Date: 2017-03-03 05:00:00+00:00

Cuffed by the Cop
by

Henri Couesnon

Dedication

To all the French cops I have known:

Avec respect et amour—

Vous savez que vous êtes!

Copyright © 2017 Henri Couesnon

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or to persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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Published by: Henri Couesnon

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Table of Contents

Dedication

Author’s Introduction: A Brief Treatise about French Cops

Chapter One: Two Bad Boys

Chapter Two: Alley Tomcats

Chapter Three: A Midnight Jog

Chapter Four: Copping the Cop’s Joint

Chapter Five: An Unexpected Visitor

Chapter Six: Coffee with the Cop

Chapter Seven: The Rookie

Chapter Eight: A Messenger

Chapter Nine: Cops Gone Wild

Chapter Ten: Roused from His Nap

Chapter Eleven: A New Recruit

Also by Henri Couesnon

Author’s Introduction: A Brief Treatise about French Cops

I admit it. I like cops. After all, what’s not to like? A man in uniform, trained to exercise authority and tolerate no nonsense—yeah, that can be hot, if you’re in a submissive frame of mind! I’ve been known to have my run-ins with the authorities. Especially, while growing up in my home town of Marseille, on the wrong side of the tracks. Sometimes, I was able to bluff my way out of my predicament. And, like Franck, the amoral protagonist of this novel—on occasion, I managed to use sex to barter my way out of a potentially sticky situation!

Cops are only human, after all. Once their blood starts to leave their brains, and it flows down to stiffen their dicks, they’re as susceptible to sexual temptation as any other men. A smart con artist knows how to exploit such a weakness.

To be a cop’s property—his chattel—to serve him, abjectly, to be his whore—! What ecstasy! What lewd pleasure! I’m getting excited just thinking about, let alone writing about it. But I digress.

Franck, the bad boy who is the anti-hero of this work of fiction, lusts not wisely, but too well—to coin a phrase. He becomes infatuated with Brigadier Charles Brun, his tough cop lover, who invariably treats him badly—which is just what the masochistic Franck wants! I can relate. Been there, done that—but of course this book isn’t about me. It’s fiction. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. Let the cops beat a confession out of me—if they can! Back in the good old days, that tactic only succeeded in getting me more aroused!

And now, for a brief lesson in the French language, and French slang. Those uninterested in such linguistic subtleties can skip this, and go directly to Chapter One.

In France, the police force—the Police nationale, or the National Police—is the main civil law enforcement organization, active in large cities and towns, and it is not to be confused with the military Gendarmerie, which protects smaller towns and rural areas. The National Police is divided into three parts, or corps.

The Corps de mâitrise et d’application (Authority and Enforcement Corps) corresponds to your typical cop on the urban beat.

Gardien de la paix stagiaire (Keeper of the peace, intern) is the lowest, beginning rank. This accurately describes the “rookie,” Claude, who is a character in this book. He’s a new hire, on probation, and at the bottom of the pecking order.

The next rank up is just plain Gardien de la paix (Keeper of the peace). The character Charles Brun, who plays a prominent role in this narrative, has progressed beyond this, to the next step upward, which is Brigadier—a word which, conveniently, also exists in English, although in different contexts.

When the character Brun is first introduced to the reader (in Chapter Three), he is identified, accurately, as a Brigadier. This means that he isn’t a newcomer to the police force. He has risen from Gardien de la paix stagiaire, to Gardien de la paix, and then to his current rank of Brigadier. English-speaking readers, for whom this book is intended, may find this terminology more evocative of the military than of the police force. Accordingly, having made the initial point about Brun’s rank, I usually refer to him in the text not as a Brigadier, but by the more generic “officer,” subsequently. No offense intended to any of the Frenchmen (and Frenchwomen!) who have earned the title of Brigadier!

The two higher-ranking corps of the National Police—the Corps de commandement et d’encadrement (Command and Management Corps) and the Corps de conception et de direction (Conception and Direction Corps), and their various subdivisions, need not concern us here.

In casual, everyday conversation, Frenchmen use the words officier de police, policier, and gendarme more or less interchangeably. All of these terms can be translated into English as “police officer,” “policeman,” or as that convenient monosyllable, “cop.”

Slang words for “cop” abound in French, though, as they do in other languages. Flic and condé—the latter is especially popular, in the south of France, where this story takes place—are considered to be impolite, even insulting, so you’d be well advised not to utter either of them in a French police officer’s hearing. Not unless you want to spend some time at the nearest precinct, in a holding cell, as the guest of the men in blue!

There’s also the classic slang term les vaches, usually used in the plural, and literally meaning “the cows.” (The English equivalent would be “the pigs.”) The implication would seem to be that police officers exhibit an innate, bovine-like placidity and stupidity. A vile slander, in my opinion! An alternative explanation of the term, however, is that it’s simply a corruption of the German word Wache, meaning, in this context, “the town watch.” As my American friends would say—when it comes to etymology, you pay your money and you take your choice!

Another intriguing, derogatory term for cop is poulet, literally “chicken,” or “hen.”

Some sources claim that this ironic use of poulet originated because the first police station in Paris was built on the site of what was once a farmer’s market, where fowls were sold. Another, more colorful—though much more disrespectful!—story would have it that, just as chickens run into the shelter of their coop when it rains, so policemen retreat at the first sign of any real danger. For shame! I find that hard to believe.

Well, personally, I have the highest regard for the French police. The cops in my story may not always subscribe to the highest moral standards, when they’re off duty. They give in to their animalistic urges—gleefully, repeatedly, and decisively. But, hey—it’s fiction. Fantasy! And so—no real harm intended. And none, I hope, done.

Chapter One: Two Bad Boys

“I wouldn’t mind making some money tonight,” Didier declared, flatly.

“Maybe something will pop up on the website, at the last moment,” Franck said.

“I doubt it. And I don’t feel like sitting here staring at the screen, waiting for something to happen.”

“Me, neither,” Franck agreed. “So—what do you suggest we do?”

“Let’s go down to the waterfront, cruise some guys—preferably, sailors, in town on shore leave and looking for action—hook up with one of them, and roll him,” Didier proposed, bluntly. “Like in the old days.”

“Oh, and I suppose I’m going to be the queer bait?”

“Why not? You’re pretty good at it. Let’s face it, buddy. You are a born male whore.”

“Thanks,” Franck said, in a cynical tone of voice. “You could get down on your knees, with your mouth open, every now and then, you know, or bend over and spread your ass, for a change. Why should I have to do all the work?”

“Let me think. Maybe because you’re my bitch—is that it?”

“You’re mean,” Franck muttered.

“And you like it when I don’t let you get away with defying me, don’t you?” Didier gloated. “Yeah, you like being my boy—you like it a lot! So you might as well cut the crap, and do what I tell you to do.”

“Okay,” Franck grumbled. “There’s no need for you to start acting tough.”

“Isn’t there? Maybe that’s the only thing you understand. You want me to slap you around a little?”

“Maybe just a little,” Franck suggested. “That always turns me on.”

“Later, you cunt,” Didier grunted. “I’ll smack your horny ass later. Right now, let’s go down to Le Repos du Marin, and see if anything’s going on down there. Anything, that is, which we can turn to our advantage.”

Le Repos du Marin [The Sailor’s Rest] was one of the most notorious dives on Marseille’s waterfront. Conveniently located near the city’s busy harbor, the bar reportedly stayed open only because its owners had some of the local authorities on their unofficial payroll, paying them off in hush money.

Male and female prostitutes, and drug dealers, patronized the bar, not only during the daytime hours, but especially at night. It was well known, in Marseille, that this was one reliable place to go to, if you wanted to stock up on recreational drugs, or to hook up with an accommodating sex partner for hire, of either gender.

“All right,” Franck agreed, more than a little reluctantly. “We might as well check it out.”

He and Didier rode downtown on their motorcycles. They were habitually impecunious. But neither young man stinted, when it came to paying for his hog. Didier owned a vintage Ducati 888, and Franck rode a Wakan 1640 V-twin. When they cruised the streets of Marseille, and the open roads outside of the city, the two friends thought they were hot shit—true biker studs, just about irresistible to most gay men!

“Hit them, quit them, and forget them—that’s how to treat all these horny gay guys,” was Didier’s cynical advice to his buddy.

Franck and Didier were both twenty-two years old. Born within a few months of each other, they’d grown up on the same block, in one of the less desirable neighborhoods in Marseille. Childhood playmates, who’d gotten into trouble together on a regular basis, they thought of themselves almost as brothers, as opposed to mere friends. Having reached adulthood, they continued to take risks—but calculated ones. They were streetwise enough to avoid doing anything too reckless.

They supported themselves with a succession of menial jobs, while making their real spending money by means of petty theft, drug dealing, and hustling. Both young men were good-looking, well-built, well-hung, amoral, and sexually uninhibited. Cynical enough to realize that their looks were an asset which could be exploited, they saw nothing wrong with male prostitution.

They lived together, in a small, inexpensive apartment, located in one of the city’s working-class districts, not far from the neighborhood where they’d grown up. They had separate bedrooms, necessitated by the fact that they entertained so many men, either for pleasure or profit.

Occasionally, they indulged in sex with each other, usually when they were bored, and more or less for the hell of it.

The two friends believed they’d progressed beyond the point at which they needed to loiter on street corners, or hang out in gay bars, waiting to be picked up by a john. Didier had suggested they pay to set up and maintain their own website. At first, Franck had resisted the idea, because they’d have to post photos of themselves—facial shots, and also pictures of their nude bodies, preferably sporting erections—on such a site. Potential customers wanted to see the merchandise, before committing themselves, after all! But Didier scoffed at the idea that a member of one of their families would ever access the site, which was his buddy’s great concern. As he pointed out to Franck, none of their grandparents was likely to be surfing the internet in search of gay male escorts—unless the grandparent in question was leading a secret life as scandalous as their own!

“I can’t speak for your grandma,” Didier joked. “But I wouldn’t put too much past mine!”

Furthermore, they’d use pseudonyms on the site. As an additional precaution, they posted a disclaimer, to the effect that they were offering their services as “guides” or “escorts,” only. No, they definitely were not in the business of selling sex! None of the men who accessed the website believed this for a moment, of course, but Didier said it was prudent to avoid any overt references to the fact that they were actually selling sex.

Soon, they were doing a steady business, either individually, or as a team. Many of their customers were locals, but the two enterprising lads soon discovered that the real money came from visitors to Marseille—businessmen, or tourists. The latter, in particular, tended to be generous tippers.

They entertained their johns in their apartment, or they made out calls, going to hotels and private homes. Some men wanted them to travel, to come to where they lived—which was fine, so long as all expenses were paid, and in advance.

As hustlers, they specialized, to some extent. Didier was the better at projecting an image of being “rough trade,” for the benefit of those johns who wanted that. Franck could still convey boyish innocence, without having to try too hard.

Franck joked about being Didier’s “bitch,” but the truth was he usually allowed Didier to make the decisions for them. Franck was willing to go along with whatever his friend suggested, as a rule.

Tonight, unusually, neither of them had a paying date, which was one reason why they decided to go out on the town. Another reason was that they were getting bored, and restless. They had been spending so much of their free time with johns, lately, that they felt they were becoming antisocial. They felt an urge to reacquaint themselves with the seedier side of the city’s nightlife.

When they got dressed to go out, they didn’t fuss too much. In their choice of attire, as in so many other things, they betrayed a degree of contradiction. Neither Didier not Franck had much interest in fashion. They disliked having to dress up, as a rule. Tonight, they chose virtually matching outfits, unpretentious on the whole—well-worn jeans, scuffed work boots with thick soles, and ordinary cotton T-shirts, light blue for Didier, black for Franck. But, just as they spared no expense when it came to their motorcycles, accordingly they scorned wearing accessories which might cause them to be mistaken for ordinary, budget-conscious bikers. They wore helmets, protective eyewear, and gloves of the best quality, and their leather jackets, constructed from soft, supple hides, were very expensive, and looked it. Because black leather was the norm, at least when it came to most gay men’s stereotyped mental images of bikers, Didier and Franck had opted for other colors—maroon for Didier, and a warm chocolate brown, for Franck.

Finally, they bedecked themselves with some extremely pricey male jewelry—all of it second-hand and stolen, of course. They wore diamond studs in their pierced ears, and heavy gold neck chains and bracelets. Each guy had more than one truly fine wristwatch—tonight, Franck’s was an Ulysse Nardin, and his friend’s was an Audemars Piguet.

They rode their bikes downtown, to the harbor. Parking on the street outside the bar, they swaggered into its dimly-lit interior. Their entrance caused a few heads to turn, although some of the serious drinkers remained lost in the dour, drunken contemplation of their glasses.

“Any likely prospects in here tonight?” Didier asked the muscle-bound bartender, who was an old friend.

The man shrugged. “Depends on whether you’re selling it, or giving it away for free. If the latter—keep in mind I get off in a few hours.”

“You ought to know me better than that by now, man. I never give it away if there’s any chance of turning a profit.”

“Well, you might want to check out the bougnoule then. Over there,” the bartender said, with a discreet gesture. He had used a rather vulgar slang term, meaning anyone who looked vaguely like an Arab. “He came in just a little while ago, telling me he’d heard this is a good pickup joint, and wanting to know if that’s true. I told him, hell, yes. Then he said he’s willing to pay for it. So I suggested he stick around. Maybe now he’ll get lucky—and so will you. The guy’s flashing a big bankroll. He said he works on a freighter, which just got in, from Alexandria. Looks like the crew got paid before they went on shore leave. Do I need to spell it out for you guys?” the bartender asked, cynically. “No—I’m sure you can take it from here!”

Didier and Franck, with their drinks in their hands, turned away from the bar, and they cast furtive, appraising glances in the direction the bartender had indicated.

The sailor was young, about their own age, and rather good-looking. His clothes identified him as a typical member of the Mediterranean’s diverse, multicultural merchant marine. His trousers and jersey were both loose-fitting, evidently chosen for comfort and ease of movement, rather than for style. His canvas shoes, worn without socks, had the kind of soles designed to provide a secure grip on slick, slippery surfaces—such as the deck of a ship. On his head was a Mediterranean sailor’s characteristic accessory—a summer weight watch cap, made not from wool, but from cotton, creamy white with dark navy blue, almost black, stripes.

The man himself was black, very dark-skinned. His ship had come from Egypt, and he could have been Egyptian himself, or possibly Sudanese.

He was drinking beer, straight from the bottle, and he was looking around the bar, doing some obvious, heavy cruising.

“So,” Didier murmured, speaking more to himself, aloud, than addressing Franck. “He’s in the market, huh? He wants to pay for it? We ought to give him the chance.” He turned to his companion. “What do you think?”

“Well, at least he’s not old or ugly,” Franck replied, noncommittedly. “We’ve both fucked worse, God knows.”

“Tell me about it! Which of us do you think he might go for—you, or me? Or both? No, wait—I’d say that question’s already been answered. He’s looking this way—and he’s looking at you.”

“Really?”

“Check it out.”

The black sailor was indeed looking in their direction, and his attention seemed to be focused upon Franck. His dark, brooding eyes darted up and down restlessly, scrutinizing Franck’s face and body.

“Okay, there’s no need for us to waste any time, or look any farther,” Didier whispered into Franck’s ear. “That horny black dude. He wants some white meat tonight—I can tell. He wants you. Your lily white body. Your pretty white ass.”

“He’s probably an animal in bed,” Franck protested. “A horny animal. All he wants to do is get laid.”

“So what? Since when has that ever stopped you? Or me? So much the better for us, actually. The guy is obviously doing his thinking with his dick. Go over there,” Didier urged. “Talk nice to him. Hook him, and reel him in.”

“Shit,” Franck complained. But he did as his buddy asked.

He sauntered over to where the sailor was standing, making and maintaining eye contact with him. Tentatively, a little nervously, the black guy smiled at him. Franck immediately felt more confident. His instincts told him that this was going to be an easy conquest. This number was smitten, and not thinking too clearly, all right!

“Bonsoir,” Franck said.

“Bonsoir.”

“You’re a sailor?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“Oh, just a guess,” Franck lied. “You have the look of the sea about you. It’s very distinctive. Have you been here in Marseille long?”

“No. My ship just got in today. From Alexandria.”

“All the way from Egypt! How interesting.”

Franck was tallying up his impressions. The sailor spoke fluent French, but with a distinct accent, the kind which Franck associated with North Africans. Whatever the guy’s precise nationality might be, though, he was definitely on the make. Those trousers of his might be loose-fitting under ordinary circumstances, but they weren’t roomy enough in the crotch to conceal the fact that the man was developing a hard-on, which pushed the fabric outward, in much the way a tent pole held up the tent.

“That other man, the one you were talking to—is he your lover?” the sailor asked.

“Oh, God, no,” Franck assured him, breezily. “He’s just a friend. One of my many friends,” he added, suggestively. “I don’t have any use for a lover. I like variety too much.”

He could see, right away, that this claim pleased the sailor, who was even more excited.

“You’re very handsome,” the black man said.

“Thank you. So are you.”

”Do you like black men?”

“I like all kinds of men. Especially those who are hot, who have big dicks, and who know how to be generous,” Franck declared, shamelessly.

“I don’t like this bar. It’s so dark and dirty. Maybe we could go somewhere else. I’d make it worth your time.”

This was plain speaking, indeed, and Franck was pleased. Before he could respond, though, it was at this strategic moment that Didier chose to join them.

“How are you two gentlemen getting along?” Didier asked, with all the bland, false amiability he had at his command.

“Fine,” the sailor said. “But we could be getting along even better,” he suggested. “So—are you peddling it, too, or are you just the pimp?”

Didier smiled. “I prefer to think of myself as my buddy’s business manager,” he joked.

“How much?”

“Thirty euros for oral,” Didier said. “Fifty, for anal.” [Note: approximately thirty-one and sixty-two US dollars, respectively.] “My buddy Franck, here? He really knows how to deliver a hot blow job. He can deep-throat, take on the biggest dicks. Suck the cum right out of them. And he’s just as good when he bends over and takes it up the ass.”

“Yeah?” The sailor’s eyes lit up. He was staring at Franck’s mouth, at his full red lips, and his eyes flickered with anticipation. Then his gaze darted downward, to check out Franck’s butt. “I want anal,” he declared, lasciviously. “I want to fuck this white boy’s pretty ass!”

“It’s all yours,” Didier assured him.

“Where can we do it? You guys got a place, near here?”

“We’ve got a place—right around the corner,” Didier said. “Maybe it’s not fancy—but it’s private, and safe. Nobody will interrupt you two, there.”

Aware of what Didier meant by “a place right around the corner,” Franck wasn’t surprised when, after the three men left the bar, Didier ignored their parked motorcycles, and instead he led the way down the street, on foot.

It was a brief walk, during which no one spoke. Didier turned a corner into an alley, leading off the main street, and the other two men followed him.

Franck knew where they were headed. It was an old warehouse, dusty and neglected. The place was such a dump, and the old merchandise stored in it was so lacking in any appeal for potential thieves, that the owner of the building hadn’t bothered to install an electronic security system.

One day, while loitering in the neighborhood, Didier had noticed a bored-looking guy taking more boxes and crates out of a van parked behind the building, and moving them in through the back door. Didier had befriended the man, and, over a few drinks in a nearby bar, he’d slipped him a few euros. In exchange, the delivery guy went to a locksmith with Didier, who ended up with a duplicate key to the warehouse’s back door.

“I don’t want to steal anything,” Didier assured his new acquaintance. “I just want a place I can go to get high, and to do a little dealing—and to fuck. Some guys you pick up in a bar don’t want to go to your place, or to theirs. They just want a quickie.”

His drinking buddy grunted, and shrugged. “I don’t give a damn if you empty out the place. It’s no skin off my ass. If anybody ever asks, though—we never met, and I don’t know where the hell you got that key.”

“Ah, mon ami, that goes without saying.”

Didier and Franck had begun using the warehouse as a place to stash stolen goods, while they were waiting to dispose of them. The two young thieves were too savvy to keep such contraband in their apartment. The building was also a convenient place to conduct disreputable business negotiations, such as drug dealing, or to take johns whom they picked up in the neighborhood. Why pay for a sleazy hotel room, by the hour, when there was an alternative, which cost nothing?

Didier unlocked the door and ushered the sailor through it. Inside, Didier flipped on the ceiling lights. With Franck following, he led the sailor down a narrow, dusty, dirty corridor. Didier pushed open another door and flicked on the overhead light.

They were in a small, gloomy, windowless storeroom, piled high with cartons and crates. In one corner there was a bare mattress lying on the floor, and a filthy washbasin with a single rusted faucet and a cracked and clouded mirror screwed into the wall above it. Didier and Franck had found the old, worn-out mattress, discarded in the alley, and they’d dragged it here. So infrequently did anyone enter the building on any legitimate errand, that no one had noticed its presence in the room.

“It this okay?” Didier asked the sailor.

“I guess it’ll have to do. It’s not the Hotel Dieu,” the sailor said, referring, sarcastically, to a particularly elegant and pricey establishment in Marseille, located on the city’s Place Daviel. “But I bet I wouldn’t have run into either of you two studs in the Hotel Dieu, would I?” He brayed with laughter.

Didier smiled, thinly. “I’ll wait outside. Don’t take all night, guys,” he said, and then he left the room.

Ill at ease, Franck stood there, not moving, saying nothing. He and Didier had been trying, with some success, to acquire a more upscale clientele. Being rented out to this sailor, like a common street hustler, seemed like a step backward.

“Get your clothes off,” the sailor demanded. “I want us to fuck naked.”

Franck looked at him, trying to focus his eyes in the dim yellowish light coming from the ceiling fixture. The sailor had already begun stripping, and soon he stood there completely and unselfconsciously nude. Franck had to admit that the guy wasn’t exactly repulsive-looking. He had a hard dark brown body, from the groin of which reared a long thick penis in full erection, blue-veined and pulsing in the air. God only knew how many weeks, or even months, of enforced abstinence on board his ship had inspired its quivering readiness!

“Come on, you pussy boy—strip,” the black man said, with growing impatience.

Franck shed his jacket and T-shirt.

“Yeah,” the naked black stud exclaimed, when Franck was stripped to the waist. The sailor sat down on the mattress, watching Franck expectantly. “Nice body—! Come here,” he ordered Franck. “Kneel down, yeah, right here. Give me a taste of those tits.”

Awkwardly, Franck dropped to his knees beside the grimy mattress, closing his eyes as the sailor grasped his arms, holding them at Franck’s sides, and leaning over to suck noisily on each of the hustler’s nipples in turn. He ran his tongue around the firm mounds of Franck’s exceptionally well-developed pecs and he licked lasciviously, like a dog, at his rigidly pointed dark nipples. He then raised Franck’s arms, and he began to work on his armpits with his tongue.

“Hot,” the sailor groaned. “Now get those fucking pants off. Whip out your dick, and show me your ass. I’m going to fuck it, you know. I paid fifty fucking euros for your hole, so you’d better spread it for me, bitch. I expect to get my money’s worth. I know you white bitches. You always go crazy when you get a big black dick shoved up your ass.”

Numbly, Franck stood up again, and he finished undressing himself.

“You’re almost too beautiful to be a whore.” The sailor was now so aroused that he was practically panting for breath, like a dog trying to cool itself on a hot day, and he was also little short of salivating. “But you’re mine, now,” he gloated. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had my dick in a white boy’s ass?”

His talk was directed at the air, Franck realized. The guy didn’t expect an answer. He was talking to himself, stroking himself verbally, and Franck wasn’t even part of the dialogue, or rather of the monologue. Franck was just a sex object, just the man’s rented property, for him to drool over.

Franck’s hands balled into tight fists as he fought to contain his shame and anger. This black bastard—he was so crude and vulgar, and having to submit to him was so degrading! He hated Didier, for arranging this, for making him submit to this humiliation.

But it was hardly the first time Franck had sold himself to a sex partner who didn’t appeal to him. Consoling himself with the thought of the money he’d be paid, he resigned himself to going through with the sordid act.

“Turn around. Show me your ass. Yeah! Let me see that hole. Now lie down. No—not on that dirty mattress,” the black man insisted, when Franck began to move toward it. “Go over there and bend over that crate. Come on, bend right over the goddamn thing. Show me your hot white man’s whore ass. That’s what we came here for—so I can fuck that ass!”

Franck, bending obscenely over the big wooden box which the other guy had indicated, looked back over his shoulder. The naked black youth had taken a piece of dirty soap from the washbasin in the corner and he was wetting it under the tap. Then he rubbed it up and down over his turgid purplish-black prick to lubricate it, giving Franck another unambiguous warning of his impending anal ordeal.

“All right, punk, here we go. Right in through the back door,” the sailor panted, already breathing hard in anticipation of sex. “Spread those pretty little white ass cheeks and let me get in there between them and fuck!”

Thoroughly disgusted, Franck forced himself to relax his body’s instinctive defenses, and allow himself to be penetrated by this uncouth foreigner. The sooner it was over and done with, the better, he told himself. Let the john have his way with him and get his rocks off, and then this entire degrading episode would be behind Franck, and it could be forgotten.

“Ah! Shit!” Franck yelped. He was scarcely prepared for the needle-sharp jab of pain which resulted from the black stud’s ramming his soaped-up cock-tip, slippery but still hard and blunt, right through the tight pink pucker of his anal sphincter.

“Take it, bitch!” the sailor exulted.

“Ow! Goddamn it, that hurts! Wait—stop—pull it out,” Franck gasped, consumed with pain. “Please!”

But his fucker only laughed, with sadistic glee. He had his black arms placed around Franck, hauling on his shoulders, holding him down with his ass thrust out against his groin. The sailor’s back quivered and arched, as his hips moved in tight, agile circles, screwing his long thick black prick inch by inch through the tiny, taut ring of Franck’s desperately clenched anal opening.

“Bastard. You dirty, raping bastard! Cut it out,” Franck pleaded. “Or—at least take it slow, man! Give me a chance to get used to it.”

“Fuck that shit. I’m paying for this. I’m going to get my money’s worth. And you’d better give it to me. Whore! Dirty white whore!”

“Take it easy,” Franck begged—a futile request. Uselessly, he bucked and writhed beneath the other man, succeeding only in impaling himself deeper on the steely scimitar of a sex organ which was wedged up to its hilt in his outraged anal orifice.

“You French man slut. Can you feel it? I’m right in there, all the way inside your tight little asshole. Damn, it feels like a fucking virgin’s cunt, it’s so tight!” the sailor gloated.

“Slow down. You’re hurting me.” Knowing that his fucker probably could care less about his discomfort, Franck groaned in agony and shame. He clutched the sides of the wooden crate, trying to keep his chest and crotch from scraping against it and being run through by any stray sharp splinters. The black stud smashed down against his backside, delivering one buttock-flattening, sodomizing lunge after another. “Aw, you dirty black motherfucker!” Franck yelled.

“You dirty white whore!” his fucker retorted. “You man pussy! You man cunt! You slut! Bitch, don’t you bother to pretend you don’t like it. Yeah—you like having a black man’s dick shoved up your white ass!”

The sailor redoubled his efforts. His cock was bloated with intense erotic sensation, heavy and turgid, charged with a delicious squeezing agony of pressure from the hot vise of Franck’s resisting asshole. It almost hurt him to penetrate the handsome young Frenchman all the way, so tightly did his anal muscles drag on his foreskin and the long thick shaft of his cock. But the sailor was already uncontrollably excited, ignoring Franck’s pleas and cries of pain and mortification.

“Cunt,” the sailor panted. “You man cunt, you!”

Franck cried out in agony, again and again, as that rapier of lust sawed away, sliding it in and out of his punished ass. He writhed—realizing, even as he did so, that his struggles only made things worse. But he was desperate to keep the front of his body from being scraped over the top of the crate upon which the sailor had him pinned. The rough wooden boards chafed his skin, and he fully expected stray splinters to pierce his flesh at any moment. He squirmed his firm, sweating behind in hot circles, trying to ease the stabbing pain and pressure of the repeated penetrations, knowing that his involuntary movements were only serving to excite the man who was fucking him all the more—but Franck was unable to stop.

His movements facilitated their crude coupling, however, and the black man mistook them for complicity, for surrender, for willing cooperation on Franck’s part—after a token, prick-teasing display of reluctance, resistance, and faked suffering. He fucked Franck even harder. Franck had been accurate in his initial assessment of his john. The dude was an animal—a horny, mindless, rutting, testosterone-fueled animal!

“That’s it, you dirty little man cunt. Twist your hot ass, screw my dick with that tight little asshole. Flex it, move the fucking thing around my cock. Yeah! Oh, yeah! That’s the way, you whore. Can you feel it? Can you feel my cock, in your ass, reaming out your hole? Do you like it? Do you want it?”

“Go to hell!” Franck spat.

But, to his shame, he did like it—he did want it! Although he would have preferred a little less violence, instead of this ongoing anal torture!

Franck wanted the john to finish, to come, to pull out of him—and the desire to rid himself of his fucker made him move his ass more vigorously, more recklessly, as though he were trying to shake the other man loose. But the horny sailor was now locked onto his back and up his ass like a leech.

Franck found himself madly clasping and unclasping the tight, elastic ring of his asshole around the hardness of the steadily surging black prick. More and more, he coordinated his own efforts to the fierce rutting thrusts of the sailor’s pelvis, which smacked against the shuddering mounds of Franck’s much paler buttocks.

“Yeah, man!” the black stud shouted. “Drive us home, bitch! Screw that hot ass down around my dick. Give it to me. Give me that ass!”

Why not, Franck told himself, as feverish thoughts raced through his head. Why not give the bastard what he wants, and get this over with? If only he wasn’t hung so big, if only he didn’t fuck so rough. If only it didn’t hurt so fucking much!

“God,” he groaned. “Go ahead, fuck me fast. Hurry up. Will you get on with it, and fuck?” he babbled, relieved to discover how much it helped ease the discomfort when he shouted back, obscenely, at the man who was bouncing up and down on his back and reaming out his ass with that impossibly long, thick cock of his. “You dirty bugger. Do it. Come in my ass!”

Franck lurched crazily back against the other man, screwing the firm cheeks of his plugged ass hard against the wiry hair of his fucker’s pounding crotch. A fire rippled through Franck’s body, burning into his besieged brain the simple fact that he was being willingly fucked in the ass by this stranger, for hire. He was being buggered from behind by the young black man, and he was, perversely, starting to enjoy it!

Aw, hell! he thought. Don’t let this happen. Don’t let me get turned on by this! Forget about the lousy john, and just think about the money.

But there could be no denying the resurgence of desire in his own cock, which matched the rigidity of the prick which continued to pump away inside his ass.

“How’s that feel, huh? Is it getting to you? That cock feels pretty good, all the way up your tight, hot ass, doesn’t it? Having my black prick shoved right up your whore hole—you like that, don’t you, punk?” the sailor taunted him. “Don’t you?”

The lewdness of the dark-skinned stud’s grunted exclamations, coupled with his increasingly forceful impalement, which drove his dick deep into Franck’s guts, seemingly tearing his vital organs loose from their moorings—that served to drive the last vestiges of pride and inhibition from Franck’s mind and body.

“Yes, you black bastard,” Franck hissed, his buttocks surging up against his molester’s groin in maniacal fashion, now. Suddenly, he couldn’t get enough of the cock in his burning ass. The pain had been swept away, replaced by an intolerable tight feeling of compression—a feeling from which he had to have the relief of orgasm, at once!

“What do you want, you pretty, slutty white bitch?” the sailor gasped, slowing down slightly, which only resulted in a fiendish prolonging of Franck’s anal torment. The black stud was taunting the male whore’s violated body with his maddening, teasing pumping rhythms. Out of breath, he could barely speak coherently, as he fucked, savagely, without any letup.

“Oh—oh, go on, fuck me, dude—oh, give it to me hard.” Franck too was panting, his passion inexplicably mounting, rising beneath the pounding black body on top of him, triggering the tight tension which made his cock jut out, rock-hard and throbbing with pent-up need.

“Aw, shit, I’m coming, baby! Oh, yes! Goddamn you. I’m coming. I’m coming in your hot tight asshole, you whore. Can’t you fucking feel it, can’t you feel my cock blasting, my jism going up your ass?”

“Yeah! Yeah, fucker, give it to me—give me all of that cum.” Franck nodded, frantically, while humping and writhing insanely beneath the naked sailor, like a wounded animal in its death throes. He felt the sudden jerking of the other man’s swollen cock deep inside his guts, as he pumped his potent liquid spunk far up into the hidden recesses of Franck’s colon, rinsing it out, like an enema, filling him to overflowing.

Simultaneously, spurred on by the molten release of semen which he could feel flying up inside him, Franck felt the fires of lust explode in his own overcharged cock and balls. A white-hot jet of his own cum spurted out of his prick and flew across the top of the wooden crate, soiling the wood, soaking into it. His body shook as though somehow the cock in his ass had been replaced with a fiery pointed stake, driven right up through him.

His nerves melted. He shouted, wildly, as the cataclysmic burst of pleasure shot through him and escaped through his cock, ravaging him, seeming to lift him right off the floor and send him hurtling toward the ceiling. His cock jettisoned its pent-up load of semen.

There was a final stab of pain when the black man unceremoniously yanked his cock out of him.

“Shit, that was too much—just too fucking much!” the sailor swore, staggering to his feet and staring down at his dripping cock, as though he couldn’t quite believe they had actually reached such a violent climax together. “You’re a damn good whore.”

Franck wasn’t sure whether that remark was intended as an insult, or a compliment. He moaned, and he stumbled over to the bare mattress against the wall, collapsing on it and stretching out, feeling fucked out. He closed his eyes, trying to blank out not only the memory of what had just happened, but also striving to deny the way his treacherous body had responded to the bestial act by becoming aroused.

He heard the sailor hurriedly getting dressed.

“Not so fast,” Franck said, opening his eyes again. “The money?”

“Oh, yeah,” his john mumbled. He pulled a roll of banknotes from his pocket, counted out the requisite number of bills, and tossed them contemptuously onto the mattress.

What, no tip? Franck thought. Cheapskate!

Then the sailor left the storage room without saying another word to Franck, who heard his footsteps thudding down the corridor outside. But then, abruptly, the footsteps ceased—and there was a stifled cry of surprise and fright.

“Franck?” Franck heard Didier call, from the corridor. “Where the fuck are you? Get your ass out here.”

“I’m not dressed,” Franck called back.

“Well, get dressed, asshole! I need you to help me with this jerk.”

Quickly, Franck threw on his clothes, taking care to retrieve the money and stuff it into one of the pockets of his jeans. He stepped out into the corridor.

Didier had the sailor backed up against the wall. He held his switchblade to the black man’s throat, the sharp point of the weapon pressing into his flesh, indenting the dusky skin.

“What took you so long?” Didier asked Franck. “I needed you out here, to back me up.”

“Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. It won’t happen again,” Franck mumbled.

“It better not. Jesus! I thought, for a minute, this asshole was going to be dumb enough to put up a fight,” Didier jeered.

“Take it easy,” the sailor gasped.

“I’ll cut you, black boy,” Didier threatened him. “I’ll slice you right open. Don’t move. Don’t even breathe, or I swear to God I’ll slit your throat. Now, you come here,” he went on, addressing Franck. “In my right jacket pocket. Pull out the rope.”

Franck stepped up beside Didier and stuck his hand in the pocket. He found and pulled out a piece of thick, coarse-textured cord, which was about two feet long.

“Put your hands together in front of you, sailor boy,” Didier instructed the black man. “With your wrists crossed. That’s right. That’s good. See—we’re getting along just fine so far, aren’t we? Tie his hands,” Didier told Franck. “Wind that rope around them a couple of times, and pull it good and tight,” Didier advised. “Make sure he can’t get loose. Might as well use some sort of a sailor’s knot,” he joked. “That seems appropriate!” He laughed, harshly, more in derision than mirth.

“Don’t hurt me,” the sailor pleaded.

“Shut the fuck up,” Didier warned. “Go through his pockets,” he told Franck. “Make sure you don’t miss anything.”

First, Franck helped himself to the roll of banknotes, which he’d seen previously. The sailor also had a few coins on him, and a wallet. There was more money in the wallet, along with a couple of credit cards.

“See if he’s got any ID,” Didier said. “And anything with the name of his ship on it.”

Franck found these items, which he held up so that Didier could scrutinize them, while Didier continued to keep the switchblade pressed against the sailor’s throat, under his chin.

“Excellent,” Didier declared. “Get his wristwatch. It looks kind of cheap, but we might be able to get a few lousy euros for it.”

Franck unbuckled the wristwatch from one of the sailor’s bound wrists.

“Listen, take the fucking watch,” the sailor said. “But my cash—that’s my pay. I need it—”

“We need it more. And what part of ‘shut up’ didn’t you understand, asshole?” Didier asked, belligerently. “Have we cleaned him out?” he asked Franck.

“I think so,” Franck said.

“Good. Let’s get a move on.”

Dragging the sailor along with him, Didier led the way out of the building. Still holding his knife to the man’s throat, he kicked the door shut, and then, with his free hand, he handed the key to Franck, who locked it. Roughly, Didier slammed the black guy against the warehouse’s exterior wall.

“Now, sailor boy, I want you to stand right here and count to a hundred, real slow, while my buddy and I make ourselves scarce. Then you can find your way out of this alley, and stumble out into the street. With any luck, you’ll find somebody to untie you. I wouldn’t say anything to the cops, though, if I were you. Remember, we know your name, and what ship you’re on. You run to the cops, and we’ll find out. We belong to a big gang in this town, and we’ve got a couple of dirty cops in our pocket. They tell us anything we want to know, about what goes on down at police headquarters.” This was a barefaced lie, but of course their victim had no way of knowing that. “We’ll find out,” Didier repeated, “and then there’ll be an empty berth on board your ship, after they find your carved-up body floating in the harbor. Now, you do that count to a hundred, and don’t even think about making a move away from here before you finish. Because if you move too fast, we just might be waiting for you around the corner, ready to stick you with this blade.”

Franck could see that Didier had succeeded in terrorizing the sailor. The guy was scared out of his wits!

“Move your ass,” Didier told his accomplice.

Franck followed Didier out of the alley, grateful to leave behind the scene of his degradation.

“You didn’t fuck up too badly,” Didier informed Franck, graciously. “Next time, though, for Christ’s sake follow the dude out of the room, so you can help me subdue him, if need be. Even if you have to come out bare-assed naked. Shit! You can always get dressed, after we’ve got the mark tied up.”

“Got it,” Franck said, rather sullenly. “You don’t need to rub it in.”

“Screw-ups like that can make all the difference, and get in the way of a clean getaway—that’s all. Aw, but what the fuck? We made some money. Let’s go somewhere and have a drink, and split the take.”

Didier slid his arm around Franck’s shoulders and gave him an intimate, comradely hug, as he led him out into the alley, where their two gleaming motorcycles were waiting for them, ready to carry them off to further adventures.

Chapter Two: Alley Tomcats

“We can’t go back to Le Repos du Marin tonight,” Franck pointed out to Didier.

“Why not?”

They’d ridden their bikes a few blocks, in order to leave the scene of their crime safely behind them. Now they were idling their motorcycles, side by side, at a traffic light, waiting for it to change.

“If that black dude is dumb enough to go to the cops, he’ll tell them that’s where he met us,” Franck explained. “And even if he doesn’t report being mugged, he might go back there on his own, asking if anybody knows who we are.”

“Nobody there will rat on us,” Didier said. “They know better. Still, you’re thinking with your head, instead of your dick, for a change. God knows there are other drinking holes around here. Let’s go check out Le Corsaire,” he suggested, naming another waterfront gay bar.

The light changed, and they roared off again.

There were no parking spaces available on the street in front of Le Corsaire, so the two bikers turned into a nearby alley. Shutting off their engines, they dismounted.

“Wait,” Didier said, abruptly, when Franck began to walk away, toward the bar.

“Wait for what?”

“I’ve got a hard-on. I’m horny.”

Franck snickered. “Nothing newsworthy about that.”

“You came, didn’t you, when that sailor was screwing you? I could tell by all the noise you were making. You sure seemed to be enjoying your work.”

“I was faking it, mostly, for his benefit,” Franck lied. “Must we go on talking about him? Yeah, I shot my wad. I couldn’t help myself. And I figured I might as well get some fun out of it.”

“Well, now I want to drop a load, too. You can do me a favor. Take care of me.”

“I’ll be glad to, when we get home—”

“No, right now,” Didier insisted.

“Here? In the fucking alley? Right behind the bar?”

“Sure, why not? Other guys get it on out here, all the time.”

“Can’t you keep it zipped for what, a lousy hour or so, while we have that drink?” Franck asked, exasperated. “And suppose there’s some hot guy in the bar, who’d be interested in you—or even interested in a threesome? If you shoot your load now, you’ll be out of luck—”

“The hell I will. I can get it up, and come, more than once in one night,” Didier boasted. “And you damn well know it! Come on, buddy, help me out. I really need to get this out of my system.”

“Shit,” Franck muttered. “Well, if you really can’t wait, then let’s do it and get it over with. But we can at least have the decency to go over there, where it’s darker.”

“Shy, are you?” his friend teased him.

“Not very. But the cops have been known to cruise through this neighborhood, keeping an eye out for anybody who’s had too much to drink and may be causing trouble, in the bars or outside in the street. Let’s not push our luck.”

“Once again, you’re the voice of reason.” Didier’s voice dripped sarcasm.

During this conversation, they had made their way along the alley, away from the street, moving into the shadowed area which Franck had indicated. On one side of the narrow passageway, there was a row of the back doors of various storefronts and warehouses, none of which was occupied at this time of night. Opposite, dumpsters and garbage cans were lined up.

Didier and Franck paused, standing on a rectangular patch of cement, upon which four oversized metal garbage cans were set. Dented and rusty, the refuse containers emitted a distinct stench from their overripe contents.

“This looks like a good place,” Didier suggested.

“Yeah—it’s suitably sleazy,” Franck grumbled. “So—what do you want? A blow job?”

“No, I’m going to fuck you. Don’t just pull your pants down and bend over for me, though. I’ve got something different in mind. Take off your boots and your jeans. Get naked from the waist down.”

“Shit,” Franck complained. “Since when are you into that kind of fancy fucking? This is one hell of a time and place for you to decide to get kinky.” But he obeyed, unlacing his boots and yanking them off, and then stripping out of his jeans. He wore no underwear. With his cock and balls, and his ass, exposed, he grimaced when his stockinged feet touched the rough cement underfoot. “I’m not getting my socks all dirty in this filth,” he declared. “I’m putting my boots back on.”

“That’s fine. Makes you look kind of macho, in fact. And you need all the help you can get, in that area.” Didier, meanwhile, was unbuckling his belt and unzipping his fly. Then he turned around and, grabbing the garbage cans, he arranged them into two pairs, a short distance apart. Next, he quickly seized Franck by the waist and, grunting, he hoisted the other guy into the air, right up amidst the cans. “Get your ass up there,” he ordered his buddy. “Grab hold of those cans.”

“What the fuck—?” Instinctively, though, Franck’s hands spread out behind and under him, and they found the lids of the cans, upon which he leaned for support. Didier swung Franck’s legs up onto the cans so that he ended up spread-eagled in a sitting position, with his bare ass dangling in mid-air, down in the empty space between the two rows of cans.

Didier stepped forward between Franck’s legs, pulling his dick out of his pants and playing with it to get it fully hard. Franck wasn’t very comfortable, perched on top of the cans, but he moaned with anticipation at the sight of his friend’s hefty, thickly-veined penis. Even in this dim light, it looked aggressive—brutally potent, distinctly empurpled by the hot blood pumping into it, making it swell and throb.

Franck had been butt-fucked often enough, by his well-hung buddy. He knew what to expect! Didier, the rough, oversexed son of a bitch—he was going to pound Franck’s hole!

Didier bent down and pushed the sides of Franck’s leather jacket apart. Grabbing Franck’s T-shirt by its hem and pushing it up to bare his chest, he seized one of Franck’s nipples in his mouth.

“Fuck, yeah, dude! Suck it—suck on that nip!” Franck encouraged his buddy, wild with excitement. Didier sucked on the rubbery male teat, and he bit into it lightly with his teeth. “Ah, you fucker!” Franck yelped. Didier’s hot wet mouth moved restlessly back and forth, from pec to pec, pulling roughly on the nipples, suctioning on them and gnawing at them, teasing and tormenting them until they protruded from Franck’s chest in hard, inflexible, walnut-brown cones. “Shit!” Franck screamed, when hot, stinging pain shot through his hard-bitten nipples.

Always enjoying having his nipples played with, despite the pain, Franck felt an immediate, corresponding response in his cock and balls. His dick, already stiff, seemed to swell even larger, aching with arousal. His testicles tightened within his scrotum, which rose up into a higher position, pressed snug against the base of his cockshaft. The cool night air was bathing his bared chest and stomach, his bare thighs and calves, and his naked crotch and ass—but there was also an internal heat within his body, which seemed to be concentrated in his genitals, and, especially, in his ass. There, a tingling sensation quickly developed into a prurient itching. His anus pulsated, as though in anticipation of having his buddy’s big, hard dick inserted in it.

“This gives a whole new meaning to taking out the garbage,” Didier joked. “Comfortable?”

“Hell, no! Do I look comfortable? And it stinks here,” Franck whined. “If you insist on doing it in this disgusting place and this freaky position, then get on with it!”

“No problem. Hold on. Hold still.”

There was a flash of pain when Didier grabbed Franck’s booted ankles and pushed them wide apart. He bent over Franck, forcing his buddy to lean father back. Franck locked the fingers of each of his hands around the metal handle of a garbage can, and he hung suspended precariously between the containers, conscious only of the hunger in his ass and the imminence of Didier’s possession of it.

“Mother of God, I’m so sexed up. I can almost feel it, your dick, in me, fucking me, already. Come on, man, ram that cock right up my hot ass and fuck the hell out of me!” Franck’s thighs quivered from the strain of supporting himself on the cans. He had his legs spread to the utmost possible extent, relaxing his buttocks and sphincter at the same time, to make it easier for Didier’s cock to penetrate him.

“I guess we don’t need any lube,” Didier said. “Not even spit. Not with that black dude’s load still fresh inside you!”

“Charming way for you to talk,” Franck muttered. “Don’t bother to romance me. Just fuck me!”

He felt the smooth head of Didier’s unlubricated prick skating along the crack of his ass, until it found the spot where the opening waited. “Come on, dude, stop your screwing around. Fuck me!” Franck yelled.

“Bitch, you like it too much. But don’t you worry. You’re going to get what you want. I’m going to slide right in there, real slick and smooth, on that black dude’s cum,” Didier announced, lewdly.

“That’s right, man. That bastard got me nice and warmed up for you. Fuck me quick. I’m really hot for it tonight, I want it bad. Hurry.”

But Didier took his deliberate time about it, guiding his tumescent cockhead to the puckered hole of Franck’s behind. Fitting himself firmly between his friend’s smooth-skinned, hard-muscled ass cheeks, which seemed to gape open in obscene, wanton invitation, he hesitated, teasing Franck by stroking the sensitive sphincter muscle with the tip of his prick. He rubbed his glans back and forth over the anal aperture, making Franck groan in impatient lust and need.

“Quit playing around, Didier. Put it in me, quick, all the way in m. Damn it, your cock feels so good pressed against my hole like that. I want it all inside me, up my ass!”

Didier grabbed him from underneath by the buttocks, holding him suspended while he screwed the entire length of his penis, with machinelike efficiency, up into the hot elastic fleshy sheath of Franck’s anus, inch by inch, completely plugging his fevered ass.

“Uh!” Franck groaned, melting all over. A thousand nerve endings in his body were sparked to life by the fierce friction exerted when Didier’s thick, rigidly curving shaft slid home inside him.

“Still nice and tight,” Didier observed. “I was afraid your black boyfriend might have loosened you up,” he joked. “He does seem to have warmed you up for me, though.”

“Shut up and fuck,” Franck hissed. He braced himself on his elbows and heels atop the wobbling garbage cans, spider-like, as Didier withdrew as far as the very tip of his dick, collapsing the anus which his fuck tool had just occupied. He hovered monetarily, teasing Franck by delaying the plunge which Franck’s whole body now craved, and feeling the muscles in Franck’s asshole clasp his cockhead in a desperate death grip. Gasping, Franck begged his buddy to re-enter and fuck him.

“Yeah,” Franck gurgled, joyfully, when he got his wish and Didier came skewering back into him, stretching his asshole wide open to make room for all of his ruthless male organ, with which he plugged Franck’s butt. He clamped his hands down over Franck’s chest, bruising it, pushing him down so that Franck hung with all of his weight resting on the shaft of his fucker’s cock. Didier ran the full length of his fuck tool in and out of Franck’s ass, as though he wanted to pound the tender tissues into a pulp with his prick, treating—or rather, subjecting—his partner in crime to an intense degree of stimulation.

“Do it, Didier. Take me. Fuck me. Fuck me hard!”

Swiftly, with long thudding strokes which made his big balls slap up against Franck’s flexing buttocks, Didier fucked the other young man with a single-minded concentration, rapaciously possessing and using that hot tight ass, which seemed none the worse for the abuse it had already received, earlier that evening, from the horny sailor.

There was a sudden rustle of movement in the shadows, near Didier’s booted feet. Then he and Franck heard a plaintive yowl. Looking down, Didier saw a scrawny tomcat, prowling about, sniffing at his boots.

“Go find your own piece of ass, buddy,” Didier advised the feline, humorously.

The cat stalked off. Didier resumed his plowing of Franck’s ass. As though he’d gotten his second wind, he hammered away with renewed energy, the fuck turning rough, even violent.

Coming quickly to a head of excitement and bursting physical satiation, even before Franck knew what was hitting him from within, even before Franck had a chance really to react to the fierce, accelerated rhythmic stroking which cleaved his ripe anal gorge—Didier came. Panting for breath, his fingers closing like steel traps on Franck’s pecs, his palms breaking out in a light sweat on Franck’s throbbing nipples, Didier lunged into his buddy’s butt with a few last, fast strokes and then he squirted his jism deep into that thirty ass.

“There!” Didier exclaimed. “That ought to hold you for a while, you slut!”

“You dirty motherfucker,” Franck spat, as he, too, ejaculated, in white explosions of thick creamy semen which dripped down between their bodies and hit the cement they were standing on—or rather, that Didier was standing on, because he was still holding Franck up in the air, impaled upon his erupting prick. Franck raised his head just in time to see his fucker slam home into him for a final time, catching a thrilling glimpse of the glistening, steely cylinder of Didier’s cockshaft driving in between his buttocks. Then Franck felt a burning, buffeting splash of his fellow biker’s torrential seed, pouring into the depths of his spasming ass, filling him to overflowing.

“Christ, yeah,” Franck moaned, experiencing mixed emotions—despair, because the fuck was over so soon, when it had been so wildly exciting. He did nothing to try to suppress the involuntary post-ejaculatory jerking of his hips and ass cheeks, as his anus made clear its selfish request to feed on still more of the inflexible cock which had just fucked it so thoroughly. But, at the same time, Franck took pride in the fact that he’d satisfied Didier—that he had been able to service his rough lover and take care of his needs so fully and thrillingly.

“Don’t take it out of me yet,” he begged.

But Didier was already pulling his sagging prick out of his ass. Withdrawing a bandana from his pocket, Didier used it to wipe off his cock, and then he nonchalantly wadded up the soiled cloth and stuffed it back in his pocket. He pulled up his jeans and fastened them.

“Let’s get a move on,” Didier urged Franck, who gingerly climbed down from his precarious perch on the garbage cans. He touched his booted feet to the muck-strewn cement. His knees wobbled dangerously, and he felt Didier’s semen—mingled intimately and inextricably with his own cum—dripping down his thighs. Retrieving his discarded jeans, Franck used his own bandana to clean himself, and then he hurriedly got dressed.

“You’re always a good fuck, man,” Didier said, graciously. “I have to say that much for you.”

“Thanks, buddy.” Franck’s whole body glowed with post-orgasmic pleasure, a sensuous, relaxed feeling.

“Let’s go have that drink. And divide up the loot.”

Chapter Three: A Midnight Jog

Daily, Marseille’s newspapers listed which ships entered or left the city’s harbor. Didier and Franck saw that the black sailor’s vessel had departed, presumably taking their victim with it.

“It looks like he didn’t go to the cops,” Didier said, with smug satisfaction. “I didn’t think he would, not after that scare we threw into him! The dumb son of a bitch will think twice before he picks up a hustler again.”

“Yeah, but that kind of street and bar hookup is too risky,” Franck insisted. “We’d be better off sticking to the website. And, just like it says in the bible, ‘all things cum to him who waits.’ Cum—as in jism—get it?”

Didier groaned in response to his buddy’s feeble, mildly blasphemous joke. “I get it. Don’t quit your day job. Or your night work, for that matter. I don’t think a career as a standup comedian is in the cards.”

Franck grinned. “We’ve both got bookings coming up. And one guy, from out of town, wants a threesome.”

“Business is picking up—thanks to me,” Didier bragged. “Those new nude photos of us I put up on the site—they seem to be effective. When the johns contact us, you can practically see them, foaming at the mouth.”

“Yeah. For such a dumb fuck, you’re quite the entrepreneur.”

Didier only laughed in response to this backhanded compliment. He was in a good mood.

Didier in fact had a trick scheduled, that evening, in the nearby city of Montpellier. The john wanted him to stay overnight. Didier could have taken the train, but he preferred to ride his motorcycle, which would be more fun. The trip would take him less than two hours.

“Be careful,” Frank advised, as Didier was getting ready to leave. “Make sure you keep your cell phone near you.”

“Of course.”

This was a precaution which the two hustlers took, whenever either of them was going on an out call to a new customer. The plan was, if one of them ever got into trouble with a john, he could call his buddy, who would theoretically alert the cops. Presumably, the mere threat of such a phone call would deter the john, and give the hustler a chance to get away from him. For obvious reasons, neither Didier nor Franck wanted to have anything to do with the police, if he could avoid it.

After Didier departed on his bike run, Franck, left to his own devices, soon began to feel bored.

He checked the website, but there were no customers, looking to hook up at short notice. Lacking a date himself, Franck had the evening free. He began to give serious thought to the possibility of going out cruising, either for business or pleasure.

Instead, he stripped naked and crawled into his bed to take a nap. It wasn’t long before he drifted off into unconsciousness.

When the muscular young hustler woke up, and he glanced automatically at the digital alarm clock beside his bed, he saw that it was just past midnight. Franck stirred and yawned. He was tempted to just roll over and go back to sleep.

But his prick throbbed with excitement against the sheet which was all that covered his naked body. He felt restless, horny, and eager. Eager for what, exactly, he wasn’t sure. For just about anything, he suspected, as long as it resulted in an ejaculation on his part!

Going out, and hitting the bars, was still an option. They ought to be busy at this time of night.

Virtuously, though, Franck formulated an alternate plan. He could go for a jog, as he often did at night. A run would tire him out, and he’d no doubt be able to fall asleep again, quickly—perhaps after treating himself to a quick masturbation session.

Abandoning his bed, he rummaged about for suitable clothes—gym shorts, a sleeveless T-shirt, and running shoes. He dispensed with underwear, or a jockstrap. Let his junk flop around freely, and air itself, while he ran!

He had a small leather fanny pack, which he buckled around his hips. He put his keys and wallet in the zippered bag. He might want to stop somewhere for a cold drink on his way home. Or—he might interrupt his jog, to make a detour to a gay bar, after all. He could imagine the stir he might create, entering such an establishment, thus attired. Most gay men liked the wholesome young jock type, which Franck flattered himself he could convincingly impersonate.

He left his apartment building and set off.

As he ran along the deserted sidewalks, picking up some speed and working up a sweat, his revealing outfit showed off his strong legs, his narrow waist and hips, and his tight little butch ass to excellent advantage. The sleeveless T-shirt, which was soon plastered with perspiration against his torso, was especially enticing, with his pecs and nipples sticking out through the sodden fabric, and his bulging biceps exposed. Franck panted for breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

He realized that a slight, nagging pressure was developing in his bladder. He should have taken a piss before he left the apartment. But he knew where there was a gas station, open all night, up ahead. He could use its men’s room. Without slackening his pace, Franck headed toward it.

His chest muscles constricted almost painfully and he could have sworn that his heart actually missed a beat when he noticed one of the local police department’s patrol cars coming up the street behind him. The vehicle was a Renault, white with blue trim, in addition to the insignia painted on it.

Franck slowed down, flushing with a strange mixture of irrational guilt, physical effort, and sexual arousal, as he pretended not to glance sideways at the solitary cop behind the wheel when the vehicle passed him.

The police officer didn’t slow down, but he turned his head to look casually in Franck’s direction, as though he was sizing him up and trying to determine whether he was only out jogging, or whether he might possibly be doing something of a more suspicious nature. The anxious young criminal was certain that the big man nodded to him, in a way that might be construed as friendly. But the cop’s eyes were concealed behind what looked like a pair of sunglasses, with amber-tinted lenses—at night, which seemed highly irregular, and which did in fact rather freak Franck out. His face seemed ruggedly handsome in profile, in the quick glimpse which was all Franck really got of it. Franck couldn’t read the cop’s expression. He saw, though, that the man had a neatly trimmed dark blond mustache, above his mouth, which was set in a calm, unsmiling line.

He couldn’t recall having seen this particular police officer around the neighborhood before. It was in Franck’s interests to keep aware of such things. As the red taillights of the patrol car vanished up ahead, Franck quickened his pace, thinking of his destination almost as a sort of refuge now.

The service station had a reputation as a pickup spot. It was open all night, and it was manned tonight by a young grease monkey whom Franck knew by sight and had even contemplated putting the make on. He was muscular, and even fairly good-looking under all of the dirt and oil he always seemed smeared with while he was on the job. Franck wondered what he’d look like when cleaned up.

Several of Franck’s tricks, including a couple of his johns, had assured him that guys cruised each other brazenly in front of the gas pumps at night, and even had quick sex encounters right there in the men’s room, which was located in the back of the building. Franck had never tried his own luck, but he had often ridden his motorbike by the place, and he had observed that a suspiciously high number of horny-looking men did seem to get their gas there after dark. Whether they got serviced in other ways as well, Franck was suddenly eager to find out for himself!

The attendant was nonchalantly pumping gas into a huge truck when Franck jogged into the garage’s parking lot and stopped, catching his breath and wiping the sweat from his arms and face with his hands.

The gas jockey was sturdily built, a little shorter than Franck, but muscular. His denim jumpsuit was unzipped all the way down the front, to below his navel, and his hairy belly and chest were dotted with beads of sweat and smeared with oily fingerprints—his own, Franck surmised, since his hands were black with dirt and grime tonight, as usual.

He grinned at Franck, who found himself returning the smile more boldly than usual.

“Look at you,” said the guy, whose name sewn onto the chest of his jumpsuit identified him as Jacques. “You have a lot more energy than I do, at this time of night.”

“I guess maybe I do,” Franck replied, with a laugh.

“Don’t you get enough exercise down at that gym you go to?”

“I ought to. I must be a glutton for punishment,” Franck said.

In the course of their previous conversations, Franck had been loose-lipped enough to provide Jacques with some of the details about his personal life—where Franck worked, which gym he belonged to, and the fact that he lived with Didier. This was another reason why Franck felt he had to be discreet about his cruising in this neighborhood.

The gas station attendant was looking at him in a frank, appraising way.

“Well, all that work does show. You’ve got a nice body,” he said.

“So do you,” Franck responded, boldly.

“Thanks.”

Franck was in no hurry to resume his jog.

“I’ve got to take a piss,” he announced, and he brazenly brushed his hand over the bulging lump of his prick, trapped inside his suddenly too-tight shorts. “I’m going to wet myself if I don’t empty this dick of mine soon,” he added, feeling even more shameless, more depraved—more desperate for sex!

He thought he detected a flicker of interest and admiration in the other young guy’s eyes as Jacques, who was still working the nozzle of the pump, glanced down at his crotch.

“Yeah—I can see what you mean. The rest room’s around in the back, you know. It’s always open. Unlocked, I mean. No point in keeping the door locked, not with all those guys going in and out of it all the time,” Jacques added—significantly, Franck felt sure. “Just give a yell if you need anything,” Jacques said, making Franck even more confident that the guy could be had, under the right circumstances. “You know—more paper towels, more soap in the dispenser—whatever.”

Franck tore himself away, reluctantly, from the sexy attendant and walked toward the men’s room. He speculated whether, as soon as Jacques was done servicing his customer, he’d join Franck in the rest room and service him. As he entered the fairly large, well-lit john, Franck saw a hefty trucker driver standing alone at one of the urinals, pissing away into it full force. This must be the guy whose truck Jacques was refueling, out front. Franck hoped the guy would make himself scarce quickly, so that he and Jacques could be alone and resume their promising flirtation.

The man turned his head toward the door with a casual motion, and then he looked the handsome young jogger up and down. His facial expression and manner became less casual as his eyes intently examined Franck’s sweaty, half-naked body and swollen crotch. The two men’s eyes then met and held, for a long moment of erotic suspense, before the trucker grinned.

“Hi,” he said, invitingly, with his piss still blasting loudly into the porcelain receptacle.

“Hi,” Franck replied. He paused uncertainly in the doorway, not sure of how to proceed with a toilet pickup, and indeed wondering if this was a potential pickup. Maybe he was reading too much into the situation. The other guy looked distinctly unsophisticated. Perhaps he was just being friendly, in his rough, macho way.

“You out jogging, huh?”

“Yeah,” Franck admitted.

“And you decided to jog in here. I was starting to think nobody was going to show up tonight. How far do you go? I mean, how far did you have to run to get here?”

“A couple of kilometers.” As he spoke, Franck took a few steps into the interior of the john. He put his foot up on the rim of the wastebasket near the sink, with his back turned to the trucker, and he retied his loose shoelace. He suddenly realized that, in this position, he was shoving his ass back toward the other guy, who must be getting quite a view.

“Pretty good,” the driver commented—whether he was referring to Franck’s jogging prowess, or to the size and shape of his butt, was anybody’s guess.

Franck heard the urinal flush and he expected to see the other man wash his hands at the sink and then leave the room. He felt strangely reluctant to step up to the urinal himself and take out his own dick and start pissing, even though he actually did have to unload.

He wasn’t at all pee shy, as a rule.

Then he became instantly and excitedly aware of the trucker, standing right behind him!

Franck turned his head quickly, and saw the smiling trucker hovering over him. The man put his big hands on Franck’s broad bare shoulders, pressing his solid flesh gently.

“It’s a hot night out there tonight,” he said, suggestively. “You’re all hot and sweaty, kid—and it’s pretty hot in here, too.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, it sure is. And it’s going to get even hotter in a minute, if I have any say in the matter. Come on, kid. Pull those shorts down and let me get a better look at that ass of yours.”

“I—uh—I don’t think it’s such a good idea to do anything in here,” Franck blurted out nervously.

“Do what?”

“You know. Fool around, or anything like that. Not here where anybody could walk right in and catch us.”

“So you want to fool around, do you?”

“Sure,” Franck admitted. “But I don’t want to get caught.”

“Shit! Nobody’s going to come in here at this time of night unless he’s either got a bladder that’s ready to explode—or he’s out looking for the same thing we are. Namely, another guy with a stiff dick.” The truck driver punctuated his statement with a husky laugh. “Come on, let’s quit playing games with each other. You need a little fast, hard action, don’t you, butch?”

“Maybe,” Franck said, evasively. He was excited yet frightened by the idea of actually tricking with a complete, anonymous stranger, right there in the john, with the door unlocked and that other guy, Jacques, only a couple of hundred feet away. Jacques was no doubt already wondering what was taking the truck driver so long.

“Maybe, hell! Look at what I’ve got for you, kid. This ought to help you make up your mind. Feel it?”

As he spoke, the big man pressed his groin against Franck’s buttocks, and he tightened his grip on the hustler’s shoulders. The trucker was wearing tight faded jeans and an equally worn T-shirt, and his hard-muscled body felt warm and arousing against Franck’s own lightly-clad flesh.

The truck driver’s cock, which was what he wanted Franck to feel, was big and hard, thrusting out against the soft, worn denim, and it rubbed fiercely against Franck’s squirming buttocks through his flimsy shorts.

Franck gasped as the guy’s brawny arms slipped around his waist and hugged him tightly, the trucker’s thumbs flicking over his tits through his thin, sweat-soaked T-shirt. The horny bastard was getting Franck hot!

“We can’t suck or fuck in here,” Franck protested weakly, although he was already intoxicated by the trucker’s smell, a blend of tobacco, sweat, and diesel oil.

“Sure we can. Lots of guys do. Hell, even one of the cops in this town is gay, and he stops here all the time. I’ve heard other truckers talk about him on the CB, and I’ve seen his cop car parked out front. I guess as long as he’s getting his own rocks off, he’s not going to let anybody else get busted. Not as long as there’s no real trouble, like guys putting the make on underage kids, or getting into fights. Listen, I’d take you someplace else in my truck, but I’m on a tight schedule. We’re going to have to do it here.”

The trucker hugged Franck even more possessively. Then he let Franck go, and his hands shot down and opened his belt buckle and unzipped his fly. Franck turned around and stated down lustfully as the stud whipped out his dick and offered it for Franck’s inspection.

It was big and stiff, with a fat, round head that poked out of the open jeans, the piss slit in its tip gaping open and already oozing a thick white drop of jism.

“You’d like to suck it, wouldn’t you, kid? Well, be my fucking guest! Get down on your knees and suck it all you want, buddy. Let’s see if that mouth of yours feels as hot on a man’s dick as it looks.”

Instead of being turned off by the man’s blunt manner, Franck felt inflamed by it. He forgot all about the very real risk of getting caught, and he shamelessly immersed himself in the sudden atmosphere of reckless, urgent, quickie sex.

Still, though, he prided himself on being a professional sex worker. He wasn’t going to give it away for free, if there was any possibility of reimbursement.

“Come on, what’re you waiting for?” the impatient trucker demanded. “Don’t be a goddamn prickteaser!”

“I really did come in to piss.”

“Well, go get it over with, then.”

Franck hurried over to the urinal, into which he deposited an impressive stream of fluid. The trucker, of course, came over to observe him, staring down at Franck’s unloading dick.

“Nice cock,” the man grunted, when Franck had finished pissing. “Now, let’s get a move on—!”

“The truth is, I really could use some money.”

“Aw, shit!” the truck driver exclaimed. “I should’ve known better. Just my luck. I knew this was too good to be true. Okay—how much?”

“Thirty euros for oral, fifty for anal.”

“I want both, then. The blow job, first.”

“Money up front,” Franck said, coolly.

“It never fails,” the big man grumbled, as he took out his wallet and extracted the banknotes. “The better-looking you hustlers are, the lousier you tend to be at sucking cock. You’d better be an exception, at these prices.”

“Don’t worry,” Franck assured the man, with his most ingratiating smile, as he took the money and stashed it away in his fanny pack. Now that the deal had been made, he could afford to be gracious. “I’ll suck you dry, stud,” he swore.

He got down on his knees on the floor of the rest room and he took the trucker’s cock in his hand, stroking it. He confirmed that it was indeed fully erect, and he quickly guided it to his panting lips.

He licked the cockhead, and the truck driver caught his breath in his throat. Then the trucker moaned loudly with undisguised delight.

Franck swabbed the guy’s prick with his wet tongue, licking away the salty drop of semen from its slit. Then he opened his lips wide and stuffed the head and half of the thick, pulsating shaft inside his suddenly hungry mouth.

He slipped his hands down between the man’s muscular legs, pushing his jeans lower, and he began to toy with his heavy balls while he sucked the big cock expertly, sliding his lips back and forth around its potent bulk in a steady milking rhythm, slurping and moaning.

“Oh, you’re good, kid. You’re damn good!” the trucker groaned.

He spread his legs to steady himself, put his hands on Franck’s bobbing head, and began to rock himself back and forth on the balls of his booted feet, fucking his prickshaft unsparingly in and out of the kneeling young male whore’s suctioning, drooling mouth, showing Franck how he wanted to be blown.

Franck picked up the pace the guy set for him. He sucked the dude’s meat even more voraciously, bringing his tongue into play against as much of the fiercely throbbing flesh trapped inside his mouth as he could reach with that limber organ.

“Cocksucker—oh, you good-looking young cocksucker, you!” the well-hung trucker gasped. “You like it, don’t you? You like having a big hard cock in your mouth. Don’t suck it off, though, buddy. You just get it good and wet, and then I’ll shove it right up your ass. You like it that way, too, don’t you? You want me to screw you, don’t you, baby?”

It was a rhetorical question, if ever Franck had heard one! He grunted loudly around the man’s dick, to indicate his utter willingness, and he sucked harder, working up as much saliva as he could inside his mouth to lubricate the thick inflexible fuck tool before it was inserted in his craving butt.

When he could stand the sexual suspense no longer, Franck pulled his lips off the truck driver’s prick and, gasping for breath, he stood up, turned around, and shoved his gym trunks down to his ankles and stepped out of them.

Naked from the waist down, except for his running shoes, he grasped the cold porcelain sink and bent over it, holding on to it with both arms, his biceps flexed. He shoved his butt back while the trucker quickly stepped up behind him and pressed his saliva-slippery prickshaft between his buns.

The guy spread Franck’s buttocks wide with one hand, his fingers digging deeply and roughly into the firm flesh. He gripped his cock in his other fist. He pushed the head against Franck’s hairy, puckered asshole, and Franck let out a yelp of mingled pain, excitement, and horny impatience as the thick cockhead began to press its way through his sphincter rim and slide inside his anus.

Grunting, the trucker shoved harder, and his prick sank into Franck’s butt to a depth of several inches. Franck grunted, pushed his ass back even more shamelessly, and felt himself being quickly and completely impaled upon that stud prick.

They fucked like animals, with the horny truck driver too eager, too aroused, to employ much in the way of technique or finesse, and Franck too excited, too hungry for cock up his ass, to care about the roughness of the screwing he was receiving. The other man hammered into him with fast, hard, violent thrusts which made the fronts of Franck’s thighs bang against the rim of the sink and his asshole spasm wildly around the rutting, rampaging cock that was reaming him out.

“Fuck me, fuck me,” Franck heard himself whispering desperately, as he rotated his hips to screw himself even more thoroughly on the dude’s sturdy ramrod.

The trucker, clutching Franck’s squirming hips to steady him, only grunted with satisfaction. He applied himself diligently to his task and slammed it to Franck with brisk, businesslike efficiency. Get the job done, appeared to be his philosophy. It was a viewpoint which Franck, as a male prostitute, could relate to. Still, Franck was rather enjoying himself, and he hoped his fucker wouldn’t come too fast.

In less than five minutes of incredibly furious, nonstop humping, the guy was coming, his sperm gushing into the depths of Franck’s ass in thick creamy spurts. Only then did Franck reach down with his right hand, take his own throbbing cock in his fist, and—aiming it at the sink—start to beat it off in a furious rhythm.

“Keep fucking me, man!” he shouted. “I want to come!”

His trucker friend obligingly went on ramming his fuck tool in and out of him, until Franck’s guts convulsed, his taut balls clenched and spasmed, and his jism shot out of his well-fisted cock, splattering obscenely all over the sink and even hitting the cracked, dirty, and discolored mirror on the wall above it.

Hunching over, and pounding his buttocks back into the trucker’s groin, squeezing his anal muscles against his fucker’s spent but still stiff dick, Franck milked his own cock dry with his hand. He moaned, sweated, and shuddered. He stared up at their reflections in the mirror—seeing his own torso, the trucker’s face behind his shoulder, and his own face, mouth open, eyes half-closed in orgasmic ecstasy.

He felt half faint with pleasure by the time he finally stopped shooting, and the trucker eased his prick out from between his quivering ass cheeks.

“God damn, that was a hot fuck!” the truck driver said with lewd satisfaction. He slapped Franck on the ass, and then on the shoulder. Next, he unceremoniously jostled Franck aside so that he could scrub his cock at the sink, rinse it off by pouring a couple of handfuls of water over it, and dry it with a bunch of paper towels yanked from the wall dispenser. He stuffed his penis back inside his pants.

“I’ve got to get rolling,” he said, apologetically. He zipped his fly closed with some effort, his cock once again making a sizeable lump in his jeans. “I’ll see you around, buddy.”

Franck, still feeling dazed by the whole surreal experience, was staggering away from the sink in search of his discarded shorts, when both he and the trucker froze at the sound of a strange voice.

“What the fuck’s going on in here?”

Franck gasped. It was the cop with the amber-tinted sunglasses, his huge frame filling the doorway, his uniform and gun belt and boots looking even more sinister in the harsh glare of the men’s room’s fluorescent lights.

The trucker was quicker to recover his composure. “Nothing, officer!” he insisted.

“Nothing?” The cop grunted. “It doesn’t look like ‘nothing’ to me. Why are you standing there half naked, with your junk and your butt out, kid?”

Franck couldn’t speak. The trucker, however, turned out to be remarkably skilled at improvisation.

“Shit, I was just in here taking a leak, minding my own business,” he said, “when this horny little bastard walked in and made a play for me. He wanted to suck my dick. I told him I don’t go in for that stuff, but he wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. He tried to grab my cock, and when I pulled away from him and hold him to fuck off and leave me alone, he pulled down his pants and told me he wanted me to fuck him. It’s a good thing you came along when you did, officer. Otherwise, I might have beaten the crap out of him. Guys like him—fucking perverts—they make me sick.”

“I just bet they do,” the policeman said, looking and sounding both cynical—and skeptical.

Franck found his tongue. “He’s lying. He’s a goddamn liar!” he exclaimed.

“You shut up,” the cop told the truck driver, before the latter could say anything further. “Is that your rig out in front? Get in it and get on your way. And don’t think I haven’t already copied down the license number, already. You got lucky this time. I didn’t actually see anything happen. But we both know what was going on when I interrupted you two. If I catch you hanging out in a john again, I won’t let you off so easily. I’ll throw the book at you! No, wait,” the cop said, suddenly changing his mind. “Come outside with me, first. We’re going to have a little talk, before I let you go.”

The trucker fled the rest room, hard-on and all. The cop watched him go.

Then he turned back around and looked down at Franck’s crotch and ass. His mouth tightened in disdain. “Pick up your shorts and put ‘em on, kid, for Christ’s sake. You think I want to see your junk hanging out like that?”

“No, sir.”

“Make it snappy, then.”

Franck trembled as he retrieved his shorts and slipped them on, painfully aware of the sweat running down his sides from his armpits, and of the trucker’s semen lodged deep in his freshly fucked ass.

“Wait here,” the cop said, before he went in pursuit of the truck driver.

Reasonably decent again, a shaken Franck stood there in the rest room, wondering how he was going to get out of this dilemma.

The cop seemed to be gone for a long time. Nervously, Franck checked his wristwatch.

The door swung open again, and the policeman stood there, filling the doorway. He remained there, motionless, for a long moment, staring at Franck through those amber lenses, which obscured his eyes and gave him a decidedly sinister appearance.

While avoiding looking directly at the man’s face, Franck did manage to get a better look at him. For one thing, the cop had a fine physique, obviously weight-trained, and shown off to good advantage in his dark blue uniform trousers and lighter blue shirt. Sewn onto the chest of the shirt was a fabric tag with the name Brun machine-stitched on it. Patches sewn on the shoulders identified his rank as Brigadier.

The cop had left his hat in his patrol car, and his dark blond hair, styled in a brush cut, stuck up from his scalp like the quills of a hedgehog. He was a handsome brute, Franck concluded.

“Okay,” the cop said, gruffly. “Now that I’ve sent your boyfriend on his way, I’ll deal with you. Turn around and put your hands together behind your head.”

“What the fuck? You can’t bust me,” Franck blustered.

“I’d advise you not to resist. Calm down. Right now, I’m just going to secure you—for my own protection—while we talk.”

Meekly, Franck obeyed the cop’s instructions. He felt the cold steel of a pair of handcuffs, snapped around his wrists and fastening his hands together behind his back.

“Turn around and face me,” the cop told him. “God, it stinks in here,” he complained, grimacing and wrinkling his nose, as Franck once again obeyed. “It reeks of piss—and of cum, thanks to you.” He grasped Franck’s bare arm. “Let’s go outside.”

Outside, in the warm night air, the cop just stood there, seeming to be in no hurry.

“So,” he said at last, in a deceptively casual, even friendly, tone of voice. “What’ve you got to say for yourself?”

“Nothing. I know my rights. No, wait. This is unfair. You let that prick go—and you’re busting me?”

“Why not? I got the gentleman’s contact information. He’ll make himself available, to testify at your trial. That was the deal I made with him.”

“What trial? You’ve got nothing on me.”

“No?” The blond cop looked and sounded amused.

“Hell, no. If you’re thinking this prostitution rap will stick—it’ll be my word against his. I’ll say it was consensual sex. Which is what it was.”

“And the fifty euros I know you’ve got there, in your bag?”

“That’s my money,” Franck insisted. “Prove he gave it to me.”

“I don’t need to prove it. I’ll leave that to the prosecutor. And then, there’s also a charge of public indecency—”

“Don’t make me laugh. What is that, a fine? And this isn’t a public place. We were in the john, for Christ’s sake! We had an ‘expectation of privacy.’ Yeah, that’ll be my defense.”

“What are you, some sort of a jailhouse lawyer? Well, you can discuss it with your real lawyer. Now, let’s head downtown and get you booked. By the way— that’s a nice watch you’re wearing,” the cop observed.

“Yeah, it is. So what?”

“Where’d you get it?”

“It was a gift. From my boyfriend.”

“Your boyfriend must be rich. And generous.”

“I’ve got a lot of rich boyfriends,” Franck boasted. “And they’re all generous. That’s why I don’t need to turn tricks.”

“I wonder what would happen if we ran the serial number of that watch—to find out who the registered purchaser is, and whether it’s on any list of stolen property?”

This possibility hadn’t occurred to Franck. He decided to bluff it out. “That’s ridiculous. Nothing like that would come up.”

“It might be interesting to make the experiment, though. Just on a whim. For the hell of it.”

“All right, you’ve got me. It wasn’t a gift. I bought it—from a guy on the street.”

“Whose name you don’t know, of course.”

“No. He was just a street peddler. There’re lots of them.”

“And it didn’t occur to you that there was anything suspicious about the transaction.”

“Okay—maybe I guessed he’d stolen it. But how could I be sure? It just seemed like a good deal—that’s all. Maybe too good to be true. Oh, now I remember. The guy told me he inherited it. From his dead uncle. How do I know whether he was bullshitting me, or not?”

“Keep lying, boy,” the cop advised. “With a lot more practice, you may start to get good at it.”

Biting his lip in chagrin, Franck fell silent.

“Hold still,” the cop warned. With brisk efficiency, he patted Franck down—a technicality, really, considering how lightly clad Franck was. Then he unzipped Franck’s fanny pack and investigated its contents. “Fifty euros—what a surprise.” Taking out Franck’s wallet, the cop extracted his driver’s license, and the registration of his motorcycle. “Is this your current address?”

“Yeah.” Franck was beginning to suspect that he’d be better advised to remain as tight-lipped as possible.

The cop replaced the items in the bag, which he zipped closed.

“Move,” the cop told Franck, curtly. Once again, taking Franck by the arm, he steered him—this time to the front of the gas station.

The truck was long gone, of course, the driver having made good his escape. The white and blue Renault patrol car was parked nearby. Jacques was there by the pumps. He gave Franck a sympathetic glance, as the cop led him to the car.

“Get in,” the police officer said, opening the rear door. “Watch your head.”

“Where are we going? You aren’t really going to arrest me, are you?” Franck asked, plaintively.

“Maybe. Maybe not. That depends—”

“On what?”

“On the outcome of the little conversation you and I are about to have.”

Jacques had enough sense not to say anything. Franck, his face hot and scarlet with shame, awkwardly clambered into the back seat of the car, his handcuffed wrists making the maneuver difficult. The cop eased his big body into the front seat. Separated by the barricade between the vehicle’s front and back seats, they drove off into the night.

Franck risked leaning forward in his seat to glance at the grim set of the cop’s jaw as he steered the car through some adjacent residential streets, all of which were virtually deserted at this time of night. He didn’t speak to Franck, who wasn’t about to initiate a conversation.

Franck wasn’t particularly surprised when the big man pulled the vehicle over and parked it, turning off the motor and the lights. He supposed he was going to get a lecture on the evils of cocksucking—a spiel about how the cop was going to let him off easily this time, with a warning, but it had better not happen again. The threat of arrest had been meant just to scare him.

“Now we’ll talk,” the cop said, once again a carefully cultivated pseudo-friendly tone of voice.

Franck recognized this ploy. The dude was trying to play him, to get Franck’s defenses down, so he’d incriminate himself.

But two could play at this game.

“You name’s Brun, isn’t it, officer?” Franck asked.

Brun grunted. “So you can read, huh? Good for you.”

“What’s your first name?”

“That’s on a need to know basis, and right now, you don’t need to know.”

“You really don’t want to waste your time tonight, taking me in, processing me, and filling out all that paperwork,” Franck suggested.

“I get paid by the hour. I’ve got nothing better to do.”

“I know you guys don’t get paid nearly as much as you deserve. I have some money at home. Cash,” Franck said. “And I can get more, if we stop at an ATM. You can have it.”

“Trying to bribe a police officer—that’s not very smart.”

“Who said anything about bribery? Suppose I just want to contribute to, you know, one of your funds? The police benevolent association, or whatever the hell you call it?”

“You want a shovel, so you can dig yourself a deeper hole than the one you’re already in?”

“No.”

“Then shut up.”

“Listen,” Franck said, urgently. “I can’t afford to be busted—”

“Because you’ve already got a record? Is that it? Big surprise. I can’t wait to run your info and read all the details.”

“You seem like a reasonable guy. You can forget about this, let me off with a warning, and let me go. I know that’s your call. Come on, Officer Brun, give me a break. I’ll do anything you want,” Franck swore, abjectly. “Anything, I swear to God!”

“Oh? Such as?”

“I’ll suck your cock,” Franck said, brazenly. “I’m good at it.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“Let me. I’ll do a good job. You won’t regret it,” Franck avowed, in a rush of words. “I’ll suck you dry, just like I sucked off that horny trucker. Damn, he was ugly—but you’re a really good-looking man. I’d really enjoy taking care of you, showing you a good time. Like I said before—why should you waste your time, filling out the paperwork on a minor bust like this, when you could be having some fun, and nobody the wiser?”

Brun emitted an ambiguous grunt. Then he started the car.

He drove in silence. After a few blocks, though, Franck realized that they weren’t headed in the direction of the nearest police station. He could feel himself perspiring, breathing more rapidly, his heartbeat accelerating, as he was torn between fear and optimism.

They were driving through one of Marseille’s innumerable business districts, an area of shops, office spaces, and warehouses, connected by a labyrinth of narrow side streets and back alleys. The neighborhood was virtually deserted at this hour of night, well past midnight. Brun turned into one of the dark alleys, barely slowing down as he did so. He steered the car with a confidence which suggested he knew the area well, and had some specific destination in mind.

Once again, he parked the vehicle and shut off the motor and lights. Tall buildings, with unlit windows, loomed on either side. It was very dark—and very quiet.

“This is where I come to take a break, sometimes,” Brun said, casually. Getting out of the car, he went around it and opened the rear door. “Out,” he ordered Franck, laconically.

Wriggling his way out of the back seat, Franck stood up.

Brun stared at him, hard, unflinchingly, his eyes impassive behind those yellowish lenses.

“So—you’ll do anything I ask, will you?” he asked.

“You bet.”

“Get down on your knees, boy.”

Franck knelt, in the dirty alley, aware of some gravel pricking his bare knees.

The cop’s hands moved to unfasten his belt buckle and unzip the fly of his uniform trousers. Underneath the pants, he wore pristine white cotton boxer shorts. He pushed both the trousers and shorts down around his thickly muscled thighs, exposing his genitals. His uncut cock swung out, long and thick and meaty, with a smoothly bulbous head nestled in the puckered foreskin, above a pair of hefty, blond-furred balls.

“Put your mouth on my hot, dirty dick and suck it, and don’t take your mouth off it until you’ve sucked me off, and you’ve made me come, and you’ve swallowed every drop. You got that?”

“Yeah.”

“I think you mean, ‘yes, sir.’ Right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Get busy. Suck!”

Chapter Four: Copping the Cop’s Joint

“Quit stalling,” the muscular blond cop demanded. “Start sucking on that cop dick of mine!”

“Yes, sir,” Franck gasped. “Please—don’t hurt me.”

“I’ll hurt you all I damn well want, if you don’t start making me feel good.”

On his knees in front of Brun, with his face level with the man’s exposed crotch, Franck saw, with a thrill of disbelief, that the policeman’s cock was only half erect and still quite flexible. Even so, it was bigger than most of the dicks Franck had sucked recently. The uncircumcised penis was thick, heavy, swaying slightly back and forth in the warm night air there in the dark alley. It pulsated, growing steadily longer and fatter as the blood filled it and made it swell. The glans protruded from its sheath of foreskin, and the piss slit in the tip glistened with a drop of pre-cum.

One thing was for sure. Franck was on his own. No one was going to appear, magically, and come to his rescue!

Afraid to annoy the gendarme by delaying any longer, Franck licked his lips to wet and lubricate them, and then he leaned forward and sucked the head of the prick into his mouth. Having his wrists handcuffed behind his back was uncomfortable, and, worse, it forced him to use just his mouth, instead of being able to bring his hands into play as well. All of the stiffening prickshaft was thrust into his yawning, hungry oral cavity, and his wet lips closed possessively around the very base of the now bloated and rigid shaft. Damn, but this cop was hung!

He started moving his mouth up and down around the cop’s dick, with a gloating, grunting greed, feeling the steely column of flesh grow even fatter and harder. Yeah, this cop bastard was hung, all right, and he was hung big! What a piece of meat! It was like a succulent, massive spiced sausage, and just as tasty. Each time the erection rammed forward between his lips and jabbed roughly into his mouth and throat, Franck took the cockhead a fraction deeper into his carefully cleared and relaxed throat. Soon he was expertly deep-throating that big fuck tool—and the well-endowed recipient of his oral exertions obviously appreciated what was being done to him!

“Jesus, punk!” Brun exclaimed, breathlessly. “You really do know how to suck!” Reaching down with both hands, he grasped the diamond studs inserted in Franck’s earlobes, rotating them, using his grasp on them to hold the kneeling, handcuffed hustler’s head in place, while he humped his pelvis back and forth, brutally fucking Franck’s face. “Yeah, you’re doing just fine, boy,” Brun crooned. “Keep it up. Don’t stop now, unless you want to make that trip downtown and end up spending the night in a holding cell. That’d be a goddamn waste—because you’re much more useful right here, down on your knees, sucking on my big, hard cop cock!”

Releasing Franck’s ears, the cop’s hands clasped tightly around his head instead, stroking his disheveled hair, forcing Franck to swallow all of his cock. Brun’s fingers twisted in Franck’s hair until the pressure was almost painful—but, ignoring it, Franck went right on sucking, nonstop, scarcely daring to breathe. He was devoured by a hunger for that juicy cock which he had crammed in his mouth and halfway down his throat.

“All the way,” the cop coached, in a harsh tone of voice which left no room for debate. “Get your mouth all the way down on it! Yeah, choke on that man meat of mine, if you have to. Who gives a damn? Swallow it—eat it—yeah, punk, eat that cock, make love to it with your mouth and throat. Cocksucker—you hot little whore cocksucker, you!”

Franck forced his lips to open wider and he managed to relax his gag reflex sufficiently to get every last inch of Brun’s awesome phallus swallowed up. Franck held the cockhead down in his throat for several seconds, even though it literally cut off his breath, letting Brun feel that and enjoy it. Franck heard the powerfully built cop groan in desperate pleasure, felt him shifting his hips, trying to drive his dick in and out of Franck’s throat even more violently. But the cop was obviously getting close to ejaculating, and Franck didn’t want him to come—not just yet.

Often, when blowing a john, Franck was eager to bring off the man as quickly as possible, so he could collect his money and go. But there were times when he truly enjoyed his work, and this was one of them. This was no ordinary john. This horny cop had him at his mercy, and Franck knew that he had to satisfy him, if he had any hope of beating this rap. And—to his shame—Franck had to admit that the cop was hot, and that he was enjoying every moment of sucking the guy’s big, hard, punishing prick!

Slowly, fighting the pressure of Brun’s hands on his head, Franck pulled his head back and away, and as a result, inch by inch the saliva-glistening cockshaft slid out of his mouth. The penis throbbed and strained for release in the darkness, still rubbing restlessly over Franck’s panting lips. Franck raised his head, to look up at Brun’s face. The cop’s eyes were as unreadable as every behind the screen of his sunglasses. But he was breathing very hard, his massive chest rising and falling inside his blue uniform shirt. And his mouth, no longer tightly compressed, was hanging open, slack, as he panted for breath.

“Did you like that, man?” Franck asked, smugly. “Am I doing it the way you like?”

“You’re doing just fine, boy. But I told you to keep your mouth on me until I come,” Brun reminded him.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then do what you do best,” Brun ordered him. “Get back down on that cock, and suck!”

Franck closed his wet, warm lips around the head of the grossly swollen cock again, sucking and tonguing it furiously, while he once more took the whole length of it into his mouth, opening his throat to receive the head. Brun moaned, and his hands clenched behind his kneeling, handcuffed cocksucker’s bobbing head.

After a few minutes of steady, intense sucking and deep-throating, Franck knew that he’d succeeding in pushing the tough cop past the point of no return. He was about to get a mouthful of cum!

“Every drop,” Brun warned him, in a tense, feverish-sounding whisper. “Make sure you swallow every drop!”

The words were scarcely out of his mouth before his cock frothed and foamed inside Franck’s mouth, flooding it with slimy, salty-tasting semen. Wild with excitement as the tart jism stung his tongue, Franck used his slippery lips to caress the unloading shaft from top to bottom, over and over again, exerting a strong, expert pressure upon it. As he had promised, he milked the cop dry.

“Christ crucified,” Brun blasphemed, as he unloaded. “Mother of God! Suck, boy, suck! Take that load of cum. Swallow it! Swallow it all!”

Franck kept the cop’s cock inside his mouth. Even after he was sure Brun was done ejaculating, Franck continued to slurp on the meaty fuck tool, which had not yet begun to lose its rigidity. Franck cleaned the cock, using the wet warmth of his tongue to swab it from top to bottom. Brun tensed and gasped, as fresh shivers of sexual response raced down his broad back and made his strong legs twitch, uncontrollably.

“Ah, you’re a hot-mouthed bitch,” he gloated. “I could tell you would be, when I first set eyes on you. Whore—you cocksucking whore!”

Patiently, Franck went on licking and sucking, although more slowly than before, until it was Brun who stepped back, breaking their oral-genital contact by easing his dick free from Franck’s tired lips.

“Good boy,” Brun declared.

He pulled a white handkerchief from his pants pocket and used it to wipe off his cock. With an incongruous kind of rough tenderness, he swiped the cloth across Franck’s semen-smeared lips and chin. Then, nonchalantly, he stuffed the soiled handkerchief back into his pocket. Carefully, taking his time, he pulled back up first his boxer shorts, tucking his spent and now softening penis away inside them, and then his trousers. He zipped himself up and fastened his belt buckle.

“Okay, get up,” he instructed Franck. After Franck had struggled to his feet, Brun led him back to the car.

“Aren’t you going to take these cuffs off me?” Franck asked.

“Not yet. Relax.”

Once again seated in the back of the car, Franck felt apprehensive. Suppose the cop reneged on their deal, and arrested him, anyway? It was just the sort of dirty trick a lousy cop would pull!

But, after Brun had driven for several blocks, Franck was reassured. They were definitely once again headed away from the police station. In fact, as Brun drove on through the still, warm night, it became clear that he was going to the neighborhood where Franck and Didier lived. Franck felt relief surging through him.

And, when Brun finally spoke, his words were encouraging.

“Remember—I know your name, and I know where you live,” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

“You tell anybody about this—you make any kind of complaint—and you’ll be sorry, boy.”

“I won’t. I won’t say anything to anybody. I swear to God!”

“You’d better not.”

“I promise—!”

“Aw, shut the fuck up. Keep your mouth shut. Be smart. Okay?”

“Yes—yes, sir.”

Brun turned into Franck’s street, and he pulled up in front of his apartment building. Once again, he opened the rear door. Helping Franck get out of the car, he finally freed him from the handcuffs.

“I guess it’s not the first time your neighbors have seen you cuffed,” Brun said, mockingly. “The only surprise is that you’re being dropped off—not hauled away.”

Franck knew better than to offer any retort.

“Get your ass inside, now, and don’t you let me see you hanging out on the streets, peddling it, again.”

“No—no, sir. Thank you.”

“You dumb whore,” was the policeman’s gruff parting shot, as he got back into the patrol car and drove off.

Franck let himself into his apartment building. His hands shook when he used his key to let himself into the lobby—and they shook again, when he pressed the button to call the elevator—and yet again, when he unlocked his apartment door.

He’d dodged a bullet, he knew. He’d gotten off easy, as a matter of fact. A blow job—that was no big deal.

Big, fat cop dick in my mouth—the horny son of a bitch sure gave me a big load, Franck thought. Oh, the motherfucking pig—raping my mouth, raping my throat. Fucking me, orally. I thought I was going to choke on it. The dirty bastard!

But, damn! Talk about a hot cop! If I’d met him under different circumstances, I might have really gone for him. I’d have tricked with him—yeah, let him have it, for free. Even so, I have to admit I kind of got off on it.

Whatever I do, though, I can’t admit that to Didier. He mustn’t ever know. It’s bad enough I was careless enough to get caught in the act by a cop. But sucking a cop off—that’s even worse. I’d never live it down!

Franck undressed, and got into bed. His cock was in an uproar, a steely, inflexible erection, demanding attention—and relief. In the darkness of his bedroom, he jerked off, furiously, while he thought about the hot cop—Brigadier Brun—who had threatened to arrest him, but who had been bought off, with that sordid blow job, there in the dark, dirty alley.

Cop bastard, oh, you cop bastard, Franck thought, as his fist pumped away on his stiff prick. Cop dick in my mouth—hot cop cum, shooting out of his prick, filling my mouth, choking me—! Dirty, horny motherfucker, raping my mouth, making me swallow his cum! Cop—oh, I hate you, you cop! Yeah, I hate your fucking guts, oh, I hope you get shot, I hope you fucking die! Aw, shit! I’m coming! You’re making me come! God damn you, cop, you’re making me come!

Fuck me, cop! Fuck my mouth. Fuck my ass. I want you to fuck me—aw, hell! I’m coming! Coming, so hard—so much—!

Franck ejaculated, violently, spraying his jism all over himself. Not even bothering to wipe himself off, he rolled over, and he slept.

Chapter Five: An Unexpected Visitor

“So, how’d it go?” Franck asked Didier the next morning, when Didier arrived back from Montpellier.

His roommate shrugged. “Oh, the usual. The guy’s married and he wanted to fool around while his wife was out of town. He was so damn paranoid about the neighbors seeing me coming or going that we had to eat in. He did make a good bouillabaisse for dinner last night, though, and a decent breakfast this morning. As for the sex—all he wanted to do was suck me. The son of a bitch’s mouth never seemed to get tired, and I didn’t get much sleep. I thought my dick was going to fall off! He was a good tipper, though. So, on the whole—not a bad gig. And you? What’d you get up to, last night?”

“Oh, nothing much. I went for a jog, late at night.”

“Is that all?”

“Just about,” Franck prevaricated. “Nothing else worth mentioning. I came home, I took a shower, and I went to bed.”

“Boring,” Didier decreed.

“I’m afraid so.”

The two roommates went about their usual routines.

Late one afternoon, Franck got home from work. He was tired, and he treated himself to a long, hot shower. After changing into some clean clothes, he relaxed in the living room, watching television. Didier wasn’t due to get off work for another couple of hours. Franck assumed that they’d make themselves some dinner, and then spend a quiet evening at home, perhaps checking the website to see if any johns wanted their services.

The doorbell chimed. Franck used the remote to switch off the TV, and then he went to the intercom to answer it.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Let me in.”

Franck didn’t recognize the voice—which was, admittedly, distorted by the less than high fidelity intercom. “Who is this?” he asked,

“It’s the police. Brigadier Brun. Open up.”

“Shit,” Franck muttered, to himself.

He debated for a moment, but then he pressed the button to buzz the cop through the apartment building’s front door and into its lobby. He waited, in a fever of anxiety, while Brun rode up the elevator and found his apartment’s door. Nervously, Franck jumped when the doorbell rang.

Steeling himself, he opened the door.

Brun stood there, in his uniform, the picture of macho arrogance. His eyes, behind those same amber-tinted sunglasses, were impassive.

“What are you doing here?” Franck asked.

“Checking up on you.”

“You can’t be here.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t live here alone. My roommate will be back, soon.”

“Oh—would that be Didier? I can’t wait to meet him.”

Franck was thunderstruck. “How do you know his name?”

“Do you really think you have any secrets from the police department?”

“Fuck,” Franck muttered.

“Well, aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“Maybe I’d better,” Franck said, sullenly. “I don’t want any of the neighbors to see me entertaining a cop on my doorstep.”

“Oh? As opposed to all the other men you and your roommate have been known to entertain here, on a regular basis?”

“Keep your voice down,” Franck urged. “And come inside.” Nervously, he ushered his unexpected and unwelcome visitor inside the apartment, closing the door behind him. “Now, what do you want?”

“Just for you and me to be friends. Aren’t you going to offer me a drink? I just got off duty, you see. I can indulge.”

“Have a cold beer, if you want.”

“Perfect. Thanks.”

Franck fetched the beer from the refrigerator. “Drink it and go,” he told the cop.

“Oh, why should we hurry? We hardly know each other.”

“I don’t want to know you.”

“You’re an arrogant young pup,” Brun said. He looked and sounded amused. “You need a firm hand.”

“Oh, and I suppose you’re the one to provide that?”

“Precisely.”

“You are so full of yourself. In fact—you can go fuck yourself!” Franck blustered.

“Pushing the envelope, are you, punk?”

“You don’t scare me. You’ve got nothing on me. You can’t bust me for what happened at the gas station the other night—not this long after the fact. You’re bluffing. I can see right through you, cop—!”

“And I can see right through you, too.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, you’re like a lot of arrogant, mouthy young punks. You’re just putting on an act. Really, secretly, you want to be—subjected to authority, to discipline.”

“In your dreams! Fuck you, cop.”

“Take off your shirt.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

“Why should I?” Franck blustered.

“Take it off, or get it torn off. Because you know I’ll do it.”

“Shit—!” Franck protested, feebly, but he shed his T-shirt. Stripped to the waist, he stood there, trembling.

“Now turn around,” Brun coached him. “Hands behind your head. You know the drill.”

“You cunt cop,” Franck dared to say. “Fuck you!” But he had turned around, facing away from the police officer, with his hands clasped together behind his head.

“Ah, nice mouth,” Brun crooned. “That mouth of yours could get you into trouble, someday, you know.” He snapped his handcuffs around Franck’s wrists, securing his arms behind his back.

Franck stood there, in his living room, stripped to the waist, with his hands shackled behind his back. “Now what?”

“Now I’m going to get these clothes off you, and take a good look at you—naked. I want to see what we’ve got to work with. Don’t even think about resisting,” Brun warned.

“No—!”

“I’m afraid ‘no’ isn’t a word you should be using with me, boy.”

“If Didier comes home—”

“Then he’ll be welcome to join the party. You think I can’t handle two of you punks, as easily as one? That’s why I always carry an extra pair of handcuffs.”

Franck would have liked to see the question put to the test. He would enjoy seeing Didier beat this arrogant cop’s ass! But, wisely, he kept his thoughts to himself.

“Let me alone,” he begged.

“Shut the fuck up, if you know what’s good for you.” None too gently, Brun pushed Franck down onto the couch. “Now, don’t move. I’m going to strip you. Yeah, a thorough strip search—!”

Roughly, Brun leaned over and divested Franck of his clothes. First he yanked the training shoes from his feet. Then his socks. Next, his sweatpants. Finally, his underwear. Franck was naked! Naked—and handcuffed!

“You get the hell away from me,” he warned the cop who had undressed him. “Don’t you dare touch me. You fucking pervert!”

“Quiet,” Brun advised. “Ah, that’s a pretty ass you’ve got there, and a nice big cock. Couldn’t really see them, the other night, when you were down on your knees, in that alley, sucking me off—!”

“You cocksucking cunt cop.”

“Oh, nice mouth. Very disrespectful. We’ll have to improve your attitude.”

“Okay—you’ve got me naked and handcuffed. Now what?”

“Get up. We’re going into your bedroom,” Brun decreed. “Lead the way.”

In Franck’s bedroom, Brun made himself at home. While Franck stood there, naked and handcuffed, the cop leisurely divested himself of his own clothes.

As a preamble to stripping, Brun first removed his sunglasses, folding them and tucking them away in the pocket of his shirt. For the first time, Franck saw that the man’s eyes were gray—coolly appraising, when they looked at Franck, and devoid of warmth. With a tight, calm, humorless smile creasing his lips, Brun continued to undress.

First he shed the polished black leather utility belt which held his semiautomatic pistol in its holster, and his portable two-way radio. Next, Brun removed his tie clasp, unknotted his tie, and pulled it off. He unbuttoned his uniform shirt, stripping it off to reveal the snug-fitting, plain white cotton he wore underneath.

Franck stared at the man’s big shoulders, pecs, and biceps. Once again, he hated to admit it, even to himself, but he had to—this cop was hot! He got even more excited when Brun stripped off the T-shirt, baring his torso—and the cop noticed.

“Like what you see?” he asked, smugly.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve seen better—and I’ve had better.” Which was a lie, but Franck wasn’t about to let the other man know that.

Brun laughed. “You may need a refresher course, in how to mind your manners.”

“And I suppose you’re the one to teach me?”

“That’s right.” In the same slow, methodical manner. Brun resumed his undressing, leaning over to untie the laces of his polished black leather shoes. Slipping off the shoes, he then peeled off his black socks. He stood up and opened his uniform trousers, dropping them to around his ankles and stepping out of them. Finally, he shed his roomy white cotton boxer shorts—the same kind of underwear he’d worn on the night he and Franck had met, when Franck had sucked him off.

Brun stood there, nude, preening a bit, obviously posing for Franck’s benefit.

His handcuffed prisoner decided to deflate the cop’s ego.

“So you’ve got a half decent body,” Franck said, dismissively. “So what? Am I supposed to be impressed? Big, fat, fucking deal. Any dude can get all pumped up like that, especially if he’s on steroids, which I bet you are. Yeah, you look like just another juiced-up, ‘roided-out freak to me—!”

Smiling, Brun crossed the short distance separating them, and, even before Franck had finished speaking, he raised his hand and slapped Franck’s face—hard!

“Ow!” Franck yelled. “What was that for?”

“For the hell of it. And to remind you to watch your mouth. And because I can do it, and you’re going to take it.” As though to prove his point, Brun delivered another stinging slap to Franck’s face.

“You dirty cop,” Franck spat out, angrily. “I bet you’re on the take!”

“Oh, so I’m dirty, am I?” Brun sounded amused by the accusation. “Then I guess you’d better clean me up. Get busy, bitch. Give me a tongue bath. Use your tongue on every part of my body. Lick and suck me, everywhere. You can start with my feet. Kiss the soles of my feet, and then suck on my toes, and stick your tongue in between them. Then you can work your way up, from there. Pay extra attention to my armpits, when you get to them—they feel kind of sweaty. They probably stink.”

He put his hand on Franck’s bare chest and pushed him backward, so that he fell onto the bed. With his cuffed hands behind him, confined to the small of his back, Franck couldn’t lie comfortably on his back. He rolled onto his side.

The naked cop joined him on the bed. His cock was hard.

“Start licking,” he demanded. “Unless you want a beating.”

Franck did as he’d been told. It was disgusting, in a way, and undeniably humiliating. But he found a perverse pleasure in servicing that muscular body with his lips and tongue. Not being able to use his hands was frustrating, and it was a constant reminder that he was this man’s captive, at his mercy. Franck didn’t know what this rough cop might be capable of! But the dude was obviously a fucking sadist, so Franck wouldn’t put too much past him!

When Brun told him to suck his cock, he obeyed, without hesitation or question.

“Now my ass,” the cop instructed him. “Stick your tongue up my ass!”

Franck rimmed the man, frantically, desperately trying to get him so excited that he’d want to come soon—which would, presumably, bring this ordeal to an end.

“Good boy,” Brun grunted, while Franck ate his ass. “I can tell you’re an experienced whore,” he taunted his prisoner. “Okay, that’s enough of that, for now. On to the main event.”

Franck could guess what that meant. He was going to be fucked!

Brun sprang off the bed and went to where he’d put his discarded clothes. He unsnapped the holster and drew out his pistol.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked, returning to the bed and brandishing the weapon, for Franck’s inspection.

“It’s your gun.”

“It’s a SIG Sauer Pro 2022, to be exact. Standard issue.”

“So what? Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“I’m going to fuck your ass, punk. And the whole time I’m using your hole, I’m going to hold this pistol to your head. To remind you who’s the boss here, and who’s the bitch. I want you to keep thinking, while I’m screwing you, that all I have to do is flip off the safety, and squeeze the trigger—and that wall next to the bed will be painted with your blood and your brains. If that doesn’t guarantee your cooperation, I don’t know what will.”

“Shit,” Franck whimpered. “You must be crazy!”

“Maybe I am. You never can tell. You ought to be more careful about letting strange men into your apartment—into your bed. But then, apparently, you aren’t too discriminating,” Brun said, contemptuously. “Where do you keep your lube? Here, in this drawer beside the bed? Ready for when you entertain a john?”

“Yeah.”

“You mean ‘yes, sir,’ don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You ready to get fucked?” Brun asked, as he slid open the drawer of the nightstand and retrieved the tube of lubricant Franck kept there.

Do I have a choice? Franck wondered. “Yes, sir. Get it over with,” he pleaded.

Quickly, efficiently, Brun slicked up his dick. And then, unceremoniously, he shoved it up Franck’s ass.

“Ah, hell, dude!” Franck screamed. “Come on, man! Take it out! You’re hurting me. It’s just too fucking big!”

“You’ll get used to it,” Brun predicted, cynically.

“I’m not kidding. You’re killing me! You big-dicked bastard. Big-dicked son of a bitch. I can’t take it, it hurts!”

“You have to breathe, boy,” the cop advised him. “Take deep breaths, and let your ass get used to the way my cock feels inside you. I’m going to be nice to you, punk. I’m going to cut you a break. I’m not going to start pounding away, not yet. We’ll just lie here for a minute, while your hole gets used to my dick. Let me know when you’re ready, when you want me to start fucking you for real.”

“You dirty, stinking, raping motherfucker!”

Brun chuckled. “That sweet talk isn’t going to impress me, boy. Let’s understand each other. Your ass is mine. I’m going to fuck you, and I’m going to come in your ass, and you’re going to love every minute of it.”

“I hate your guts!”

“I’m sure you do, now. But you’re going to love me by the time I’m done with you.”

“Never,” Franck vowed. “I’d almost rather you did kill me. Yeah, go ahead and shoot me. You’ve got your cock in my ass. But don’t you think for a minute that I like it!”

“I don’t think we need to go to quite such extremes as shooting, to improve your attitude, after all.” As he spoke, Brun slid one arm around Franck’s torso. His hand, warm and damp with perspiration, rubbed over Franck’s chest, massaging his pecs, tweaking his stiffened nipples. “Your tits are hard,” the cop observed. “So you don’t like what I’m doing to you, huh? You aren’t turned on?”

“No,” Franck lied. “Not at all!”

Brun’s hand moved higher, under Franck’s chin, and it closed around his throat.

“You know something, boy?” Brun whispered, in a soft, silken thread of a voice, with his lips touching Franck’s ear. “When you choke a guy—when you slowly strangle the life out of him—his cock squirts out its load, and his asshole tightens up. That’s what I’ve heard, anyway. I’ve always wanted to put it to the test. Maybe I’ll throttle you, and fuck you, even after you’re unconscious. And on fucking you, even after you’re dead.”

“Please—please, don’t—!”

“Scared, are you? Yeah, I can smell the fear, oozing out of your pores. And you know what? It turns me on.”

“Go ahead. Fuck me. Just don’t hurt me.”

“Now we’re starting to get along, aren’t we?” Brun jeered. “See how much better it is when we just cooperate?”

“I swear to God, I’ll do anything you want.”

“Damn right you will. Bitch! Whore! Cunt! Slut!” The cop spat out the monosyllables, in a breathless staccato rhythm. Savagely, his cock punished Franck’s ass.

“Aw, shit!” Franck yelled. “So this is what you like. Having another guy at your mercy. Making him take your dirty cop cock up his ass. Raping him. Raping his ass!”

“You bet,” Brun agreed. “Go ahead and yell ‘rape’ all you like, you little slut. Who do you think is going to believe you?”

They began to fuck, like two animals—or, more accurately, Franck fucked himself on Brun’s cock. The cop really didn’t have to move much, or do anything except lie there on top of his willing prisoner and enjoy the ride. Despite his pretense of reluctance and resistance, Franck wanted the other man’s cock so badly that he behaved with whorish abandon, betraying the need in his ass. Furthermore, his extensive experience as a male whore had taught him one thing. When in doubt, it was always best to bring the john off as soon as possible. Technically, Brun wasn’t a john. But Franck wanted him to come as quickly as possible, so he could be rid of the sadistic bastard.

Accordingly, he lavished all of his considerable anal expertise upon the horny cop.

Franck would heave himself up until only the head of Brun’s cock remained stuck inside his sphincter ring. He’d pause for a second, enjoying the way his asshole was stretched open by the glans and rubbing against it. And then—very slowly—groaning with pleasure all the way down, he’d lower himself again, and feed the shaft of Brun’s prick deep into his anus again, until his hairy butt cleft was rubbing hard against the blond man’s balls and he was completely filled with the cop’s manhood again.

“That’s right, boy,” Brun gasped. “Work that hot whore ass of yours around my cock!”

“Fuck me, cop!”

“I thought you didn’t like it.”

“Just fuck me.”

“How does that cop dick of mine feel now, punk? Are you starting to love it?”

“You know I am.”

“Say it the right way,” Brun coached him. “With respect.”

“I love it, sir. I love your cop dick—the way it feels inside me. I like it when you fuck me, officer. I want you to fuck me, sir! I want your cock. Please, sir—please fuck my ass!”

“That’s better. Much better.”

It was too good, too intense, to last nearly as long as either man might have wished. Their mutual lust was just too urgent to be denied release.

“I’m coming,” Brun warned.

“Yeah, cop! Do it. Fuck me. Come in my ass!” Franck replied, frantically.

These were the only words they had time to exchange before the tidal wave of orgasm broke over both of their bodies at once. Brun’s prick spurted a steady stream of what felt hot enough to be molten lava, deep into Franck’s ass, flooding his prostate with the gooey stuff and triggering Franck’s own ejaculation. The handcuffed hustler’s cock swelled even larger within the cop’s grasping, masturbating fist, before it began to pour out its hot liquid contents all over the bed beneath the two men’s thrashing bodies, wetting the sheets and splattering Franck’s sweaty belly and chest and thighs with his own sticky male seed.

The ecstasy went on and on for both of them, their pent-up passion erupting out of their bodies repeatedly, in spurt after spurt of draining, debilitating, yet wholly exhilarating lust. Brun, especially, was momentarily lost in a selfish, utterly satisfying world of pure eroticism and physical pleasure and release as he used Franck’s body. The cop was shaken by the fierce waves of throbbing fulfillment being given to him by the boy lying helplessly underneath him on the bed, who was impaled on Brun’s rutting, exploding cock.

When his orgasm finally subsided, Brun eased his still-stiff prick of Franck’s semen-flooded asshole and rolled off him, quickly bending down to kiss his face and mouth. It was the first time the cop had kissed him, Franck realized—a reversal of the usual procedure, whereby kissing was part of the foreplay, before two men got down to the nitty-gritty of actual sex. Brun gently caressed Franck’s cheek with his fingers, and the hustler’s lips parted instinctively to accept the wet, probing intrusion of Brun’s tongue.

“Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Brun asked, after breaking the long, deep kiss.

“It was okay,” Franck conceded. He decided to risk a joke. “You can leave the money there, on the nightstand, before you leave. I’ll give you a discount.”

Brun chuckled. “Quite the comedian, aren’t you? I’m afraid I may forget to do that—just as I may forget to uncuff you. Yeah, that’d serve you right, for being such a smart mouth. I ought to leave you here, naked, handcuffed, for your boyfriend to come home and find. You’d have some explaining to do.”

Franck bit his lip. “Please—I did what you wanted. I did everything. Don’t be so mean. I’m sorry for making that crack.”

“Apology accepted. Turn around. Let me find my key, and unlock those.”

“Thanks,” Franck muttered, grudgingly, when his hands were freed. The steel hoops had left red mark, indented in the flesh of his wrists. H rubbed them, to ease the smart.

“Well, that was fun.” Brun got off the bed, and he began to get dressed. First, though, he took care to return his pistol to its holster, and secure it by closing the snap.

Fun didn’t strike Franck was being the most appropriate word for what had just transpired between them. But he watched, in silence, while the police officer performed a sort of reverse striptease, putting his clothes back on as slowly and methodically as he had removed them. Once his uniform was on, Brun stood in front of the mirror which was on the wall above the dresser, fussing with his tie, getting the knot straight. Finally, he strapped on his utility belt, with the pistol on his hip, and replaced his sunglasses.

“Still no sign of your roommate,” he commented.

“Maybe he got lucky, too.”

“Too? Are you telling me you enjoyed what we did?”

“Does it matter? You got your rocks off. I didn’t think what I might or might not enjoy mattered to you very much.”

“Don’t sulk. Maybe I’m not quite as big a prick you think I am.”

“Except literally,” Franck dared to joke.

He’d succeeded in coaxing a smile out of the cop’s stern face. “Do you want to do this again sometime?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Everybody’s always got a choice,” Brun said, somewhat enigmatically. “How’d you like to be my boy?”

“Your boy? What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’d take care of me, whenever I happen to need it. I think you’d get something out of it, too. We seem to be sexually compatible. Or don’t you think so?”

“I like your body, and your cock,” Franck admitted, with caution. “It’s your profession I have some reservations about.”

“I could say the same about yours. Well, we can continue this discussion some other time. Want to swap phone numbers?”

“Sure.”

After performing this ritual, Franck, still nude, escorted his visitor through the living room, to the front door. Brun kissed him, and gave him a smack on his bare ass.

“I’ll call you,” Brun promised, as Franck let him out. “Try to behave yourself.”

Shit! Franck thought, as soon as he was alone in the apartment. What the hell am I getting myself into? I just let a cop fuck me—and now I’m practically agreeing to take him on as my lover. Without even charging him for it!

Very little escaped Didier’s notice. When he got home, shortly thereafter, and he and Franck were busy preparing their dinner together in the kitchen, he noticed the lingering red marks on his roommate’s wrists.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Didier asked.

“Oh—I had a john,” Franck lied. “One of those last-minute deals. He came over right after I got home from work. I got rid of him, fast. In and out, before you came home.”

“What the hell did he do to you?”

“He tied me up—that’s all. He was into a little light bondage, that’s all. It helped to keep him hard. No big deal.”

“You really have to be careful about getting into that sort of shit. Alone with a guy—”

“Oh, I’ve had this freak before. He’s harmless.”

“Let’s hope so.” Didier was busy making croque-monsieur sandwiches in a skillet on the stovetop. The way he made them, they were no light snack, but a hearty meal. He used thick slices of bread, plenty of prosciutto and crab meat, and he topped off each completed sandwich with a fried egg.

Among Didier’s few other domestic traits besides cooking was the fact that he cultivated herbs, on the sunny kitchen windowsill. Planted in clay pots, set inside brightly colored ceramic cachepots, the herbs—spearmint, thyme, lavender, oregano, and so forth—flourished. Using a small, sharp pair of scissors, Didier snipped off a couple of sprigs of parsley, which he shredded and used to garnish the croque-monsieurs, before he plated and served them. “Well, these are ready. Let’s eat.”

Franck remembered something Brun had said to him, the night they’d met. Keep lying, boy, the cop had sneered at him. With a lot more practice, you may start to get good at it.

Franck hated lying to Didier, from whom he ordinarily kept no secrets. Didier was just about impossible to shock—but even his open-mindedness had its limits. He’d no doubt be appalled if he found out that his buddy had done the unthinkable—had sex with a cop. And, worse, done it free of charge!

Giving it away for free, to the enemy—yes, to Didier, that would be the ultimate betrayal.

Feeling guilty, Franck nevertheless ate and thoroughly enjoyed his sandwich, without shame. He’d worked up quite an appetite, which dealing with his cop visitor’s exorbitant demands. And, after all, a man had to eat!

Chapter Six: Coffee with the Cop

Late one afternoon, a few days later, Franck received a phone call. It was Brun.

“Where are you, and what are you doing?” the cop demanded, in a brusque, peremptory tone of voice.

Nice to hear from you, too! Franck thought. But he knew that he ought to be used, by now, to the gendarme’s less than finely honed social skills. Franck wondered whether the man behaved this way toward everybody, or did he confine his aggression to the sex partners whom he dominated?

“I’m at work, but I’m getting ready to leave,” Franck said.

“Good. Because I’m about to knock off at the end of my shift, too. I’ll see you at your place.”

Naturally, it didn’t occur to Brun to ask whether such a rendezvous would be convenient for Franck.

“Don’t hurry,” Franck advised. “Give me a chance to get home and jump in the shower, first.”

“No, don’t bother. Not with the shower, I mean.”

“But I’m kind of dirty and sweaty,” Franck protested.

“So much the better. I’ll take you just the way you are. Don’t shower, and don’t change out of your work clothes. And that’s an order, boy.”

“Jesus! Well, if you insist. All right. See you soon.”

Talk about kinky! Franck thought, after he hung up. On the whole, he preferred clean sex. A little sweat and body odor didn’t bother him—in his line of work, as a male prostitute, he couldn’t afford to be too fussy about such things. Some johns, unfortunately, were less than fastidious about their personal hygiene. But Brun had sounded downright aroused by the prospect of having sex with Franck in his current unwashed condition!

Didier wasn’t due home for a couple of hours, so at least Franck and Brun would have the apartment to themselves. After hurrying home, Franck found himself somewhat at a loss, with no way to kill time before his self-invited guest arrived. Brun had forbidden him to shower and change his clothes, and Franck would be damned if he was going to bother trying to tidy up the place for the cop’s benefit. Such niceties, he suspected, would be wasted on Brun, anyway.

Let the horny motherfucker put up with a little dust and dirt and clutter! Franck decided.

And so Franck opened a bottle of inexpensive red wine and he drank it, gratefully, to mellow himself out. He had to admit it—he was nervous. Brun was very a loose cannon. What kind of a mood would he be in, this time? And what would he expect Franck to do?

Franck had no way of knowing how far away Brun had been when he’d called. But in fact it wasn’t a long wait. The doorbell chimed, and Franck hurried over to the intercom and buzzed Brun in.

The cop was in uniform again, as Franck had anticipated.

“No roommate?” Brun inquired, looking around the living room.

“He’s still at work. We do have real jobs, you know—both of us. We’re not a couple of slackers, who get to lounge around here at home all day.”

“Yeah, stealing and hustling must get boring, at times. A little variety is always welcome.”

“There’s no need to be sarcastic. I could say—”

“Say what?”

“Nothing.”

“No, come on.” Brun seemed to be in an amiable, outgoing mood—by his standards. “Tell me what you were going to say. I promise, I won’t take offense. If I end up beating your ass, it’ll be because I know we both enjoy that—not because you’ve said anything to piss me off.” This was presumably Brun’s idea of a joke. The guy was just one big laugh after another, Franck thought!

“Well, I was going to say something like, maybe you’re not in a position to criticize Didier and me,” Franck said, with caution, choosing his words carefully. “Would your coworkers at the precinct approve of you fucking around with a guy like me, if they knew?”

“Some of them would. Hell, some of them might even want a piece of the action.”

“Are there a lot of gay cops here in Marseille?”

“Sure. Probably the same proportion as there is in any other city, anywhere. Hey, can I have a glass of that wine?”

“Oh, yeah. Of course. I’m forgetting my manners. Sorry. I’ll get you a glass.”

When Franck returned from the kitchen with the wineglass, and Brun had poured himself some of the wine and had tasted it, the cop picked up the conversation where it had left off.

“The department’s got an official ‘no discrimination’ policy, of course,” he said. “When it comes to hiring gays. But you know as well as I do—being open about your sexual orientation isn’t always to your advantage. I know a number of gay cops. Most of them are quite hot.”

“Why don’t you fool around with them, then?”

Brun smiled. “Who says I don’t? We get together quite frequently. Sometimes one on one. Other times, for group sex. Wall to wall naked cops, with hard-ons—think about that, boy. In fact, I’ve been thinking about it, myself, on your behalf. Maybe you’d like to be invited to one of these parties?”

“Let’s take it slow, okay?” Franck suggested.

“Whatever you want. And right now, let’s get started. Strip. No,” Brun said, changing his mind. “Let me do it. Let me undress you.”

He took a final sip of wine, and then he set his glass down on the coffee table. Franck was seated in an armchair, positioned near the couch, at a right angle to it. Brun came over to him and knelt at his feet.

Franck felt the first stirrings of sexual excitement, but, paradoxically, he also felt somewhat uneasy. He’d become so accustomed to submitting to his cop lover that it was strange to see the man kneeling before him—while he was in uniform, no less!

“I’m glad you didn’t shower,” Brun whispered. “I can smell you, and you smell like a man. That turns me on.”

“Does it?” Franck responded, automatically, without thinking.

“Yeah. I don’t waste my time fucking around with pretty little metrosexuals who reek of cologne, and faint if you get a little rough with them. I like my men butch.” Slowly, methodically, Brun unlaced Franck’s right work boot, and tugged it off. He peeled the sweaty, grimy sock off Franck’s foot. He repeated the process with the left boot and sock. His hands grasped Franck’s newly bared left foot, massaged it, and raised it to his lips. He kissed Franck’s sole, and then, inhaling deeply, repeatedly, and appreciatively, he began to use his tongue to swab the foot, darting it into the spaces between the toes. Pushing the big toe inside his mouth, Brun began to suck on it.

“Damn,” Franck gasped. It tickled, and it was also rather freaking him out. He’d had johns who wanted to play with his feet and make love to them. He’d gone along with it, and if the guy was good at it, he’d been known to enjoy it. But he’d never suspected that Brun would get off on something like this!

With the same patience with which he’d removed Franck’s boots and socks, Brun worshipped the hustler’s bare feet with his lips and his agile tongue. He moved back and forth between them, taking his time, obviously savoring every moment of the foot play. He shrimped the male whore, sucking on each and every one of his toes in turn, returning to make love a second time to most of them.

Finally—and, Franck could tell, reluctantly—the cop moved on. He unbuttoned Franck’s work shirt and helped Franck to take it off. The armpits of the shirt were stained with sweat. Brun licked and sniffed each of the damp patches, moaning faintly, as though he was inhaling a fine, intoxicating perfume. Then he did the same with Franck’s T-shirt, pressing the perspiration-wet areas of the fabric against his face, breathing heavily, obviously in ecstasy.

Stripped to the waist, Franck leaned back against the armchair, and he watched Brun getting off on the taste and smell of the funky T-shirt. Shit! Franck told himself, incredulously. This fucking stud cop is even more kinky, even more of a goddamn perv, than I thought he was!

Brun dropped the T-shirt to the floor. “Now the pants,” he gasped. “Get ‘em off, quick!”

Reaching for Franck’s waist with both hands, he deftly unbuckled Franck’s belt, opened the waistband button of his dirty, well-worn work jeans, and ripped down the zipper. Franck cooperated in the cop’s stripping of him, lifting his butt off the armchair’s seat cushion, making it easier for Brun to pull his jeans down his legs and off.

Now Franck was naked except for his skivvies—white cotton jockey shorts, cut in a brief style, fitting close to the body, to show off the wearer’s physique. After a long, hot day on the job, the underwear was as damp with sweat and as soiled as Frank’s T-shirt had been. The sight, and the smell, of the jockey shorts seemed to send Brun into a frenzy.

“Fuck!” the cop exclaimed. “Don’t you dare move, you goddamn tease. Just sit there. Let me—!”

He didn’t specify what he wanted Franck to allow him to do, but that wasn’t necessary. As was so often the case, actions spoke louder, and more eloquently, than words. Still on his knees, Brun lunged his head forward and down, into Franck’s crotch. The cop’s mouth fastened itself, leech-like, upon the big lump which the hustler’s cock made in the crotch piece of his underwear. Brun began to suck on the penis, through the fabric, which he quickly soaked in his free-flowing saliva.

Underwear freak—I usually get paid for putting up with this sort of thing! was among the few coherent thoughts which flashed through Franck’s sex-numbed brain, while Brun worked on him, with abject devotion, and Franck succumbed to the intense pleasure which the cop’s ravenous, restless mouth was stirring up from deep in his loins. He was getting so excited that he even dared to mouth off to his cop lover.

“Come on, stud,” Franck urged, heatedly. “Now who’s the tease? Quit fucking around. If you’re going to suck it, suck it! Take it out and put it in your mouth.”

Grunting, Brun did just that. He yanked Franck’s jockey shorts down to his knees. His mouth captured Franck’s stiff penis, drawing it fully inside his mouth. Brun was already sucking the cock, expertly, hungrily, when his hands began to tug the underwear farther down Franck’s legs, over his calves, to his ankles, and finally freeing his feet from the garment. No longer hobbled by the jockey shorts, slumped in the armchair completely nude, Franck spread his legs wide. Brun moved in closer between them, sucking Franck’s cock with a mindless, mechanical concentration and efficiency.

The cop was a good cocksucker. Franck had to grant him that! Brun soon had him teetering precariously on the edge of ejaculation.

“Oh, stop, dude, unless you want me to come in your mouth,” Franck pleaded.

Brun pulled his mouth off Franck’s cock, which was slick with his saliva.

“Get up,” Brun ordered, so short of breath that he could barely get the words out. “Get your ass in your bedroom. On the bed.”

As Franck obeyed, Brun followed him, already starting to shed some of his clothes, which he flung onto the floor. This time, there was no slow, tantalizing striptease, as there had been the first time the cop had come to the apartment and removed his uniform in front of Franck’s admiring eyes. On this occasion, Brun seemed desperate to free himself of his garments, as though they were restricting him, painfully.

Lying naked on his bed, Franck was soon joined by the naked and very erect cop, who embraced him, clumsily.

“Suck me!” Brun shouted. The man seemed to be beside himself, in a sexual frenzy. “No! I want to suck yours, too. Blow me while I blow you. Let’s sixty-nine.”

Lying in the bed, positioned heads to feet, with their faces pressed into each other’s groins, they sucked each other, devotedly, for several minutes.

“I want your ass, boy,” Brun gasped. “Fucked, bitch! I can just tell you need to be fucked. And I’m the man for the job. I’ve got the right tool for it, right here.”

“Okay, I’ll roll over. Get on top of me and shove it up my ass.” Pushing Brun away from him, Franck turned himself over quickly, lying on the mattress belly-down, with his face buried in the pillows. Like a sacrificial victim spread out on a pagan altar, he waited to be fucked.

Brun knew where Franck kept his bedside supply of lube. Applying some of the slippery gel to his dick, the cop then stretched himself on top of Franck, his heavy chest pressing down on the boy’s broad back, his cock already probing between Franck’s buttocks, searching for his hole. The cop swore when his first attempt to find his target failed.

“Here! Let me help you!” Franck gasped. “Keep one hand on your dick, and help me hold open my ass for you with the other.” Eagerly, Brun followed these instructions, slipping one hand down into the crevice between Franck’s firm, gym-toned glutes, while Franck reached back and pulled his left buttock aside with a rough grip, separating it from its twin.

The head of Brun’s hard, hot cock rubbed against the moist, rosy-pink eye of Franck’s puckered hole. And then, the cop’s erection began to slide inside it. With a gasp, Franck writhed in delight up against the other man’s body. Brun brutally humped his pelvis down against Franck’s butt, and, with one fierce motion, he succeeded in impaling Franck’s anus completely onto his cock, forcing Franck to accept his entire solid length.

“God damn it, you’re hung!” Franck cried.

“Complaining?”

“No. Give me that meat!”

“Cop dick—the best dick there is, boy. You can’t get enough of it, can you?”

“You aren’t going to hear any argument from me. Go ahead—sir,” Franck said, perhaps more than a little sarcastically. “I’ve been a bad boy, I confess it. I haven’t had much respect for the police force, for you hard-working officers of the law. Punish me. Punish me with your big, hard cock.”

“Boy, you can think of me as arresting officer, judge, jury, warden, and correction officer on duty on the cell block—all rolled into one,” Brun declared. “And all of them, ready to fuck your ass!”

It didn’t take Brun long to come.

“Jack off, boy, while I come in your ass,” he told Franck. “Come on—we’ll turn onto our sides, so you can jerk yourself. Do it, boy. Spray that hot cum of yours all over the fucking bed. I want to feel your asshole tightening up and flexing around my prick, when you shoot. And then I’m going to fill your pretty butt with my hot cop cum.”

All of this took place, precisely as Brun had decreed.

“That was intense,” Franck gasped, when both of them had finally stopped ejaculating.

“Yeah,” Brun decreed.

“Jesus, I feel fucked out. I’m almost ready to fall asleep. I usually make myself some coffee, as soon as I get home from work. You didn’t give me a chance to do so, today. Want some?”

“Sure.”

Franck pulled on the first clean clothes with came to hand, there in his bedroom—sweatpants, and a T-shirt. Barefoot, he went into the kitchen and got the coffee brewing. He took two mugs from one of the cabinets and set them on the kitchen table.

Brun joined him. He was fully dressed, except for his invariably well-polished shoes, which he carried in his hand. Seating himself at the table, he put his shoes on the floor under it.

Franck served the coffee. They drank it, in silence.

Franck was about to say something—anything, no matter how banal, to break the silence—when he heard the apartment door open. A moment later, Didier came into the kitchen. He froze at the sight of Brun, sitting there in his uniform, sipping coffee from his mug.

“Oh. Didn’t know you had company,” Didier muttered, addressing Franck. And looking first at his roommate, inquisitively—and then at his guest, suspiciously.

“Ah—yeah. This is Brigadier Brun. And this is Didier, my roommate.”

“How nice to meet you at last, Didier,” Brun purred. “Franck has told me so much about you.”

“Has he? That’s funny. Because he hasn’t told me anything about you,” Didier said, as he and Brun shook hands.

“Want some coffee? It’s fresh,” Franck said.

“No, thanks.” Not much escaped Didier’s notice, under any circumstances, and now he saw Brun’s shoes, under the table, and the cop’s big feet, in their black socks.

Brun had finished his coffee. “Well, I’d better be going.” Matter of factly, and without the slightest hint of self-consciousness, he put on his shoes, and tied the laces. Then he stood up. “Thanks for the coffee,” he told Franck. “I can see myself out. Enjoy your evening, guys.”

Didier waited until Brun was gone before he vented his seething curiosity.

“What the hell was that cop doing here?” Didier demanded.

Franck chose to be evasive. “Don’t worry. He wasn’t here on business. It was a social call.”

“I didn’t think he was interrogating you. Not with his shoes off! Since when do we socialize with cops? Are you telling me—he’s a john?”

“More or less.”

“What do you mean, ‘more or less’? Either he is, or he isn’t. Which is it?”

“It’s kind of complicated.”

“So, simplify it for me. I’m listening.”

Franck began to think that honesty might be the best policy, considering that Didier was likely to find out the truth, eventually. “I’m sort of seeing him.”

“You mean—tricking with him? With that son of a bitch? Are you telling me—for free?”

“Yeah.”

“Christ almighty! I didn’t think he looked like the kind of stud who has to pay for it. Not with that body! But—a lousy cop? How could you? What were you thinking?”

“You’ve got to admit, he’s kind of hot.”

“Sure he is—in a big brute of a cop kind of a way. As in, it’s his job to bust guys like us, not fuck guys like us!”

“He’s not going to bust someone he’s fooling around with, on the sly,” Franck suggested, not without a certain logic. “So long as the sex is good, he’s going to be willing to look the other way. Think of it as a form of insurance. Like paying for protection.”

“You’re playing with fire, dude. Risk getting yourself burned, if you want, but leave me out of it.”

“You are out of it. It’s not you he’s fucking. If I choose to entertain the guy here—what’s that to you?”

“Okay, now I have to ask. Since you seem so damn enamored, what’s the son of a bitch like in bed?”

“He’s rough, which I’ve started to like—at least when he does it. The sex is incredibly hot. I’m his bitch. He makes me do dirty, nasty things, and I do them. Whatever he asks. And I love it.”

“Good God. If all it takes is a uniform—! I could rent one, to dress up in.”

“It wouldn’t be the same.”

“Shit! If it’s a big, ugly, tough-acting, musclebound authority figure in a uniform that you want—you could find yourself a soldier, or even a security guard, to play around with. But, no! You had to have a cop! You dumbass whore. I give up. It’s no use talking to you. But don’t worry. When your lover boy in blue gets tired of you, or you do something to piss him off, and you end up in the slammer—I’ll come see you, on visiting days. If you’re not too busy getting fucked by your cellmate!”

“Brun’s hardly ugly,” Franck protested. “And all kidding aside, Didier, has it occurred to you that this could work out to our advantage?”

“How’s that?”

“He’s not out. He’s still in the closet, on the down low. He’s told me so. He wouldn’t want his tight-assed straight cop buddies to know he’s been fooling around with the likes of me. If either of us gets into any trouble, we can ask him to pull some strings for us. If he refuses—we can threaten to squeal on him, to his bosses. Then I bet he’ll come around.”

“Oh, that’d be real smart—snitching on a cop! You know how those bastards stick together. Gay or straight, when push comes to shove, it’s still them against us. We’d have them all coming down on us—and hard. What do you think our reward would be—an extra bar of soap, for our convict boyfriends to use to slick up their dicks, before they rape us in the prison shower area?”

“Well—it was just a thought.”

“It was a dumb thought. Typical of you, you stupid asshole. And, as for the whole gay cop thing—”

“What about it?”

“I’d heard a rumor, which has been making the rounds. I thought it was just bullshit, but now that I’ve met your boyfriend, I’m not so sure. Supposedly, there’s a bunch of gay cops here in Marseille. They’re on the down low, none of them is really out, and so the other guys on the force don’t suspect them. They’re all the kind of macho cops who pump iron to get big and intimidating, and some of them take steroids, too. And they’re real sex fiends. They get together for group sex, among themselves, in secret. And they have this nasty habit, when they arrest a guy they think is hot, of forcing him to have sex, in exchange for being let go. The guys they harass like that are scared shitless, and afraid to say anything about it to the authorities, of course. Some dudes have supposedly even been raped. Yeah, raped by a dirty, stinking cop, and too scared to report it. Think about that, the next time you’re sucking your cop’s dick, or taking it up your ass.”

Franck remembered what Brun had told him, about his fellow gay cops, and the group sex parties in which they supposedly indulged. He felt uneasy, but he wasn’t about to let Didier know that. “Okay—but except for the rape part, it all sounds like consensual sex to me. So what? What’s the big deal?”

“I don’t like the sound of it, that’s all. Like I said, you fool—you could be playing with fire.”

“Well, maybe that’s the risk you run, when you like it hot. And I do.”

Didier shook his head. “You’re hopeless, dude. There’s no talking to you. Well—it’ll be your funeral,” he predicted, ominously. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Chapter Seven: The Rookie

One evening, Franck received another cell phone call, from Brun.

“Do you like threesomes?” was the cop’s opening sally.

Franck was wary. “Depends on who the other two guys are.”

“I’ve got a horny cop buddy who needs some action,” Brun said, bluntly. “I told him all about you, and now he’s all hot and bothered, and eager to meet you.”

“I don’t know. What does he look like?”

Brun laughed. “You’re a whore! Since when are you so damn choosey?”

“I’m assuming I’m not going to get paid for this gig you’re proposing. If you expect me to put out for free, then I at least want to play around with a reasonably attractive guy. Not some beer-bellied, out of shape flatfoot who’d have a heart attack if he had to chase a guy down the street,” Franck dared to say.

“Trust me. This motherfucker is just your type. He’s kind of a younger and less streetwise version of me, if you can imagine that.”

Franck could indeed imagine that. “I see.”

“So? Are you interested, or aren’t you?”

“Yeah, maybe I am. But if you’re talking about tonight—”

“I’m talking about as soon as possible.”

“My roommate’s here. It could be a little awkward, me entertaining two cops here.”

“I didn’t think your roommate was so fastidious, about what went on, on your premises. But, as a matter of fact, I thought we’d do it at my place. You haven’t been here yet. I’ll give you the address.”

“Okay.”

“Get your ass here as soon as possible,” Brun growled. “Don’t keep us waiting. We’ll be ready for you.”

After writing down the address and ending the phone call, Franck showered and changed his clothes.

“Where are you headed?” Didier asked him, as he got ready to leave the apartment.

“I’ve got a date,” Franck said.

“With a john?”

“Yeah,” Franck lied. “One of my regulars. That’s why I agreed to see him, on such short notice. Don’t wait up for me.”

Didier scoffed. “As though I ever do! Have fun.”

Franck didn’t know how much money a typical Marseille police officer, specifically, one who had attained the rank of Brigadier, earned. But Brun lived in a decent neighborhood of the city. His apartment was located above a storefront—a tobacco shop, actually—which was closed at this time of the night.

Judging by the living room, the apartment was fairly large, and the living room was comfortably furnished, with a certain sense of style.

Interestingly, the place wasn’t “straight-proofed,” so to speak. Among the framed pictures on the walls were a couple of drawings of male nudes. A bronze statuette of another naked man was displayed on an end table. And, most telling of all, a DVD case was on the coffee table. The cover photo showed a naked bodybuilder, with bulging muscles, a huge erect cock, and a surly expression on his handsome face. He was posing in a prison cell, standing in front of the bunk and gripping the bars of the cell with both hands. The title of the video, Franck saw, was Soumission Forcée [Forced Submission]—which certainly would seem to be right up Brun’s alley!

Curious to obtain some sense of Brun’s personality, Franck noticed that the man was a reader—he had two bookcases, filled with books.

Franck absorbed these impressions of the space only gradually, however, because he was preoccupied with the two men in the room. Brun was in uniform, and so was the other cop, whom Franck estimated to be about his own age. Brun hadn’t misled him when he’d described his “horny cop buddy” as a “younger version” of himself. There was the same impressive weight-trained physique, even the same style of neatly trimmed mustache. But the younger cop’s hair and mustache were brown. He had a very fair, pale skin, and blue eyes.

The striped coding, on the patches sewn on the shoulders of his blue uniform shirt, identified him as a Gardien de la paix stagiare (Keeper of the peace, intern). He was a newcomer to the police force, in other words. Brun outranked him.

The young cop wore a gold wedding ring, on the third finger of his left hand, Franck noticed.

Brun made the introductions.

“Claude, this is Franck, the guy I told you about. Franck, meet Claude. He just joined the force, a little while ago, so I’ve sort of taken him under my wing and looked after him—on and off the job. He can’t help it he’s still a dumb rookie.” The way Brun inflected the word rookie, he made it sound like a worse insult than the harsh epithets he routinely addressed to Franck, such as slave, whore, punk, and bitch. Franck was pleased to see that the young cop flushed with embarrassment, in response to the older and more experienced police officer’s taunt.

“I see you’re married,” Franck remarked. “Is it to a guy?” Same-sex marriage was legal in France, after all, so this wouldn’t be particularly surprising.

“No, to a woman,” Claude snapped. “I’m no goddamn queer! What business is it of yours, anyway?”

“None,” Franck said, coolly. “Just trying to make conversation.” Oh, so you’re ‘no goddamn queer,’ huh? he thought. That must be why you’re here, all hot and horny, with that hard-on in your pants, ready to fuck around with me and your hot stud cop buddy, Brigadier Brun! You frigging hypocrite!

“I’m bisexual. I have needs my wife doesn’t understand.”

Yeah, Franck thought, contemptuously. I’m sure you do! And if had a euro for every time I’ve heard that lame line from a john—!

“Anyway, we’re not here to talk,” Brun interjected. “With the exception of dirty talk during sex, which I find always adds flavor to the stew. We’ll have a drink first, and then we’ll go into the bedroom,” he said.

He and Claude had been drinking scotch, before Franck arrived. When Brun offered it to him, Franck took one, too, gulping down the strong liquor, which warmed him and—he hoped—would help him to overcome his slight, lingering nervousness.

“Have another,” Brun encouraged him. “We’re going to.”

“Thanks.” As he drank, Franck realized that he was forgetting to address Brun as “sir”—but so far, the cop had let him get away with it.

Perhaps because he was on his home territory, perhaps because of the scotch, Brun seemed to be in an unusual laid-back, relaxed mood. Franck hoped it wasn’t an act. So far, he’d been able to handle one cop getting rough with him during sex. He’d even learned to like it. But the prospect of being worked over by two aggressive officers of the law was a bit daunting.

But it was too late for him to back out now!

A few minutes later, well fueled by the whiskey, the three men were in Brun’s bedroom. Here was another homoerotic work of art—a large oil painting of a male nude, rendered in flesh tones, earth tones, and reds, displayed on the wall behind the bed. The room was equipped with a small writing desk, and the reading lamp on the desk was lit, providing the only illumination in the room.

“Come on, men. Let’s strip down and get started. We’re going to try something different tonight, boy,” Brun informed Franck, as all three of them began to undress. “Claude and I were discussing it, before you got here.”

That sounded rather ominous to Franck. “What’s that?” he asked, nervously.

“This is your lucky night. You’re going to do the fucking, for a change. First the rookie—and then me. We’re going to find out if you’re man enough to pound a couple of cop asses. Think you’d like that, punk?”

Astonished, Franck was at a loss for words, at first. Of all the things he’d anticipated Brun might demand that he do, he certainly hadn’t included this in the list!

“Oh,” Franck said, affecting nonchalance. “That sounds like fun.”

Brun remained standing beside the bed, while Claude and Franck climbed onto it. For a guy who claimed to be bisexual, not “queer,” Claude seemed suspiciously eager to engage in some same-sex lovemaking. He kissed Franck, not just on his mouth, but all over his body, his hands restlessly exploring the other young man’s body as he did so.

After a few minutes of this intense foreplay, Claude shifted his position. He got up on his hands and knees, half-straddling Franck’s body, and he took from the nightstand a tiny brown-glass bottle, which Franck knew contained liquid poppers. When Claude offered it to him, he took the bottle from the rookie’s sweating hand and unscrewed the cap. Then, as Claude began to caress him again, just as heatedly as before, and pressed his hot, perspiring body down against his, Franck sniffed the amyl directly from the vial. The vaporizing liquid opened up his nasal passages, and the fumes hit him quickly and hard. His head and lungs seemed filled with a burning warmth and a tingling sensation. His heart pumped faster. His skin seemed charged with a crawling sensitivity, like static electricity. All of his senses seemed heightened, more responsive. Blood surged through his body and filled his prick, making it rise up even stiffer and pulse almost violently with lustful readiness.

Franck was gasping for breath when he gave the bottle back to Claude, who snorted the poppers eagerly, and who was soon gasping and panting for breath, too. He closed the cap and set the bottle aside, within easy reach, and then he threw himself on top of Franck—who flung both of his arms around the other guy’s naked body to draw it close to him in a tight, sweat-lubricated embrace.

Franck could feel the young cop’s hard-on rubbing against his belly, against his own throbbing dick. They kissed again, tongues boldly plunging deep into each other’s open, moaning mouths.

“Suck you,” Claude gasped, when they broke the kiss. “I want to suck you!”

“Be my guest,” Franck invited the cop—who lost no time in going down on him.

“That’s right, rookie,” Brun coached his colleague from the sidelines. “Suck on that nice big, juicy dick! You need the practice. The last time you blew me, you did a lousy job.”

Franck quickly decided that Brun was just taunting his buddy, because there seemed to be nothing lacking in Claude’s oral technique. The rookie swallowed Franck’s fuck tool without any apparent difficulty, massaging it with his lips and stroking it with his tongue. Gurgling and gagging, he manfully allowed the thick head of the erection to jab down into his throat.

Under such an effective oral attack, Franck couldn’t remain passive. He began to fuck the handsome young cop’s face.

“Treat him rough, boy,” Brun advised. “He likes it that way. Just like you do.”

Humping away wildly now, fascinated by the sight of his saliva-slippery cockshaft disappearing between Claude’s lips, Franck gasped out, “That’s right, cop. Suck that dick, show me how good a cocksucker you are.”

“Better than sucking your wife’s pussy, isn’t it?” Brun mocked Claude.

The younger cop grunted in a way which sounded to Franck like an attempt to convey an empathetic yes.

Franck’s dick vanished inside Claude’s eager mouth, then reappeared for a moment when Franck pulled back—but only in preparation to face-fuck the other guy still more vigorously.

“Come on, Franck,” Brun coaxed. “Be a sport. He’s working hard to take care of you. Return the favor. Sixty-nine with him. I want to see you sucking each other’s dicks.”

Yeah—I want to suck that cop cock! Franck thought, as he and Claude swung their bodies into the position Brun wanted.

Their impassioned sixty-nine soon got both guys very hot. They pushed each other steadily toward the brink of a double explosion. Claude’s face was buried in Franck’s groin, and he was taking Franck’s cock in his mouth and throat all the way to the base, so that on each downstroke his mouth pressed into the wreath of pubic head which surrounded the root of Franck’s erection.

But Franck prided himself on being no slouch when it came to cocksucking and deep-throating, himself. His wet, saliva-filled mouth clamped around the very base of Claude’s thick hard-on, while he worked on the cop’s cockhead with his throat muscles and rubbed his tongue all over the shaft which pulsed strongly inside his sucking mouth. He was imitating what Claude was doing to him, and there wasn’t any doubt that the cop was enjoying it.

As Franck’s already acute excitement peaked, he went wild, humping harder, fucking his new sex partner’s mouth as though it was a hot, tight asshole, ramming his dick down into the guy’s throat with strangulating force. But he gave as good as he got. He suctioned the cop’s cock nonstop, making Claude whimper and thrash his body against Franck’s. Knowing that he was satisfying the cop, Franck used his own mouth on the young married man’s cock with frenzied abandon.

Brun must have recognized the symptoms of impending ejaculation, in both of the younger men. “Don’t come,” he warned. “I want to watch you guys fuck.”

Groaning with frustration, Franck forced himself to stop sucking and to remove his mouth from Claude’s cock. Claude let go of Franck’s prick, too.

“Give me the poppers, and then give me the lube,” Franck demanded.

Brun laughed. “I didn’t know you were such a ‘take-charge’ kind of guy.”

Busy snorting the amyl, Franck didn’t bother to reply. Claude slid open the top drawer of the nightstand beside Brun’s bed, and took out a tube of lubricant.

Interesting, Franck thought, even as the amyl rush hit him. He seems to be quite at home here in Brun’s place. I guess he’s been in this bed before. And fucked in it, before, too!

Well—he’d better be ready, because he’s sure as hell about to be fucked right now!

“Don’t use too much of that grease,” Claude urged. “I want to feel your cock rubbing against the inside of my ass. I don’t care if it hurts a little.”

“I’m sure Franck can relate to that,” Brun joked.

While Franck applied a light coating of the lube to his prick, Claude got on his hands and knees, presenting his butt to Franck.

“Fuck that raw rookie hole,” Brun told Franck.

“So—Brun says you like it rough, do you? Let’s find out!” As he spoke, Franck jammed his hot, throbbing prick between the young cop’s parted ass cheeks as hard as he could, finding the anal opening and shoving himself brutally through it by using his entire muscular weight to back up the thrust. He came down hard on Claude’s taut and writhing body, which, he realized with sadistic pleasure, was eagerly receiving his cock. Franck made a second thrust, and he could feel that lightly lubricated asshole flexing, gripping the head of his cock, drawing it deeper inside the heat of the cop’s body. He thrust a third time, and he penetrated the other man completely, his cock pushing its way with impetuous force right up the rookie’s spasming butt.

“Aw, shit, you’re big!” Claude yelled. “You son of a bitch! Fuck me. Fuck me good and hard!”

“Big, tough cop—spreading your hole for me like a cunt,” Franck taunted his willing victim. “I wonder if I can get my dick in there even deeper—?” He made the experiment, and it was a successful one. “Oh, yeah! That hole feels good, squirming around my cock!”

“Oh, God! You dirty punk. Ram it in me really hard,” Claude begged. Franck’s fuck tool had touched his prostate, and could go no further up that hot, tight, cringing asshole—every muscle and membrane of which was now grasping and massaging the ruthless young stud hustler’s hard-fucking cock. “Fuck me hard!”

“Like this?” Franck asked, in sadistic mock-innocence, before he gritted his teeth and rammed himself violently back and forth within that tight, clinging sheath of hot moist anal flesh which he had violated. “Am I doing it the way you like? Are you getting off on having your butch cop ass fucked by my big dick?”

A rhetorical question if there ever was one, judging by the way Claude was moaning and writhing beneath Franck, as Franck used the other guy’s asshole at will, for his own selfish pleasure. Not that Claude didn’t seem to be enjoying himself. The married man seemed to be in anal nirvana. He pushed his behind back against Franck’s groin, to try to force Franck’s cock still further inside him. Panting for breath like a dog, Claude picked up the bottle of amyl. He opened it and inhaled several times, and then, gasping, he handed the bottle over his shoulder to his fucker. Franck inhaled in each nostril, and immediately he felt a strong rush.

Almost without being guided by his own volition, his cock began to fuck the cop’s ass with a fury and an unflagging energy which Franck had rarely expended upon any of his other tricks.

“Damn you, cop!” Franck shouted, driving his dick into Claude with impaling ferocity, making the man writhe and moan, loudly, with raw, helpless lust, as his ass took a pounding from Franck’s phallic weapon. “I’m going to tear that hot asshole of yours wide open!”

“Yeah! That’s the way to do it, boy!” Brun praised. “That’s how to fuck that rookie’s ass! Bisexual, hell! The bitch loves having a big cock shoved up his ass.”

Claude was masturbating while Franck fucked him.

Franck sensed that his turbulent seed was rising rapidly from deep within his loins, boiling over, and getting ready to rush through his cock and blast into the depths of Claude’s behind. Now trying to bring himself off as quickly and decisively as possible, Franck rammed his exploding fuck tool home against the young cop’s twitching prostate. Then the first burst of his hot cum was spat out from the head of his plowing prick.

He fired repeatedly, his fuck cream escaping him like so many liquid bullets discharged from a gun. The wild feeling of total, exhausting depletion gripped and shook his body each time he shot, until his cock was slippery with its own cum when it slammed back and forth inside the rookie’s semen-flooded manhole.

Claude, screaming his head off with excitement and relief as the hot jism poured into him, was fisting his own dick roughly the whole time Franck emptied himself into him. He, too, ejaculated, succumbing to the hard-won bliss of his self-induced orgasm.

When Franck finally allowed Claude’s limp body to sag against the mattress beneath him, he saw that Claude had drenched the sheets with his own squirted cum. The smell of it, combined with the sharp odor of the poppers and the hot sweat of sex, filled the bedroom and Franck’s nostrils as he struggled to get his breath back after the exhausting fuck he’d just pushed his body through. He pulled out of the young cop’s ass and collapsed on the stud’s powerful, sweaty body, panting.

Chapter Eight: A Messenger

“Good work, guys. You put on quite a show. But now it’s my turn,” Brun announced. “Now, Franck, my boy, you’re going to fuck me.”

“But I just came!” Franck protested.

“So? That shouldn’t be a problem for a real stud like you. Pretend I’m a john, and you’re being paid to perform.” Brun had reverted to his mocking, insulting mode of address. “I can put some money on the nightstand, if that’ll help to inspire you.”

Anger began to replace Franck’s fatigue. “No need.”

Brun turned to Claude, who was slumped on the bed in a stupor. “Come on, rookie, look alive. Give our friend, here, a hand—yeah, a hand job, a blow job, lick his ass—whatever it takes to get him hard again.”

A grumbling Claude roused himself, and his efforts soon met with success.

“Now move over, rookie,” Brun ordered him. “And you, boy—get to work. And you’d better do a good job.”

“Yes, sir,” Franck said.

“I don’t want you to think I’m easy,” Brun joked. “I want a kiss, before I put out.”

Their lips met, gently at first, but then with increasing pressure. Franck’s tongue forced Brun’s lips apart and plunged eagerly between them, to explore the warm interior of the cop’s mouth. Moaning, they deep-kissed passionately for a few minutes, embracing on the bed, their hands busy on each other’s bodies. Brun broke the kiss and groped for Franck’s cock, stroking it, confirming that it was once again ready for action.

While his colleague played with Franck’s prick, Claude sat on the edge of the bed, observing the other two men.

“No lube for me,” Brun said. “Just a little spit.” He swooped down and put his mouth around the head of Franck’s cock. He pushed his head down to drive the rest of the shaft between his lips, and he began to suck, drooling saliva onto the fuck tool to wet it, in preparation for its trip up his ass. Groaning, Franck leaned back against the pillows and spread his legs, letting the muscular cop work on him. This reversal of their usual roleplaying, with Brun servicing him for a change, got Franck extremely hot. He could feel his already hard cock pulsating with a strong, impatient need, while Brun blew him, hungrily, his lips and tongue moving rapidly up and down on Franck’s turgid meat.

“That’s right, you cop cocksucker,” Franck dared to say. “Get it good and wet, because it’s going to be up your butch ass soon.”

He fucked Brun’s face, pistoning his erection in and out of the cop’s gaping mouth with a mindless, animalistic abandon. Brun grunted, threw his arms around Franck’s thighs, and gripped them firmly to hold Franck in place on the bed. His head bobbed up and down, to match Franck’s own furious humping motions. Brun caressed Franck’s hard ass cheeks, which squirmed in response to his touch. He parted the buttocks with his hands, worked a finger through Franck’s contracted sphincter, and buried it deep inside the hustler’s hot, resisting asshole, up to the knuckle.

“This is so hot to watch,” Claude groaned.

With Brun finger-fucking his ass while he sucked his cock, Franck thought, for a moment, that the cop might have changed his mind, and that he was going to fuck Franck, rather than the other way around. But then, abruptly, Brun took his mouth off Franck’s cock and his finger out of his ass.

“Screw me,” was all that Brun said, as he readjusted his position on the mattress. On his hands and knees, the way Claude had been when Franck fucked him, he reached behind himself to seize his own butt cheeks and hold them apart in blatant, whorish invitation, waiting impatiently for Franck to take advantage of his provocative pose. Franck moved to kneel behind the cop. He sat back on his heels, with his spit-smeared dick aimed perfectly at the angle to penetrate Brun’s ass. No sooner had Franck pushed his cockhead through the cop’s pucker, than Brun’s butch ass pressed back against Franck’s groin, with blind desire, taking the invading cock. Franck reached down to grab the twin firm cheeks of the other man’s backside and he yanked them even farther apart, while his cock sank deep into the warmth and the smooth-fleshed vulnerability of the anal sheath tucked away between them.

“Oh, yeah!” Brun exulted. “Give me that cock!”

The whole length of Franck’s hard cock was planted inside the cop’s hot, writhing body, and his agitated penis was being tightly compressed by the muscular lining of Brun’s plugged ass. Breathing hard, sweating anew, Franck began to fuck.

“Amyl, rookie,” Brun told Claude. “Give us the poppers.”

Obediently Claude held the bottle, first for Brun to sniff, then Franck. The hot rush inspired Franck to jackhammer the cop’s anus, drilling it mercilessly, as though he intended to enlarge and deepen the hole.

“Yeah, bitch,” Brun growled. “Come on, pussy boy, show me what you’ve got. This is your chance, punk—your chance to fuck a guy who’s older than you, bigger and stronger than you—and definitely a hell of a lot smarter than you,” he jeered. “Don’t hold back. Punish my hole!”

“Yeah, fuck that man cunt of his,” Claude encouraged Franck.

“You lousy, stinking cops!” Franck shouted. “I’d like to fuck you to death, both of you. Kill you with my cock!”

“Not in your wildest dreams, whore,” Brun assured him. “But as long as you’re in there, give it your best try, boy!”

All three men fell silent as Franck concentrated on the fuck. He continued to jackhammer his angry prick into the cop’s manhole, not sparing him. But Brun didn’t want to be spared. He seemed to glory in Franck’s use of him, while Claude gaped at the two men, whose bodies were locked together in the act of anal intercourse. The rookie seemed astonished by his fellow cop’s ability to withstand sexual punishment!

After long, frantic minutes of nonstop pounding, Franck came—as violently as he could ever remember having lost his load. He shot repeatedly, copiously, inside that tight butch ass which he’d fucked so hard.

“Oh, God!” he cried, when he felt the first hot spurts leaving his cock and flying deep into Brun’s spasming ass. “I’m coming, cop! I’m coming in your ass!”

Brun’s whimpers of satisfaction betrayed the fact that he, too, was ejaculating, spraying his semen onto the already soiled bedsheets. Franck could feel the cop’s well-trained anal muscles closing even more snugly around the heat and rigidity of his cockshaft, milking him of his cum. The two men shuddered as they fucked their way through this consummation of their mutual lust.

They remained the way they were on the bed, their bodies still moving against each other, although sluggishly, now. Franck’s cock was still planted deep inside Brun’s anus, and it felt warm and comfortable as it slid effortlessly back and forth within the juicy, cum-filled asshole.

“Hot fuck,” Brun moaned, ecstatically. “I didn’t know you had it in you, kid. Although I sure as hell knew I had it in me!” he joked. “You really wrecked my ass! I’m worn out—done for the night when it comes to getting hard again, I’m afraid. Sorry, guys. If either of you is still horny, you can play with each other, or I’ll suck your cocks some more—or you can fuck me, while I lie here, comatose. But my derrick’s down, for the time being!”

“It’s getting late,” Claude said. “I’d better go. I have to get home to my wife.”

“Yeah,” was Brun’s terse response. “You’ve been in the habit of neglecting her, lately. If you’re not careful, she might start to catch on. Oh—while we’re on the subject, don’t forget about tomorrow night,” he added, enigmatically.

“I won’t forget. Looking forward to it. I’ve got my excuse ready. Well—I can let myself out.” Claude got dressed, hurriedly, and then he left the bedroom—and the apartment, because Franck heard the front door close.

“He’s still learning,” Brun said, as though by way of explanation. “And so are you.”

“Learning what—that you’re the boss, and we should obey you?” Franck guessed.

“That, among other things. You do catch on quickly, I’ll hand you that. Okay, you’ve passed one test,” Brun told Franck.

“A test? What test?”

“Oh, I just wanted to find out whether you’ve got the balls to be a top, as well as a bottom, should that ever be required—or desirable. Don’t make a habit of it, though, boy,” Brun went on, not without a certain dry humor audible in his tone of voice. “Dominating me is a special treat, one you have to earn. Understand that?”

“Yes—sir.”

“Good. You can take your cock out of me now, you know. It feels good, but you can’t leave it in there all night! Get dressed,” Brun said.

While Franck did so, Brun pulled on only a pair of sweatpants. Seating himself at the desk, he took out an envelope and a piece of note paper. After writing a note, he folded the paper, inserted it into the envelope, licked the flap, and sealed it. Then he wrote on the outside of the envelope.

“Now for a second test,” he said.

“What might that be, sir?”

“Are you prepared to obey my instructions, without questioning them? To do what I tell you? To have sex with other men, if I want you to, like you did with the rookie, tonight?”

“Yes, sir.” Franck had a few reservations, but he said what he knew the other man wanted to hear.

“Good. Tomorrow night, get on your bike and take this to the address I’ve written on it,” Brun told Franck, handing him the envelope. “Check out the address ahead of time, get directions if you have to, so you can be there at eight. Precisely at eight—not before, not after. They’ll be expecting you.”

“Who’ll be expecting me?”

“Some friends of mine. All cops. They’ll be having themselves a little party.”

“Will you be there?”

“No. Claude should be there, but otherwise you’ll be on your own. So don’t fuck up. Don’t do anything that’ll make me look bad. Ask for Rocco. I’ve written his name on the envelope, in case you forget. It’s his house. He’s the host.”

“So—after I give him the envelope—then what? Do I just leave?”

“No. You’re going to stick around. You’re going to be the entertainment. You’re going to do everything my cop buddies tell you to do—and if I find out, later, that you gave them any lip, or gave them a hard time—well, I guess we both know what that means. Don’t we, boy?”

“I—”

“I asked you a question. Didn’t you hear me?”

“I heard you, sir.”

“Well?” Brun asked, with an exaggerated show of patience. “Do you have an answer for me?”

“I guess we do both know what that means, sir.”

“Then you’ll obey me.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good boy. You’ll enjoy meeting my friends. And I know they’re going to like what you’re going to do for them. Okay, now you can go.”

With the envelope in his hand, Franck started toward the bedroom door. He hesitated.

“Sir—?” he asked, softly.

“Yeah?”

“Can I get a kiss? Please?”

Brun chuckled. “Sure.” He got up and padded, barefoot, to where Franck stood by the door. The two men embraced and kissed. With his arms around Brun and his hands pressed to the cop’s bare back, Franck eagerly opened his mouth wide, to accept the man’s probing kiss.

With a grunt. Brun broke the kiss and pushed Franck away—gently, though. “Now get lost,” he said, although his tone of voice wasn’t particularly brusque, or unkind. “Tomorrow night, at eight,” he added, more sternly.

“Tomorrow night, at eight, sir,” Franck repeated. “I won’t forget.”

“You’d better not. And you’d better not let me down.”

“I won’t do that, either—sir.”

Chapter Nine: Cops Gone Wild

Franck had no difficulty finding the address. It was a house in the suburbs, with nothing to distinguish it from the other residences in the quiet neighborhood. Lights were on in some of the rooms on the ground floor.

There was a dearth of parking spaces—those near the house were occupied, and there were already two vehicles in the driveway. After checking out the exterior of the house, Franck rode farther down the block, where he finally found a spot to park his bike. He walked to the house and rang the doorbell.

A very macho-looking uniformed cop opened the door. “Yeah?” he asked, eyeing Franck suspiciously.

“Ah—I’m supposed to deliver this. To a guy named Rocco?” Franck held out the envelope.

The cop took it from him, and examined the writing on it. “Come on in,” he said. “We’re expecting you. You’re the perp sent by Brun, aren’t you?”

“I’m no perp,” Franck protested.

“Yeah, says you,” was the cynical response.

Franck followed the man, across a small vestibule, through a doorway, and into another room.

There, some sort of an all-male gathering was going on. Franck guessed that the group wasn’t just all-male—it was probably all-cop, as well, as Brun had promised.

He took a quick head count. Including the man who’d answered the door, there were no fewer than ten men in the room. They sat on the couch and the armchairs, or they stood around. Most of them had drinks in their hands. Presumably, they’d been conversing before his arrival, but they all fell silent when the doorman escorted Franck into the room. For a moment, the only sound was the clink of ice cubes in glasses. No music was playing. The silence was in fact rather oppressive, even ominous.

Franck saw that four of the men were in uniform. They must have come to this get-together directly from work. The others were casually dressed, but Franck knew cops when he saw them. The direct, challenging stares they directed his way were a giveaway. He also spotted some good physiques—muscles pumped up in a gym, no doubt in order to increase the intimidation factor.

Cops, he thought, aware of a strange, inexplicable stirring in his groin. Wall to wall cops, just like Brun promised!

One of the faces was familiar. One of the four cops in uniform was Claude—the young married rookie with whom Brun and Franck had indulged in a threesome, only the night before. Claude acknowledged Franck’s presence with only the slightest of nods, his face betraying no emotion. If anything, his facial expression conveyed a studied, impersonal distance—and a disdain.

Huh, Franck thought. I’m good enough to fuck your married whore ass, am I? But I’m not good enough for you to admit you know me, here among your macho cop buddies. Well—you can go fuck yourself, asshole! Rookie—that’s all you are, just like Brun said. Dumbass married rookie, here cheating on your wife—again! If only she knew what you’ve been getting up to, behind her back! I’ve had my dick up your ass—so has Brun, I’m sure—and I bet we’re not the only ones!

While the tense, uncomfortable silence continued, Franck did his best to look nonchalant. He glanced about, taking in the details of his surroundings.

He was in a large living room. The drapes were drawn across the windows, blocking the view of the outside—and, of course, ensuring the privacy of those inside the room. The furnishings were starkly masculine—lots of leather, chrome, glass, and dark woods, without much in the way of contrasting color, or indeed anything which might provide a clue about the personality of the resident. The hardwood floor, for example, was polished, but bare, devoid of any scatter rugs to relieve the monotony of its expanse.

The lights in the room were turned down low, leaving parts of the space in shadow. Against one wall, a low, long console served as a bar, with bottles of liquor and glasses neatly arranged on top of it.

The ceiling was rather high. Looking upward at it. Franck saw one sinister-looking feature of the décor. A heavy, no doubt structurally functional, beam ran from one wall to the opposite wall, a few feet below the ceiling. A length of heavy steel chain was wrapped around the beam and secured in place by a padlock. One end of the chain dangled down, within easy reach—in fact, someone who was careless while crossing the room, not watching where he was going, could very well hit his head on the end of the chain.

Finally, the cop in uniform who had let Franck into the house stepped forward, holding out the envelope. “For you, Rocco.”

A tall, burly man came forward, setting his drink down on the glass-topped chrome coffee table so he could use both hands to tear open the envelope and extract its contents. He was an impressive-looking man, with an amateur bodybuilder’s weight-trained physique, shown off to good advantage by the jeans and sweatshirt he wore. He had black hair, black eyes, and a thick, bristly mustache. He had “tough cop” written all over him, and Franck knew that he wasn’t the kind to tangle with.

Those black eyes read Brun’s note, shifted to look Franck in the face, and then returned, to reread the message.

“Ah, this is amusing,” Rocco said.

“What’s it say?” one of the other men inquired.

“Guys—this is Franck, my new punk slave boy and personal bitch,” Rocco read aloud. “Don’t let that innocent appearance of his fool you. He’s a thief and a whore. I’ve done my best to break him in, but he’s still an arrogant little pup. He could use some discipline. Feel free to flog him, fuck him, and do anything else you want to do to him. If he gives you any trouble, you guys know how to handle that. Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do! And I expect hear all about it, afterward.” Rocco put the note down and turned to Franck, with a smirk. “So—you’re a slut for hire, are you?”

“I guess so,” Franck mumbled. “Whatever you say—sir.”

“And you’ve been taking care of that horny bastard, Brun? Sucking his dick? Taking it up your ass? Being that stud cop’s personal little bitch?”

“Yes, sir. I’m Brun’s boy. His bitch.”

“How nice for you both. Looks as though Brun has taught you some manners.”

“Yes, sir. He’s—very tough.”

“You haven’t met ‘tough’ yet, boy,” Rocco scoffed. “But now you’re about to! Your punk ass belongs to us tonight. Your cop fucker is lending you to us. We’re going to make good use of you, boy. Is that understood?”

“Yes—yes, sir.”

“When’s the last time Brun fucked your ass?”

“Last night, sir.”

“Yeah, we know. Our buddy Claude told us all about it. What was that—something like twenty-four hours ago?” the big man jeered. “You’re overdue for a replay. That hole of yours must be pretty hot for it by now.”

“I—”

“Speak up, boy. Don’t be shy. You’re among friends. We’re all going to get along together, just fine. Tell us, do you like to be fucked?”

“Yeah,” Franck mumbled, shamefacedly. “Yes, sir—I like to be fucked.”

“By cops?”

“Sure. Cops are the best,” Franck said, thinking that this blatant flattery might earn him some points in this tough crowd. Sure enough, he heard titters and guffaws, which lightened the tense mood in the room somewhat.

“Then this is your lucky night. Okay, bitch,” Rocco growled. “Lose the jacket. Come on,” he went on, impatiently, when Franck hesitated. “Take it off!”

Quickly, Franck shed his leather jacket, which one of the other cops took from his hand, tossing the garment over the back of one of the leather-upholstered armchairs.

“Now the shirt,” Rocco decreed. “Take it off—unless you want it torn off.”

Meekly, Franck removed his T-shirt, too. Stripped to the waist, he stood there, surrounded by the cops, trembling.

“Come over here,” Rocco directed him. He seized Franck by one bare arm and guided him to a position under the ceiling beam. The loose end of the chain, dangling from the beam, smacked lightly against Franck’s shoulder, the metal cold against his skin. “Raise your arms,” was Rocco’s next instruction. “Get them high above your head.”

One of the other cops had produced a pair of handcuffs. He secured them around Franck’s upraised wrists. Then he wound the end of the chain around the steel links which connected the individual cuffs. He pulled it taut, forcing Franck to remain upright. Another cop pulled a padlock from his pocket, and he used it to fasten the chain.

Franck was now standing on the balls of his feet, with the heels of his boots raised slightly off the floor. He was manacled, and unable to turn his head far enough in either direction to see all of the men who stood around him in a circle.

Desperately, he surveyed the faces of the ones whom he could see, searching for some hint of empathy. But all he saw was sternness, amusement, contempt—and lust.

“Please,” he whispered.

“Please what?’ Rocco demanded.

“Please don’t hurt me, sir.”

“Shut up. We’ll hurt you all we want, if we want to. Your best bet, boy, is not to resist.”

“I can’t resist, sir,” Franck dared to point out. “Not the way you’ve got me trussed up.”

“Yeah. You’ve got that right!” Rocco agreed, with a sneer.

Then there was silence. For a long, almost unbearably suspenseful moment, nothing happened. None of the cops made a move, or said anything, while they all examined their handsome young prisoner, looking him over from head to foot.

Then Rocco grunted, “Okay, men—let’s strip him!”

All of the cops surged forward. They were all over Franck, touching him, kissing him, licking his bare torso, his armpits, his nipples—feeling him up with rough, sweaty, groping hands. One of the men knelt on the floor to unlace and yank off Franck’s boots. Another opened his belt buckle and ripped down his zipper.

“Aw, shit!” Franck cried, as his jeans were stripped off him. “Fuck!”

Now his bare legs and behind, and his cock and balls, were readily accessible to the groping hands, up for grabs. Realizing the sheer helplessness of his situation, Franck didn’t even try to resist as he was manhandled by the horny cops.

The insane, lustful melee lasted for a few breathless minutes of cursing and shoving and groping, which seemed like an eternity to Franck. Suddenly, though, Rocco stepped back and shouted in a loud, authoritative voice, “All right, you dirty, horny motherfuckers! Break it up! Stand back for a minute. Let’s see what kind of a body the punk slave has to offer.”

The men all stepped aside, albeit reluctantly. It was obvious that they deferred to Rocco, who was the alpha male of the group.

The cops stared at their captive again. Franck was almost totally naked—they hadn’t bothered to strip off his socks—and helplessly restrained.

“God damn, he’s sure pretty,” the stud cop standing nearest to Franck observed. Leering salaciously, he reached over and ran his hand over Franck’s smooth, solidly muscled chest. “He still looks kind of fresh, for such a well-used whore.” The cop tweaked one of Franck’s nipples, which had stiffened involuntarily upon being exposed, and Franck grunted in protest. “Nice pecs—and nice tits,” the cop went on. He used both hands to grasp and twist and tug on Franck’s nipples, forcing a cry of pain from the boy’s lips.

“Please—!” Franck gasped.

“Quiet, boy,” the cop who was abusing his nipples advised, as he continued to work on them. “You’re going to have to man up, and learn how to take a little pain—or a lot of pain!—if you’re going to party with us.”

“Shit, guys, will you look at the size of the dick on the kid?” another cop, an arrogant-looking, butch young number, marveled. He was dark-skinned, obviously of Algerian descent, and under different circumstances, Franck would have found him sexy. Stepping close to Franck, he scrutinized him from head to foot, and then, while his colleague continued to play roughly with Franck’s nipples, he groped Franck’s cock and balls—giving the testicles a squeeze which once again made Franck jerk and moan in response.

“Dick, hell! It’s that ass I’m interested in. Can’t wait to fuck it,” the burly cop named Rocco declared, as he stepped up behind Franck and began running both of his big hands up and down over the firm, muscular cheeks of Franck’s naked and completely vulnerable rump. “Sweet,” Rocco muttered. “Like a pair of nice ripe melons, just waiting to be split right open.” One of his fingers found its way between Franck’s squirming buttocks, touched his anal pucker, and rubbed it, teasingly, before the finger pushed its way through the aperture and inside Franck’s ass. “Oh, yeah,” Rocco gloated, when Franck’s sphincter automatically tightened around his probing finger, trying to expel the invader. “That’s a hot, tight little ass!”

“I can’t wait to fuck it,” one of his fellow police officers said. “What are we going to do—take numbers and form a queue?”

“No, we’ll go by seniority,” Rocco suggested.

The other cop snickered. “Yeah, you would say that, Rocco, because you know that lets you nail him first! Hey, I’ve got an idea. Flog him, Rocco. Heat up that sexy little butt of his.”

“Sure.” Rocco took the flogger, which another cop produced and handed to him.

Franck stared at the implement. It consisted of a thick handle, with strips of leather attached.

“I didn’t agree to this,” he protested.

The cops seemed to find this hilarious.

“Don’t you dare touch me with that,” Franck blustered. “In fact—let me down. Right now. Let me go!”

This elicited more laughter.

Stepping back, Rocco surveyed his target. He swung the flogger, which whistled ominously, and applied it to Franck’s ass.

“Ah! You stinking pigs!” Franck yelled, as the leather strips smacked into his butt, with stinging, biting intensity.

“What we have here, gentlemen, is a deplorable lack of respect for the law,” Rocco declared. “Which I intend to address and rectify, right now.”

He flogged Franck. He didn’t confine his blows to Franck’s back and behind. He circled his victim, landing blows on his chest and the fronts of his thighs, as well. Franck squirmed, in a useless attempt to evade the stinging leather strips, tugging at his cuffed wrists. He also shrieked, in pain and fright, whenever the flogger bit into the exposed flesh of his lower belly or upper thighs, dangerously close to his cock and balls. It was almost a relief when Rocco beat his back and ass, instead!

The other cops watched, fascinated, while Rocco worked on Franck, whose skin turned red and hot wherever it was struck.

“Harder,” Claude advised. “Hit him harder, Rocco!”

“You stupid rookie!” Franck blurted out, without thinking. “If you want to see someone being hit, why don’t you go home and beat your wife?”

He had the fleeting satisfaction of seeing that this insult really pissed Claude off—in part, because the other cops laughed boisterously in response to it, at Claude’s expense. But then Rocco swiftly punished Franck for his mouthing off, by wielding the flogger even more savagely.

“Respect,” Rocco said, coldly, as he whipped Franck, repeatedly. “You will show proper respect for all officers of the law, punk—yeah, even for the ‘stupid rookie!’ I’m going to beat some manners into you if it takes all night. I’m going to break you, boy!”

“Please—!” Franck whimpered, as the abuse continued.

“Shut your mouth,” Rocco warned him. “Nobody likes a whiny slave.”

Franck was disgusted to see that one of the uniformed cops—the one had let him into the house, in fact—had unzipped the fly of his trousers, extracted his cock, and was busy masturbating, while he stood there and gaped at the spectacle of Rocco flogging Franck.

“Don’t come,” one of the other policeman advised the guy who was jerking off. “Save it for the perp.”

Finally, a panting, perspiring Rocco lowered his arm.

“Had enough?” he asked Franck. “Learned your lesson yet?”

“Yes—yes, sir,” Franck gasped, barely able to speak.

“You give us any more lip, and you’ll get flogged again,” Rocco threatened.
“Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, are you going to be a good boy, a good little whore, and cooperate?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You ready for some cop dick?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Polite little bitch now, isn’t he?” Rocco remarked, mockingly. “I don’t know what we’re waiting for, guys,” he told the other men. “Brun promised me his slave will take good care of us—do anything we want. Let’s make good use of the sexy little motherfucker.”

“Hell, yeah. I’m going to get some of that cock,” the Algerian cop who had admired Franck’s equipment previously now declared, with a laugh, as he approached the hustler. He got down on his knees, moving in close to where Franck’s cock was dangling between his thighs, limp with anxiety.

Guessing what was about to happen, Franck instinctively pulled back as far as his restraints would allow—but then a belt applied to his behind quickly changed his mind about putting up even this token resistance. He couldn’t have avoided the dark-skinned cop’s hot, greedy mouth for long, in any event. He looked down, his ass cheeks smarting from the belt blow, and he saw the kneeling cop’s mouth attack his prick, beginning to suck the head and the first few inches of the flaccid shaft inside it.

“And while you’re busy doing that, Frederic, I’m going to help myself to that pretty little ass,” Rocco announced. “Anybody have a problem with that?” he added, as though daring any of the others to object. “Good. I’ll break him in, and then the rest of you can have him.”

Franck heard two heavy thuds on the floorboard behind him, and then the sound of coarse denim fabric rubbing against skin. He realized that Rocco must be stripping for action.

“Claude, come here and suck me for a minute,” Rocco called out to Franck’s previous acquaintance, the rookie cop. He then addressed the kneeling cop. “Hey, Frederic—is he hard yet?”

Frederic, his mouth now completely full of Franck’s still-soft cock, grunted and shook his head, indicating no.

“Get your ass over here, Claude. We’ll give Brun’s slave boy something hot to watch, something that ought to get him turned on in a hurry.” Rocco snickered as he went to the couch and seated himself on it.

Franck, glancing with apprehension at the big man, wasn’t surprised to see that Rocco was now virtually naked, except for his boots, which he’d put back on after he’d stripped, and a heavy cock ring, encircling his cock and balls. He had the flogger, and his heavy leather belt, within easy reach. In spite of his predicament, Franck couldn’t keep his eyes off Rocco’s prick—which, after all, was apparently going to be going up his ass soon, whether he wanted it in him or not! God, he did want it—even though he hated himself for having to admit the fact.

The cop’s erection looked huge, the balls pulled up taut against its base by the pressure of the cock ring, which looked too small to fit comfortably around the grotesquely swollen shaft. Claude, meanwhile, had obeyed Rocco’s instructions. The rookie came around into Franck’s field of vision, staring down at Rocco’s crotch for a moment, lustfully eyeing his fellow police officer’s gargantuan hard-on.

The other cops were also looking at Rocco’s huge dick.

“Like what you see, kid?” one of the onlookers taunted Franck. “Don’t worry. You’ll get your chance to go down on it. And it feel it, reaming out your ass!”

“Rocco’s the only cop I know who’s got a dick the size of a porn star’s,” a second cop said.

“Yeah, most guys can’t handle it,” warned a third.

“Says who? I can. Watch me.” After making this boast, Claude crouched down, and he began sucking Rocco off. Incredibly, he seemed to have no trouble at all stretching his mouth obscenely wide open around the circumference of that stallion-like shaft!

Oh, shit, no! Franck thought in despair, as he continued staring at Rocco’s rapidly expanding dick. It had looked big enough before, but now it grew even longer and thicker. The encircling cock ring virtually disappeared from sight when the shaft of the prick puffed up all around it. The veins lining the erection bulged with blood, looking about ready to explode. It seemed unbelievable that anything could expand so much after it was already hard—but Claude, who had begun by greedily taking all of the other cop’s cock inside his mouth, was now struggling to accommodate even half of it!

“That’s right, rookie,” Rocco taunted Claude. “Show us what a good cocksucker you are. Slobber all over that dick of mine. Get it good and wet, so I can slide it up the boy’s tight little ass. You’re getting real eager for that, aren’t you, perp?” he asked Franck. “Well, don’t worry. As soon as Claude’s done working on me, you’re going to get it.”

“No! Oh, God, no! Come on, you guys. Please, sirs. I’ll suck you all off, one after the other. I’ll do anything. But I don’t think I can take that big thing, not without some kind of lube! You’re hung too heavy, man,” Franck vowed, addressing Rocco. “And—I don’t want anybody but Officer Brun to fuck me,” he improvised, desperately—even though he knew that in cold reality. Brun didn’t give a damn who screwed him. “He’ll be pissed off at me if he finds out I gave my ass to another man. He’ll punish me.”

Rocco guffawed with coarse laughter. “That’s a good one! Even if that did sound remotely like our friend Brun—too damn bad, slave. Because you’re going to get fucked, and my buddy Brun can punish your ass all he wants, for all I care!”

As he spoke, Rocco pushed Claude away from him, forcing to rookie to remove his slurping mouth from his cock. Standing up, Rocco moved back toward Franck.

Half out of his mind with the lingering pain of the flogging, and the prospect of being fucked by Rocco’s oversized cock, Franck could vaguely see one of the cops go over to Rocco and handed him some small object. He heard metal unscrewing against metal.

“Here, slave boy—sniff some of this,” Rocco instructed Franck. He inserted an inhaler full of amyl nitrite into one of Franck’s nostrils and pinched the other one shut. Taken by surprise, Franck breathed in a large amount of the pungent chemical and he felt the comforting hot rush sweep through his body. “It’s good stuff, isn’t it?” Rocco asked him.

“Yes—yes, sir.”

“Take plenty,” Rocco advised. “It’ll put you in the mood to get fucked.”

“When you put it in me, sir—please, go easy,” Franck moaned, although it sounded to him as though the words had emerged from another person’s body, and he was an outsider, overhearing them. As Franck could feel his heart beginning to beat faster and faster, pounding in his chest, making his blood ring in his ears, he also felt his cock getting very hot, as though it was about to explode with lust.

Frederic’s mouth, still working furiously on Franck’s rock-hard prick, felt even hotter, wetter, and more stimulating than before. The Algerian was an exceptionally skilled and persistent cocksucker, who seemed hell-bent upon devouring Franck’s meaty erection—perhaps literally!

Rocco stepped behind Franck, his boots thudding on the floorboards. A moment later, Franck felt his sphincter being roughly, forcibly stretched open by the cop’s huge cock. He’d expected the penetration to hurt, and it did. It hurt like hell!

“Easy,” he begged, again, although he suspected the plea was futile.

“Nothing an experienced whore like you can’t handle,” Rocco jeered. He thrust himself deep into Franck’s ass, which his monster cock filled completely.

Somehow, Franck managed to take it—which actually surprised him!

That initial sharp, burning pain in Franck’s ass gradually subsided. He was aware of the pressure as Rocco forced more of his big dick into his rear end, but now it was a thrilling feeling, one of being filled and possessed and fucked. It felt as though an emptiness in his body was finally being filled.

Franck relaxed his anal defenses completely and he let Rocco finish penetrating him, until more and more of his surrendered asshole was plugged by the warm, pulsating cock which Rocco now began to ease back and forth in tantalizing, deliberate fucking rhythms.

“Oh, Christ—give it to me!” Franck heard himself scream. “Cop dick, sir—yeah, give me that big cop dick of yours. Please!”

Shamelessly, he thrust his butt back and he took more and more of the raping cock. It almost felt as though the fuck tool was massaging his stomach muscles from the inside, having penetrated his body completely. It felt good—damned good!

“I think the bitch likes what you’re doing to him, Rocco,” one of the other cops said.

“Yeah,” another cop grunted. “Fuck that raw hole, big guy! Stretch it out. Tear that ass apart!”

“Screw me!” Franck shouted, driven berserk by his sudden lust to be fucked by that huge hard thing. “Punish my ass with your big stud dick!”

But as the last of the fumes from the poppers faded from his lungs, Franck began a slow, unwelcome trip back to reality. Suddenly, his head ached slightly, and, worse, Rocco’s big dick, which he had so brazenly accepted into his asshole only moments before, now hurt unbearably when his anus once again tensed up, closing tightly and painfully around the enormously thick shaft which was plunged deep into his body.

“Ow, it hurts,” he protested. “It’s just too fucking big!”

“We’ve got the cure of that. Damn! Give him another hit, quick,” Rocco gasped out. He was experiencing some discomfort himself, as Franck’s tight ass squeezed down around his cock, trying to push it out.

One of the horny police officers, turned on by the spectacle of their captive being sucked and fucked by two of his brothers in blue, came over with the inhaler, which he deftly inserted in Franck’s nostrils—not taking it away until Franck had deeply and desperately breathed in several hits of the fumes. Immediately, a relieved Franck felt himself soaring off into sexual ecstasy, no longer caring who or what fucked him. He thrilled to the feeling of that thick, long cock being thrust back and forth inside his asshole, when Rocco started to screw him more urgently. The amyl which Rocco, too, sniffed quickly got to him, and it encouraged him to vent his lust upon the cops’ prisoner.

“Hey, slave boy, you’re being fucked by the biggest, toughest cop in Marseille,” one of the other cops taunted Franck. “Hell, in all of the south of France! How’s it feel? How do you like it?”

“I love it,” Franck heard his own, weirdly disembodied-sounding voice, answer, punctuated by a moan of helpless passion. “Oh, fuck me, sir—fuck my ass for me good and hard.”

“Yeah, I’ll fuck you, kid,” Rocco vowed, as he increased the punishing speed and depth of his strokes, until he was ruthlessly driving the full awesome length of his oversized instrument in and out of Franck’s tight but unresisting asshole. “Oh, that sweet boy butt of yours feels damn good!”

While Rocco went on fucking him, Franck raised his head and looked to his right, where he saw that two of the other cops had half-stripped themselves and were busy kissing each other, with all the clumsy fervor of a couple of horny adolescents discovering sex for the first time, together. Through his dizzy, blurred vision, Franck watched as one of them went down on his colleague and began sucking his cock, which protruded, huge and heavy, through the open fly of his trousers.

Two other two men stood nearby, their own cocks sticking out and being gently but efficiently stroked by each other’s hands, while they watched their fellow cop’s dick being sucked, and Franck being sucked and brutally fucked.

Elsewhere in the room, there was the rustle of fabric and the sound of footwear being discarded on the floor, as the cops undressed. Soon, virtually all of them were naked.

It was turning into a real cop orgy, Franck realized, in a daze—even better than the kind of gangbang which sometimes took place in the back room of a gay bar, because this time he was handcuffed, helpless, completely at these cops’ sexual mercy. This was no fantasy—he really was these men’s prisoner, their slave!

Frederic alternated, feverishly, between going down on Franck’s rip-roaring hard-on and removing his mouth from it and poking his tongue down lower, to lick the hustler’s large, swollen balls. It felt obscenely good to be used for another man’s pleasure like that. Franck looked down and watched the handsome Algerian savagely sucking him. He didn’t even realize that the effects of the amyl were gradually wearing off. He stood there, arms raised and wrists shackled above his head, his body slack. His ass felt totally passive and accepting, and comfortably loosened by the repeated impact of Rocco’s hard-driven ramrod, which lunged in and out of his anus with maniacal force. Every time the big cop shoved his huge dick all the way in, it seemed to Franck that it was Rocco’s cock, rather than his own, which was  being plunged right through his body from behind, and emerging in front of his groin to be jammed deep down Frederic’s strangulated throat!

“Ah, shove it all the way up my ass, you motherfucker—I’m going to come!” Franck yelled, when he felt Frederic’s fast-sucking mouth begin to achieve its desired effect.

“I’ll shove it so far up your ass that you’ll choke on it, you fucking slave,” Rocco threatened. “In a minute, you’re going to have the biggest load of cop cum anybody’s ever had! I’m getting so close. Oh, shit, am I ever getting close!” the burly cop cried, breathlessly. He went on pulling his prick almost all the way out of Franck’s ravaged ass, before driving it right back in, to the balls—which banged against the lower curves of Franck’s firm, quivering ass cheeks. Still red from the blows of the flogger, those buttocks vibrated, enticingly. “Take it, punk!”

“Keep sucking my dick, you black cop bastard. I’m going to shoot,” Franck hissed at Frederic. “Get ready to take a hot load down your cocksucking throat, cop!”

“Still kind of mouthy for a slave, isn’t he, men?” one of the mutually masturbating spectators remarked, fighting for breath and self-control.

“Yeah, the little fucker needs a lot more discipline. He needs to be taught some respect for the law! But go ahead, Frederic, suck him off. I want him to be good and hot when I blow my wad up his ass,” Rocco declared. “Suck him, man. Make him come! And you, punk—take this dick of mine up your whore ass! Find out what it’s like to be fucked by a man for a change, kid. Take it up your butt, you nasty, hot-assed little shit, you! Aw, hell—here it comes—all of it! I’m just about to blow! Take it, slave!”

Franck felt the tremendous explosion of a veritable geyser of unbelievably hot, wet, sticky jism being injected deep into his anus, shot far up into his rectal recesses and rinsing them out in a flood of cop cum!

“God damn! Take it, slave!” Rocco continued bellowing, like a madman, as his deeply buried nightstick pumped still more of his potent, steaming seed out of his big, hairy balls and into Franck’s bruised and abused ass, which had given the tough cop such a wild, sustained ride. As the hot liquid trickled upward, deep inside his colon, Franck could feel his own load—so pent-up, so pressurized by now that it felt agonizingly painful to retain it any longer—rising, fast and boiling hot, into his tortured, well-sucked cock.

“Aw, shit! You cocksucker! Take mine—my load. I’m going to blow your goddamn throat wide open, cop! Get ready to suck down my cum. Open your throat wide and take it all. Uh!” Franck gurgled, when his cock exploded its full charge of semen into Frederic’s desperately sucking mouth.

Franck’s cockhead was suddenly surrounded by a soothing bath of its own cum. Frederic held every drop of the thick cream which Franck pumped into his mouth, before he finally started to swallow it. Franck’s cock was lubricated by its own rich fluid as the exciting feeling of ejaculation grew, drawing even more sperm out of his twisting, writhing body.

The handcuffs rattled when he involuntarily strained at them, trying to break free in his forceful orgasmic throes. At last, he gave up and dangled, slack-bodied, from the restraints, shuddering, feeling the final hot spurts of cum shooting out of his prick—and then his erection began to go limp between Frederic’s still-nursing lips. The Algerian had drained him of all he had to give.

Franck also felt Rocco’s awesome fuck tool going soft inside him as it, too, stopped its ejaculatory throbbing and remained still, submerged in a bath of its own cum, deep up Franck’s ravaged ass.

Franck went limp, suspended from his cuffed wrists, and Rocco began pulling his spent, rapidly deflating prick out of the prisoner’s thoroughly cum-lubricated anus, inch by inch. Both men grunted when the thick head of the cop’s penis popped free of the taut grip of Franck’s sphincter. Franck was surprised by the sense of sudden emptiness and deprivation, as though his body was no longer complete now that he no longer had that cock—hell, any cock, so long as it was a big one, and stiff!—filling his hole, fucking him to oblivion and back, and finally loading him with its potent jism. But at least he could feel the wet sperm trickling out of his body, as he trembled, uncontrollably. He’d been bred, by the brutal, well-built policeman—bred, inseminated!

Now that Rocco was no longer restricting his movements, Franck pulled back within his restricted range of motion, freeing his own limp cock from Frederic’s voracious oral grasp. He was astonished to see one of the other cops come rushing over, kneeling down in front of him, and placing his mouth tightly over the Algerian’s panting lips. Franck could see the kneeling cop’s throat work as he swallowed, fast and hard, groaning with pleasure—and Franck realized that the man was sucking Franck’s cum right out of Frederic’s mouth, swallowing as much of it as he could obtain, himself.

Still breathing hard, and sweating profusely, Rocco looked around at his companions. The two studs who’d been jacking each other off had finished, and they were leaning against the wall, both of their hands dripping with each other’s sticky white cum. Rocco saw that the cop who was now sharing Franck’s cum with Frederic had also succeeded in sucking off one of his other buddies and swallowing his jism, traces of which remained om the smirking police officer’s flaccid prick.

“Anyone else want to fuck this punk?”

Franck heard Rocco ask the question, behind him. There was no response for a moment, just the sound of general heavy breathing coming from all around the room, as the cops slowly began to recover from their orgy.

“No, we can have him next time,” one of the men replied. “He’s precinct property, now, isn’t he? Up for grabs any time we want?”

“Well, technically he’s Brun’s boy. But our buddy Charles is the generous type. He’s always willing to share,” Rocco said.

Charles? Franck asked himself. Who the hell is Charles? Then he realized that this must be Brun’s given name. He’d been having sex with the guy, all this time, without knowing his full name.

“Aw, what the hell?” one naked, hard-breathing cop said. “I’ll screw him!”

Once the idea of subjecting their prisoner to further anal abuse had been put into the cops’ susceptible heads, it seemed to grip them, like a contagious fever.

Franck got fucked! It was, for all practical purposes, a sexual assembly line. One cop after another stepped up behind him, and used his ass. One hard, hot cop dick after another was shoved up his ass. Some of the men who used him didn’t ejaculate, but pulled out, reserving their cum for other activities, with their buddies. Others made a point of coming in Franck’s ass, breeding him, filling him with their seed. He received load after load of semen.

One freaky number kept insisting on licking and sucking Franck’s ass, during the brief intervals when his fellow cops weren’t busy abusing it. The taste of the other cops’ cum, deposited in Franck’s butt, seemed to drive the man insane with lust. While he tongued Franck’s hole, he jerked himself so violently that his cock seemed to be in danger of injured by his fist.

No longer struggling, Franck hung there from his bonds, limply, allowing his asshole to be violated by cop after cop, cock after cock. His upraised arms ached. His handcuffed wrists hurt, and his fingers felt numb. Sweat ran down his body.

Worse, he was aroused. His own cock never lost its rigidity. It stuck out in front of him, neglected, pulsating, fucking the air in its mute desperation to be touched and stroked and soothed. One or two of his rapists finally deigned to reach around him and jerk him while they fucked him, for which Franck was grateful. Others actually sucked him, kneeling down in front of him and providing Franck with some soothing distraction, with their mouths. Most of the time during his anal ordeal, though, he was left high and dry, in a state of sustained and painful frustration.

“We should’ve kept count of how many loads we’ve given him,” one of the cops remarked.

“Some of you greedy bastards have come back for seconds—and thirds,” Rocco pointed out, with a laugh. “Damn! That pretty little hole is elastic! I’d have expected it to be stretched out wide and unable to snap back, by now.”

“This punk must have the hottest ass in Marseille,” one cop declared. “That horny motherfucker Brun—he sure knows how to pick them. And how to break them in!”

“Please, officers,” Franck moaned.

“Please what, slave?” Rocco taunted him. “Please fuck your ass some more? Please give you some more cop dick? Is that what you want, pretty boy? Sure—my buddies and I, we’ll give you all the cock you want. And then some!”

“No,” Franck pleaded. “I can’t take much more of this. I’m not kidding, sir. Please. Even though you guys are cops, you must have some heart. You’re killing me!”

“Aw, you poor baby,” Rocco crooned, mock-solicitously. “Well—you’ve been a good whore, on the whole. Maybe we should let up on you, a little. Last call, men. Anybody who wants to fuck Brun’s bitch again—do it now, and get it over with. The kid’s hole must be sore, by now.”

“Give him a break,” Claude said. “We’ve all had him. He’s served his purpose.”

Franck checked his perverse impulse to beg, abjectly, to receive another cock up his ass. After all, he ought to be grateful that his ordeal was apparently over, and that he’d gotten off comparatively lightly. Still, he was almost disappointed that none of the cops wanted to subject him to further abuse!

At the same time, though, he was grateful to Claude, for speaking up on his behalf. Maybe the rookie wasn’t such a prick, after all!

“Please—please, sir,” Franck whispered, addressing Rocco. “My arms are starting to go numb. Please, will you let me down?”

“Starting to learn to mind your manners, are you, bitch?” Rocco asked, contemptuously. “It’s about time! Okay, let him go.” He handed Frederic the handcuff key. Quickly, Frederic released Franck’s rubbed-raw, aching wrists from the metal restraints, and Franck’s naked body collapsed in a heap onto the hard, unyielding floor.

He felt a slight trickle of surplus semen running out of his ass and down his leg, wetting the floorboards beneath his butt, and he blushed hotly with shame, unable to look any of his tormentors in the face.

But Rocco had noticed the cause of his embarrassment. “What a cum dump,” he said, dismissively. “Got that jizz just running out of you, don’t you? You’d better go and take a shit, kid, or you’re going to mess yourself when you put your pants back on,” he advised Franck, sounding almost amused. “That must be quite a load of cop cum you’re holding in there.”

Without replying, Franck got up and staggered past the grinning cops, in search of the bathroom. When he found it, he squatted over the toilet and he quickly and gratefully relieved himself of a seemingly unending stream of semen, which came from deep within his ass. Then he grabbed a handful of toilet paper from the roll in the nearby wall dispenser, wadded it up, and wiped himself with it. After flushing the toilet and washing his hands in the sink, Franck returned to the other room. There, he began to collect his clothes and put them on—hastily, before one of these sex fiends decided they weren’t finished with him, yet!

The cops, many of whom hadn’t yet bothered to get dressed, or to adjust their clothing, were busy refreshing their drinks. Only Rocco seemed to take any particular notice of Franck, now that the men’s lust had been slaked.

“How’re you doing, kid?” he asked Franck, gruffly.

“I guess I’ll live,” Franck mumbled. Not that you care, though! he added, to himself.

Rocco snickered. “Had all the hot, hard cop dick you wanted, huh? And then some!”

“Yes—yes, sir. Please—can I go now?”

“Sure. Nobody’s stopping you, you know. We’ve all had what we wanted from you—for now,” Rocco said, rather ominously. “I’m sure we’ll see you again. Don’t worry—we’ll tell Brun what a good, cooperative boy you were. Oh, and by the way—congratulations, punk. You’re now officially the precinct bitch!”

Franck wasted no time in fleeing from the house. He staggered to where his motorcycle was parked. He mounted it, wincing when his sore ass touched the seat. Never mind the throbbing in his well-fucked manhole—his buttocks still burned, from the flogging Rocco had given them. Grimacing, Franck put the bike in gear and sped off into the night.

Chapter Ten: Roused from His Nap

One afternoon at Didier’s current part-time job, business was slow. His boss finally told him he could leave early.

Didier had mixed emotions. He didn’t mind having some unexpected free time. But he was paid by the hour, of course, so the early dismissal would mean less money in his next paycheck.

He went home. Franck wasn’t there. Didier stripped, showered, and went into his bedroom, where he crawled into the unmade bed. Putting on a set of lightweight headphones, he listened to some music, while, intermittently, he dozed off.

At some point, returning to full consciousness, he realized that the music had come to an end. He was about to sit up and make another selection, when he became aware of sounds coming from elsewhere in the apartment, loud enough to be heard even with the headphones. Didier took them off and listened.

He heard thumps and slapping noises, which seemed to be coming from the living room. And then, to his amusement, although hardly to his surprise, he caught the unmistakable sound of his roommate’s voice.

“Oh, yeah, I like it just like that,” Franck was saying, and making no effort to keep his voice down. “You I know I do! So give it to me. Harder—harder, please!”

Franck must’ve brought a trick, or a john, home with him, Didier thought. And they couldn’t even wait to go into Franck’s bedroom before they started getting it on!

As a rule, he and Franck were discreet, and tried not to interrupt when one of them was entertaining a visitor.

On this occasion, though, curiosity got the better of Didier. Getting out of bed, he opened his bedroom door, and, nude, he padded barefoot toward the living room, eager to see just what his roommate was up to. If the other guy was halfway decent-looking, Didier might suggest that they turn the twosome into a threesome. It wouldn’t be first time that had happened.

He wasn’t quite prepared for what he saw. A bottle of wine, half empty, and two wineglasses were on the coffee table. Also on the table, beside one of the glasses, was what Didier recognized as a metal inhaler, used to snort amyl. Strewn across the floor, nearby, were the individual items of a policeman’s uniform, and what looked to Didier like some of Franck’s clothes. And, next to the coffee table, Franck and Brun were going at it together. Both men were naked and aroused. Judging by the flushed, sweaty state of their skin, they’d been having sex for some time. Didier must have been sleeping soundly before the sex soundtrack awakened him!

Franck was on the couch, on his knees on the leather cushions, leaning over one of the armrests, which he clutched in both hands, his fingertips indenting the upholstery. Brun stood between the couch and the coffee table. He was using his black leather belt to beat Franck’s upraised, exposed, and vulnerable backside.

“More,” Franck gasped, as Brun swung the belt and it connected with Franck’s ass cheeks, delivering a loud, stinging impact. “Please, sir—hurt me some more!”

“No, you like this too much,” the naked blond cop sneered. “It’s not punishment any more—it’s fun time, for you! Yeah, being whipped like this is a special treat, boy, and one which you have to earn. Suck my balls. You do a good job of that, and then—maybe—I’ll smack your whore ass some more.”

He moved to stand at the end of the couch, facing Franck, with his erect cock protruding out from his groin above the armrest, aimed like a phallic missile at Franck’s rapt, eager face. Franck’s wet pink tongue slide out of his mouth and swabbed the penis, coating it with his saliva. Then, deftly, he twisted his head down lower and opened his mouth wider, far enough so that he could stuff both of the cop’s big, blond-haired balls inside his mouth at once. Grunting in a mindless, bestial-sounding way, emitting snorts of labored breath, Franck began to suck on the testicles, greedily, making obscene, loud slurping noises as he did so.

“That’s right, slave,” Brun purred, stroking Franck’s sweaty, disheveled hair with his hands. “Work on those cop nuts. You like the way they feel and taste in your mouth, don’t you? Yeah, we both know you do. Breathe deep while you suck on them. Smell my funky crotch. You like that, too. Shit, look at you! It’s making your cock hard. Don’t you dare touch your cock, though, not until I give you permission to jerk yourself. Now, let my balls out of your mouth, and get your mouth in there under and behind them. Lick the muscle there, the one that connects my ball sac up with my ass. Yeah, that’s a good boy, a good whore. Come on, get your fucking slave face in there tighter, and lick and sniff. Smell my cop ass. You’re going to be rimming it, in a minute.”

Didier stood there, unseen by the two men, transfixed. He found this particular kind of rough, abusive sex rather repulsive, but he could see how desperately excited Franck was—how hard his buddy’s neglected cock was, as he struggled to satisfy his aggressive, demanding cop lover. Franck had admitted to his roommate, of course, that he’d been giving it away to the cop for free, and that he’d learned to like it rough. But Didier hadn’t guessed just how far his buddy had debased himself. Franck was Brun’s sex slave, all right—his willing chattel, to whom the cop could do anything he cared to, no matter how degrading or perverse!

Didier might have been less shocked had Franck been doing this for money, with a paying john. That would’ve been understandable—even praiseworthy, from Didier’s somewhat morally warped point of view. But no, the dumb whore was giving it away to the cop for free! He’d become a copsucker and a copfucker, to coin a phrase. Talk about a crime!

Despite his innate dislike of cops and all which they represented, Didier had to admit, grudgingly, that Brun was one hot number. He had a really sexy body, all hard, bulging muscle, and no surplus fat. His stiffened meat, resembling an especially large, succulent sausage, was slapping against Franck’s face at the moment, as Franck made frantic efforts to obey the cop by sniffing and licking down below the base of the erection. Didier could tell that his friend was getting extremely turned on by the submissive role he was playing.

Brun backed away, his big cock, now fully hard and looking more than ever like a phallic weapon capable of doing some real damage to a sex partner, swaying provocatively in front of his crotch.

“Now you’re going to eat out my cop ass, you whore bitch,” Brun decreed. “I want that tongue to scrub my goddamn hole!”

Which is precisely what Franck did. Willingly! Eagerly! As Didier watched, fascinated, becoming increasingly aroused despite his revulsion by the two men’s lewd interaction, Brun turned himself around, within the circle formed by Franck’s embracing arms. Bending over, Brun pushed his butt back into Franck’s face.

“Rim me, slave,” the cop ordered. “Suck my ass!”

But his words were superfluous. Franck, with his arms thrown around his cop lover’s hips, had already shoved his face between the firm cheeks of Brun’s ass. He pressed himself in so tightly that he looked as though he was in danger of smothering in that ass crack. As Franck began rooting around with his lips and tongue, Brun groaned, exultantly, “Oh, yeah, boy! Oh, yeah! That’s how a dirty little slut like you ought to suck a cop’s ass! You keep up that hot tongue action, punk, and you just might earn some more of my belt applied to your butt, after all!”

Brun still had the belt, wrapped around his wrist, dangling free from it. Now, obviously inflamed by the lewd, tickling licking of Franck’s tongue, which had penetrated his anal pucker and was industriously swabbing away at the flesh tucked away just beyond the flexing sphincter muscle, he shuddered from head to foot in sexual ecstasy. He raised the belt—which he savagely brought down upon Franck’s buttocks, again and again. Without mercy, he belted that hot, butch, squirming ass!

“Stick it in there! I want to feel that tongue of yours all the way up inside my hole!” the cop shouted.

Didier could endure no more. He took a step forward, into the room. His own cock, agonizingly hard, pleading silently for relief, preceded him.

“What the hell are you guys doing?” Didier demanded.

Both of the other men looked up at the sound of his voice, staring at him.

Brun was unfazed. If anything, being caught in the act seemed to amuse him. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m beating your buddy Franck’s punk ass for him,” he boasted. “And he’s taking it, and getting off on it. You got a problem with that?”

“No,” Didier said, warily.

“Good. Join us, if you want to.”

“I have better taste than my buddy. I don’t fuck around with lousy cops!”

Far from being offended, Brun seemed to find this insult hilarious. “You’d change your tune real fast, once you got this nightstick of mine in your mouth—or up your ass.”

“Too bad you’ve got some self-esteem issues, officer,” Didier dared to say. “Namely, an excess of self-esteem! But from my point of view, you’ve got a lot to be modest about.”

Brun still refused to lose his composure. “If you’ll excuse me—I’ve got a boy here who needs fucking.” With a shrug, the cop pushed his butt more firmly against Franck’s face, grinding his asshole against the boy’s mouth. “Give that cop hole of mine a few more good licks,” he told Franck, “and then I’ll shove my dick up your ass. I think you’ve earned that. And your good-looking buddy might enjoy seeing you get screwed.”

Oh, so you think I’m good-looking, do you? Didier thought. He disliked and distrusted Brun. But he was now willing to concede that the cop had good taste!

When he’d had enough of the rimming, Brun stepped back. He picked up the inhaler from the coffee table, and pressed it to Franck’s nostrils. As Franck inhaled, greedily, Didier caught the sharp, pungent odor of the amyl. Brun applied the cylinder to his own nostrils, and then he tossed it to Didier.

“Help yourself,” he invited Didier.

Didier was no fool. He was wary of Brun, but he wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity to enjoy a recreational drug, free of charge. He snorted the amyl, too.

Meanwhile, Brun looked down, his barrel chest heaving, his gray eyes suddenly blazing with cruelty and lust, at Franck, who cringed there on the couch.

“I want that ass of yours good and hot when I fuck it,” the cop said. “Don’t move.”

Franck let out a scream when Brun brought the gleaming leather belt whistling down onto his bare rump, delivering an especially vicious, stinging blow.

“What have you got to say, boy?” Brun asked.

“Thank you, Brigadier Brun. Thank you for beating my ass!”

“You’re welcome, slave. It’s confession time, now. You’re a no-good, sneaking little thief, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And a whore.”

“That’s right, sir.”

“And you’ve broken the law more times that you can count.”

“Every chance I get, officer.”

“And your buddy, Didier, here—he’s your partner in crime, your accomplice, isn’t he?”

“I can incriminate myself,” Franck babbled. “But I’m no snitch!”

“Honor among thieves, eh? Very touching. Still, I believe some punishment is in order.”

“Yes, sir. Punish me! Beat me! Hurt me! I appreciate it, sir. I like it!”

Watching his buddy being abused, Didier breathed in the poppers, and he felt his blood begin to race, his body turn hot, and his cock pulse with excitement.

“This is revolting,” he felt obligated to say. “How can you let him do that to you, Franck?”

Brun laughed. “I think I can speak for Franck, when I assure you, Didier—he finds it easy to allow me to use him. And pleasurable. I’m surprised an open-minded young man like you is so judgmental.”

Brun continued to beat Franck’s ass. Each stroke of the improvised whip seemed to be more brutal than the one before it. As Didier, now undisguisedly excited, watched, fascinated, Franck’s muscular ass grew red and welted. Didier walked over to the couch to get a better look at the torture. As though seeking comfort, Franck threw his powerful arms around Didier’s waist and drew his head into Didier’s lap, his face resting against Didier’s crotch, his ass raised high to receive blow after fierce, punishing blow from the belt. Brun lashed him without any letup, grunting with satisfaction each time his strokes drew a shriek of agony from the cringing, naked young stud whom he was whipping so savagely.

Didier could hear Franck moaning and whimpering, faintly, during the brief intervals between blows. Whenever the belt did strike him, Franck yelled loudly again. Didier saw that Brun’s gray eyes were glittering with sadistic glee, and that his rock-hard prick had a drop of pre-cum leaking out of its pouting piss slit.

Panting, the cop tossed the belt aside, and he paused to catch his breath.

“That’s hard work. I just beat your ass for you, slave,” he gasped. “What’ve you got to say about that?”

“Thank you, sir. Thank you so much for beating me, sir!” Franck moaned. “I deserved that punishment.”

Didier shook his head. “Sick,” he muttered. “This whole scene is sick. Brun, you’re such a perv!”

“Oh, only moderately perverse, compared to some guys I could name,” Brun quipped. “Give me the inhaler, will you, Didier? Thanks. Take some more popper, Franck. Take a lot. I want you to be really hot, boy, because it’s time for your ass to get fucked, now that it’s been well warmed up by the belt. And I want you to suck your buddy’s big dick while you take mine up your ass.”

Franck breathed in the fumes, and then he handed the inhaler to Brun, who took a strong double sniff and then passed it on to Didier to use.

“Put one knee up on the couch, slave, so your asshole’ll be wide open for my cock. That’s right. Good boy.” Brun knelt on the couch cushions behind Franck and thrust the head of his massive hard-on against his asshole—without any lube, Didier noticed. Franck, anticipating the worst, buried his face in Didier’s groin and gripped his roommate with his strong arms, whimpering.

Brun shoved forward.

“Ow!” The cry of pain seemed to echo off the living room walls and linger in the air even after Franck cut it short, with an agonizing, rasping intake of breath. Brun had gotten into fucking position, put his hands on Franck’s shoulders to steady him, and, taking a firm grip, he had driven his ruthless, unlubricated prick all the way into Franck at once.

“Oh, please, go easy, sir,” Franck begged. “It hurts!”

“Shut up,” the cop said. “Suck your buddy’s nice big cock. That ought to keep you quiet.”

Quickly, Franck obeyed, and Didier looked down and watched his cockshaft disappear between his friend’s rounded, wide-stretched lips.

“Yeah, suck it, buddy,” Didier gasped, caught up in the lurid atmosphere of rough, raunchy sex which Brun had created. “You little freak! You like what this dirty cop is doing to you, don’t you? You’re getting off on all of this kinky shit! You want to be a fucking sex slave? Then be one! Take my dick all the way down your throat and suck the hell out of it, while your cop boyfriend’s big stud cock pounds your ass. Suck it, dude. Harder—harder! Oh, yeah, you cocksucker! That’s the way! Just like that, suck it just like that—!” After pausing to snatch a quick, much-needed breath, and another snort of the amyl, Didier raised his head and stared Brun in the face. “Fuck him, man,” Didier urged the cop. “Fuck his ass!”

“Yeah,” Brun gloated. “Let’s both use this punk!”

Franck remained kneeling on the couch between the two men, a shuddering, tortured mass of hard, flexed muscles, while Brun pitilessly pumped his cock deep into his anus, with long, steady strokes—and Didier fucked his face. Franck grunted around the thick cock in his mouth when each new stroke made by his cop fucker ravaged his tight asshole, forcing it open to accept the big fuck tool with which Brun was screwing him.

“Fucked!” Brun growled, between thrusts. “Fucked! That’s what you want, boy, and that’s what I’m doing to you. I’m fucking that hot whore ass of yours, as hard as I can. And you’re loving it, aren’t you? Of course you are, because you really get off on being taken by that cop dick of mine. My cock must be tearing your ass apart. Take it, slave. Take it, and enjoy it. That’s right, take my cock, and get fucked!”

“This is disgusting,” Didier protested, with a grimace. But, somewhat hypocritically, he continued to fuck Franck’s mouth and throat.

With his face streaked with sweat, the cop turned his head toward Didier and grinned at him. “You wouldn’t say that if you were the one with this big nightstick of mine shoved up your ass, reaming you out. You’d be begging for it, too.”

“Not likely.”

“We’ll see,” Brun suggested, rather ominously.

It wasn’t long before Didier came. Bucking his hips to fuck his buddy’s handsome face even more roughly, pushing his dick even deeper down that gaping throat to rape it with brutal satisfaction, he suddenly exploded. He came in a rush of hot, creamy fluid, which seemed to go on and on, spurt after wet spurt. Franck choked and sputtered, but he continued to slurp away on his friend’s unloading cock, even though the froth of white semen escaped from his busily milking lips and dribbled down his chin.

“Yeah,” Brun said, observing Didier’s ejaculation with approval. “My turn, now. I’m going to breed this bitch’s hole!”

Pumping away inside Franck’s spasming anus as rapidly as he could, the cop blew his own wad. Coming, he jabbed his erupting prick even harder into the boy’s convulsively responsive asshole, cursing as he did so.

Didier stepped backward, withdrawing his spent cock from between Franck’s lips. Brun also pulled his prick out of Franck’s ass.

After resting for a minute or two, Brun staggered to his feet and he helped Franck to get up, too. Franck stood there, wavering, looking close to passing out from the amyl he’d inhaled and the rough treatment his cop fucker and his roommate had inflicted upon him.

“Are you all right, dude?” Didier asked his roommate, solicitously.

Dazed though he was, Franck smiled at him. “Couldn’t be better,” he mumbled. “Damn! What a hot fuck! He’s thrown some good ones into me, but this one was the best yet. He really used my hole. And, dude—I loved it when you fucked my face like that, the whole time he was fucking me. Talk about hot!”

Didier shook his head in disbelief—and lingering disapproval.

Brun smiled at him, in a way which was somewhat condescending. “Don’t worry. Your buddy—or should I call him your ‘partner in crime?’—he’ll be fine. I’ll clean him up a little, and put him to bed. Why don’t you pour us both another glass of wine?”

Didier scowled. “I don’t know where you were raised, man, but in this house we say ‘please.’ You might want to try it sometime.”

“Yes, it always seems to get results when Franck, here, says things like ‘please fuck me harder, sir.’ You may have a point,” Brun conceded, with elaborate sarcasm. “So—please may I have another glass of wine? And will you please join me?”

“Yeah, you may, yeah, I will—and then you can go fuck yourself, cop,” Didier fumed.

Brun only laughed, as he led Franck to his bedroom.

He returned a moment later, still unselfconsciously nude, looking and acting—Didier noted, with irritation—as though he owned the place.

“Franck’s sleeping like a baby,” he reported.

“Here’s your wine. I didn’t know which glass was yours, and which was Franck’s. But after what we just did, it seems kind of silly to worry about maybe drinking out of the same glass another guy has used.”

“That’s true. It doesn’t matter. Thanks. You and I, Didier—we seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot.”

“I’m not like Franck,” Didier said. “I don’t like being pushed around.”

“Maybe you just haven’t been pushed in the right direction, and by the right guy.”

“I have no interest whatsoever in that domination and submission shit, or whatever the hell you call it,” Didier insisted.

“No? You’ve never had a john who wanted to be treated rough? To be tied up, and beaten?”

“I always tell them I’m not into that kind of stuff.”

“But that’s just poor business practice,” the cop suggested. “You could make a lot more money if you’d be willing to accommodate such requests.”

“Maybe. But why don’t you leave the whoring to me—and I’ll leave the selective enforcement of the law to you?”

Brun laughed. “Touché! That’s a good one.”

The two men sat there, naked, drinking their wine.

“This is good wine,” Brun said.

“Glad you like it, Brun.”

“Call me Charles, won’t you?”

“Franck doesn’t,” Didier pointed out.

“That would ruin his fantasy—calling me by my first name. You, on the other hand, don’t seem to have a fantasy. Not involving me, at any rate.”

“You’ve got that right—Charles. No offense, but I can take or leave you.”

The cop smiled. “But surely you don’t have to like a guy, to have satisfactory sex with him?”

“Okay—you’ve got me, there.”

“Sometimes a little hostility can make the sex hotter,” Brun suggested.

“Yeah, that’s true, too. Damn, Charles. We seem to be agreeing on certain things. If this ever got around—me, drinking with a cop, being civil to him—it could hurt my reputation around town,” Didier joked.

“Yes, you’d never live it down.”

The more he imbibed, the more relaxed Didier felt. He wondered whether it would be impolite, or less than diplomatic, if he suggested that Brun drink up, get dressed, and leave. On the other hand, and somewhat to his surprise, he wasn’t so sure he wanted the man to go. He found the sadistic police officer intriguing. He was enjoying their banter. And Didier had to admit, grudgingly, that the guy was sexy, with a great body and an impressive-looking cock. Now that he’d seen that cock in action, Didier was feeling more tolerant toward the man to whom it was attached—even though he was a cop.

Chapter Eleven: A New Recruit

Didier had allowed himself to get a little drunk.

As a result, he offered no physical resistance, when Brun moved to sit beside him on the couch. Nor did he pull away when the other man slipped his warm hand down between Didier’s legs and claimed his penis, giving it a squeeze.

“You’re hung big,” Brun whispered.

“So are you.”

“You and your buddy Franck would seem to have that in common.”

“Franck and I have a lot of things in common. I hate to tell you, but a fondness for cops isn’t one of them. So fuck off. Please.”

“Now, be reasonable, son,” Brun coaxed. “Don’t you think it’s about time we got better acquainted?”

“I thought that was what we were doing—sitting here, talking, drinking—”

“I’ve had enough to drink. Sex, though—that’s something I never seem to get enough of. I bet you feel the same way.”

Didier grunted, noncommittedly. The hand on his cock, holding it, massaging it, coaxing it quickly into erection, felt so good that he leaned back against the couch and let Brun grope him, saying nothing. He didn’t protest at first, either, when the cop made it clear he expected Didier to reciprocate. Brun’s hand reached out, grasped Didier’s wrist, and guided Didier’s hand to his own lap. Out of mere politeness, more or less, Didier stroked the policeman’s stiffening penis, gently, admiringly.

“This is kid stuff, Charles,” Didier objected, finally. “Mutual masturbation—hell, that isn’t even real sex, in my book!”

“But it’s a start. It’s foreplay,” Brun suggested. “And it usually leads to other things. Now, I want you to go down on me, boy. Suck my cock.”

“No, thanks. I’m not your ‘boy,’ cop, and I know this may come as a big surprise to you, but I don’t want to suck your cock.”

“No?” Brun looked and sounded amused. “Who do you think you’re kidding?”

“A big, dumb cop,” Didier retorted. “Who thinks he’s God’s gift to gay men, and nobody can resist him. I guess the dude needs to have his ego taken down a peg or two.”

“And you’re the guy who’s going to do that?”

“Sure, why not? Do you think you’re the first pumped-up, macho queer cop I’ve run into? I managed to resist them all, somehow. Why shouldn’t I resist you? What makes you so different—so irresistible?”

During this conversation, the two men had continued to manipulate each other’s cocks—which seemed to contradict what Didier was saying.

“You can suck mine, if you want to,” Didier offered, after Brun had said nothing for a moment. “I don’t mind.”

“Generous of you.”

“You know you want to,” Didier said. “In fact, I’m in such a generous mood, I just might fuck your cop ass—the same way you fucked Franck’s.” Didier punctuated this statement with a hearty laugh. “Make you my bitch—yeah, that’d be fun.”

“I’m sure it would, in the unlikely event it ever happens. Why don’t we continue this discussion where we can be more comfortable?” Brun suggested. “Since you and Franck have separate bedrooms—?”

“Sure. We can go into mine,” Didier said.

He led the way.

Brun picked up the inhaler, and followed Didier.

In the bedroom, they passed the amyl back and forth.

“You’ve already gotten me half drunk,” Didier complained, happily. “Now are you trying to get me high, too, so you can take advantage of me?”

Brun smiled. “Can you be taken advantage of so easily?”

“No. I’m not like Franck. Excuse the mess,” Didier muttered, as the popper rush hit him. His bed was unmade, and his clothes were strewn about, in the disorder typical of a young man for whom housekeeping wasn’t a high priority. “I do try to tidy up, when I know I’m going to entertain a trick in here.”

Brun smiled. “A trick? Or a john?”

“Both have been known to be invited in here, as you well know,” Didier admitted. “Which are you going to be?”

“I’ve never had to pay for sex.”

“No, you just blackmail guys like Franck into giving it to you for free, in exchange for keeping your mouth shut. Same thing, so far as I can see. Oh, and while we’re on the subject—don’t even think of trying to pull that kind of shit with me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Brun said—although his facial expression and tone of voice suggested a certain degree of insincerity.

“I guess you think you’re a big, tough guy, because you’ve got that badge pinned on your chest—when you’re dressed,” Didier said, cuttingly. “Stripped down, though, you’re not so much.”

“You think not?”

“I know not. That is—I’m not impressed.”

“I like defiance—up to a point. After that, it can get to be annoying.” Brun spoke, now, in that soft but steely tone of which Didier had heard him use with Franck. “I think it’s time I put you in your place. I told you before to suck my cock, and you refused. Big mistake, on your part. But I’m willing to give you a second chance. You know you want to blow me. Don’t pretend—”

“Try pretending yourself, cop,” Didier retorted. “See if you can convince me you’re not a pussy wimp, all talk and no action.”

Didier was excited, as he deliberately tried to push the other man’s buttons, hoping to get a response from him. He felt a strange new desire welling up within him—an urge to be dominated, punished, and humiliated. Just like Franck! A little while ago, he’d been mystified and disgusted by his buddy’s submissive behavior. Now, inexplicably, he seemed to understand it—and, worse, he wanted to experience Franck’s shame, for himself! His cock swelled.

“Come on, cop,” he taunted Brun, recklessly. “You can drop the tough act. Stop playacting. You’re the one who’s going to get down on his knees and suck some dick, this time. We both know you’re dying to swing on this moneymaker of mine. Hell, I’m feeling in a good mood tonight, and generous. I won’t charge you for it—this time. So stop denying yourself what you want so badly. Put my cock in your mouth and suck it!”

Smiling a little, Brun did begin to kneel. When his face was about a foot below Didier’s, level with his chest, he looked up. Didier was smirking down at him, his face triumphant. There was a sly, knowing grin on those sensual lips of his, as he watched the cop preparing to go down on his thick, aching cock.

Didier let out a yelp when Brun’s open hand suddenly swung at his dick, slapping it—hard. So hard that it bounced back and forth in front of Didier’s groin!

“Suck it yourself, you cheap little hustler!” Brun sneered. Pushing Didier away, he stood up again.

Didier grabbed the cop in a flash of rage and he tried to throw him down on the bed, but Brun, standing straight and tall, had thrust one hand down between Didier’s legs. He slid his fingers around the male prostitute’s free-swaying balls and he began to squeeze them—hard. He could feel the two big nuts squishing around inside their hairy sac as he compressed them more and more forcefully, almost crushing them. At last, Didier let out a yelp of pain.

“Stop,” he begged.

“That’s better. That’s a much better attitude for you to have. How does that feel, boy?” Brun taunted Didier. “Having your balls squashed like this? Does it feel good? Do you like it?”

Didier was writhing in agony, but unable to pull away. “Ah!” he yelled. “Ah, shit! Cut it out, man. Please!” He let go of Brun and stepped back, trying to reach down and tear the cop’s hand away from his groin.

But Brun maintained his grip, and he used his free hand to slap Didier’s face, twice, while he squeezed his ball sac harder. “Bad boy,” Brun grunted. “Now, let’s understand each other, and establish some ground rules. Which one of us is going to do the sucking, to begin with? And which one of us is going to get fucked up the ass?”

Didier suddenly went limp against Brun’s body, and he began kissing his chest and caressing his shoulders and back, moaning, “Don’t be so rough, dude. Please—oh, please—!”

“Please what? Are you ready to beg me for something, boy?”

“Please let go of my nuts. It really hurts! Please—sir!”

“Ah, that’s more like it. That’s the way to address an officer of the law with the proper respect.” Brun eased up on his squeezing of Didier’s balls, although he continued to hold the testicles imprisoned in his hand. “Now,” he went on, in a deceptively pleasant tone of voice, staring Didier in the eyes. “I asked you a couple of questions, remember? First, which of us do you think is going to suck the other’s cock?”

“I am—I will, sir. I’ll suck your dick. What the fuck. I admit it. I’m a cocksucker.”

“Of course you are, and of course you will go down on me. It’s your stock in trade, after all, isn’t it? Next, which of us is going to get fucked?”

“I’m going to get fucked, sir.”

“By my cop dick,” Brun prompted.

“Yeah, by your cop dick, sir.”

“And you’re going to like it, aren’t you, slave?”

“Yeah—I’m going to love it—sir!”

“Excellent. We’re making real progress here.” Finally, Brun relinquished Didier’s balls, only to use his other hand to push the young stud’s head downward. As Didier sank to his knees, Brun seized a double handful of his disheveled hair. Tugging on it brutally, so that Didier felt a sharp pain in his scalp, the cop glared down at him. “Suck my hard dick, boy. Get to work on it with your mouth. Do a good job, and just maybe I won’t beat your ass after all. Now, start sucking! And don’t you dare stop, until I tell you to. Keep my hot, dirty cock in your mouth until I give you permission to stop sucking it.”

Watching carefully for any false move or further show of defiance on Didier’s part, Brun stood next to the bed with his legs spread, gazing down at the punk on his knees before him, who was already sucking his cock with passionate hunger. Didier’s head bobbed up and down in front of Brun’s crotch, his lips and tongue and throat conspiring to satisfy the police officer. Brun’s cock got more and more excited as the blow job progressed. Didier seemed almost frantic in his desire to suck it, Brun noticed, struck by the contrast between the way the hustler had behaved so arrogantly a few moments ago, and his eager self-abasement now. Apparently, Franck and his sexy roommate had a great deal in common!

“Suck it, boy,” Brun coached him, hoarsely. “Get it all the way down your cocksucking throat and really swing on that meat. Suck it all—and suck it good. You’d better do a good job. You’d better satisfy me, with that mouth of yours. Otherwise,” he threatened, not altogether playfully, “I may have to make sure you end up in the slammer. You’ll be on your knees there, punk, sucking off all of your dirty fellow cons, every day—and every night! When you’re not busy bending over and taking it up the ass, that is. Ha!” he laughed, mirthlessly.

Brun stepped backward, with the kneeling Didier still on his knees before him, deep-throating his dick, until he could first sit on the edge of the bed, and then stretch out on his back on it with his legs spread to make room for Didier between them. Didier followed him onto the bed without ever taking Brun’s cock out of his mouth. Once the two men were in this more comfortable position, Brun relaxed, put his hands on Didier’s head, and pushed his mouth up and down on his prick to control the oral action.

Submissively, Didier just knelt there on the mattress and sucked, letting Brun use his mouth and throat at will, grunting as he fed upon the gendarme’s cock. Brun sprawled across the bed with his prick rammed into Didier’s busy mouth. The hustler’s beautiful nude body was stretched out on the bed between the cop’s muscular, widespread legs.

“Come on,” Brun taunted his eager young cocksucker. ‘You can do better than that. Eat that meat, slave! Get your mouth down on it and swallow it. Show me whether or not you know how to suck!”

When Brun thought that he was about to shoot his wad down that greedily devouring throat, he pushed Didier’s head back and he rolled over, onto his stomach, pushing his ass back against Didier’s hot, flushed face.

“That’s enough cocksucking for now,” Brun gasped. “Now suck my ass.” He waited, but nothing happened. “Rim it, boy,” Brun demanded, angrily, when Didier continued to hesitate. “Rim it! Lick out my dirty asshole with that hot tongue of yours!”

“Fuck you, cop,” Didier spat. “Let’s see you make me do it—if you really think you’re man enough!”

Brun turned around on the bed, to stare into Didier’s aroused but defiant eyes. Then, a plan flashing into his mind, he swung himself off the bed and stood up. He looked around for something which could be used as a weapon, and he saw Didier’s discarded jeans, draped over a chain. Yanking Didier’s belt free from the belt loops of the jeans, Brun wrapped one end of it around his wrist and he returned to the bed.

Didier saw what the cop had in his hand and he groaned, but he made no effort to move away.

“You just bought yourself a whole world of pain, bitch!” Brun warned.

“You don’t have the balls—!” Didier began to bluster, when Brun went into action. He stood over Didier, who lay face down on the bed, and he smacked Didier’s ass with the belt. Didier yelled and jumped, but then he remained still, his body tense with anticipation of the next blow. It came, followed by many others.

Didier moaned loudly each time Brun struck him. The angry cop was careful to vary his target, aiming the belt not only at Didier’s butt cheeks, but at the small of his back and the backs of his thighs. One or two blows struck dangerously close to Didier’s testicles.

“You’re going to eat my ass if I have to bust your fucking balls first,” Brun decreed.

Didier cried out wildly the next time the belt lashed out at him, and Brun realized, with grim satisfaction, that the blow had fallen where it would really hurt this time, on the boy’s cock or balls. When Brun hit him again, the hustler sprang off the bed and tackled him. They wrestled, with Brun still flailing away at the other man’s naked, vulnerable body with the belt he still had in his hand. He got Didier in a wrestling grip and lashed out at him with his free arm. The belt cracked across Didier’s upper thighs, and then hit him squarely in the crotch. Didier moaned, and he went limp, after which Brun pushed him away—raising the belt in a mute threat, ready to deliver further blows, should they prove necessary.

“Get up, slave, or I’ll beat your ass until it’s black and blue,” the cop warned. “Or maybe you haven’t had enough yet?”

“Okay, I give in,” Didier mumbled. Sweating and disheveled, he looked up at Brun with fawning eyes. “I won’t give you any more trouble. I won’t disobey you again, sir.”

“You’d better not.”

“Please don’t hurt me again—”

“Stop the whining. Now, get busy. Do what I told you to do.”

Brun lay down on the bed, on his stomach. In a moment, he felt Didier climbing onto the mattress next to him. The hustler settled down between Brun’s legs and put his hands on the cheeks of the cop’s ass. Brun felt his buttocks being spreads by two warm hands, and then he felt the slippery texture of a wet tongue slithering up and down his butt crack, licking and teasing it.

“Stop fooling around, punk. I told you to eat it! Get that hot tongue of yours inside that hole and start rimming my ass. Now!”

Immediately, Brun felt hot, damp breath on his anal opening, followed by the firm, exploring touch of Didier’s tongue, which pressed against his manhole and eagerly forced its way inside. Didier drove his tongue deep into the waiting asshole and he began to fuck it with tongue, panting and slavering as he did so. Hungrily, he ate the cop’s ass. It felt good, Brun thought, to have the male whore’s face pressed between his glutes, to feel Didier’s tongue poking in and out of the pucker of his anus, rimming him so obediently.

“Now we’ll change places,” Brun announced. “I’m going to play with your ass. Finger-fuck it, get it good and hot before I fuck it.”

“Who said I’m going to let you fuck me?”

“You did, as I recall,” the cop reminded him. “You want the belt again?”

“No—no, sir.”

Nervously, Didier switched places with the other naked man, who knelt beside him on the bed. Brun put some spit onto two of his fingers, and then he felt down the crack of Didier’s butt until he reached the warm, moist, quivering asshole itself. He massaged the sphincter, gently but insistently, moving his fingertips back and forth. Next, he pushed one finger through the pucker and into Didier’s ass, first as far as the first knuckle, and then as far as the second. Didier groaned and wriggled, while Brun plunged the rest of the digit into him and began to finger-fuck him with it, none too gently now. The second finger was wedged into Didier’s asshole alongside the first.

Brun could hear his bedmate breathing hard, in long, sharp, labored sighs, while he trembled all over. With a smile of contempt, the policeman saw a spasm ripple through Didier’s narrow hips, as the boy made an involuntary humping movement, which drove Brun’s fingers farther up his ass.

“Well? How about it, slave?” Brun demanded.

“Okay,” Didier moaned, faintly.

“Okay, what?”

“Okay, sir—you can do it.”

“Do what?”

“Fuck me. You can fuck me! God damn it, fuck me. Fuck me—sir!”

“Mind your manners. Say ‘please,’ boy.”

“Please fuck me, sir. Please, sir, fuck my ass. Please fuck me!”

“Now you’re talking. That’s a good boy.” Brun pulled his fingers out. “Now, get up on your hands and knees, if you want to get fucked so badly. I want to shove my cock in you all the way. I want you to feel it, every inch of it, going in and out of your ass, fucking you. And then, when it’s in you all the way, I want to hear you beg me for more!”

“I won’t beg. Not to you. Not ever!” Didier swore, in a final flash of defiance.

“No? We’ll soon see about that.”

Brun took him.

Didier screamed out, uselessly, when the cop drove his huge prick straight at his ass, and his sphincter muscle yielded to the onslaught, forced to give way and stretch wide open in order to receive the invading phallic bludgeon. Brun’s nightstick of flesh and blood was rammed through Didier’s resisting manhole. It sank deep up inside Didier’s anus, in a single, remorseless lunge.

“God damn it! Help! We got a queer cop, here!” Didier shouted, praying that one of the neighbors would hear him and come to his aid. “He’s raping me! The son of a bitch is fucking my ass!”

“Rape, hell,” Brun grunted. “As though a whore like you isn’t used to spreading his ass for anybody who comes along, with a few lousy euros in his pocket!”

“Yeah, but the worst, dirtiest john I’ve ever let fuck me—he’d still be better than you, cop!” Didier taunted his fucker.

“Oh, you’ll pay for that crack, boy.”

“Make me. Yeah, let’s see you make me pay for it, big man, tough guy. I doubt that you’re man enough!”

“That’s mighty big talk, coming from a slut with a cock shoved up his ass. Are you ready to start begging, yet?”

“Not quite.”

“I like a punk with spirit, a punk who has balls. Up to a certain point. After that, it can start to get tedious.”

“And I like to feel a real man, inside me, fucking me,” Didier reported. “So far, cop, you’re a disappointment!”

“Mouthy,” Brun declared. “So damn mouthy—!”

He drove his prick through Didier’s flexing sphincter muscle again and again, panting and sweating from his exertions. His excitement mounted. But Didier was right with him, exulting in the other man’s use of him. Fiery heat and friction ripped through Didier’s asshole as the cop took him, raping his burning behind, proudly claiming possession of it as his own. Filled with hard cock, Didier’s anus spasmed, repeatedly, in helpless response to the hard plowing it was receiving.

“Ah, fuck me, cop!” he yelled. “Fuck me hard! Fuck my ass!”

“Just what I like to hear,” Brun assured him.

They came together. The warm, wet semen shot free from Brun’s phallic pistol and filled Didier’s ass, making it easier for him to take the stud cop’s relentless, ejaculatory thrusts, now that Brun’s exploding cock was slick with its cum as it plunged into him. Grunting, cursing, Didier fired his own load up into the air between their heaving, shuddering bodies, the hot wet drops raining thickly back down upon both men’s perspiring flesh.

After both men had taken a few minutes in which to calm down after their simultaneous orgasms, Brun pulled his cock out of Didier’s cum-filled, mushy-feeling asshole, and he got shakily to his feet. He left the bedroom, went into the nearby bathroom which Franck and Didier shared, and washed off. A panting, sweat-streaked Didier joined him after a moment, and he too cleaned himself.

“Shit!” Didier exclaimed, happily. “That was about the hottest fuck I’ve ever had! I guess you really do have what it takes to turn a guy like me into your slave. You can have my ass any time you want it.”

“I intend to,” Brun replied. “From now on, you and your buddy Franck are both going to be my boys—my property, to do with as I damn well please. How do you like the sound of that, punk?”

“I like it just fine—sir.”

“Oh, when we’re not actually having sex, you can still call me Charles,” Brun deigned to say. “It’s only when my prick gets hard that I demand a little respect. I can tell it’s going to take me a while to beat that smart-mouthed attitude out of you,” the cop went on. “But tonight we’ve made a good start. Don’t worry, boy. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be just like your hot-assed buddy, Franck. You’ll both be perfectly happy, belonging to me. Being a cop’s boys.”

The End

Also by Henri Couesnon

Available exclusively on Amazon:

After Hours Gym

An Office Bromance

Bisexual Beach Bum Book 1: Sex by the Sea

Bisexual Beach Bum Book 2: Their Lifeguard Lover

Bisexual Beach Bum Book 3: The Sand Heats Up

Bisexual Beach Bum Book 4: His Birthday Gift

Black Leather Nights

Bunkhouse Gangbang

Chained Male

His Secret Sins

I Like It Rough

Lakeside Nights

Let’s Try It Bi

Make Love to Me and My Wife

Marriage Parisian Style

Muscle Heat

Muscle Worship

Night Prowl

Seaport of Dreams

Seducing His Student

Steam Driven

The Biker’s New Boy

The Coach and His Wife

The Elusive Object of My Desire

The Guy Next Door

The Mountaineer