My eyes, still blurred by the release of my seed, peered at the form on the
screen. Jackson Heath was looking at me, his fingers now playing idly with
his spent spunk on his beautiful form. His lips pursed, a kiss aimed at
me. His fingers, stained with his sperm, rose up and turned off the light,
and the camera adjusted back to the bluish colors of the computer-enhanced
imagery of darkness.

For me, I wiped myself as best I could with my kerchief, returned it to my
breast pocket. The night was still long. On the screen, Jackson had covered
his body and was snuggled in to sleep the sleep of a totally relaxed
man. Me, I kept watch on him as he slept, all the way up until the dawn
came and my relief showed up at 8:00am the next morning. I would return
that night at midnight to watch again.

My stomach was churning as I relieved Flannery the next night. I got in and
settled in. Would Jackson put on another show for me? God, I hoped so! Such
a beautiful man (despite his questionable ethics--but he was small
potatoes, I knew, his value to the FBI wasn't in what he'd done, it was who
he knew), no harm in my enjoying my job, was there?

I had settled in and been watching him for about fifteen minutes, he seemed
to be asleep. Well, you can't win them all...then his alarm clock went
off. At 12:15am? Odd.

He sat up in the bed, turned on his light, and then reached for his
nightstand, took out a folded sheet of paper. Held it up to the screen. Big
letters.

"CALL ME" followed by his phone number! Shit!

I had a cell phone on me, of course. I wasn't supposed to use it for
anything but FBI business...but wasn't this FBI business? One phone call to
an unknown phone number wouldn't alert anybody to anything.

My hands shaking, I dialed the phone, heard it ring in my ear and on the
surveillance screen at the same time. Jackson picked up his cell and said
to me, "Hello, Pierce."

"You know it's me?" I asked him.

"Hey, I have my sources." Jackson confirmed, grinning at me out of the
screen. "What'd you think of my show last night?"

"Pretty nice." I admitted. "You planning on giving me an encore."

"The best kind." Jackson said. "Thought you might like to tell me what
you'd like to see? You got some ideas, make this more fun for both of us?"

My heart thudded in my chest. "I got a few."

"Well, then, tell me what you'd like." Jackson said enticingly. "Where do I
start?"

"Take the covers off." I croaked.

Jackson moved the covers from his body with single motion smooth as a
panther's. "You got it." he said to me.

"No, all the way off the bed."

Jackson complied, now the bed held only his single pillow and the sheet
beneath him, his body a brown form on top of the white cotton. Except at
one point.

"Lose the briefs." I ordered.

He peeled them from himself in a single movement, both legs in the air, his
ballsac and ass predominating in the forefront of the screen which I had
focused in tight. God, what an ass, slender orbs of surprisingly hairy fair
skin, God, I wanted to dive in there with my face and send my tongue in to
tickle that dimpled tucker of his asshole!

"Now what, stud?" Jackson asked me as his legs descended back to earth,
made two angles of maleness upon the white background of his sheet.

"Turn over, onto your knees, thrust that ass up in the air for me!" I
said. "Let me get a good look at your ass!"

"You got it." Jackson complied, put his ass up, his head down. "I'm all
yours, Mr. FBI. Tell me how you want me?"

"Reach back, touch your butthole for me." I said. God, my cock was so
hard. "Pretend it's my tongue licking you. Come on, work it for me."

His fingers obeyed me, took the place of my tongue as they plied over his
butthole, stroking over his butt-crevice.

"Stick it in." I commanded. "Fuck yourself with your finger, Jackson, fuck
yourself for me. Make yourself squirm with your finger up your ass!"

"Ooh, oh, oh, oh!" Jackson's finger went in slowly, but it slid in just the
same. All the way up to the knuckle.

"Come on, send that in and out of you, damn it! Come on, you cocksucking
bastard, work it for me, in and out, come on, fuck yourself hard!"

"Oh, God, oh, God!" Jackson moaned. "Oh, God, Pierce, I want you, man, I
want you!"

"I want you, too, you bastard." I growled at him.

"Could you...come over and fuck me for real?" Jackson begged me. "Please,
come fuck me, man, I need it, God, I need you, Mr. FBI man, come over and
fuck my criminal ass for me!"

"I...I..."

"What are you waiting for? You want names? I'll give you all the names you
want if you'll come fuck me, Mr. FBI Pierce."

I slammed out of the van and tore over to Jackson's apartment. Up the
flights quick as I could. His door was unlocked, I opened it and nearly ran
to his bed, tearing my clothes off as I went.

Naked as he was, I bounded onto his bed. He was still face down on the bed,
waiting for me. I got behind him and with no preliminaries, my cock in
hand, I shoved it at his butt and it was warm and wet and waiting for
me. Oh, God, it was tight, too! So fucking tight! The finger he had buried
in his ass was nothing compared to my dong, and his butt was warm and tight
and Jackson writhed underneath me.

I didn't wait after I'd rammed it in to the hilt, I began to fuck his ass,
and Jackson only moaned and fucked himself back at me. I had the mattress
bouncing, I was fucking him so hard, I had the bedsprings squeaking, I had
the headboard banging the wall, I had Jackson groaning, all to the same
tempo, ah-ah-ah-ah-ah!

"Ah, you fucking cocklover, you shithead, you small-time, gun-running,
drug-pushing, pot-smoking bastard, I'm going to fuck you all night long you
lousy piece of shit!  AH-AH-AH-GAHHH-HUNNNKKKHHH!"

That fast, I came, so hot I creamed hard and fast and I yelled my lust at
Jackson under me, hot, so fucking hot, that ass, and it was mine, all mine!
A few strokes and I shoved it deep and held it there, let the rest of my
load squirt deep, deep inside him.

Jackson moaned, and I heard and smelled the hot splashes of his jism as he
soiled his sheets beneath him, he was mine, this small-time punk was all
mine, now, he belonged to the fucking FBI and that was me, he was mine,
mine, MINE!

"You're mine now, you fuck-ass, I own you now, and you're going to squeal
in my bed every night from now on, you cunt!" I growled. "God, you're so
hot!"

"You, too, Mr. FBI man!" Jackson moaned. "I got the poop on you from Kragen
and I knew I had to have you, had to get you whatever it took, whatever,
whatever!"

"You want me." I snarled. "You show up at FBI headquarters tomorrow at nine
a.m. sharp, you got me? Come to Room 112 and ask for me. We'll take it from
there."

Jackson showed up as ordered and with him in our pocket, we rolled up
Kragen's crew in jig time.  By the end of the month, we had his entire gang
either under arrest or about to be with all the proof it took to keep them
down for good.

Of course, the trials are going to take a while. We have to keep Jackson
Heath, our prime witness, under wraps. Fortunately, I got the assignment to
keep him under guard at all times. So far, he's been more than willing to
stay as close to me as needed for constant surveillance. And I don't plan
to let him go any time soon, either.

				  THE END
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