Cuffed by the Cop

by Henri Couesnon

  “This is so hot to watch,” Claude groaned.

  With Brun finger-fucking his ass while he sucked his cock, Franck thought, for a moment, that the cop might have changed his mind, and that he was going to fuck Franck, rather than the other way around. But then, abruptly, Brun took his mouth off Franck’s cock and his finger out of his ass.

  “Screw me,” was all that Brun said, as he readjusted his position on the mattress. On his hands and knees, the way Claude had been when Franck fucked him, he reached behind himself to seize his own butt cheeks and hold them apart in blatant, whorish invitation, waiting impatiently for Franck to take advantage of his provocative pose. Franck moved to kneel behind the cop. He sat back on his heels, with his spit-smeared dick aimed perfectly at the angle to penetrate Brun’s ass. No sooner had Franck pushed his cockhead through the cop’s pucker, than Brun’s butch ass pressed back against Franck’s groin, with blind desire, taking the invading cock. Franck reached down to grab the twin firm cheeks of the other man’s backside and he yanked them even farther apart, while his cock sank deep into the warmth and the smooth-fleshed vulnerability of the anal sheath tucked away between them.

  “Oh, yeah!” Brun exulted. “Give me that cock!”

  The whole length of Franck’s hard cock was planted inside the cop’s hot, writhing body, and his agitated penis was being tightly compressed by the muscular lining of Brun’s plugged ass. Breathing hard, sweating anew, Franck began to fuck.

  “Amyl, rookie,” Brun told Claude. “Give us the poppers.”

  Obediently Claude held the bottle, first for Brun to sniff, then Franck. The hot rush inspired Franck to jackhammer the cop’s anus, drilling it mercilessly, as though he intended to enlarge and deepen the hole.

  “Yeah, bitch,” Brun growled. “Come on, pussy boy, show me what you’ve got. This is your chance, punk—your chance to fuck a guy who’s older than you, bigger and stronger than you—and definitely a hell of a lot smarter than you,” he jeered. “Don’t hold back. Punish my hole!”

  “Yeah, fuck that man cunt of his,” Claude encouraged Franck.

  “You lousy, stinking cops!” Franck shouted. “I’d like to fuck you to death, both of you. Kill you with my cock!”

  “Not in your wildest dreams, whore,” Brun assured him. “But as long as you’re in there, give it your best try, boy!”

  All three men fell silent as Franck concentrated on the fuck. He continued to jackhammer his angry prick into the cop’s manhole, not sparing him. But Brun didn’t want to be spared. He seemed to glory in Franck’s use of him, while Claude gaped at the two men, whose bodies were locked together in the act of anal intercourse. The rookie seemed astonished by his fellow cop’s ability to withstand sexual punishment!

  After long, frantic minutes of nonstop pounding, Franck came—as violently as he could ever remember having lost his load. He shot repeatedly, copiously, inside that tight butch ass which he’d fucked so hard.

  “Oh, God!” he cried, when he felt the first hot spurts leaving his cock and flying deep into Brun’s spasming ass. “I’m coming, cop! I’m coming in your ass!”

  Brun’s whimpers of satisfaction betrayed the fact that he, too, was ejaculating, spraying his semen onto the already soiled bedsheets. Franck could feel the cop’s well-trained anal muscles closing even more snugly around the heat and rigidity of his cockshaft, milking him of his cum. The two men shuddered as they fucked their way through this consummation of their mutual lust.

  They remained the way they were on the bed, their bodies still moving against each other, although sluggishly, now. Franck’s cock was still planted deep inside Brun’s anus, and it felt warm and comfortable as it slid effortlessly back and forth within the juicy, cum-filled asshole.

  “Hot fuck,” Brun moaned, ecstatically. “I didn’t know you had it in you, kid. Although I sure as hell knew I had it in me!” he joked. “You really wrecked my ass! I’m worn out—done for the night when it comes to getting hard again, I’m afraid. Sorry, guys. If either of you is still horny, you can play with each other, or I’ll suck your cocks some more—or you can fuck me, while I lie here, comatose. But my derrick’s down, for the time being!”

  “It’s getting late,” Claude said. “I’d better go. I have to get home to my wife.”

  “Yeah,” was Brun’s terse response. “You’ve been in the habit of neglecting her, lately. If you’re not careful, she might start to catch on. Oh—while we’re on the subject, don’t forget about tomorrow night,” he added, enigmatically.

  “I won’t forget. Looking forward to it. I’ve got my excuse ready. Well—I can let myself out.” Claude got dressed, hurriedly, and then he left the bedroom—and the apartment, because Franck heard the front door close.

  “He’s still learning,” Brun said, as though by way of explanation. “And so are you.”

  “Learning what—that you’re the boss, and we should obey you?” Franck guessed.

  “That, among other things. You do catch on quickly, I’ll hand you that. Okay, you’ve passed one test,” Brun told Franck.

  “A test? What test?”

  “Oh, I just wanted to find out whether you’ve got the balls to be a top, as well as a bottom, should that ever be required—or desirable. Don’t make a habit of it, though, boy,” Brun went on, not without a certain dry humor audible in his tone of voice. “Dominating me is a special treat, one you have to earn. Understand that?”

  “Yes—sir.”

  “Good. You can take your cock out of me now, you know. It feels good, but you can’t leave it in there all night! Get dressed,” Brun said.

  While Franck did so, Brun pulled on only a pair of sweatpants. Seating himself at the desk, he took out an envelope and a piece of note paper. After writing a note, he folded the paper, inserted it into the envelope, licked the flap, and sealed it. Then he wrote on the outside of the envelope.

  “Now for a second test,” he said.

  “What might that be, sir?”

  “Are you prepared to obey my instructions, without questioning them? To do what I tell you? To have sex with other men, if I want you to, like you did with the rookie, tonight?”

  “Yes, sir.” Franck had a few reservations, but he said what he knew the other man wanted to hear.

  “Good. Tomorrow night, get on your bike and take this to the address I’ve written on it,” Brun told Franck, handing him the envelope. “Check out the address ahead of time, get directions if you have to, so you can be there at eight. Precisely at eight—not before, not after. They’ll be expecting you.”

  “Who’ll be expecting me?”

  “Some friends of mine. All cops. They’ll be having themselves a little party.”

  “Will you be there?”

  “No. Claude should be there, but otherwise you’ll be on your own. So don’t fuck up. Don’t do anything that’ll make me look bad. Ask for Rocco. I’ve written his name on the envelope, in case you forget. It’s his house. He’s the host.”

  “So—after I give him the envelope—then what? Do I just leave?”

  “No. You’re going to stick around. You’re going to be the entertainment. You’re going to do everything my cop buddies tell you to do—and if I find out, later, that you gave them any lip, or gave them a hard time—well, I guess we both know what that means. Don’t we, boy?”

  “I—”

  “I asked you a question. Didn’t you hear me?”

  “I heard you, sir.”

  “Well?” Brun asked, with an exaggerated show of patience. “Do you have an answer for me?”

  “I guess we do both know what that means, sir.”

  “Then you’ll obey me.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good boy. You’ll enjoy meeting my friends. And I know they’re going to like what you’re going to do for them. Okay, now you can go.”

  With the envelope in his hand, Franck started toward the bedroom door. He hesitated.

  “Sir—?” he asked
, softly.

  “Yeah?”

  “Can I get a kiss? Please?”

  Brun chuckled. “Sure.” He got up and padded, barefoot, to where Franck stood by the door. The two men embraced and kissed. With his arms around Brun and his hands pressed to the cop’s bare back, Franck eagerly opened his mouth wide, to accept the man’s probing kiss.

  With a grunt. Brun broke the kiss and pushed Franck away—gently, though. “Now get lost,” he said, although his tone of voice wasn’t particularly brusque, or unkind. “Tomorrow night, at eight,” he added, more sternly.

  “Tomorrow night, at eight, sir,” Franck repeated. “I won’t forget.”

  “You’d better not. And you’d better not let me down.”

  “I won’t do that, either—sir.”

  Chapter Nine: Cops Gone Wild

  Franck had no difficulty finding the address. It was a house in the suburbs, with nothing to distinguish it from the other residences in the quiet neighborhood. Lights were on in some of the rooms on the ground floor.

  There was a dearth of parking spaces—those near the house were occupied, and there were already two vehicles in the driveway. After checking out the exterior of the house, Franck rode farther down the block, where he finally found a spot to park his bike. He walked to the house and rang the doorbell.

  A very macho-looking uniformed cop opened the door. “Yeah?” he asked, eyeing Franck suspiciously.

  “Ah—I’m supposed to deliver this. To a guy named Rocco?” Franck held out the envelope.

  The cop took it from him, and examined the writing on it. “Come on in,” he said. “We’re expecting you. You’re the perp sent by Brun, aren’t you?”

  “I’m no perp,” Franck protested.

  “Yeah, says you,” was the cynical response.

  Franck followed the man, across a small vestibule, through a doorway, and into another room.

  There, some sort of an all-male gathering was going on. Franck guessed that the group wasn’t just all-male—it was probably all-cop, as well, as Brun had promised.

  He took a quick head count. Including the man who’d answered the door, there were no fewer than ten men in the room. They sat on the couch and the armchairs, or they stood around. Most of them had drinks in their hands. Presumably, they’d been conversing before his arrival, but they all fell silent when the doorman escorted Franck into the room. For a moment, the only sound was the clink of ice cubes in glasses. No music was playing. The silence was in fact rather oppressive, even ominous.

  Franck saw that four of the men were in uniform. They must have come to this get-together directly from work. The others were casually dressed, but Franck knew cops when he saw them. The direct, challenging stares they directed his way were a giveaway. He also spotted some good physiques—muscles pumped up in a gym, no doubt in order to increase the intimidation factor.

  Cops, he thought, aware of a strange, inexplicable stirring in his groin. Wall to wall cops, just like Brun promised!

  One of the faces was familiar. One of the four cops in uniform was Claude—the young married rookie with whom Brun and Franck had indulged in a threesome, only the night before. Claude acknowledged Franck’s presence with only the slightest of nods, his face betraying no emotion. If anything, his facial expression conveyed a studied, impersonal distance—and a disdain.

  Huh, Franck thought. I’m good enough to fuck your married whore ass, am I? But I’m not good enough for you to admit you know me, here among your macho cop buddies. Well—you can go fuck yourself, asshole! Rookie—that’s all you are, just like Brun said. Dumbass married rookie, here cheating on your wife—again! If only she knew what you’ve been getting up to, behind her back! I’ve had my dick up your ass—so has Brun, I’m sure—and I bet we’re not the only ones!

  While the tense, uncomfortable silence continued, Franck did his best to look nonchalant. He glanced about, taking in the details of his surroundings.

  He was in a large living room. The drapes were drawn across the windows, blocking the view of the outside—and, of course, ensuring the privacy of those inside the room. The furnishings were starkly masculine—lots of leather, chrome, glass, and dark woods, without much in the way of contrasting color, or indeed anything which might provide a clue about the personality of the resident. The hardwood floor, for example, was polished, but bare, devoid of any scatter rugs to relieve the monotony of its expanse.

  The lights in the room were turned down low, leaving parts of the space in shadow. Against one wall, a low, long console served as a bar, with bottles of liquor and glasses neatly arranged on top of it.

  The ceiling was rather high. Looking upward at it. Franck saw one sinister-looking feature of the décor. A heavy, no doubt structurally functional, beam ran from one wall to the opposite wall, a few feet below the ceiling. A length of heavy steel chain was wrapped around the beam and secured in place by a padlock. One end of the chain dangled down, within easy reach—in fact, someone who was careless while crossing the room, not watching where he was going, could very well hit his head on the end of the chain.

  Finally, the cop in uniform who had let Franck into the house stepped forward, holding out the envelope. “For you, Rocco.”

  A tall, burly man came forward, setting his drink down on the glass-topped chrome coffee table so he could use both hands to tear open the envelope and extract its contents. He was an impressive-looking man, with an amateur bodybuilder’s weight-trained physique, shown off to good advantage by the jeans and sweatshirt he wore. He had black hair, black eyes, and a thick, bristly mustache. He had “tough cop” written all over him, and Franck knew that he wasn’t the kind to tangle with.

  Those black eyes read Brun’s note, shifted to look Franck in the face, and then returned, to reread the message.

  “Ah, this is amusing,” Rocco said.

  “What’s it say?” one of the other men inquired.

  “Guys—this is Franck, my new punk slave boy and personal bitch,” Rocco read aloud. “Don’t let that innocent appearance of his fool you. He’s a thief and a whore. I’ve done my best to break him in, but he’s still an arrogant little pup. He could use some discipline. Feel free to flog him, fuck him, and do anything else you want to do to him. If he gives you any trouble, you guys know how to handle that. Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do! And I expect hear all about it, afterward.” Rocco put the note down and turned to Franck, with a smirk. “So—you’re a slut for hire, are you?”

  “I guess so,” Franck mumbled. “Whatever you say—sir.”

  “And you’ve been taking care of that horny bastard, Brun? Sucking his dick? Taking it up your ass? Being that stud cop’s personal little bitch?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m Brun’s boy. His bitch.”

  “How nice for you both. Looks as though Brun has taught you some manners.”

  “Yes, sir. He’s—very tough.”

  “You haven’t met ‘tough’ yet, boy,” Rocco scoffed. “But now you’re about to! Your punk ass belongs to us tonight. Your cop fucker is lending you to us. We’re going to make good use of you, boy. Is that understood?”

  “Yes—yes, sir.”

  “When’s the last time Brun fucked your ass?”

  “Last night, sir.”

  “Yeah, we know. Our buddy Claude told us all about it. What was that—something like twenty-four hours ago?” the big man jeered. “You’re overdue for a replay. That hole of yours must be pretty hot for it by now.”

  “I—”

  “Speak up, boy. Don’t be shy. You’re among friends. We’re all going to get along together, just fine. Tell us, do you like to be fucked?”

  “Yeah,” Franck mumbled, shamefacedly. “Yes, sir—I like to be fucked.”

  “By cops?”

  “Sure. Cops are the best,” Franck said, thinking that this blatant flattery might earn him some points in this tough crowd. Sure enough, he heard titters and guffaws, which lightened the tense mood in the room somewhat.

&n
bsp; “Then this is your lucky night. Okay, bitch,” Rocco growled. “Lose the jacket. Come on,” he went on, impatiently, when Franck hesitated. “Take it off!”

  Quickly, Franck shed his leather jacket, which one of the other cops took from his hand, tossing the garment over the back of one of the leather-upholstered armchairs.

  “Now the shirt,” Rocco decreed. “Take it off—unless you want it torn off.”

  Meekly, Franck removed his T-shirt, too. Stripped to the waist, he stood there, surrounded by the cops, trembling.

  “Come over here,” Rocco directed him. He seized Franck by one bare arm and guided him to a position under the ceiling beam. The loose end of the chain, dangling from the beam, smacked lightly against Franck’s shoulder, the metal cold against his skin. “Raise your arms,” was Rocco’s next instruction. “Get them high above your head.”

  One of the other cops had produced a pair of handcuffs. He secured them around Franck’s upraised wrists. Then he wound the end of the chain around the steel links which connected the individual cuffs. He pulled it taut, forcing Franck to remain upright. Another cop pulled a padlock from his pocket, and he used it to fasten the chain.

  Franck was now standing on the balls of his feet, with the heels of his boots raised slightly off the floor. He was manacled, and unable to turn his head far enough in either direction to see all of the men who stood around him in a circle.

  Desperately, he surveyed the faces of the ones whom he could see, searching for some hint of empathy. But all he saw was sternness, amusement, contempt—and lust.

  “Please,” he whispered.

  “Please what?’ Rocco demanded.

  “Please don’t hurt me, sir.”

  “Shut up. We’ll hurt you all we want, if we want to. Your best bet, boy, is not to resist.”

  “I can’t resist, sir,” Franck dared to point out. “Not the way you’ve got me trussed up.”

  “Yeah. You’ve got that right!” Rocco agreed, with a sneer.

  Then there was silence. For a long, almost unbearably suspenseful moment, nothing happened. None of the cops made a move, or said anything, while they all examined their handsome young prisoner, looking him over from head to foot.