“No problem. Hold on. Hold still.”
There was a flash of pain when Didier grabbed Franck’s booted ankles and pushed them wide apart. He bent over Franck, forcing his buddy to lean father back. Franck locked the fingers of each of his hands around the metal handle of a garbage can, and he hung suspended precariously between the containers, conscious only of the hunger in his ass and the imminence of Didier’s possession of it.
“Mother of God, I’m so sexed up. I can almost feel it, your dick, in me, fucking me, already. Come on, man, ram that cock right up my hot ass and fuck the hell out of me!” Franck’s thighs quivered from the strain of supporting himself on the cans. He had his legs spread to the utmost possible extent, relaxing his buttocks and sphincter at the same time, to make it easier for Didier’s cock to penetrate him.
“I guess we don’t need any lube,” Didier said. “Not even spit. Not with that black dude’s load still fresh inside you!”
“Charming way for you to talk,” Franck muttered. “Don’t bother to romance me. Just fuck me!”
He felt the smooth head of Didier’s unlubricated prick skating along the crack of his ass, until it found the spot where the opening waited. “Come on, dude, stop your screwing around. Fuck me!” Franck yelled.
“Bitch, you like it too much. But don’t you worry. You’re going to get what you want. I’m going to slide right in there, real slick and smooth, on that black dude’s cum,” Didier announced, lewdly.
“That’s right, man. That bastard got me nice and warmed up for you. Fuck me quick. I’m really hot for it tonight, I want it bad. Hurry.”
But Didier took his deliberate time about it, guiding his tumescent cockhead to the puckered hole of Franck’s behind. Fitting himself firmly between his friend’s smooth-skinned, hard-muscled ass cheeks, which seemed to gape open in obscene, wanton invitation, he hesitated, teasing Franck by stroking the sensitive sphincter muscle with the tip of his prick. He rubbed his glans back and forth over the anal aperture, making Franck groan in impatient lust and need.
“Quit playing around, Didier. Put it in me, quick, all the way in m. Damn it, your cock feels so good pressed against my hole like that. I want it all inside me, up my ass!”
Didier grabbed him from underneath by the buttocks, holding him suspended while he screwed the entire length of his penis, with machinelike efficiency, up into the hot elastic fleshy sheath of Franck’s anus, inch by inch, completely plugging his fevered ass.
“Uh!” Franck groaned, melting all over. A thousand nerve endings in his body were sparked to life by the fierce friction exerted when Didier’s thick, rigidly curving shaft slid home inside him.
“Still nice and tight,” Didier observed. “I was afraid your black boyfriend might have loosened you up,” he joked. “He does seem to have warmed you up for me, though.”
“Shut up and fuck,” Franck hissed. He braced himself on his elbows and heels atop the wobbling garbage cans, spider-like, as Didier withdrew as far as the very tip of his dick, collapsing the anus which his fuck tool had just occupied. He hovered monetarily, teasing Franck by delaying the plunge which Franck’s whole body now craved, and feeling the muscles in Franck’s asshole clasp his cockhead in a desperate death grip. Gasping, Franck begged his buddy to re-enter and fuck him.
“Yeah,” Franck gurgled, joyfully, when he got his wish and Didier came skewering back into him, stretching his asshole wide open to make room for all of his ruthless male organ, with which he plugged Franck’s butt. He clamped his hands down over Franck’s chest, bruising it, pushing him down so that Franck hung with all of his weight resting on the shaft of his fucker’s cock. Didier ran the full length of his fuck tool in and out of Franck’s ass, as though he wanted to pound the tender tissues into a pulp with his prick, treating—or rather, subjecting—his partner in crime to an intense degree of stimulation.
“Do it, Didier. Take me. Fuck me. Fuck me hard!”
Swiftly, with long thudding strokes which made his big balls slap up against Franck’s flexing buttocks, Didier fucked the other young man with a single-minded concentration, rapaciously possessing and using that hot tight ass, which seemed none the worse for the abuse it had already received, earlier that evening, from the horny sailor.
There was a sudden rustle of movement in the shadows, near Didier’s booted feet. Then he and Franck heard a plaintive yowl. Looking down, Didier saw a scrawny tomcat, prowling about, sniffing at his boots.
“Go find your own piece of ass, buddy,” Didier advised the feline, humorously.
The cat stalked off. Didier resumed his plowing of Franck’s ass. As though he’d gotten his second wind, he hammered away with renewed energy, the fuck turning rough, even violent.
Coming quickly to a head of excitement and bursting physical satiation, even before Franck knew what was hitting him from within, even before Franck had a chance really to react to the fierce, accelerated rhythmic stroking which cleaved his ripe anal gorge—Didier came. Panting for breath, his fingers closing like steel traps on Franck’s pecs, his palms breaking out in a light sweat on Franck’s throbbing nipples, Didier lunged into his buddy’s butt with a few last, fast strokes and then he squirted his jism deep into that thirty ass.
“There!” Didier exclaimed. “That ought to hold you for a while, you slut!”
“You dirty motherfucker,” Franck spat, as he, too, ejaculated, in white explosions of thick creamy semen which dripped down between their bodies and hit the cement they were standing on—or rather, that Didier was standing on, because he was still holding Franck up in the air, impaled upon his erupting prick. Franck raised his head just in time to see his fucker slam home into him for a final time, catching a thrilling glimpse of the glistening, steely cylinder of Didier’s cockshaft driving in between his buttocks. Then Franck felt a burning, buffeting splash of his fellow biker’s torrential seed, pouring into the depths of his spasming ass, filling him to overflowing.
“Christ, yeah,” Franck moaned, experiencing mixed emotions—despair, because the fuck was over so soon, when it had been so wildly exciting. He did nothing to try to suppress the involuntary post-ejaculatory jerking of his hips and ass cheeks, as his anus made clear its selfish request to feed on still more of the inflexible cock which had just fucked it so thoroughly. But, at the same time, Franck took pride in the fact that he’d satisfied Didier—that he had been able to service his rough lover and take care of his needs so fully and thrillingly.
“Don’t take it out of me yet,” he begged.
But Didier was already pulling his sagging prick out of his ass. Withdrawing a bandana from his pocket, Didier used it to wipe off his cock, and then he nonchalantly wadded up the soiled cloth and stuffed it back in his pocket. He pulled up his jeans and fastened them.
“Let’s get a move on,” Didier urged Franck, who gingerly climbed down from his precarious perch on the garbage cans. He touched his booted feet to the muck-strewn cement. His knees wobbled dangerously, and he felt Didier’s semen—mingled intimately and inextricably with his own cum—dripping down his thighs. Retrieving his discarded jeans, Franck used his own bandana to clean himself, and then he hurriedly got dressed.
“You’re always a good fuck, man,” Didier said, graciously. “I have to say that much for you.”
“Thanks, buddy.” Franck’s whole body glowed with post-orgasmic pleasure, a sensuous, relaxed feeling.
“Let’s go have that drink. And divide up the loot.”
Chapter Three: A Midnight Jog
Daily, Marseille’s newspapers listed which ships entered or left the city’s harbor. Didier and Franck saw that the black sailor’s vessel had departed, presumably taking their victim with it.
“It looks like he didn’t go to the cops,” Didier said, with smug satisfaction. “I didn’t think he would, not after that scare we threw into him! The dumb son of a bitch will think twice before he picks up a hustler again.”
“Yeah, but that kind of street and bar hookup i
s too risky,” Franck insisted. “We’d be better off sticking to the website. And, just like it says in the bible, ‘all things cum to him who waits.’ Cum—as in jism—get it?”
Didier groaned in response to his buddy’s feeble, mildly blasphemous joke. “I get it. Don’t quit your day job. Or your night work, for that matter. I don’t think a career as a standup comedian is in the cards.”
Franck grinned. “We’ve both got bookings coming up. And one guy, from out of town, wants a threesome.”
“Business is picking up—thanks to me,” Didier bragged. “Those new nude photos of us I put up on the site—they seem to be effective. When the johns contact us, you can practically see them, foaming at the mouth.”
“Yeah. For such a dumb fuck, you’re quite the entrepreneur.”
Didier only laughed in response to this backhanded compliment. He was in a good mood.
Didier in fact had a trick scheduled, that evening, in the nearby city of Montpellier. The john wanted him to stay overnight. Didier could have taken the train, but he preferred to ride his motorcycle, which would be more fun. The trip would take him less than two hours.
“Be careful,” Frank advised, as Didier was getting ready to leave. “Make sure you keep your cell phone near you.”
“Of course.”
This was a precaution which the two hustlers took, whenever either of them was going on an out call to a new customer. The plan was, if one of them ever got into trouble with a john, he could call his buddy, who would theoretically alert the cops. Presumably, the mere threat of such a phone call would deter the john, and give the hustler a chance to get away from him. For obvious reasons, neither Didier nor Franck wanted to have anything to do with the police, if he could avoid it.
After Didier departed on his bike run, Franck, left to his own devices, soon began to feel bored.
He checked the website, but there were no customers, looking to hook up at short notice. Lacking a date himself, Franck had the evening free. He began to give serious thought to the possibility of going out cruising, either for business or pleasure.
Instead, he stripped naked and crawled into his bed to take a nap. It wasn’t long before he drifted off into unconsciousness.
When the muscular young hustler woke up, and he glanced automatically at the digital alarm clock beside his bed, he saw that it was just past midnight. Franck stirred and yawned. He was tempted to just roll over and go back to sleep.
But his prick throbbed with excitement against the sheet which was all that covered his naked body. He felt restless, horny, and eager. Eager for what, exactly, he wasn’t sure. For just about anything, he suspected, as long as it resulted in an ejaculation on his part!
Going out, and hitting the bars, was still an option. They ought to be busy at this time of night.
Virtuously, though, Franck formulated an alternate plan. He could go for a jog, as he often did at night. A run would tire him out, and he’d no doubt be able to fall asleep again, quickly—perhaps after treating himself to a quick masturbation session.
Abandoning his bed, he rummaged about for suitable clothes—gym shorts, a sleeveless T-shirt, and running shoes. He dispensed with underwear, or a jockstrap. Let his junk flop around freely, and air itself, while he ran!
He had a small leather fanny pack, which he buckled around his hips. He put his keys and wallet in the zippered bag. He might want to stop somewhere for a cold drink on his way home. Or—he might interrupt his jog, to make a detour to a gay bar, after all. He could imagine the stir he might create, entering such an establishment, thus attired. Most gay men liked the wholesome young jock type, which Franck flattered himself he could convincingly impersonate.
He left his apartment building and set off.
As he ran along the deserted sidewalks, picking up some speed and working up a sweat, his revealing outfit showed off his strong legs, his narrow waist and hips, and his tight little butch ass to excellent advantage. The sleeveless T-shirt, which was soon plastered with perspiration against his torso, was especially enticing, with his pecs and nipples sticking out through the sodden fabric, and his bulging biceps exposed. Franck panted for breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
He realized that a slight, nagging pressure was developing in his bladder. He should have taken a piss before he left the apartment. But he knew where there was a gas station, open all night, up ahead. He could use its men’s room. Without slackening his pace, Franck headed toward it.
His chest muscles constricted almost painfully and he could have sworn that his heart actually missed a beat when he noticed one of the local police department’s patrol cars coming up the street behind him. The vehicle was a Renault, white with blue trim, in addition to the insignia painted on it.
Franck slowed down, flushing with a strange mixture of irrational guilt, physical effort, and sexual arousal, as he pretended not to glance sideways at the solitary cop behind the wheel when the vehicle passed him.
The police officer didn’t slow down, but he turned his head to look casually in Franck’s direction, as though he was sizing him up and trying to determine whether he was only out jogging, or whether he might possibly be doing something of a more suspicious nature. The anxious young criminal was certain that the big man nodded to him, in a way that might be construed as friendly. But the cop’s eyes were concealed behind what looked like a pair of sunglasses, with amber-tinted lenses—at night, which seemed highly irregular, and which did in fact rather freak Franck out. His face seemed ruggedly handsome in profile, in the quick glimpse which was all Franck really got of it. Franck couldn’t read the cop’s expression. He saw, though, that the man had a neatly trimmed dark blond mustache, above his mouth, which was set in a calm, unsmiling line.
He couldn’t recall having seen this particular police officer around the neighborhood before. It was in Franck’s interests to keep aware of such things. As the red taillights of the patrol car vanished up ahead, Franck quickened his pace, thinking of his destination almost as a sort of refuge now.
The service station had a reputation as a pickup spot. It was open all night, and it was manned tonight by a young grease monkey whom Franck knew by sight and had even contemplated putting the make on. He was muscular, and even fairly good-looking under all of the dirt and oil he always seemed smeared with while he was on the job. Franck wondered what he’d look like when cleaned up.
Several of Franck’s tricks, including a couple of his johns, had assured him that guys cruised each other brazenly in front of the gas pumps at night, and even had quick sex encounters right there in the men’s room, which was located in the back of the building. Franck had never tried his own luck, but he had often ridden his motorbike by the place, and he had observed that a suspiciously high number of horny-looking men did seem to get their gas there after dark. Whether they got serviced in other ways as well, Franck was suddenly eager to find out for himself!
The attendant was nonchalantly pumping gas into a huge truck when Franck jogged into the garage’s parking lot and stopped, catching his breath and wiping the sweat from his arms and face with his hands.
The gas jockey was sturdily built, a little shorter than Franck, but muscular. His denim jumpsuit was unzipped all the way down the front, to below his navel, and his hairy belly and chest were dotted with beads of sweat and smeared with oily fingerprints—his own, Franck surmised, since his hands were black with dirt and grime tonight, as usual.
He grinned at Franck, who found himself returning the smile more boldly than usual.
“Look at you,” said the guy, whose name sewn onto the chest of his jumpsuit identified him as Jacques. “You have a lot more energy than I do, at this time of night.”
“I guess maybe I do,” Franck replied, with a laugh.
“Don’t you get enough exercise down at that gym you go to?”
“I ought to. I must be a glutton for punishment,” Franck said.
In the course of their previous conversations, Franc
k had been loose-lipped enough to provide Jacques with some of the details about his personal life—where Franck worked, which gym he belonged to, and the fact that he lived with Didier. This was another reason why Franck felt he had to be discreet about his cruising in this neighborhood.
The gas station attendant was looking at him in a frank, appraising way.
“Well, all that work does show. You’ve got a nice body,” he said.
“So do you,” Franck responded, boldly.
“Thanks.”
Franck was in no hurry to resume his jog.
“I’ve got to take a piss,” he announced, and he brazenly brushed his hand over the bulging lump of his prick, trapped inside his suddenly too-tight shorts. “I’m going to wet myself if I don’t empty this dick of mine soon,” he added, feeling even more shameless, more depraved—more desperate for sex!
He thought he detected a flicker of interest and admiration in the other young guy’s eyes as Jacques, who was still working the nozzle of the pump, glanced down at his crotch.
“Yeah—I can see what you mean. The rest room’s around in the back, you know. It’s always open. Unlocked, I mean. No point in keeping the door locked, not with all those guys going in and out of it all the time,” Jacques added—significantly, Franck felt sure. “Just give a yell if you need anything,” Jacques said, making Franck even more confident that the guy could be had, under the right circumstances. “You know—more paper towels, more soap in the dispenser—whatever.”
Franck tore himself away, reluctantly, from the sexy attendant and walked toward the men’s room. He speculated whether, as soon as Jacques was done servicing his customer, he’d join Franck in the rest room and service him. As he entered the fairly large, well-lit john, Franck saw a hefty trucker driver standing alone at one of the urinals, pissing away into it full force. This must be the guy whose truck Jacques was refueling, out front. Franck hoped the guy would make himself scarce quickly, so that he and Jacques could be alone and resume their promising flirtation.
Cuffed by the Cop Page 4
