“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 s
haft 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.
Cuffed by the Cop Page 6