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.
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