“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—”
&n
bsp; “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!”
Cuffed by the Cop Page 3