Cuffed by the Cop

by Henri Couesnon

  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.