3 comments/ 34868 views/ 10 favorites Rough Riding to BARUF Ch. 01 By: sr71plt 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? Rough Riding to BARUF Ch. 02 The cop was patting me on the butt cheeks with his billy club and telling me what a nice fuck I was as a second cop pulled up on a motorcycle, cut the engine, and stood the cycle up on its stand. He strode over to us, and I could tell in an instant that he wasn't here to help me escape the first cop. He also looked a lot younger and more fit than the first cop. I was shivering in anticipation. "He had the sign in his window?" the second cop asked the first one. "You're sure the sign was in the window?" "Sure thing. Look for yourself." The second cop proceeded to walk behind my car and take a look at the rear window. He grunted a sign of satisfaction, and came back around to where I was cuffed to the police car. "Nice ride," he said to the first cop. "The Jag or the guy?" the first cop said, and then he gave a hoarse little laugh in appreciation of his own joke. "Both," the second cop said, and he too laughed. My ears burned from the comment. It was a silly thing to do, of course. The first cop had fucked me, and the second cop could see me with my naked butt hanging out, and I was embarrassed that they were talking about how nice a fuck I was. This wasn't a time for logic, however. I watched in anticipation mixed with consternation as the second cop stripped off his shirt. He was obviously a bodybuilder and very impressed with himself, as he had every right to be. "You wanna do him here or on the bike?" the first cop asked. "On the bike, I think. He looks like a real fun one." Cop number one uncuffed me from the rack on top of the cruiser and manhandled me over to the motorcycle, swung my leg over the seat, and pushed me down, chest up and bare butt on the smooth leather of the seat. I was handcuffed on either side to the handlebars of the bike. Cop number two unzipped his tight blue pants and pulled out a thick piece that was already loaded. He rolled a condom on, swung a leg over the bike below me, took my calves in his gloved hands, and spread them wide. My butt dug into the cold leather of the saddle. Then he took aim, his barrel was rifling into me, and he was vigorously stroking. His hands moved up to take a strong hold on my thighs, and as he stroked in with his piece, he was pulling my hips back to meet him and then pushing me away as he pulled out of me. He was coming all of the way out of me and then stroking quickly and strongly all the way back in to the root. Cop number one was hunched over my chest, and he was working my nipples with his teeth and tongue. I gasped and yelped in pain, but more because of what the first cop was doing to my nipples and because my tender butt was chafing on leather of the saddle. Otherwise, this was a glorious fuck. I plastered my eyes on those of the second cop, and I thrilled at the look of lust in his eyes as he stroked me. I could tell the instant that he was ready to fire off his rifle, and I gave a little lurch to my hips that made him explode, which also made firecrackers of satisfaction shoot through my own body. And then the cops were all business. They both pulled away from me and adjusted their uniforms. I was released from the bike, and the first cop pulled my T back down onto my body. It stung where the material came into contact with the welts from the whipping. He then had me step back into my pants and he fastened me up. He forced me back into the driver seat of my car and handcuffed both of my hands to the steering wheel. "Gotta take you in, Pretty Boy. Can't resist arrest and not be taken in for a spell." "But, but, I didn't . . ." "Drive behind me. Dan here will be driving behind you. No use trying to slip away, 'cause you can't get out of those cuffs. Just drive along behind me, like a good little piece of ass." We drove in tandem back to the state police building, where it appeared that the two of them were the only ones on duty. "Okay, back in the tank," cop number one said, as he manhandled me out of the car, through the door of the station, and toward the back room. I didn't see cop number two again, which I sort of regretted, because he was the better looking of the two and had given me the better fuck. There were four cells in the back room of the station, but only one occupant, a big Neanderthal trucker type wearing a gas station work uniform consisting of dark pants and a greasy striped shirt that was so dirty I couldn't read the name on the pocket. He was so barrel chested that he was almost busting out of the shirt at the chest. His feet were stuffed into muddy construction-worker boots. He had been dozing on one of two cots in the cell when we entered the room. Even though the other three cells were empty, the cop forced me over to the occupied cell, unlocked the door, and pushed me in. "Here, I brought you a present, Jack. A pretty boy; I've already tried him out myself. Good meat, if I do say so myself." "No, please, don't" I whimpered, as the cop took first my right arm and cuffed it over the bars above my head and behind me and then my left arm to the other side, stretching me out, my back to the bars and me facing the inside of the cell and the grinning cop and the slobbering trucker type. There was a wooden bench below me, behind my thighs. "Gotta go make some calls, Jack. Enjoy." And the cop left the cell, shot the lock home, and started whistling as he sauntered back to the front of the facility. "I do'n know, Juan," the other prisoner was calling out to the cop's disappearing back. "We could get into a lot of trouble over this." "Naw, it's cool, Jack," the cop called back over his shoulder before he disappeared up the hall. "He had a BARUF sign in the back window of his car." Once again he caught me wondering, what the fuck does baruf mean? "Well, all right then," Jack said to no one in particular. He stood there in front of me for about a minute, a sloppy grin on his face, drinking me in. "No, please don't . . ." I whimpered, but that was as much as I could get out, before he reached over with a big mitt, grabbed hold of the collar of my T, and just ripped it off my torso. Then he came into me with his beer breath and tried to kiss my lips while his was fiddling with my belt buckle and the zipper to my jeans. I turned my head, and his mouth landed in the hollow of my neck, where he bit me and then moved down to my chest and nipples, slurping and nipping. He took a couple of steps back as he pulled the jeans off my legs. "Hot damn, Merry Christmas," he exclaimed. He pulled his shirt over his head, his biceps and chest muscles rippling and bulging. Even his muscles seemed to have muscles. And when he'd pulled his pants off, I saw the most impressive muscle he had. He was almost as big and thick as cop number two had been. I gulped with arousal and anticipation. I had thought that my hundred dollars had been well spent on the two cops. This was quite a bonus. He gave an unearthly scream and plowed right into me. He pushed me up the bars with his hands under my thighs, and after a couple of swallowing pumps of my cock, got his mouth applied to my asshole and slobbered that up pretty well. I had my feet on the bench now, but he lifted my right leg off the bench and up almost to the bars with his left hand, while he was positioning his rod at my asshole. And then he was in, plunging to the root. Up went my other leg, and I was "hammocked" there, my wrists cuffed to the bars behind and above me, my legs being held up and out by strong hands, my welted back rubbing up against the bars, and my butt suspended in air, as my ass, firmly skewered by his big pole swayed in and out with his pumping motion. He took even longer than the cops had to shoot off up my ass. But when he did, he just let me collapsed against the bars, pulled his shirt and pants back on, went back to his cot, turned his back to me, and soon drifted off into satisfied snores. Rough Riding to BARUF Ch. 03 Exhausted and trying to escape the pain and this filthy cell, I forced myself into sleep. I was wedged in a sitting position on the bench, handcuffed to the jail cage bars and propped on one butt cheek to relieve the pressure on my ass. It had been a truly rough ride, but it had really hit the spot. I was aroused and satisfied as I never had been before, and it had been well worth the effort and risk. I slowly came to as voices became louder from the hall of the station. One of the voices sounded familiar. As two figures came in sight, I wasn't surprised to see the guy I had settled this deal with in the Starbucks. He was wearing army fatigues now, though and he looked a good deal more "squared away" than he had when I last saw him. Another uniform. My cock took a lurch. A uniform really made a man. "Ah, look at him," the familiar voice was saying, "I haven't seen one of our clients strung up like that before." "He was resisting," cop number one said with a big grin. "Yeah, I'll bet. I knew you'd do him, but you didn't rough him up like that all by yourself, did you?" "Naw, it wasn't all me, Stretch. Dan and Jack here took a dip too. This guy got his money's worth." "Not quite yet," Stretch said with a dry laugh. "These welts look pretty nasty. Your work?" A little giggle from the cop. "Yeah, you know me real well, Stretch, I guess. And what I like. But he ain't none the worse for wear. I didn't do any of my black leather stuff on him. Well, not much, anyway." Stretch was standing over me inside the cell now, the cop right behind him, and the trucker-type dude still snoring over on the cot. "Hey, kid, it's me, the guy from Starbucks." He was talking down at me now, but he turned to the cop. "Let's get those cuffs off him now and get him into another room. You got any salve or something we can use on him?" "Sure thing, Stretch." My hands were freed and I just collapsed onto the bench. Cop number one came back with the salve and they got me into another room, some place that looked like a small interrogation room, with a small beat-up wooden table and two rickety chairs. I was still naked, but the cop brought my underwear and pants along. My T-shirt was in shreds now. "Here, stand up and lean over this table," Stretch ordered. I did so, and he gently applied the salve to the welts all over my body. The cop just stood there, watching, a little grin on his face and breathing pretty heavily. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him rubbing his basket from time to time. Before Stretch was finished, the cop turned and left the room; off getting his rocks off at my expense again, no doubt. "Okay, I think that will help," Stretch eventually said. "Put your pants back on and let's go." "Go where?" I asked suspiciously. "I was on my way down the road and plan to be back on my way down the road." "Well, you'll have to drive me back to Annapolis first," Stretch said. "I got a ride right out here from a meeting as soon as I heard you were here. I know you were having fun, but any more of that and I'd have to charge you another hundred. I'm without wheels, so you're going to have to drive me back first." What could I say? He had sprung me from the jail and, more important, seemed to have full power to put me back there if he so decided. So, we went out the door and to the Jag. As we were leaving, I could see cop number one off in a side room, slumped in a chair, his pants off, beating himself with one hand and flicking his whip across his legs with the other. We weren't more than a couple of miles down the road, when Stretch started gently tracing the welt marks on my chest and belly with his right hand. "Please, don't do that," I said. "Do they still hurt?" He asked. "They do sting a bit," I answered. His hand went down and covered my basket. "Hey, don't do that," I said. "Just stop, all right?" But it wasn't all right. He was unbuckling my belt, unzipping my jeans, and running his hand into the opening. He bypassed my cock and my balls, and his big index finger slid on across my perineum and stopped at the rim of my ass. "Stop; just stop that," I said. He got his left hand under my butt and pushed me forward on the seat, which gave him better entry to my ass with the fingers of his other hand, and enter he did with that index finger. He was moving it around, driving me crazy. "We're going to have an accident if you don't stop that," I said, trying to put irritation in my voice. But he was really turning me on. "Then pull over," he said huskily. "There, up ahead. There's a closed shopping strip mall. Pull in behind that." "No. Certainly not!" His finger pushed farther in and my body jerked and the car veered out of the lane. "God, you're going to kill us!" "Not if you do what I say. Not if you pull over where I told you to." "Okay, okay. Pull that finger out and I'll pull over." He did, and I drove around and behind the closed line of stores. As soon as I'd gotten stopped, he had his hand back in my lap, this time stroking my cock, pumping me up. His mouth was on mine in a long, drawn-out kiss. He broke away and opened his door. He was holding my right wrist in his left hand with a strong wrestler's grip. "Here, out of the car. This side. I don't want to have to chase you down, but I could if I had to." I first tried to fasten my pants, but he just said, "No, you're not going to need to do that." "But . . ." "Just take the damn seatbelt off and slide in this direction." I did as he demanded. When he had me out of the car, he slammed the front passenger door, opened the back door, and pushed me down on the back seat. He produced a set of the cop's handcuffs from somewhere, snapped one end around my right wrist, and then pushed me down along the back seat, passing the linking chain through the seat belt two-thirds down the seat, and then snapped the other cuff on my left wrist. I was stretched out on the seat, my torso and arms inside the car, my butt on the edge of the door side of the seat, and my legs hanging out of the car. He stripped my pants off and stepped back and pulled his own clothes off. He produced his ointment and a condom from somewhere and sheathed and lathered up his cock, pumping it up to its gigantic proportions. I should have been horrified. But my body was aching to be taken by another man in uniform. He took a gob of ointment and started working it into my asshole. I was lying on my left side, and he lifted my right leg up to give him an good view of my channel. When he had me moistened up to his satisfaction and his own pole standing at magnificent attention, he slapped my butt and said, "Get out here. Get your butt out here, feet on the ground, chest on the seat." I wasn't moving fast enough for him, so he dragged me out of the car and brought my rear end up into the air. "Stand wide," he said. "Stand as wide as you can for your own good." I believed him and did so. He pulled my butt cheeks apart and brought his mouth to my asshole and tongued it briefly. Then he was only holding my left butt cheek, and I felt his cock at my hole. It reminded me of that cop's billy club. He took his time entering me, and when he was in all the way, he rocked me back and forth, pumping deep. I moaned and groaned and he grunted and sighed. After a few minutes, he turned me, rotating me around his embedded cock, and had me laying on my left side again, raising my right leg and side splitting me with continued deep pumps. "So, dude. Do you like this? Do you love this?" "Yes," huff, puff. "Too rough? Should I stop?" "Oh, God, no. Don't stop." He rotated me yet again. This time my back was on the seat, and he was supporting my butt up in the air with both of his hands, suspending me and moving both his cock and my pelvis in a rapid, deep fuck. I got my legs and feet back in the car. My right foot was in the corner of the back window, and my left foot was on the ceiling above the passenger door. He pumped and pumped and pumped, and then he pulled out of me. I felt his withdrawal as a loss. I was on the point of coming. I wanted to come while he was inside me. "What do you want me to do now?" he said, knowing full well what I wanted. Silence. "I don't know, what do I want you to do?" I couldn't bring myself to say it. "You want me to fuck you, fuck you hard; fuck your brains out. Say it." "Fuck me. Fuck me hard; fuck my brains out." And he did that as best he could. He got a pillow off the floor and stuffed in under my hips, and just fucked me and fucked me and fucked me. His hands came over my hips. His right hand went to my cock and he pumped me until I shot off all over his belly. His hands then traveled slowly up my torso and buried themselves in my chest. With a heave he pulled his rod out of my ass and shoot up my belly. Then he lowered his belly to mine, and moved it around, mingling my cum with his. He stood up, put his clothes back on, made a clumsy attempt to push my pants back on as well, pushed me all the way into the car, slammed the door, and came around to the driver's side and got in. "I'll drive the rest of the way. You can drop me off down by the harbor and then drive on back to the Academy yourself. Any problem with a check being in the mail tomorrow?" "No," I said with a sigh. "Satisfied?" "Yes, very?" "Anything else we need to do here?" A long pause. "Well, there is something else," I said. "What in the hell does baruf mean?" He laughed and then he told me. "BARUF is an acronym used to tell the cops along this route what you've paid to have done. It stands for bondage and rough uniformed fuck. You were just picking from the menu." When I dropped him off, I was happy to note that he hadn't taken the sign back. There was no telling when I might want to take a fast ride down that straight and level section of Route 301 again.