John nursed his cup of coffee like it were his firstborn child. Mornings at the police station never were very fun. Being called in the conference room with only one other officer, Erik Manson, a promising rookie, really did not bode well. Erik wasn't a bad fellow, just a bit naive, nothing like Clay had been. Even appearance wise, Erik was more pale-skinned and with very dark hair and stubble. Not a tenth of Clay's arrogance and cocksure attitude that had grated on every officer's nerves.
The news that Clay had decided to quit had been met with general relief and no follow-up, to the panicked twitches of John's new and improved penis. 'Bet you hadn't realized you were such a dickhead, huh?'
This morning, the commissioner walked in the conference room with purpose, miles away from thinking about that one promising dick of a new recruit. He carried a stack of documents under his arm, and looked like he hadn't slept a wink last night.
"Ah, John, Manson, sit down, would you?"
At the sound of Erik's name, Clay jolted to life. Blood pumped through his shaft, and John felt his underwear tighten around his new cock. With some effort, he kept a straight face, his smirk frozen in place whilst he tried to listen to the rest of the conversation.
The commish said something, but John's mind refused to interpret it when his dicked former partner was trying to move inside his boxers. He could feel the bulge becoming progressively more noticeable, and he saw few options in how to hide this.
"Ah, excuse me for a moment," he told his colleagues, then made a beeline for the office's bathroom.
Making sure to lock the door, he growled, fumbled with the buttons of his pants before pulling out his ten inches long dick. Almost absentmindedly, he began to rub the tip of his dickhead and pulled the foreskin on and off a few times.
"This is the third time this week, Clay," John sighed, like he was a concerned partner. "What's with you? Do you really like Erik's name that much? You two were good friends, weren't you? Or do you just enjoy trying to embarrass me? Maybe you're hoping he'll magically realize you're a real dick now?"
His grip tightened, and John began pumping in earnest, spitting for a little extra lubrication.
"Well, you're wasting your time, Clay," he hissed at his cock, pumping even harder. "Even if they noticed I popped a boner, they wouldn't think it's you. I told them all you decided to quit. The case took its toll on you..."
He chuckled, breathless as he teased his stiff cock on the edge of the lavatory.
"All those poor young men... reduced to their cocks... Such a terrible fate, you just couldn't take it..."
Pre bubbled at the tip of his slit, and John made sure to aim his dickhead so Clay couldn't help but see his reflection in the mirror. So he could take in again the sight of his own dick stuck on John. And he knew the moment the image made its way through Clay's lustful mind. His balls clenched, tight and ready.
"You just didn't want to *imagine* what it would be like to be being reduced to your own cock, right?" John whispered to his dick. That did the trick.
Pleasure flooded his mind as he came, spurting cum all over the bathroom's mirror. Clay twitched four times, thick ropes of milky liquid dripping over the side of his head.
With a long shudder, John let go of the lavatory and examined the result of his little lesson to Clay. The amount he produced always pleasantly surprised him. But Clay was a young, athletic man with a healthy libido and sex life and what not. It was almost expected. And John always was a bit giddy with dark amusement knowing that all those annoying things about Clay only improved his own life. So, as nonchalantly as every other time, John grabbed a bunch of tissues and started cleaning the bathroom. It was poor etiquette with his colleagues to leave them a dirty bathroom after all. Once he was done, he shoved his softening cock back into his boxers.
Clay should really try to learn to be more considerate.
***
John returned to the meeting room whistling, feeling far more refreshed than when he had arrived this morning.
Commissioner Smith raised an eyebrow at him, a sharpie stopped just over the whiteboard on the wall. "Well, someone's in a good mood. What did you have to leave for so suddenly?"
"Oh nothing much, commish. A quick lesson someone needed teaching."
The commissioner's grey eyes searched his expression for a sign of sort, but only found John's cocky grin and relaxed attitude. So, for the time being, he shrugged and dropped the matter.
"Sit down," he ordered. "Now, as for what I was saying, the case here is particularly delicate. We've nabbed ourselves a witness to pin an actual murder on Pedro Capacino, the local druglord. But Pedro became aware of the witness' identity and is actively trying to silence him by any means necessary. And Pedro's got ears and eyes everywhere. You two are some of the only officers I believe I can trust not to let the words get back to Pedro. No one knows you're on the case and I want to keep it that way. If anyone asks, you're investigating a homicide."
Commissioner Smith flipped over a sheet in the evidence folder and revealed a profile picture of a young man in his mid-twenties, wearing a red and yellow promotional cap.
"The witness is called William Walker. Twenty four years old, caucasian, pizza delivery man. He was in the middle of one of his runs when he overheard Perdo call a hit on someone. He is currently in the interrogation room, with strict orders not to let anyone approach him. We need to make him disappear for two weeks before he is shot by Pedro's inside men."
John and Erik grimaced. What a case.
The commissioner read their faces and agreed. "Indeed. Now, whatever solution you two come up with, I do not want to be told. Everything will be left to your discretion, no paper trails, nothing. You have the last say on everything that happens whilst I sort the shitstorm at the courthouse. I need this man alive in two weeks, understood?"
"Yes, sir," they replied, not too enthusiastic.
Smith clapped their backs on his way out, wishing them luck.
It took roughly twenty seconds before Erik slammed his face against the conference room's table. "Urgh. Witness protection is already a pain without worries about moles. What the fuck are we supposed to do? Magic him away?"
John sipped on his coffee cup, mulling their options. They were unfortunately limited. Couldn't involve too many people, even old time friends. Secrets didn't stay that way very long when shared. "You know a good Houdini?" he half joked.
"Pffft, no. Should have saved that magician guy's number when I met him at a bar last weekend. Is it too late to ask a plastic surgeon to give him a new appearance?"
John grinned, then placed a hand on Erik's shoulder. "Don't worry, I know just how we can protect the witness. But I'll need your complete collaboration, no questions asked."
An apprehensive look passed on Erik's face, before fading under a determined nod. "Alright. I'll follow your lead."
"Perfect. I've got just one phonecall to make." Besides, he thought, I have a feeling you'll enjoy it too.