Cuffed and Ravaged: My Forbidden Fuck in the Interrogation Room

Interrogation room. Stale air. Flickering bulb. Patrick Randeau sits, right hand cuffed to the radiator. My pulse races. We’ve messaged for days on Rêvebébé. Filthy texts. ‘I’ll suck you dry.’ ‘Fuck me like a slut.’ Now this. Our twisted date spot. No time to waste.

I stride in. Jeans hug my ass. Blouse loose. Play the part. Commissaire Féréol, Toulouse drawl thick. ‘You know why you’re here?’ Firm. Menacing. But inside? Pussy soaked. Adrenaline spikes.

The Approach

Uniform cop glares. Threatens. I send him out. Door clicks. Alone. He smirks. Defiant. We spar. Laws. Deviance. Prisons stuffed with pervs. His words sting. ‘You suck your husband off?’ Heat rises. Cheeks burn. No husband. No sex unless wed. Bullshit rules.

‘You ever crave pussy? They’d lock you up.’ Silence. I pace. His eyes devour. Days of chat flash: cock pics. My wet selfies. Urgency burns. Fuck talking.

Key out. Extra cuffs. Snap his left wrist. Spread eagle. Pants tent. ‘What the fuck?’

‘Living free. Finally.’ Yank zipper. Pants down. Boxers follow. Cock flops. Thick. Veiny. Smell hits: sweat, pre-cum. My perfume blooms – jasmine, musk. Kneel. Lips part. Swallow.

He hardens instant. Steel. Pulse throbs on tongue. Slurp. Gag. Drool strings. Inexperienced slurps. Raw hunger. ‘Stop, you’re nuts!’

Phone buzzes. Pocket. Ignore. Colleague? Fuck ’em. Spit shine. Balls tight.

Up. Door locked. Gun on desk. Grip it. Threat. Eyes widen. Skirt hikes. Panties – black lace – yank aside. Straddle thighs. Grip shaft. Wet slit kisses head. Drop.

The Explosion

Full stretch. Gasp. ‘Oh merde, thick cock!’ Ride. Hips slam. Slap-slap-wet. Tits jiggle. Blouse strains. His groans mix mine. Helpless thrusts up.

‘Fuck your cop cunt, writer. Fill me!’ Grind clit. Fast. Frenzy. Sweat slicks skin. Perfume chokes air. Phone vibrates again. Buzz-buzz. Heart hammers. Someone knocks? No. Deeper.

Tension coils. Nails dig shoulders. ‘Cum in me! Now!’ Walls pulse. Cream floods. His jets hot. Deep. I shatter. Scream rips: ‘Ouiii!’

Collapse. Pant. Cum leaks. Thigh sticky. Rise slow. Cock slips free. Pop. Drip. Wipe fingers on his shirt. Panties snap. Skirt smooth.

Eyes meet. Stranger again. ‘Fun chat, fun fuck. Bye.’ Unlock door. No cuffs off. Leave him spent. Gasp.

Hallway. Cool air. Phone out. Answer. ‘He’s breaking. Send papers.’ Voice steel. Commissioner mode. Pulse slows. Wipe lip gloss. Smirk.

Gone. Back to screens. Next match. Adrenaline fades. Life spiced. No regrets.