Rough Riding to Baruf

I had found him through a friend of a friend of a friend. He didn't look like much when we met in Starbucks to discuss particulars. In fact, he didn't look at all like what I wanted.

"So, how did you settle on this?" he asked me.

"It was a costume party," I answered. "I hadn't, you know, been much interested in or turned on by anything until then, and . . ."

"Well, you look mighty fine to me," he said. "Surely you've gotten offers by real studs."

"Yeah, but this was different," I said.

I was, of course, flattered by what he was saying, but he didn't turn me on at all. He was a bit on the rangy side and more hippy like than authoritarian, so it really was kind of a waste of breath. In fact, this whole idea, this obsession, seemed a waste of breath and effort now that I'd actually moved to do something about it. Perhaps it was just as well. Maybe the obsession would die as quickly as it had been born. But it hadn't died yet. I still melted at the mere thought of it.

"As I was saying," I continued, "I was at this party and several of the guys were beefy and were in uniforms and that really got to me. And then they got a little rough, and that got to me even more." I stopped there.

"And?" he said, egging me on to say it.

"Well, I went wild and jacked off like I'd never done before." Another pause.

"And?" he repeated.

He was going to make me say it. "And I want it like that again. I checked around, and it led to you. But now that we've met, I don't think—"

"It would cost you a hundred bucks," he cut in. that's if we're including bondage, which is what I was told you wanted included."

"Excuse me?"

"Here. You'll paste this in the back window of your car when you want it and go cruising a little above the speed limit down on 301 on that stretch between the cutoff from Route 50 to the beaches and the Maryland-Delaware line. Afterward, if it goes through, you'll mail a check to this address made out to this name." He was taking a cardboard sign and a slip of paper out of his knapsack. On the sign, in big, black capital letters was printed the term BARUF. What sort of word was baruf, I wondered.

But while I was thinking about that, he was getting ready to leave.

"You mean you're not—?" I said, confused and not as sure about this as I was when I started calling around.

"With me? Hell, no, kid," he said with a snort. "Just do what I told you."

"But the payment. How can you be sure I'll pay up."

"Oh, I'm sure. If you get the service, I'm sure you'll pay up. You'll see what I mean. You'll get the idea of what it means if you don't pay up."

Bewildered, I watched him walk out of the coffee shop. I picked up the sign. It was on a board about eight inches by eleven. It could probably be seen at a good distance. Baruf. What in the hell does baruf mean, I thought again.

But, hey, I hadn't been turned on and creamed like at the costume party in, like, forever. And it was worth a try. I had come this far with it. It was worth a try.

Two days later, the day was sunny, the Naval Academy had been on recess for more than a week, and I wouldn't have to be back there for several more days. And I had nothing better to do, and I felt horny. So, it was into the old Jag sedan and out onto the road across the Bay Bridge and the narrows and toward Wilmington. I had remembered to paste the sign up in the back window. Baruf. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

When 301 forked off to the north from 50, I let the engine rip and built up some speed. The road was straight and flat and there were few cars going my way. Everyone on the road was going to the beaches, and those were behind me now.

I passed a Maryland rest area. Beyond those there was nothing else out here except flat, sandy land that was once ocean bed and that now supported large fields of corn. I slowed down a tad when I saw a state police building coming up on my right, but I was still going a bit over the speed limit. But, then, who didn't? And the road was flat and straight and nearly deserted.

No more than three miles beyond the state police building, though, I heard a siren and was pulled over to the side of the road. I sat in the car, wondering what I had done wrong, as a solid-looking policeman decked out in a tight uniform and shiny black boots strutted around and took a look at both license plates, all the time swishing a mean-looking night stick with a short leather whip on one end. I wasn't going any faster than anyone else would go on this road. There wasn't anything out here to hit that was worth anything. I rolled down the window as the cop approached. He leaned an arm on the sill and looked intently at me through very dark sunglasses.

"Let me see your license and registration, son."

"Umm, just a minute," I said, as I struggled to get the glove compartment open. "What seems to be the problem, though?"

"License and registration please."

I handed them over to him, and he took them back to his cruiser and did some communicating into a mike on his dash. He got out of the car and sauntered back to mine. He was a tall, muscular Hispanic dude with an obvious attitude toward non-Hispanics.

"Is that your sign in the back window of this here car?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," I answered. "But it isn't obstructing my vision. Both of my side mirrors are working fine and I really can see out the back. The sign isn't blocking much."

He didn't answer and he didn't hand my license back to me. "Now, I have to do some more checking, so I want you to pull your car up in the overgrown driveway up there. Pull in a good fifty feet, beyond those trees. I'll be right behind you." I did as he asked. The place he indicated obviously had been abandoned. There was a burnt-out wooden house at the end of a broken-asphalt driveway that was choked with tall weeds. And I don't think either my car or the cruiser could be seen from the road where we pulled to a stop. He came back to my window.

"Officer, what seems to be—?"

"Step out of the car, please."

"But—"

"Get out of the car now, hands showing, and assume the position on my police ride over here, hands out wide on top and legs apart."

I got out of the car, although I couldn't open the door all the way. The copy was in tight, not giving me much room to maneuver.

"Farther away from the car, now! Over to my ride. Assume the position. Feet wider apart."

He tapped me. No, more than tapped me, bonked me pretty hard on the thigh. It hurt. But I did what he said. I was a little off balance now, concentrating hard to keep my weight balanced on my hands. I figured this was probably the point.

"Got any drugs in the car?"

"Drugs? Me? No, I don't do drugs."

"That's not necessarily what your rap sheet says."

"My rap sheet? What rap sheet?"

"Got any drugs on your person?"

"Certainly not. Listen, officer—"

"Save it."

He started patting me down, doing a real thorough job, not excepting my privates. When he was finished, he stood there beside me. He seemed to be breathing a little heavy, which probably should have clued me in.

"Afraid I'm going to have to do a cavity search."

"Excuse me? A what?"

"Now don't go resisting an officer, he said," as he tapped me meaningfully on the cheek with the big end of his nightstick.

"Open wide," and he had his fingers in my mouth and was roughly feeling around on all sides in there.

"Now, these pants are going to have to come off."

"My pants!?"

"I said a cavity search." He tapped me on the cheek with his nightstick again, and then he put the stick under his arm and held my butt in his left hand as he unbuckled my belt and zipped down my pants with his right."

"Pull your legs together." Down and off came the pants and underpants in one movement. "Now, take the stance again." I was about ready to cry in frustration and bewilderment, but I did as he told me. His left hand was on my bare butt now, and his right was searching around my balls and cock, which was beginning to come to life.

"Can't be too careful; they're hiding it just about anywhere these days." His voice was thick, and he was breathing heavier. He got behind me, and I felt his searching fingers going for my asshole. He entered right in. I winced and turned my butt to get away from him, but he whipped me one good one with the whip on the end of his nightstick and stuck the larger end of it between my legs and into the back of my ball sac.

"Seems to me you're resisting, son. You're going to have to pay for that."

I'd had about enough of this, cop or no cop, and I began to push off the car, but quick as a flash he had two pairs of handcuffs out and handcuffed me to the ends of the racks on the top of the police car. Then his fingers went back to digging in my ass.

"Oh, God, no," I cried out. "Stop that! You can't—"

"I can't what, Pretty Boy?" he said close to my ear as he grabbed a handful of my hair and arched my head back. "I can do whatever I please. And you're going to let me do whatever I please." Swish, swish went the whip across my butt cheeks. And now the nightstick was being pulled back across my perineum and to my asshole and being rubbed and pushed against my puckered rim. All of my attention went to my asshole now and to doing all I could to open up to business end of the billy club. I was sure that he was going to fuck me with that big club and was wildly wondering if that would tear me apart so badly that I'd die. Another part of me felt a shiver of excitement and arousal shoot through me, however. This is what I'd come out here to find. He did get the stick pushed in an inch or two, and then he suddenly pulled it away.

Swish, swish. He stroked the whip end against my butt cheeks and then he slapped me on the butt a couple of times. And then I felt another rod back there, between my thighs. Not as big as the billy club, but more insistent. He pulled my T-shirt up over my head and onto my arms as far as it would go.

Then he entered me from behind with his fair-sized hard prick. Pushing pretty quickly and steadily, not really giving me enough time to open to him. I arched my back into his chest and cried out in surprise and pain as he went in to the root, and he swished his whip across my chest and belly and thighs. Not sharp enough to cut but enough to raise welts and to cause flickers of pain. He must have had a strap with studs on it wrapped around the base of his cock, because the rim and entry of my ass were being chafed by something nobbly.

He pumped me for a good fifteen minutes before he came inside me, filling the head of condom enough for me to tell he was done, all the time slapping my butt cheeks and swishing that leather whip across my body and giving a little nasty laugh at the moaning and groaning I was doing.

I cried out for what he was doing to me but not in fear or loathing really. It was really turning me on. My cock was ballooning out as it never had done before. The uniform, the surprise, the rough treatment. I was panting and moaning for what his cock was doing inside me.

He was pulling out of me when I heard the roar of a motorcycle coming down the road from the same direction I had been traveling in. The sound got loader and I realized it had turned into the overgrown driveway. My senses were heightened. Was someone coming to rescue me?