Cuffed by the Cop

by Henri Couesnon

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!