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Cock-Sucker - Testimony Ch. 04

By: tristantrotsky



Things get weirder in the House Of Shame

As the weeks extend, things get weirder. A lot of water under the bridge, a lot of other stuff too. Wolfie becomes more confident in his power over me, and also, I guess, something of the novelty of my slavish attachment to him is wearing off. So he needs to shove it further. We were in the gymnasium, I was close to Wolfie. But there was this other youth who has dark hair gelled back, I much later learn he's called Buzz, and he was fooling around suggestively. 

Eventually he hisses at me "Hey, sweet-boy, I could really fuck your face, how about it?"

I feel embarrassed, but almost despite myself I blurt out "You'll have to ask Wolfie. I belong to him."

Wolfie smirks at me, then at Buzz. "What's it worth to you?"

They begin talking in low voices that I can't quite hear, but to my amazement I realise they're bargaining for me. Eventually Wolfie comes across to me. "Go to the changing room with him and suck him off."

It's assumed I have no say in the matter. Meekly I do as I'm told. The price - I later discover, was two cigarettes. Without a murmur I obediently follow Buzz back into the changing room and wait as he looks around for a suitable corner, then he shoves his elasticated gym shorts down to his knees. He's got a big cock with a wicked highly-pigmented foreskin and pendulous testicles. Despite myself my entire attention is fixed on his groin and I feel myself colour slightly with expectation at what's to occur. Imagining already how much of it I can get into my mouth. Yes, I can do this. 

I sit down on the nearest bench so that I'm level with his thighs. He stands with his hands on his hips in front of me with a wide grin. Momentarily I look up at him, meeting his eyes, then take it gently in my hand, hot and firm, moving my head down submissively to slide it between my pursed lips. 

I was controlling the situation, but almost immediately his arrogant coolness dissolves as he feels my lips circling him, I see his gut quake and his hips move as I begin to suck it. I'm losing control as he moves in closer, his pelvis easing in an evil steady thrusting motion forcing me back until my head is backed up against the wall, fucking my throat. Uncomfortably I hold his fat balls in one hand and concentrate on sucking as best I can despite retching and involuntary tears clouding my vision. All control gone. 

Halfway through I hear movement and giggling, which tells me we have an audience. Someone sniggers "The dirty little sod."

It makes Buzz pause for a moment, lodged so far down my throat I feel I'm suffocating, my face must be reddening, my eyes bugging.

"Don't kill the pervy bastard" came a second disembodied voice. 

Why is it always me that's the perv? I wouldn't be doing this if they weren't compelling me to do it. Well, I would, but just not so much. And that moist pre-cum patch staining the front of my shorts? Well, I can't help that, can I? Buzz shrugs, and resumes fucking and I keep sucking, mewling slushy, gushy, squishy wet-noises, dribbling long drooling spit-bubbles down my chin. 

My only hope is to make him cum sooner rather than later, get it over with as quickly as possible. So I suck with savage determination, using my tongue around its thickness. Until with a groan he begins creaming down my throat, a single slurpy pulse, followed by two smaller pulses, then nothing more than the slightest trembling. Wolfie and a couple of others are standing there smirking, applauding.

"OK?" enquires Wolfie.

"Not bad" concedes Buzz breathily, wiping his wet spermy cock across my face. "I've had better. Tell you what though, Wolfie." He rubs his cock in my hair to remove the last traces of saliva. "I've heard that practice makes perfect, and purely as a friendly gesture to you, I'd be willing to put him through his paces, sharpen up his technique, give him all the practise he needs."

"Fuck off" laughs Wolfie. "You want more, you know what to do. I'm sure we can come to some sort of... arrangement."

He snaps his fingers at me, and without a backward glance I meekly follow him back out into the gym, my hair drying into the hard flaky ridges left by his ejaculate. And again, rather than feeling cheap and debased, I feel a sense of considerable achievement. I'd been set a task, and I'd performed it. 

Others might consider me weak? Feeling that I should fight such debasement and humiliation. Such a possibility never existed. Some would likely have died rather than submit. Me? call me spineless, but I'm not that strong. I realise how I must appear. A gutless wimp with no pride or self-esteem. And of course, they'd be right to think that. I was all those things, and more. I suck cock when it's expected of me. I know I have no choice. No other possibility exists. By now it's way too late. Within that first month at the Big House I'd been reduced to absolute sexual servitude and fully accepted the role without regret or remorse. 

One day I saw 'Chuckler' Phil again, the young guy from the kitchen, and - jealous or resentful perhaps, he cornered me in the cloakroom. If he'd been sullenly silent before, it seemed he's found his voice. 

"I think it's demeaning and degrading the things you do with Wolfie" he spat out. "Do you like what he forces you to do? Do you like the way he does things to you with his... penis?"

"Who says I do those things with Wolfie?" I counter.

"Come off it, it's common knowledge you're his cum-slut."

I smile defensively, a little awkward. How can I deny his accusations, when I've already decided that my 'protection' depends on people knowing what's going on?

"Sometimes it's OK. Sometimes it's not too bad."

"So you're his sex-slave?"

"Not exactly, no. I can always refuse."

"But he sticks it in your mouth?"

"Yes."

"And that's OK?"

"I guess so. That's what he wants, that's what I must do. At first it seems a little strange. After a while you get used to it. Then it's fine."

"I never could. Yuch."

I squirm in discomfort, not at all at ease with this disapproving level of intimate interrogation. "But I'm not the only one doing stuff, and anyway, what we do together is no business of anyone else."

Then it gets worse. "But it is, don't you see?" And he accuses me of making it worse for others. "You've made yourself into a cheap cock-pig, putting yourself around as a push-over, a sure-thing, a Slag, and by your absolute acquiescence and your willingness to do whatever Wolfie wants you're setting the bar others are compelled to conform to."

Perhaps he's telling me something about himself, about his own situation, whatever it is the two trusties are making him do when they take him into the store-room, who knows? That's as maybe. He could be right. Of course, if force, duress or threat are being used I'm very much opposed to that. I'm not being forced to do anything, and firmly believe that no-one else should be either. Since that very first night with Dean I'd been faced with a clear choice. I can resist and fight back alone, or go with the flow. I'd taken what I considered to be a pragmatic decision. To do what he wants. 

The fact that I've accepted the situation determines what I'm doing now. But it was down to me and no-one else. It was my choice. I could have refused to participate. I still can. I choose not to. But I can't be held responsible for the sex-life of others. That's unfair. I must do what I must do. All I'm concerned with is getting through the day. And the next day. And the one after that. One day at a time. Surviving from day to day. That's enough. 

Maybe you - reading this, think of me as a poor miserable little sod, a pathetic victim? Perhaps I am all those hurtful things 'Chuckler' Phil says I am? Yet certainly, despite it all, I grudgingly admit, I'm also increasingly driven to extremes and attracted to excess, just as Wolfie is. In a different way, I have appetites and tastes that amplify as I go on. His extremism takes the form of pumping more sperm down my throat, my extremism, increasingly, is to accept it. 

Do I enjoy sucking his cock? Stupid question. It's fairly obvious I do. Whenever or wherever he wants. And to those of his friends he specifies. I must do as he says. It's not my fault. It's not of my volition. But fate has arranged it that I'm his to do with sexually as he pleases. That's enough. But, yes - own up, there's a weird pleasure in that submission too. Perhaps my essential nature is, what they say, submissive, and I have a real need to be dominated? 

I begin to seriously have doubts about my state of mind, is this all getting out of hand? Am I losing all semblance of control? This sex thing had begun as a pragmatic acceptance of the inevitable fate I've been forced into. Now it was more than that. Now it's all gone into some other place. Am I developing a dependence on it? Am I getting addicted to it? And if so, what does that make me? Will I ever be the same again? And Wolfie ratchets it ever-higher. I was sleeping over in his dorm now, on an unused bed adjacent to his, to make it easier, to make it more convenient. And as far as I'm concerned, that's no problem.

I never really speak properly with Phil again. Perhaps he was as embarrassed by his outburst as I was? But there's a curious sequel to the incident. One night I left Wolfie's bed driven by the urgent need to go take a piss, pacing through a strangely haunting moonlit emptiness. In the neutral space between dorms the toilet was often used for assignations, there were penis-sized holes bored in the partition walls and graffiti indicating dates, times and lurid promises. But tonight it was empty. Idly glancing out of the window once I'd completed my ablutions, I could glimpse an expanse of the grounds, the lawn, outbuildings, and the wooded area beyond. And there was a pale moving shape. 

I focus my attention on the figure, the ghost weaving through the trees, running in a slow-jog - and completely naked. I can't be certain, but I was convinced in my mind that it was Phil. What was he doing? Was he being pursued? No, he was alone. So he's running a complete circuit of the grounds, around the inner retaining wall, for a wager, a dare, or a forfeit? A bet, or a penance, or because of a threat? I wished I had binoculars, or a high-powered telescope so I could see him more clearly, pick out the detailed movement of his tackle as he ran. My interest was curiously aroused. I watch the furtive figure glancing around, ducking through the shadows of trees and around the sheds, then further until he vanished out of sight. 

It was easy to move between dorms, as I've discovered, but after lights-out it was virtually impossible to descend to the ground floor, never mind leave the building. Unless he knows a secret route through the kitchen? Or unless there's actual collusion with the staff? Sure, there were rumours of illicit drinking and gambling - and more, in the outbuildings at night, although no-one could ever provide proof to substantiate the rumours. 

As I tiptoe back to my bed I have to pass Wolfie's bed, and in the gloom I can see him lying on his back in a deep sleep, his covers sufficiently disarrayed for me to glimpse his groin. The ridge of body-hair leading me down from his navel. In this place of shadows, whispered breathing and semidarkness, my head fills with possibilities, I find myself drawing the sheet back further to see it better, bit by bit, a long way, and god - it looks so wickedly appetising, I can't resist it, glancing around guiltily I seek out his godlike megadick with my fingers, just a quick feel. My own half-hard cock stiffens in response, and my touch leads overwhelmingly to taste, just a lick, swish my tongue around its purple-pink head, dancing it along the cleaved ridge. It stirs and reacts, although he doesn't. 

I'm plumping down onto the bed, my head resting on his thigh now, up against his cock, so close I sense its funky musk. It stands almost the full length of my face. It can be angry and demanding. Now it's just nesting warm against me in the comforting dark, and almost absently I hook around and begin gently sucking it. Slowly, reflectively, contemplatively, at my own pace, taking a little more, then a little more, taking it only as deep as is comfortable - then a little more, just for me. 'Chuckler' Phil was correct, I must be a cock-pig. Other guys get a horn-on and they privately pull themselves off, me, I get the same kick from sucking someone else off, not for their benefit, but my own. I'm enjoying this. 

But how strange it must be to run naked through the night like that. Is it some kind of test? Would he be stopped by his tormentors at various points in his circuit to perform an action, or have an action performed upon him? I suck thoughtfully in a leisurely self-indulgent fashion, as his cock engorges, and as it swells I can feel the blood pulsing within it. Although he continues sleeping, I wonder what effect my attentions are triggering in his dreams? It must be wild inside his head right now. 

While my first instinct about Phil is that I wish I'd known. I'd have liked the chance to run beside him. To experience that freedom. The more I suck the more the idea seems inviting. My sucking grows correspondingly more intense, drowning out all other brain-function, the cock-heat raises my body temperature by degrees, this is what I need, I can feel the sperm rising, until it's only Wolfie's explosive ejaculation that wakes him. He looks down at me blearily, eyes focusing in the faint light. I look up, self-consciously coaxing the last beads of sperm from its wet head with my lapping tongue.

"I'm sorry" I whisper. "It looked so inviting I couldn't help myself."

He just snorts "Slut", and goes back to sleep as I think pensively of us, me and 'Chuckler' Phil, running naked through the night-dark trees together, watching the muscles move beneath his skin. Cocks and balls bouncing free. Briars reaching out to sway at us, boughs that whip and sting at us as we run. With only the owls and the bats to see us. Wild things. We are children of the night.

Another weird character is 'Creepy George', who should never have been in the Big House at all. A blow-job short of an orgy, he was what they call 'challenged', and should really have been placed in a facility equipped to cater to his special needs. Not that he was unhappy. Far from it, in fact his status seemed to endow him with privileges enforced by his own self-appointed minders. They protect his interests and ensure no-one interferes with his pleasure. I suspect they're naturally inclined to mete out punishment, and use Creepy George as an excuse. There's no evidence he was 'earning' his protection from them in any way. But even being the 'property' of as powerful a figure as Wolfie guarantees no immunity from his attentions. 

He shuffles along the corridors with a wide vacant grin, selecting whoever takes his fancy, with his choice enforced by his attentive minders. I could not avoid him. We pass in the corridor. I hold my breath, but it's too late. His hand reaches out to trap my cock through the material of my pants. I freeze. But daren't resist. He squeezes and fondles. There are three guys standing behind him, watching me for any signs of refusal. I daren't object, I stand and let him fondle. This is what he does. If he doesn't like what he finds he'll leave you alone and move on to someone else. With a bit of luck. But stupidly, against my will, my body is responding to his intimate caress. It's impossible not to. 

I concentrate, trying to stop my erection happening, but it just firms and grows in response to his touch. He grins. Oh shit, he likes what he's found. He begins to unfasten my pants. Runs the zip down. Shrugs my pants roughly down to my knees, my stupid eager cock bobbing free. He looks directly at it, then glances back at his entourage with a cheeky smile. He reaches down, his thumb braced against his forefinger, and he flicks me sharply on the glans, so that I gasp as it quivers redly, and he laughs. 

Then, my natural reaction is to duck my hips back, pull away from his grubby probing fingers, but I control the impulse as I'm enclosed by his fist. I feel like an idiot, in a self-conscious agony of self-exposure. In the corridor, his three minders forming a protective shield around us as others walk past. They're all dressed, I'm stood there with my stiff cock out for all to see. 

George looks at me with a curious expression, and says "Riddle me this, Adam & Steve & Tossmeoff went into the sea to bathe, Adam & Steve were drowned, who was there left to save...?"

My throat is dry. I gulp. One of his minders nudges me. "Come on, answer his riddle."

I whisper "Toss-me-off," and he begins to wank me, my balls swaying and dancing up against my legs. His minders sneer, enjoying my discomfort. Creepy George licks his lips and works me. This is what he does. Don't fight it. In fact, his gentle attentions are far from unpleasant, and few attempt to deny him. He likes cocks big. And he likes lots of what he calls 'milk'. It's advisable not to disappoint him. I've met his first expectations. I'm big enough. But what next? I ejaculated last night while I was sucking Wolfie. I had good sex with Ian yesterday too, sixty-nining to its full natural mutually-satisfying climax. How much more spunk can I manage? 

I bite my lip as he eases his fingers up and down my shaft. Beyond the protective circle others walk past, I hear their mocking laughter. It's impossible to quench the sensations. My head goes back as I feel the tremors begin. He squeezes. The shock hits me. I spurt across his fingers, once, twice, three times. I must have hidden reserves, it keeps coming. His minders laugh. 

Creepy George grins, lifts his spermy hand, looks at it, and says "Milk." 

He says it seriously. He approves. I stand there, my cock still drooling, but scared to conceal it. I just stand there. Creepy George looks at me, says "Milk" again, and then moves off. 

It's over. His minders follow. I hastily pull my pants up before any other curious observers can see. Although they know what's going on. They all know about Creepy George. Everyone does. I breathe a sigh of relief. My clothes uncomfortably moist. It's not the last time I'm the subject of his attentions. It's one of the hazards of the 'Big House'. It happens on two more separate occasions, with exactly the same results.

More scarily, I notice he has a wart on the thumb of the hand he wanks me with. Does that mean it will transfer from his thumb to infect my cock, and I'll find a nasty fungal-infection wart growing on the shaft of my cock? I check nervously for days after, but it seems that my dread has no medical foundation. No wart appears.

The more the weeks drag into months the more I settle into the dull routine of the Big House, the less threatening it seems, the more I become conscious of the tedium, the boredom and the dullness of the place. Perhaps my initial fears were unfounded? Perhaps it's not so dangerous, so terrible? I saw few examples of direct intimidation. No bullying to speak of, other than whatever is happening with 'Chuckler' Phil. Most of the inmates are no more than amiable buffoons, hopeless inadequates, more a danger to themselves than anyone else. Although there are a couple I'd prefer to keep at a safe distance, and they barely notice me. 

I begin to wonder if I'd over-reacted out of unreasoned fear. As if even that one scene I'd witnessed between the three guys in the shower had been staged for my benefit, a conspiracy designed to scare me into compliance. Until the day I entered the shower-room again. As I undress I was aware of the sound of chanting and clapping. I pace through towards the shower-stalls with my towel casually thrown over my shoulder, only to be brought-up uncertainly by what I saw there. 


Cock-Sucker - Testimony Ch. 04



Something like six naked guys are crowded into the first shower-stall, their backs to me forming a jostling wall of glistening bare bottoms. They are clapping rhythmically and chanting "three, three, three". I couldn't work out what was happening. Then I could see through the forest of bare legs, up against the tiled wall, another figure is in a low squat, and it dawns on me. I was repulsed, and attracted at the same time, in a weird confusion of sensations. Hurriedly, I retrace my step back, before my presence is noticed, and I begin dressing again. Behind me there's a sudden commotion of cheers. 

A pause, a voice going "Me next, it's my turn, gimme some space," as they presumably shuffle position. Then the chant begins again. 

As I exit through the drably-painted swing-doors the sound of "four, four, four" is ringing in my ears, and follows me down the corridor. I hadn't hung around long enough to tell who it was on his knees sucking cock after cock, or who was lining up to be sucked. Whether or not it was anyone I knew. Whether the victim was going for some kind of a record, or a marathon. I don't know whether the guy on the receiving end of the numbered cocks, one after the other, was doing it voluntarily, or under pressure, and I don't intend staying around long enough to find out. 

Sometimes, with guys, the pack-instinct takes over, and they forget you're human. That's when it can get scary. But it was a timely warning to me that perverse currents do flow through this place, which I should be aware of, and wary of. 

Without protection, that could have been me crouched there, the centre of a rugby-scrum of nude bodies, surrounded by a standing ovation of urgent erections. The very thought, the more I think of it, is tantalising, painful, luring, frightening. How would I deal with a situation like that? Well, I've seen videos of girls doing it. They seem to manage OK. 

And if it was set-up and arranged by Wolfie with him and say, three - or maybe four other guys, and done properly... yes, it's just possible that... would they stand in line and politely wait their turn, or jostle for my mouth in a free-for-all wham-slam? Would I be expected to switch from one to the other, and try to bring them all off around the same time? Would there be jealousy if I show favouritism by sucking one cock longer and harder than another? Would they expect to come in my mouth, or on my face, or a combination of the two? How many before I could take no more and retched, as many as the legendary 'Frenchie' maybe? ... shit. 

No, No, No, I can't believe the way my mind's working that I'm even considering such a scenario. What have I become? My mind runs on into the most lurid fantasies, I have no control even of my imagination anymore. Convincing me, if ever I doubted it, that the survival-course I've chosen is the correct one.

"This is a human zoo" agreed Ian sagely. "Watch out, there are pigs about. You can recognise them by their distasteful personal habits. There are sheep, they are the ones who follow mindlessly. The herbivores, mindlessly grazing, no ambition, never looking up to see the sky. But beware, there are wolves too, stalking, waiting to pick off the weak."

"And us? Where do we fit into this menagerie?"

"Definitely of the higher primates, me and you. Surviving through our wits and intelligence. Yes, higher primates, and sometimes naked apes too..."

By now, nights are cold, dead leaves rustling in the chill breeze outside the window, but there's body-warmth between the covers. It begins when Wolfie decides that, as an amusing experiment, I must spend the entire night with his cock in my mouth, that I must never allow it become unmouthed for a single moment. Perhaps there's some longest-time record we can beat? My consent is taken as granted. 

And it works out fine for the first hours, it was almost comforting lying in the warmth of his bed with my head resting on his groin, and after the initial few ejaculations his cock seems content to lie quiescent in my mouth barely stirring except when stimulated by the movement of my tongue, until much later he woke some time in the early dawn to find that, as we both slept, it had unconsciously slipped out from between my lips. 

He was naturally angry and upset. I was profusely apologetic. I was sorry. I would do it better, honestly. But even though I'd obviously failed him, he decided I should stay close at hand because I could still be useful. On those occasions when he awoke at three o'clock in the morning with a raging hard-on, he'd wake me too so that I could use my mouth to deal with it. Blearily, I would do so, groping for it, even half-asleep I was still infatuated with his big penis. 

When I told Ian what we'd done he promptly sketched a kind of blow-job restraint harness which - with his penis in my mouth, would go around Wolfie's waist and between his legs, up around my throat, the nape of my neck and across the back of my head, with adjustable leather straps to tighten, fixing the sucker in place immovably, so that if the all-nighter 'experiment' were to be repeated, no accidental un-mouthing could possibly occur. We laughed, he intended it as a kind of joke, an idea from the 'Roderick Random' story, but I know with absolute certainty that if Wolfie had been able to produce such a device, I'd have submitted to being fastened into it without a whimper or murmur of protest. 

Although Wolfie's short attention-span meant that he'd already moved on to other sources of amusement. It would amuse him to test my gag-reaction with attempts at deep-throating. Sure, I take it deep, but he's big, and he wants it deeper. So one afternoon he was lying on his back on the bed, I was naked, down between his splayed legs at his urging, seeing how much of his stiff cock I can take down my throat without choking. His friend lies on the bed next to us reading a porn novel (and what a difference the brief passage of time can make. How disturbed I'd been to discover Hooch watching me giving Dean head. Now I no longer care who's watching). 

I've been doing it for some time now. Gazing at its proud fat head determinedly, then sliding my lips in around it, slithering it down, further, a little further each time, closing my eyes in desperate concentration, feeling its pulsing heat hard up against my throat. I can manage most of it, but not all. Wolfie chuckling at my tear-stained anguish and blubbering concentration as I patiently strive to relax my throat sufficiently to swallow it all the way down to his balls. But not quite succeeding.

Until, growing impatient he decides to help me. He fixes both his hands firmly on the back of my head, relentlessly forcing me further in. Gasping for air, gurgling and spluttering, it was difficult to keep it quiet. His friend glances across idly.

"Can't you get your creature to stop making such disgusting noises, it's very distracting," before going back to his book. 

Wolfie grins and waves me to stop. So that's what I am... 'his creature'? The description amused more than it offends me. And I resent his interruption. What I do with Wolfie is our business, and no-one else. While I'm the centre of his attention, that's enough. What he chooses to do to me, and what I consent for him to do to me, is no-one else's concern. What right does he have to interfere?

I wait impatiently for the irritant to go, so we can resume. From where I sit sulkily on the edge of the bed I can see Wolfie's thick cock, drooping a little now, becoming detumescent, losing something of its tempting rigidity even though I wasn't losing mine. It was temporarily tantalisingly out of reach, and I was burning hungry for it. I was a victim of oral coitus interruptus - I'd had a taste, but I need the rest to achieve my own release. 

Until, the moment the other guy leaves, Wolfie clicks his fingers, indicating for me to lie on my back so he can straddle me. I quickly wriggle round so he can sit forward on my chest, he presses his cock easily into my open mouth and begin easing it into my throat from that position, so that my head is up against the mattress and I'm unable to retreat. He slowly rocks back and forth with it never leaving my mouth, but forcing it a little further in with each thrust and holding it there, my lips slithering up to their furthest extent to envelope as much of it as I can, while he counts the seconds, with me gurgling, dribbling, drooling and gagging. It seems to be feeding in an incredible way, I'm nosing his pubic hair, his balls squashed up on my chin, but it's not quite all the way in.

"C'mon, take it down balls-deep" he urges. For him it must still be frustratingly unsatisfactory. 

As it plops out I wipe my mouth apologetically. "I'm sorry, I'm trying my best" I plead. "I know I can take it all, just give me another opportunity."

I know he wants to do this and I hoping against hope I'll be able to please him. More worried about possibly disappointing and upsetting him by not being able to do it than about my own discomfort.

"I saw this in a dirty video once" says Wolfie. "Some bitch was doing it. Are you slut enough to do it?"

"Yes" I say, wriggling into a better position. "Yes please, let me try it."

He finally succeeds by getting me lying on my back, head draped over the edge of the bed. From that position, as he straddles my head, I can see the rearing underside of his cock as he flexes it up and down to fully firm it, the upside-down perspective makes it seem even more intimidating, the raised ventral ridge of his sperm-duct running all the way up, the pattern of blue blood-vessels, as, without a word, he down-angles and begins inserting it length-wise into my gaping open mouth from over my forehead. My fists grip the bed-covers in concentration, steeling myself to receive its thick insistent pressure.

I'm wishing I could be like one of those snakes who can dislocate their lower jaw to enable them to swallow large objects. As more of it slides in I can see nothing but arse and the fat fertile eggs of his testicles, my eyes glazing, with my sprawled bare body twitching, writhing, and predictably betraying me again. As his cock-head scrapes across the back of my throat it sets up answering shockwaves that set my own cock off, it starts twitching and jerking in the air, wracking me in convulsing orgasm. A welter of sperm jets, splashing up my undulating stomach as I fight for control. 

It's as though the ejaculation releases all the tension in my body, I melt into a boneless thing, mouth gaping as wide as possible, unconsciously making a swallowing motion that takes his swollen glans beyond the restriction and way deeper. He grunts with satisfaction someplace way above me, and increases pressure. He's leaning in over me now, facing my throbbing messed-up genitals, his hands resting palms-down on my chest, his hips moving in to fuck my face which is trapped beneath him. It's lodged too deep for me to even offer much in the way of oral stimulation, beyond the tight clasp of my gullet itself, all I can do is lie as loosely-limp as possible, fists desperately white-knuckling bunches of sheet, and allow it to continue. I feel sure I'm going to pass out from suffocation as it penetrates my windpipe. I can hear the pounding of my own blood in my ears. What am I supposed to do, breath through my ears? Fact is, he doesn't care.

My eyes glaze over, but I can feel the coarse tickle of his pubic hair on my nose, the soft warm squelch of his balls on my nose, and he holds it there, enjoying the sensation, I thought I was going to pass out, sure I was going to die right there and then (and what would they write on my autopsy as 'cause of death'?), but by his approving grumpings I know he's gone in to the hilt. He draws back a fraction, allowing me a feverish gulp of breath, and when he slides it back it seems to have found its path and goes in more easily. 

I'm smothered in pubic hair and scrotum as he makes his third and fourth deep-thrust, there's a jolt and quiver that sends me dizzy-reeling, and he's unloading his ejaculation so deep it completely by-passes my taste-buds and spews straight for my stomach. He holds it there for a long moment, reluctantly losing rigidity, before slithering the full messy length back out, inch by incredible inch. Vomiting strands of foamy saliva. I could barely believe I'd managed to take all of it, lying gasping and spent, mesmerised by it, drunk on it, but I was relieved, I was still his 'creature'. I'd done his bidding. I also had a sore throat for two days afterwards. 

But later I overheard him describing to Dread how he was able to look down at my total impalement, how he saw the prominent bulge in my throat and couldn't tell for sure if he was seeing his 'bobby's helmet', my adam's apple, or some obscene combination of the two. For a dreadful moment I feared he was about to demand a demonstration, but no, once he'd achieved what he'd set out to do, he was no longer interested, he moved on to something else (although after I'd described the incident in detail to Ian we re-enact it in our 'cock-pit' in a less extreme, more playful interaction). And once I'd learned the technique I use it every now and then on Wolfie just to keep him interested, just in case he's tempted to go elsewhere for his jollies. Deep-throating him down to the root when he's not expecting it. 

Wolfie would also 'lease me out' in trade for cigarettes or whatever else was on offer - as happened in the gym with Buzz, or watch me give head to some other guy just because he was feeling generous and it amused him to show largesse. I'm so totally conditioned I simply do as I'm told. Pleased only that Wolfie is pleased. And curious to know what he has in mind for me next. Eager even.

A lot of my memories of this period are blurred and jumbled up. I was afraid of tomorrow, bored and tired with today, making the same stupid mistakes over and over again. But living through a heightened sense of arousal, with incidents tending to jostle one into the other without clear recall of what was actually going on. As always, Ian can explain it. He has the words. The vocabulary. With sexual arousal, all senses are engaged, cheeks flush, the pulse quickens, pupils dilate, the brain receives more oxygen as breathing becomes irregular and deeper. 

This is real, this happens. The excitation of lips locked around cock provokes actual physical reactions, oxytocin is unleashed into the bloodstream, flooding the body-systems with feel-good hormones. There's a rise in the neurotransmitter dopamine, while serotonin spikes. This is the chemical torrent responsible for heightened craving and desire, stimulating obsessive behaviour. It produces an addictive state. A compulsive junkie-need for more. 

As Ian said, "It's fucking with your mind, by way of your mouth."

In other words, I was getting the same kicks from sucking cock as they were from me sucking them. It's science. I have no control. My body has taken over. The more you do it, the more your body gets hooked on the buzz. And I was doing it a lot. More than a lot.

For example, on one occasion we were detailed to sweep the yard of leaves. They're big on exercise here, sports, physical activities of all kinds. It's probably designed to wear you out, tire you, drain your energies, to defuse any unruly tendencies. If that's what they intend, it never works out that way. Wolfie discovered that it was one of the other guy's birthday, Stuart I think he was called, although I could be wrong. Not that it matters. His name is not important. Wolfie immediately offered me to him as a birthday treat. 

Stuart looked a little bewildered. "No thanks, Wolfie" he said, returning to his sweeping. 

Half-an-hour later Wolfie returns to the subject, and repeats the offer. This time I could tell he's tempted, that he wants to, he glances across sideways at me, weighing me up, but was scared of whatever implications he imagined were involved. The dilemma of being seen giving in to seemingly effeminate practises. 

Wolfie insists, until eventually he says, "OK Wolfie, yes, thanks."

I follow him into a grove of trees, the ones where I'd seen 'Chuckler' Phil from the night-time window. Stuart glances furtively left and right, to make sure no-one's observing. He seems nervous. 

At last he addresses me for the first and only time. "You sure you're alright with this? Because if you're not...?"

I nod. "It's fine, if Wolfie says it's alright, it's alright."

He backs up against the trunk of a tree, unfastens his belt and pulls his trousers down to knee level. I'm impatient to see it. And when I do, his cock is long and smooth-slender, capped with a perfectly-cleft helmet. It's attractively poised just one degree below the horizontal, as though half in hope, half in anticipation. I'd love to see Ian's sketch of this. His expression changes to one of alarm as I begin to drop my own pants, as though uncertain of my intentions, but as I go down into a crouch and set about doing what I've come to do, and it's obvious I'm merely intent on pulling myself off as an accompaniment, he relaxes a little. But he flinches as my lips first brush his knob-end, he's more jittery than I am. 

He braces his back against the bark, balling his hands into fists as I work on him, sucking his cock enthusiastically. His reactions tell me he's not previously been enjoying a very active sex-life. That, although he obviously knows it exists, he's not part of, and hasn't taken advantage of the institution's sexual underground. Which is a pity, for him - because he could have been enjoying more of this, and for his potential partners who could benefit from the neglected and under-appreciate organ now hotly pulsing in my mouth. His balls are nicely tight and high, as I'm in the best possible position to ascertain. Contrasting to my own, which are low and distended. Maybe I've been coming too much recently? Too late, it's about to happen again, I can feel it already building in my groin. 

For me, there's something wild and raw about doing dirty-sex out here beneath the restless tide of wind stirring the remaining autumn foliage, close to the base sexuality of nature. It must have felt something like this to 'Chuckler' Phil running naked through these night trees, the cool wind goose-pimpling on his body, like a wild animal, liberated - even though enclosed by the walls. Freed from the restraints of morality. As I am paradoxically freed by sucking this cock. Stuart is striving to stay silent so as not to alert the rest of the work-party to what is happening, although soon he's incapable of stifling the final whimpering sigh as he approaches climax. His hips are jerking now, making urgent little thrusts into me, his hands firmly holding my head in place. And when it begins, judging by the copious amount flooding me, it's as though he's been saving it up for a month, further evidence that his sex-life is severely limited. 

By now my own ejaculate has showered and is slip-sliding in silky spider-strands from leaves of grass and down, absorbing into the soil. Afterwards he wipes himself scrupulously with a crumpled handkerchief, as though to guiltily expunge all trace of my mouth-fluids from his genitals, holding it this way and that, wiping it carefully free of all saliva.

"Sorry" he whispers shyly. "I should have warned you I was coming, I lost control."

As an afterthought he offers me the handkerchief. I'd already wiped my mouth with my hand, I shake my head with a smile of appreciation. I'm thinking, losing control is the whole point, no need to apologise, and no warning necessary, you think I didn't know you were about to come, even before you did? I'm familiar with the symptoms. I know what it feels like. But he seems nice, I hope he's enjoyed our brief interlude together. We rejoin the yard-sweeping detail.




Cock-Sucker - Testimony Ch. 04



Stuart grins across at Wolfie. "Thanks, that was a great birthday gift, cheers."

I smile to myself, and resume sweeping.

On another occasion, I was 'summoned' to meet Wolfie in the dorm, and when I get there I was a little wary to discover he was not alone. There were three of them. Would I be expected to 'do' them all? Dread was there, and the one sitting in the middle is Adrian - 'big Ade', an overweight and 'slow' guy I'd seen around, but never spoken to. Wolfie brusquely instructs me to undress, and as I do so I begin to piece together what's going on. They'd been talking to Ade, part-curious, part-teasing him, and under their jibing prying interrogation he'd finally admitted that he'd never had any kind of sex. Not with anyone. And partly for his own amusement, and entertainment, and partly because he feels sorry for him, Wolfie took the responsibility upon himself to remedy that situation. 

Ade was sweating. A bead of perspiration winding its way down his forehead. But his eyes light up, visibly widening and brightening with shame-faced delight as my hard-on swings loose, into view. Soon I was naked, and standing facing them with my hands by my sides. 

Wolfie encourages the obviously embarrassed Ade. "Go on, touch him up."

Adrian was uneasy, awkward. "I don't think I should, it wouldn't be right" he protests weakly. 

"It's alright Ade, it's my gift to you" he urges. 

At length, very quickly and nervously he reaches out and squeezes my erection once with his clammy-warm chubby fingers, giggling under his breath. He levers it down, then titters like some big naughty child as it springs back up again when he releases it. 

"Good, that wasn't so difficult was it? Do it some more, play around with it."

I stand still as he reaches out again, this time his sweaty hand lingers a little longer, encircling and rubbing it up and down, gripping my balls a little too hard for comfort. I wince. He was grinning a slow stupidly dull-witted grin. He was gripping me tight, as though now he's plucked up courage to hold it, he's determined he's not going to let go. The more I ease back, the tighter he squeezes so his nails are leaving sharp indentations on the shaft, with the head growing angry purple-red in his fist. I grit my teeth. But by now Wolfie is getting bored with the game and decides it's time to take it further.

"Now comes the best part Ade, you're going to get your cock sucked."

Ade instantly releases me and starts to his feet. "No, it's alright, thank you Wolfie, I've changed my mind, I want to go please."

They grab hold of his arms persuasively, restraining him, and playfully ease him back onto the bed, nodding purposefully to me. I know what I have to do, and begin unfastening his belt and tugging his fly down. 

Wolfie adopts a mock-stern voice like some retired colonel. "What you need my boy, is a damn good cock-sucking, and I intend to make sure you get it."

Ade was laughing and struggling half-heartedly, complaining excuses as they hold him on his back, while they assist me to haul his pants down and off. 

"No, wait, please, you're tickling, I've changed my mind" between nervous fidgety giggles, as though he's facing some hazardous medical procedure. 

At last, pulling his shirt aside, I'm able to get in at it. Beneath his wobbling swollen gut is a ridiculously stubby little cock, a rosebud completely hooded in a tight foreskin, and almost hairless. His balls are practically non-existent. You could snap it off and hang it on a girl's charm bracelet. No wonder he's wretchedly agitated at having it exposed to our gaze, no wonder he doesn't want anyone to see it. 

He's wriggling and laughing, which - combined with the size of his heaving stomach, makes it difficult for me to reach it. How can I suck that? I can scarcely find it! It'll be like sucking on a teat. But I crouch down, work my head in, hold it between thumb and forefinger, and manage to get all of it into my mouth. He's flexing and writhing his body, his giggling carrying a hysterical edge as I attempt to do what I have to do. His quivering gut-skin is strangely coarse and unpleasantly sweat-moist. 

Even though it's erect the pathetically tiny strut of worm-penis isn't easy to work on and constantly seems about to slip free out of my mouth, but I do my best, and he doesn't last very long anyway, within moments of me sucking he's shouting out as though in pain, breathing in big wrenching gulps as though suffocating, his hips jerking spasmically, and he starts cumming. A twitch, a tremble, and uncontrollably, despite my best efforts, his micro-dick slithers free from my mouth just as a starburst of slight white uprush spurts down my chin, thin and tasteless, a gloopy teaspoonful, no more. 

Unsure what to do I give it a few more quick little sucks. When I raise my head Wolfie and Dread are laughing, as though the sight I present is the funniest thing they've ever seen, and Ade just lies there exhaling great sobs of breath. I wait, unsure what to do as Ade sits up, hurriedly self-consciously pulling his pants back on. 

Wolfie stands there with his arms folded. "Are you grateful for the gift we've given you? Say thank you Ade."

The miserable fat kid looks up petulantly. "Thank you Wolfie."

Hang on a minute - it's me with his spunk on my face, and he's thanking Wolfie! But of course, in a sense, he's right, we're both his victims. At that moment, I despise Wolfie more than at any other time. But it's over already. They've tired of the game. I'm the only one naked, cock still visibly erect and screaming for attention. 

"For fuck's sake wipe your face, and get some clothes on, you look ridiculous stood there with that thing sticking out like that" sneers Wolfie. 

I do so, a little confused. The whole incident has lasted barely minutes, I'm still aroused. In fact it's necessary for me to go directly to the nearest toilets and pull myself off to relieve the ache of unrealised anticipations. Wanking with furious desperation.

My first thought had been of Ian. We had joked about producing sex-vouchers to share between the two of us. IOU's for sex-acts to be performed there-and-then, on production of the voucher. First there would be 'do' or 'be-done-to' vouchers. Then a 'Quickie Suck-&-Swallow' voucher. A more leisurely blow-job voucher. A sixty-nine option. And a wild card for whatever the voucher-holder decides he wants on the spur of the moment. We hadn't actually gone ahead with the idea. What if the vouchers found their way into other hands? What if we were presented with a situation in which a stranger produces a voucher expecting it to be honoured? Would we be obliged to do as the voucher specifies? So it never went beyond the point of giggling speculation. But if I'd had one, I'd have used it now, unfortunately Ian is nowhere to be found. On a course maybe, or a work-detail. 

So I was reduced to doing it myself. The indentation-marks of Ade's stubby fingernails still red on my shaft, the sensation of his tight grip still tingling there, as I begin pulsing my ejaculation as roaring visions of cock and jism storm my head. As I squeeze out the last ooze, dripping it onto the dirty porcelain and flushing it away, I was consumed by dismal wonderings about how low I had sunk. What was this debased creature I've become? Like Ian said - I've become an 'orgasm addict', hooked on endorphins, this is a conditioned response.

My chin still felt sticky, even though I'd wiped it. I never get to speak to Adrian properly, although once or twice when we pass by in the corridor he smiles uncertainly at me, in a way I can't quite decipher. Not quite a shy apology, not even a secret acknowledgement of guilty pleasure at our fleeting and unsatisfactory intimacy, more as though he doesn't really understand what had happened, or how to deal with it. I actually felt more sympathy for him than I do for myself. 

I wonder if he's ever had a day of fun in his entire miserable life, and if squeezing my balls a little too hard for comfort and having me clumsily suck him off is the closest he'd ever got to it, if so, then I don't exactly begrudge him it. If it was really his first sexual experience, and I'm sure it was, maybe I could have, perhaps even should have made it better for him, if circumstances had been different. Perhaps I should have made an attempt to befriend him, and make up for the messiness of that encounter in some other way? 

Not that I was allowed time for reflection, for Wolfie was about to introduce me to anal, which I was less than enthusiastic about. Although I admit, following Ian's colourful admissions, and the graphically explicit descriptions in 'The Random Rod' and 'Horatio Cockblower', I was becoming curious to know what it was like. Intrigued even. We'd talked about it.

"It's not natural" I'd argued. "Bottoms are not designed for sex, they're for... y'know, turds come out there. It's dirty."

"You say dirty because you've been brought up to think its dirty" argues Ian. "But to say that is logically inconsistent. Because you piss from your cock doesn't mean you can't also use that for sex. It's an evolutionary joke to have the source of life, and the piss-hole so close. You just have to disassociate the two functions in your mind. The body has certain bits that feel good, dirty only comes into it if you want it dirty..."

Adrian had happened on Wednesday, the next afternoon I was again 'summoned' to the same dorm by Dread. It was raining and overcast. I anticipate giving Wolfie a blow-job, nothing more, but he's got Vaseline - more for his own convenience than mine, and other intentions. Dread stands guard at the door, sneaking a peak every now and then, as I undress and sit naked on the bed patiently waiting to be buggered, shivering slightly in the chill, watching him grease up. Then I turn, crouch on all fours head-down face cradled in my hands, arse raised, legs splayed presenting myself for him. Despite everything I've been through I'd never felt as exposed as I do now. 

Determined not to wince or cry out, biting my lip as I feel his probing fingers on me, locating the route in, but once the fumbling and wriggling is done, he lodges his burning spear at the puckered opening and with an almost effortless nudge forces the swollen knob-end inside, the tip stretches its way through the tight sphincter, like he's pushing a billiard-ball through an impossibly narrow passage. Once the head has entered, my body relaxes, accepts the inevitable, and I feel my inner tissues stretching as a little more of it slithers in more smoothly. My back undulates snake-like, and I take a sharp intake of breath as the strange sensation storms at me. He pauses half-engulfed, more for his benefit than mine, wallowing in the tight feeling clasping him. Then shoves it all the way. A silk torpedo targeting my innermost fundament, and primed for a messy detonation. 

I stifle a grunt, and begin to wonder what it was I'd been so scared about. It's a strange, tight feeling, weird, but fine. No taste, no gagging, no face-to-face contact, it was almost anonymous. Perhaps that's precisely why I prefer to give oral? Looking down I can see what a more coy and evasive writer might call my own rampant member staring pointedly back at me, directly towards my face, its usual dusky-rose hue reddening with excitement, a drop of pre-cum oozing from the piss-slit. It's obviously enjoying what's being done to me. Beyond that I can see Wolfie's own balls hanging freely behind mine. It looks so bizarre. I feel beads of sweat trickling down my back. I brace myself, he slides back about half-way out, holds, then eases in as far as he can go. 

For the first and only time he says "You alright?"

I feel weak, trembling, my heart-rate racing. I gasp out "Don't stop, don't stop."

The words come before the thought. I don't know where they come from. Not logic or reason, some gut-deep primal place in my psyche. He begins to pump back and forth, his body slapping up into me audibly. I'm gasping hard like a skewered animal, as though each deep stroke is ramming the air up out of me. I catch a glimpse of leering Dread watching wide-eyed from the door, but the more he fucks me, the more I get turned on. I count each thrust that makes my own genitals jerk, flip and bounce, until I lose count. 

I close my eyes as it goes on, his testicles swaying and slapping up against my tender scrotum as our bodies come together at the peak of maximum penetration. It was exciting, how could such an intimate invasion be anything else? And I'm doing my best to stifle the rhythmic grunts as it forces my breath up into my throat. Panting the way only teenage hormonal lust pants, sweat in my eyes. Unconsciously I'm cupping my thighs back the better to receive him. Until the wonderful soft pulsing begins, fireworks detonating in the deepest recesses of my gut, and he's gushing hot fluid - or to be more accurate, we're both coming. 

Some say taking it up the ass feminises you, that it's a demeaning way of unmanning and emasculating you, that planting his seed deep in the convulsions of your intestines is an act of claiming you as property. Well, maybe all that's true. But I'm in no state for thinking. After some time he withdraws so sharply that pulling out leaving me with the disturbing sensation that I'm passing a turd, with the petroleum-jelly tang of hot churned Vaseline. He glances down at the ejaculate-streams on my gut and pubic hair as I unsteadily try getting to my feet. 

"You messy sod" he jeers. "Don't you have any self-control?"

He's demonstratively wiping himself clean on my discarded y-fronts. I smile weakly, getting my breath back, after what he's just subjected me to - it's a joke, right? For the rest of the day I can feel the lingering tingle in my ass, a smug secret reminder of the new intimacy I've been initiated into. I'm afraid my bum will never be the same again, that it'll never return to its pre-fucked condition. I know Dread was watching, that he shares the secret, and that his curiosity may well have been piqued. He might try it on with me. I bleakly accept that if he does, then it will happen. And he would fuck me too. But he must be too scared of arousing Wolfie's ire. The situation never arises.

I've always been wary when someone uses 'bastard' as a swear-word. After all, that's what I am. After this, when I hear anyone using 'bugger' as a swear-word, it won't be quite the same again. Because I'm that too. He'd enjoyed it enough to repeat the experience at intervals, alternating mouth and anus as the mood takes him. And bleakly I accept anal as just another condition of my protection. 

Perhaps he saw it as a game, perhaps it amuses him to see just how far he can push my limits? Perhaps it was his intention to deliberately shove me to the point at which I'd recoil, refuse, resist? If so, I never give him that satisfaction. Some might think that what I was subjected to during those months was more extreme than what would have happened had I not been 'bonded', and just took my chances. I never saw it that way. Never. My only imperative was that it was absolutely necessary to have, and keep, a protector. And I was terrified of losing that protection. I'd been with Wolfie a while now. Would he tire of me?

Once, jokingly, Ian told me he'd seen Wolfie talking secretively to a younger guy. They were whispering together. What could they have been talking about? Were they setting up some kind of meeting for furtive sex? Ian was playful, he was teasing me, but I was worried. Wolfie is a strong guy. People respect him. As a protector, he's invaluable. The younger guy might have designs on him. What can I do? Absurdly, I was jealous. I can't afford to lose him. Come to think of it, he's not called for me during daylight hours for a straight blow-job for some time... how long? Days?... even longer, several days. Perhaps he's tiring of me? Maybe the novelty of having me do it to him is wearing off? What if he's got someone else sucking it for him? This sneaky new kid in town...? The thing is, even though he might now need daytime sex infrequently, my mouth needs cock in it, frequently.

Despite Ian's protestations I move away and begin to search the building, walking the halls and passages looking for Wolfie, desperate to reassure myself of my status. Eventually I locate him in the corridor by the gym. He's alone. I seldom approach him, that isn't our way. He demands me, or not at all. Instead I just hang around, glancing shyly across at him. Eventually he notices me and comes across.

"What do you want?"

"You know what I want, Wolfie." 

In my head I've rehearsed what I was going to say. About how yes, I know I'm going to be sucking you off tonight. I know and accept that. But tonight seems such a long way away. And the more I think about it, the more I can't wait. I've got a hard-on just thinking about doing it. I want to suck it now, if that's alright, Wolfie? Please. I want to suck your cock now. I want to feel its thickness pulsing in my mouth. I want to taste the spunk spurting like liquid sin into my greedy mouth. I want to say all that. But instead my throat is dry. I'm struck dumb.

"Me? No, how the hell am I supposed to know what you want?" he teases dismissively. 

I gulp self-consciously, but I have to go through with it, to set my mind at rest. "I want to, y'know, do the thing we do." 

He smirks, as though realising what I mean but intent on playing me along. "No, tell me. If you wanna suck me off you got to ask me properly." 

"Yes, I want to, y'know... I want to suck you, to suck your cock, please. I want to do it now, please." 

He laughs cruelly. "You dirty slut."

He turns and goes into the gym. I follow him. It was empty. I pace behind him into the silence of the changing room.

"You really want to do this now, you want to suck me off?"

"Yes Wolfie, please."

He drops his pants casually, sits down on the bench and splays his legs, granting me access to it. Eagerly I push my own pants down, to prove to him that I'm already hard. This is my chance to show him just how much better I can be than any new kid. I've got to win him all over again. To show him just how good I can do it. I crouch down. Seeing it in the half-light of the dorm is not like seeing it in full naked daylight. Its raw beautiful ugliness still takes my breath away. It's still scary, even though it's sundered my mouth so many times. I feel humbled and inadequate all over again confronted by its bestial arrogant power.

"Thanks Wolfie." 

Licking his low-hung balls, first one then slurping at the other, then tracing the long path all the way up the veiny shaft of his cock to the fat flared crown. I look up at him, infatuated by it, then devour him inch by delicious inch. I give him the best blow-job I'm capable of giving, working hard, wanking myself slowly and luxuriously as I do so. I use little tongue-lapping caressing motions, lips and the slightest teeth pressure, then plunging it deep into my throat, all the sexy tricks I've learned from Ian, and practised on Dean. 

Licking my way up around the ridge of his fat glans, tracing the groove that oozes beads of pre-cum, then sinking it all the way into my windpipe so far I can scarce breathe. But holding it there as long as I dare. Then sucking it so hard it must be taking his breath away. When it twitches it jars my jaw, a muscular spasm so powerful it raises my head. It's intoxicating, the blood-rush roar in my ears surging.

Half-way through I hear footfall behind us. I'm scared, but more scared of breaking off. So I just concentrate all the harder.

"Hi Wolfie, you alright?" I hear the voice, but can't see the speaker. All I see is Wolfie's undulating gut.

"Sure, never better." 

There's a pause. "Is this the young cock-sucker you were telling me about? Is he any good?"




Cock-Sucker - Testimony Ch. 05



Chapter 05: Bryan

'The Final Instalment Of The Legend Of The House Of Shame'

As I became more and more sexually fixated on Wolfie, Ian was worried on my behalf. I was never unduly concerned. Although some of my previous nervous symptoms returned, nail biting and stammering. And I admit, my thoughts did occasionally turn to alternatives. 

I found myself thinking, with vague regret, about the Trustee I'd 'auditioned' for in the potting shed. In retrospect, the more I thought about it, the more it seemed the brief intimacy had been so good. Why hadn't it worked out? If he'd enjoyed me sucking him off, as he gave every indication of doing, why didn't he want to do it again? It made no sense. Would I give it another try -- even as a one-off? Sure I would, like a shot, without a moment's hesitation. In a more relaxed, less pressured situation, I'm sure I could make it better for him, if only he'd give me the chance. 

What could I say? "Hey if you're fighting the temptations of the flesh, stop fighting, it's alright. If you're worried by guilt about exploitation, fear not, I can suck away your doubts, just let me at it."

Instead, I wrote a series of notes with the intention of slipping them to him as we passed in the hallway. Writing, then scribbling out, re-wording and re-writing. How explicit should I be without running the risk of scaring him off? Admit that I'd loved the taste of him? That I'd loved what I'd done to him in the potting shed that afternoon, and still thought of those moments crouched on my knees below him, with his hot cock pulsing in my greedy mouth. How I'd do anything he wanted me to, if only he'd grant me a second chance. I'd tell no-one, I'd keep the secret, I'd meet him wherever he wanted, at a time of his choosing, with no strings, no preconditions -- except one, that he'd get his cock out and let me do it to him again. Allow me to suck him off all the way. Any follow-up would be entirely at his discretion, I'd never bother him again afterwards, never. 

I re-read what I'd written, and my courage failed me. I tear it up. Shred it. Write another, and tear that up too. Sketched an illustration of me with my mouthful of his cock -- how much more blatant an invitation can you get than that? But I lack Ian's artistic skill, and tear that up too. I fret and scheme, but it all comes to nothing. I pass him once or twice in the corridors and the Day-room, smile openly in what's intended to be an inviting way. A kind of fuck-me-in-the-mouth smile. But he blanks me. Deliberately ignores me.

I saw Stuart again on a number of occasions. The guy I'd sucked-off beneath the spreading tree, as a birthday gift from Wolfie. It was difficult not to encounter people within the enclosed confines of the institution, and he always smiled pleasantly. He seems nice. As though, through an attractive combination of shy interest and tongue-tied reticence, he might be angling for a repeat. Something I would not be entirely averse to. But I had to be careful, he was not 'Protector' material, and without Wolfie's specific instruction I was wary. My unspoken contract with Wolfie implies a level of exclusivity, and if he found out I was freelancing with other guys it made a nonsense of his claims over me (he didn't know about Ian, so that was different). 

So instead I found myself thinking back, almost wistfully, to Dean. How it had begun with me scared and uncertain, growing into bleak resignation, but how it had then developed into a kind of kinky confidence and self-assurance. Remembering the feel of him, the taste of him, the way his hips undulate as he spurts cum into my mouth. Not missing him, not as a person, no, but missing it, the firm heat of it, the feeling of safe predictability. Where is he now? Out there somewhere in the real world, reconnecting with straight sex? Meeting girls? He'd never get a girl to suck his cock the way I did. Does he have a new partner? Does that new partner suck him off as well as I used to? With a guilty pride and no undue modesty, I very much doubt it. Does he still get a stir in his groin thinking of me, recalling me doing it to him, as I get the stir now, thinking of doing it to him? Does he miss the warm moist clasp of my mouth on his cock? There are layers of indeterminacy about looking back. Certainly the longer I get distanced in time from Dean, the better those incidents seem. Maybe I was lying to myself?

Then I begin to consider what Ian had confided to me about the privileges he'd received from the now-disgraced Care Worker. It sets me off wondering in new directions. For there are dark rumours now. Another mentor catering to problem youth. Another bent staff-officer.

"Have you heard those stories about Reed?" I venture to Ian hoarsely. We were lying nude together in the laundry room. My head resting on his bare stomach, my eyes fixed on his cock as I play his foreskin up and down. "Do you think they're true?"

"Of course they're true. Haven't you noticed the way that he watches boys in the shower? He's queer as fuck. He loves to watch sweet boys with no clothes on. And more than watch them too. He'd love to see us like this. He'd love to see you with my stiff cock in your fist. He'd love to see you down there sucking me off, you are going to suck it now -- aren't you...?"

"Of course I am. Just try and stop me" I say. I've sucked Ian off more times than I can remember. But every time is a joy. I lick my way down his stomach, tunnelling my tongue through his downy pubic hair, circling and nuzzling around the base of his cock, then flick-licking my way up its shaft to the glistening knob-head. It slides so easily into my mouth, so familiar, then -- for a while, I'm unable to speak.

But while my mouth is pleasantly bulging with Ian's cock, until the delicious moment the flood of his orgasm jets into me, I'm thinking. Yes, the stories have the odour of veracity. The rumours that Reed takes advantage of his position. That he takes polaroids of entwined nude boys in light bondage and blindfolds. The stories seem very likely to be true. And surely his sexual favours would be sought after because of the treats and privileges he's in a position to bestow. And the boys he selects would generally be envied -- they'd get things the rest of us don't, things we all want, and all they have to do is suck cock to qualify. Hell, I'm doing that anyway. So I watch him, yes, he swaggers up and down, arrogantly complacent in his authority. But with ludicrous round glasses that make him look like a Benny Hill comedy-lecher. 

It was said he makes his selection by watching us shower, basing his choice on penis-size. He prefers large ones. And, knowing this, boys strut and parade for him provocatively, vying with each other to gain his favour, his approval, stupidly proud of the size of their erections and regarding it as some kind of good fortune to be selected by him, hoping to catch his eye. I did. When he was invigilating while I was showering I ensure I was semi-erect and with my body glistening with water, making sure he notices me, swaying my hips so my genitals move in a way I feel sure he'll like, thrusting my hips forward to emphasise it, posing, tugging its length a little, absently, as though merely washing -- then smiling up coyly at him as if to say 'no, this is for your benefit', delaying dressing for as long as I can to ensure he gets a good look -- and he looks, I know he looks me full in the groin long and lingering, but he never makes an approach. 

Perhaps my cock is too small? Perhaps he prefers cavaliers? I thought back with a kind of warped amusement to when I'd first arrived here, the cursory medical, the first time I'd had to strip naked and shower as the social worker watched me, how scared and shy and vulnerable I'd felt, doing my best to conceal myself from his gaze. How much has changed in so little time. Modesty is something we can't afford here. A luxury none of us are allowed. Bodies are common property, and nudity a part of it. Nude in the showers. Nude in the dorms. Sex is commonplace, not only tolerated but -- if those tales are true, sometimes even encouraged by the institution's staff. We learn to accept that our bodies will be intimately seen and used on a daily basis without our consent or permission -- indeed, without the slightest hesitation or consideration. It's a fact of life we must adjust to, and make the best of -- largely, of course, by acquiring a 'protector' who has special rights to our bodies in exchange for their protection. 

Sex is frequent, and strictly functional. The object is ejaculation. Orgasm. Shooting spunk into an accommodating mouth or arse. Nothing more. That's a basic condition of sexual servitude we accept as a simple expedient for survival. But, it seems, he's not interested in taking advantage of what I'm offering him. Pity. I may not be the most generously genitally-endowed guy here, but hey -- it's not bad, and I could have provided him with polaroids to make his hair curl. 

Instead, I had an oddly pleasing encounter. I was showering. I was aware someone else was there, but wasn't fully conscious of them. It was only as I emerge and begin to move towards my clothes that I feel nervous fingers reaching out and closing around my down-hanging cock. I turn in surprise. He's a naked young-looking guy, a recent intake. He appears shy and vulnerable. I smile encouragingly, and respond by trailing my fingers down the treasure-trail of hair from his navel to enfold his own nicely proportioned cock in my hand. A perfectly shaped arrowhead tip cresting a generously sized shaft surmounting a delectable set of softly-downed testicles. His stomach muscles shrink back, flinching as my fingers close around him, wary of my intentions. That reaction seems quite endearing to me. He relaxes a little as it becomes obvious I'm only intent on feeling him up. 

We stand there stupidly, wordlessly smiling at each other, gently wanking each other. The warmth of his grasp setting up its inevitable magical rousing effect. There aren't many male bodies I'd describe as beautiful, but his is. 

At length he seems to pluck up courage and mumbles "I'm alone here, will you be my friend?"

With a shock of amused recognition I realise what he's doing. He's approaching me, as I had once approached others, seeking to find a protector! He sees me as a potential protector -- me! Is that really the way he sees me? Boy, was he ever wrong! I'd spent all my time here expending my energies to ensure I had protection myself. Do I really look like the kind of figure capable of extending protection to others? Nevertheless, it must have taken courage and determination for him to approach me in the way he had. A lot of nerve, and he's even using the 'code' Ian had told me about. By now we're both fully erect. He's swollen pleasingly to fill my fist. 

"What's your name?" I ask him.

"Simon." There's a breathy catch in his voice, betraying his state of arousal. 

We lurch into the changing room, me leading him, him seemingly reluctant to release his grip on my cock for a moment, until we sit side-by-side, still naked, still toying with each other. He seems to enjoy his warm hold on me, and I'm more than content to let him.

"Well, Simon, the situation's like this..." And I begin telling him about Wolfie, at first in only the vaguest of terms. 

He gets the message, and seems crestfallen. "What is it you actually do with him?" he persists. 

I begin to explain a little more explicitly, while running my fingers up and down his cock, bunching and caressing his balls, circling my thumbnail teasingly around the underside of his heart-shaped glans as he becomes visibly more agitated. He's keenly interested in what I'm saying, his eyes glowing as I tell him about the regular oral sex. His knob blushes attractively in my fist as I wank him, its eye winking open and closed as I work my hand up and down its length. The act of simple mutual masturbation is infectiously innocent. Although I'd experienced so much, he's self-evidently done less, and this intimacy is still novel and thrilling to him. Something that communicates to me. 

But as he becomes more aroused, his growing excitement means he returns his attentions more erratically. His grip on my cock too tight for comfort. Jerking me sporadically as though intent on ripping it off by the root. At last he clenches his bare toes, his tight belly flexing, and he gasps sexily with little whimpering sobs, screws his eyes tight shut, his face contorting into a delightful grimace of pleasure, and he begins spunking off in my hand. Three arcing jets, each as powerful as the last, then a few smaller drools. I coax it, gently squeezing out the last few drooling drops, as he looks both shyly embarrassed and pleased. His milky sap has splashed on the tiled floor, on the bench between his legs, and onto my fingers. 

"So I can't be your protector" I conclude. "But we can be friends, and I'll help you if I can, in any way I can," intending the words to have double-meaning. 

Drained, he merely sits with my cock resting in his hand, although I'm mentally urging him to resume. 

Instead he smiles, says "Thank you" nicely, and finally loosens his hold on my erection, without even the courtesy of bringing me off. 

I watch him wipe his spermy cock and balls on one of the coarse white communal towels. Then watch him getting dressed, the curves of his pertly rounded buttocks jolting as he pulls his shorts up. He smiles across at me, maybe sexily wistful with it, and leaves me with a feeling of mild regret, as though I've passed up on an opportunity rich with potential. I massage the traces of his sperm into my hands, while reflecting ruefully that I should have put him through it. I guess I could have done to him what others had done to me. Got him in the corner and got him to suck me off, and once he's gulped down my load sneer derisively at him and say "I'll let you know if and when I ever need somebody..."

But I don't have the heart. He's as lost and confused as I'd once been. The incident just serves to emphasise to me that my role is better suited to be the used, rather than the user. Naturally, the next time I see Ian I explain what had happened. He seemed very interested, and promises to do what he can to help. I saw Simon a few times subsequently, but never alone, and never intimately. When we pass in the breakfast room or the corridor he smiles at me prettily in a way that sets up a stirring in my groin, and has me regretting I'd not exploited the situation better when I had the chance. 

My imaginings become more charged the more I think of him, the more I turn the incident over in my mind. Instead of just tossing him off, as pleasant as that had been, I could have sucked him off. Perhaps we could have gone to the laundry room 'cock-pit' together and done it all, with his smooth clean new body and fresh eager cock there for me, slithering beneath me as we sixty-nine. Too late now. The moment had passed. 

Some time later I raise the subject again with Ian -- had be been able to help Simon? 

Sure, he said, he'd fixed him up.

"Did you -- uh, y'know, take advantage of him?" I venture.

"Naturally I allowed him to demonstrate his aptitude on me. I'd be a fool not to, how could I in all conscience recommend him without knowing how he performs? He might have been useless. He probably considered you a wuss for passing up on the opportunity. So I let him suck me off. Then, once he'd done it, and done it so nicely, I passed him on to Buzz. Buzz has had a hankering to own his own boy ever since you sucked him off so efficiently in the locker room" he explained. 

So they were paired. I was horrified at the vision that it conjured up in my head. Buzz has a mighty big cock, and the thought of Simon's tightly pursed rosebud lips caressing such danger with that relentless penis sundering his mouth again and again, as it had done to mine... is an intimidating image.

"Is that wise?" I protest. "Buzz's cock's so big it'll kill him."

"You adapted to Wolfie" replies Ian with a shrug. "He'll be fine. In fact, later on, he thanked me. He was grateful to me for resolving his dilemma and also, I think, for indulging in a little harmless grubby fun. You -- your trouble is, you're way too sensitive and considerate."

Again, I'm not sure whether he's teasing me. Did all that actually happen? It's possible. It's more than feasible that it did. And indeed, whenever I encounter Simon, he seems to be perfectly grounded. People adapt. Perhaps there's no room for innocence anymore? I accept that it's way too late for me. I'm already damned. But I thought maybe Simon was different. It seems I was wrong. And everyone is corruptible. He so easily joined that furtive after lights-out traffic of bare bodies moving between dorms to erotic assignations. Simon contentedly going to Buzz's bed to obediently suck him off. Which, despite my misgivings, conjures up undeniably enticing images in my mind. Something within me yearns to be there to see it happen.

Every now and then, Ian leaks accidental update details. Simon, he says, has turned out to be a hot piece of arse, a natural slut. First-off, Buzz is amazed and delighted with the enthusiasm of his spunk-gobbling performance, and soon discovers he has problems keeping up with Simon's voracious appetite for his dick, regularly leaving it sucked raw. Then Ian tells me Simon's voluntarily drawn up and signed a binding contract 'assigning all oral, anal and genital rights of his body for the absolute and total use of Buzz whenever and wherever he so chooses', and that he's done a 'lap-of-honour', sucking his way around the dorm as evidence of his submission.

"What? A four-bed dorm?"

"No, six of them."

"Did Buzz pressure him to do it?"

"No, Simon suggested it. It was his idea. I don't know for sure, this is just what I've heard."

The images crowding my head are unbearably intense...

"My arrangement with Wolfie is pretty much like that" I argue back.

"Ah, but it's not a legal contract."

"Yes, but would it stand up in court?"

"I think it stands up pretty well anywhere by itself, until someone's finished sucking it, then it goes a bit limp."

We're both laughing and giggling now. But I'm thinking about how 'Chuckler' Phil once accused me of 'setting the bar' that others were expected to equal. Could it be that Simon is now raising the bar for me, and I'd be expected to follow...? Well, if there was a cock-sucking contract, I guess I'd sign it without a moment's hesitation.

"We have a contract' whispers Ian softly. "You and me. My cock is your cock, your cock is my cock. You know that."

Yes, I know it. And it's one of the best things that ever happened to me.

--- 0 ---

It was not until my final months in the Big House that things turn around. Wolfie dumped me. He'd been testing out my limits, until it became obvious to him that I have no limits, which means the game is no longer worth playing. He'd exhausted the ways he could use and exploit me, and so he moved on, taking a new younger inmate in my place. My replacement was a nervous, compliant kid who must in some way have resembled what I was like when I first arrived here. 

As I encounter the new boy in the corridor, I smile at him encouragingly, but he turns away hurt and defensive, as I must have done during those first few days of confusion. I want to reach out, to be his friend, to help him in ways that Ian had helped me. And as we had both helped Simon. They are both fresh new young flesh. I feel like an old lag by comparison, hardened and coarsened by my experiences. With Simon, or Wolfie's new property, I might have introduced them to the other sweet things Ian had done with me. Maybe, if the signs had been right, if the opportunity had presented itself. But they don't. Nevertheless, both of them have been 'claimed', they would learn fast, as I had learned fast. Even though I've set the bar high, everything I'd done for Wolfie, the new guys will now be expected to do. The deep-throating, the anal, seeing to other guys for trade. 




Cock-Sucker - Testimony Ch. 05



I don't envy them. But by then I'd moved on too, and was bonded to Bryan, who was everything that I need. I'd noticed him before, during my final weeks with Wolfie. His interest in me was obviously sexual, but he seems different, and his interest was immediately and enthusiastically reciprocated. When the opportunity arose, we seem to gravitate together naturally, almost as though it was planned, preconceived, as though it was destiny. 

As a low-risk trustee, he has his own room, with his own collection of dog-eared and well-read books, mostly Beat poetry and counter-culture literature. He was in for possessing cannabis, a cultured bohemian who talks to me in ways that Dean had not. On a supportive human level, warm and encouraging. But there was an unspoken understanding about what I was there to do. We share a mutual interest in carnal pleasure. No two ways about it, we both know full well what was going to happen. But after all the weirdness I'd been through, I couldn't believe my luck in even being here with him. As shy and nervous as a virgin on a first date, so anxious to please him it was pathetic, I was all fingers and thumbs in my eagerness to get naked when the time is right, hampered by my erection entangled up in my underpants, tearing the worn material in my haste to get free of them, quickly -- before he has chance to change his mind about allowing me the opportunity to suck him off. Before he has chance to dismiss me with a 'Dig you later'. 

By contrast, he undresses stylishly, in no hurry, folding his clothes carefully, then lounges back as decadent as some Roman emperor. The instant focus of my attention, his cock lolling as big as Wolfie's, a beautifully formed piece of human anatomy, thick, but no foreskin, which is fine, I was over my fixation with them. The blue ridge of a pronounced sperm-duct running the length of the underside, like a long line of joy leading to its fat plum head. 

He put me at my ease, telling me "You don't have to do anything you don't really want to do."

"But I do want to" I insist. "I do."

And boy -- do I, his consideration only makes me want it even more! At that moment there's nothing I'd ever wanted more than to get that cock into my mouth, lavish it with succulent attention, and slake myself on the gush of sperm I could conjur like thick milkshake through a flesh straw. But he makes no further move. And I was hesitant. 

Stupidly I pointed to it and say "May I?"

He smiles in a way that has some parts of me melting, and another stiffening. "Please do, I was kinda hoping you would."

And when I avail myself of the invitation, it's as good as I'd expected it to be, only more so. Sinking my bare bottom down onto the bed beside him, leaning over him, dipping in to gorge myself on him. I kiss the base of his cock and then align its angle down slightly so it's pointing directly toward my mouth. I kiss the tip, pressing my pursed lips lightly over the cock-head, allowing it to slowly slide in as if by natural gravitation, savouring the delicious sensation of my mouth slipping right over the edge of his corona and clamping down on the smooth foreskin shaft beneath. The taste of him floods me, I swallow and begin a gentle sucking motion, suck-suck-suck, then firmer and faster, suck-suck-suckity-suck, hearing the moist slurp escaping my drooling lips as I sink it further into my throat. All the while I'm leisurely pulling myself off to the same rhythm. I have to keep reminding myself that this is not for my benefit, that nothing is certain, this is just as much an audition as the three guys I'd gone with before Wolfie. 

He settles back into a more comfortable slouch, my head going with him, affixed mouth-to-cock. When our eyes meet, he's smiling down at me over the undulations of his smooth stomach. He's watching and noting each detail as I demonstrate my cock-sucking expertise. My tongue darting here and there, circling and teasing. My fingers cosseting his fat sperm-filled testicles. With our penile blood-pressure mutually increasing towards its successful, if moist, culmination, I have to ensure it's as good for him as it is rewarding for me.

"You know what's going to happen now, I'm going to cum off in your mouth. If that's not what you want then I very strongly advise you to stop and desist what you're doing pretty damn soon."

I've never been shown the courtesy of being offered the choice before, but there's nothing in the world that could induce me to stop now. Caressing his richly-hung balls in a smoothing upstroke motion, applying the slightest pressure, gently persuading those millions of sperms upwards towards me, intent on not missing a single one of them. I force my face in closer to his warm belly, feeling the voluptuous sensation of his cock clenching in my throat, and holding it there. Moaning with pleasure as his ejaculation begins spewing into my mouth, my eyes closing as I suck that spurting cock-head wantonly. The spasm after spasm of pulsing semen seems to go on for an eternity, my mouth pressing in tight on the shaft, encouraging his complete pleasure, as exquisite sensations radiate out through my body. 

We stay joined cock and mouth for as long as I dare, bathing his cock in a mouthful of warm jism as the semen flooding my mouth soaks my senses. My hands around his thighs, holding us together, as it stirs against my palette with an occasional post-climax throb. This is always one of my favorite parts of sucking cock. Then I swallow it all smoothly.

"Was that alright? Is that the way you like it? Tell me," I manage to say afterwards, as I lift my head from his groin anxiously, scarcely daring to meet his eyes.

"You did fine, don't worry. You have a real natural talent for it."

I smile with relief. Can't believe my luck. He thought I was talented -- me? talented! I duck down again to kiss its messy tip in pure gratitude, bending to retrieve a clear pearly semen-drop swelling from its gaping eye, an act that also serves to conceal from him the relief on my face. Would that I had a chameleon's flycatcher tongue, capable of extending and coiling around it to sip my sperm-bubble reward without such evasion. I linger there.

"Why do you always get naked just to give a blow-job?" he asks gently.

"I don't always, but it's more like an act of total submission when you are, isn't it? Anyway, it tends to get messy down there, for me too, as well as for the guy I'm doing, so it makes practical sense too" I argue.

"So you always cum when you suck someone off?"

"I guess so" I concede warily.

"That's interesting. It's like, in 'Deep Throat' Linda Lovelace was supposed to have her clitoris located in her throat. It seems you've got something similar, sensitive erectile-tissue located down there in your esophagus maybe, an orgasm-trigger that turns you on. That's interesting, and good. A rare talent."

Previously I've always felt uneasy about being complimented for my blow-job skills in this way. Always thinking, is he taking the piss? After all, sucking cock is usually considered a dubious act for a guy to perform at best. But because the praise comes from Bryan, I was smugly pleased.

After that first time, there was regular sex between us. I make sure there is always sex, that's the vital and basic part of the new deal, but I was happy to do it with Bryan. It was consensual, more so than it had ever been with Dean, or with Wolfie. This was more than just a convenient contract or a pragmatic transaction, it was a relationship. And I luxuriate in the nights when I can lie with him, nude and grateful. Being with Bryan strengthens me more than anything else. We talk a lot. His natural charm ensured he's had lovers of every gender and persuasion, and he regales me with outrageous tales of his adventures 'outside'. How he'd worked his way from being abused and used, to being the user. He seems to me to be supernaturally cool, in a magnetically attractive way, like some superior being beamed-in from a UFO, from the great cosmic unknown. 

He taught me stuff, and in return I show him what I've written. He was interested to read the things I'd written about Ian -- who he instantly names the 'Artful Todger'. Of course he knows Ian, how could he not? It's a small enclosed world, word gets around. Later he admits they've talked at some length, and even already had sex. But the things I'd written about Ian were new to him. So I nervously suggest bringing Ian around to Bryan's room too. 

Once I've broached the subject with Ian -- to a positive response, it takes very little time indeed before we are all three of us together. It doesn't require much more to encourage us out of our clothes, and then we're lounging naked on the bed together. 

Flirtatiously Ian is first to go down on us alternately, his lips slithering gluttonously down the length of Bryan's shaft. At first I feel a slight twinge of jealousy watching him murmuring little moans of approval as he sucks Bryan -- that cock is mine, it should be me sucking it. I feel a momentary isolation, exclusion. Hadn't Ian told me the story of the exclusive bond shared by Lee and Adam in the potting shed? It had never been like that for me and Ian. Never. I know all the delicious details of his encounters with other guys, as he knows all about mine. 

But knowing is one thing. Seeing it consummated so close is something else entirely. Seeing that beautiful prick juicily disappearing into his familiar maw is unsettling, but then he's transferring his wet mouth to me, sucking my cock, then dipping from one to the other, and then back again. And it feels warmly OK again. 

Now it's my turn to be the centre of their attentions. Feeling warm and indulged, I crouch on all fours, legs invitingly apart, as they take turns to use my raised bottom. And oh, it feels so good. First Ian eases his cock through my tight anal sphincter, and slides it deeply all the way in, then -- when he extracts, Bryan slithers solid, hot and exciting up into me. Holding his cock buried balls-deep inside me as he reaches around to finger my straining cock, wanking it in long lascivious strokes. 

Then he's fucking me in regular thrusts that have me groaning and squirming in pleasure. Until Ian replaces him in me again -- and he's pulsing spunk in throbbing bursts, and then Bryan until he orgasms too, while I shoot off uncontrollably into Ian's gobbling mouth. Unlike the way it had been with Wolfie, to have their semen mingling together in my rectum seems entirely natural. I was hungry for them. Our three naked bodies lying together, licking sour cooling perspiration from bare skin, from nipple, buttock, and testicle, tasting Ian's saliva on Bryan's cock, is the most intense thing I've ever experienced, leaving me totally sated and fulfilled physically and emotionally, until I begin sobbing, crying out all the fear, pain, and uncertainty in my life. 

Being together becomes a regular thing, so much so that we no longer need to seek solace in the laundry basement. Ian shows me his latest sketch. Three dark figures in slouch hats and long coats, titled 'The Untouchables'. Next to them, three smiling naked figures embracing each other -- with our names beneath, and the title 'The Highly Touchables'. In Bryan's room we have everything we need, or have ever needed. 

We return to the laundry room one last time. It is still warm and humid. White pipes, and hints of steam. A foetal sense of comforting enclosure. I get a strange emotional tug, I'd felt secure here. A place to escape into and feel safe. I'd seldom felt that way about anyplace. I might never again. From now on, things will never be quite the same. A new phase starting. Something lost, and something gained...

This is my story, and it's not one for the faint-hearted. Because there's just one more disturbing note. Buzz was due for release, and on his last day he sought me out. There was something he had to tell me. Something he felt that I should know. I was wary, but he seems genuine, sincere, and he's got nothing to gain and nothing to lose. I follow him. 

On the way we pass a young guy I recognise as Wolfie's new possession. He's hurrying determinedly in the opposite direction, a serious expression, maybe stressed, looking neither left or right, looking clear through me. I imagine where he's going, in fact I know where he's going, and what he's going to do when he gets there. He's got the 'summons'. He's on his way to crouch down and get his mouth filled with cock. I get a momentary sting of jealousy. That had once been me. Those days have gone, forever. And hey, one more time with Wolfie might not be such a bad thing? 

But I was with Buzz. He takes me to the locker room where I'd once blown him. What does he expect -- a repeat performance? A once-more for old time's same? Sorry, I only do that for... or at the discretion of, the right guy, and anyway -- hasn't he got Simon to do that kind of thing for him? Doesn't Simon suck his cock? But instead, he confides in low earnest tones that I have been the victim of an elaborate conspiracy.

"Your friend Ian is the biggest pimp on the block. He cynically monitors all the likely new inmates for their potential, the vulnerable new young flesh, then eases them into their roles, their dependence. You. Simon next. There are probably others."

According to Buzz, I was being duped, and he felt sorry for me, perhaps he even regretted the brief part he'd played in it. I'd been targeted and manipulated from that first night when Dean had 'broken me in', in preparation for Ian to skilfully erode my resistance further, making it all seem reasonable and acceptable, soothing and smoothing the process, then passing me on to Wolfie who ensured my unquestioning compliance was taken to the limits. They were working together. So that finally, with Bryan, I was grateful to do things, and pathetically eager to perform acts that I'd have found abhorrent just nine months earlier. 

I'd been set up, groomed, used, conditioned in ways that would continue into the future. So that I would even be exploited by Bryan later, in the outside world. I'd be no more than a Rent Boy, with Bryan acting as my Pimp, lining up guys for me. There was one final revelation which he intended to confirm his story. The 'older guy' that Ian had been living with before they'd both wound up here in the 'Big House', the 'older guy charged with possessing dope and living off immoral earnings', don't you see? It had been Bryan... 

I close my eyes and pretend not to hear, as I consider what he's telling me. Some of the elements seem almost plausible, certain parts of it are undeniably true. I had been 'acclimatised' to doing stuff. Hadn't Ian once said 'some guys just take to cock-fun, and some never do, no matter what'? Hadn't he told me how he'd recognised my 'potential' from my first day here, how he'd sensed it, smelled it on me? Had he suggested as much to Dean? Is that how, is that why it had begun on that first night? And later, after my spectacular three-cocks-in-one-day failure to secure myself a new Protector, hadn't Ian even set me up with Wolfie? Sure he had. 

But to believe that Ian and Bryan had been together before all of this, it stretches incredulity too far. That would mean a network of collusion. No, in the end I reject it, it can't be true. No, it wasn't like that. Bryan, Ian, they are my friends. The only friends I have in the world. Sometimes you have to do stuff to earn friendship, everyone knows that. It doesn't make that friendship any less real. Take that bond away from me, and I'll be truly alone, without that bond I have nothing and nobody. On a couple of occasions I try to pluck up courage to ask Bryan if the stories are true, but I chicken out at the last moment. I don't really want to hear that they are. No, I'd rather not know. 

I can't afford to believe what Buzz says. He was meddling. Vindictive. That was all. Nevertheless, it scares me. I wonder, is my future state of mind, my human equilibrium, the pattern of my adult relationships, being hideously distorted out of shape by the events of these past months? Consciously or not, is it closing down my options, determining the course of my life-sexuality, programming me? We get back-to-work advice on benefits, courses, and retraining assistance provided by one bored gum-chewing young woman and an unreasonably enthusiastic guy who obviously doesn't know the score. As though employers are going to be up for ex-offenders with behavioural problems, when they've got their choice of unemployed graduates bulging with degrees and positive-CV's? 

How can I ever find any kind of 'normal' life out there, after what I've experienced in here? But what the hell is a 'normal' life -- I've certainly never had a chance of living it, and what's so great about it anyway? There never is, and never can be an absolutely equal relationship. There is always one who gives more, and one who takes more. There's always one who holds the balance in that relationship, by nature, by temperament, or by necessity. So be it. The worst thing in the world is not to be used by anyone, for anything.

Or -- conversely, through it all, am I discovering aspects of my true nature I'd never have otherwise suspected? If some element of this sexuality was not already present within me, wouldn't I have fought with every fibre of my being against doing what I'm doing now? Sometimes I feel like a stranger in my own life. I think of all the guys I've had various kinds of sex with since I've been here -- on a routine every-night basis with my three 'protectors' obviously, Dean, Wolfie and Bryan. Then repeatedly, whenever the mood took us -- which was often, with Ian. My three 'auditions' that happened in the same day. And the strange one-offs, Buzz, Adrian, Dread, and a couple of others who's names I never knew who I sucked off at Wolfie's instigation. 

Eleven, maybe twelve. Is that a lot? Is that excessive? It's only bodies. It's only sex. Sometimes I daydream it as a field of phalluses growing thick and robust with their pulsing visible veins, swaying in the gentle breeze, every now and then quivering, spurting jets of milky-white sap into the air. But it can't touch what's inside. Inside I'm still the same person I've always been, a little more grubby, a little more used, a little more experienced. But I've come out of it OK. If this is what I am, that's fine, I'm happy with that. 

Except that sometimes I suspect that none of this, from bleak start, to satisfying finish, is really real. That I'm as much a fictional character as 'Roderick Random', a masturbatory fantasy invented by a frustrated dreamer, through which he acts out all the repressed indignities he's afraid to admit to desiring. And that soon, now he's into the closing paragraphs, he'll turn the page, and I'll cease to exist. Does the fact that I -- as a fictional character, can pose these questions, mean that I'm also a post-modern construction? Is this whole bare-assed tale a bare-face lie? 

Understanding is only part of it. I used to wonder when understanding would come, I thought I'd grow up into some kind of maturity where it'd all come clear. Now I'm grasping that the more I see, the more I see there is to see. Sometimes I just want my head to stop. None of this is fair. None of this is reasonable. But whoever said that life -- or fiction, or sex, is fair or reasonable? As we approach the dates for our release, I begin to get nervous about returning to the unpredictable threats of the outside world. Bryan gives me his 'phone number. We arrange that what we have here, will continue there. He has a flat we can share, he has ideas, plans. We will be free, but live on a basis of mutual need, not compulsion. 

Ian will also be a part of that future. The three of us. Bryan explains how, if we want to, he has friends who will help with our living expenses and rent, if we are 'nice' to them. But only if we want to. But of course we will want to, it's only right that we should contribute by -- as Ian said, 'bringing succour to the needy'. 




Cock-Sucker - Testimony Ch. 05



It is now May, the days are warmer and lighter. They say one swallow does not make a summer, but I guess my many swallows have helped me make it through to summer. Things are getting better. Yes, this is a forbidding place, set in its own wooded grounds behind impossibly high walls. And there was that strange sense of foreboding as soon as the darkness of its gates fell over me, but now I'm preparing to return to what is known as normal life. The rules that have governed my life here for the last nine months cease forever beyond these walls. This is the moment when I'll find out for certain what is dream, and what is real. But I take a new confidence and sense of identity with me. I survived. And I survive. I have the strength of new relationships to provide hope for the future...