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Cock-Sucker Tales: The Random Rod

By: tristantrotsky



We proudly present the first in a series of unjustly neglected underground classics of erotica, revived and reinterpreted for your entertainment and pleasure by Tristan Trotsky, a noted dilettante of decadent literature.

*

Erotica is wonderful. The only genre of literature with the potential to produce a directly observable physical change in the reader. Inevitably I've always been engrossed by it, always an obsessive collector and consumer of its more obscure and esoteric examples. Within my extensive library there are shelves of intimidatingly dour hardbacks. Below them are rows of yellowing thumbed paperbacks, dog-eared books with garish faded covers. But there are also publications of a more dubious nature. Nastily-printed underground porn-novels. These are the secret tales from my forbidden library...

One that particularly appeals to me is 'Maximo Urge's probably pseudonymously-written 'The Random Rod', a kind of Victorian pastiche of Charles Dickens, Henry Fielding, and the Marquis de Sade, in which the impoverished peasant farmer of a large country estate falls behind on the rent for his hovel, and offers the sexual services of his slow-witted but enviably well-endowed nineteen-year-old oldest son -- Roderick Random, in lieu of payment. So, a disreputable and morally questionable text, certainly, yet scrupulous in its assertion that each character portrayed, and every sex-act so graphically described, is by and carried out by those above the legal age of consent.

Of course, sex is the cause of it all. Raging irresistible overwhelmingly lustful sex. It opens as Roderick slips his rough peasant shirt off and drops his britches as his father has instructed, then climbs into the hip-bath naked as an old crone begins to sponge his well-muscled form. He faces the wall of the candle-lit hovel in a bashful agony of embarrassment as he hears conversation from outside, voices raised in anger. Then the two men engaged in the conversation enter and sit at the nearby table, his father pleading his poverty to Squire Fleshpole. He hears the Squire's steel-trap voice threaten eviction. The old woman begins sponging his naked buttocks, allowing water to trickle down over their firm tight roundness. His father is pleading now. The woman's fingers trail over Roderick's testicles and involuntarily his large penis stiffens to half-erection. She indicates he should turn to face the centre of the room, and he does so slowly, the water swishing, his heavy cock swaying lazily. His hands clasped loosely behind his back. The Squire, a man of late middle-age, is staring at him as the sponge begins dribbling water over the youth's stomach, trickling it down over his genitals so it ripples along the full length to drip from the tip like urine.

'I hear you're prepared to accept a token in lieu of payment' his father cajoles.

'What have you in mind?' On cue the crone fondles Roderick's cock, pulling it taut, as if offering it to the Squire. His little piggy-eyes become bloodshot-ruddy with greed as they fasten on the youth's generous gift, his yellowed tongue licking his dry lips appreciatively. Then she squeezes the veined shaft so hard the bulb bulges redly from its foreskin sheath.

His father gulps, 'You have a fondness for comely young men. I heard you fucked Seth down the meadow?'

The Squire nods, 'Bah, a whelp, squealed at each thrust.'

'He won't' he nods at his naked son. Roderick smiles as the crone demonstratively wanks him, running her fist up and down its inflamed length. The Squire's interest increases in exact proportion to the more the cock swells, grows, and becomes perpendicular.

'And this item of barter is... virgo intacta?'

'To the best of my knowledge, yes. He has a brother, Richard -- a year younger, and only just ripe. They may have fondled, you know how these youths are. They can't keep their hands off each other's bits. But beyond that, no... he is yours to break in.' He tactfully omits the uncles and cousins who took their pleasure with Roderick during lazy breaks in the harvesting. Or the village boys who delighted in him after evenings drinking the highly-potent 'Saint Phallus' local wine.

'In that case, don't bother clothing the trade merchandise' his eyes bugging out of his head as he speaks, lasciviously rubbing his own itchy crotch, 'I'll take the item as it is, in lieu of what you owe me,' nodding his mat-haired warty head in assent.

Naively accepting the arrangement the amiably docile youth steps out of the hip-bath, dries himself negligently, and follows his new master. Stepping outside the hovel into the sunshine, the Squire mounts his black stallion and trots briskly off towards Fleshpole Manor. Without a backward glance the naked youth lopes behind him on big peasant feet, barely breaking into a sweat. A brisk mile's canter sees them reaching the courtyard where Roderick stands wide-shouldered and narrow-hipped, his blonde hair a curly-tangle of tousled whorls framing his broad square-chinned face, glistening, his chest heaving only slightly with exertion. A uniformed manservant emerges to take control of the horse and lead it away towards the stables, taking a lingering opportunity of pruriently eyeing the Squires latest acquisition all the way up and down, then halfway up again. Roderick smiles. But the servant's attention is firmly fixed, not on his face, but his conspicuously eye-catching groin. Fleshpole snaps his fingers impatiently, and Roderick follows him into the crumbling Gormenghastian once-Stately Home, with the naked youth gawking in a state of awed silence as he's led through the dusty reception hall, up the curving staircase beneath ancient faded paintings of aristocratic ancestors in regal pose -- one as a General, another as a Roman Emperor presiding over attentive nude male slaves. One is done as a hunting scene, but it's not a stag the huntsmen pursue, but a naked young man. Turning right at the top of the stairs they hurry past rusty suits of armour and coats of arms, then along long corridors with threadbare carpets, spaced by secretive doors.

With feverish urgency Fleshpole shuffles Roderick through one heavy oak-panelled door into the nearest bedroom, the Squire's pants already around his ankles, an impressively engorged cock released and twitching in the air. He begins by getting the measure of his new possession. Feeling up Roderick's equally aroused cock with both hands, drawing the foreskin back to uncover the silky-moist purple glans, tracing the forking path of blood-vessels up the richly-pigmented shaft, detecting its pulsing reaction to his attentions, the blood pounding within its aching stiffness, squeezing the fat balls until tears of milky fluid weep from the gaping eye. Then -- as if in some fast-forward movie sequence, he sets about relieving Roderick of what he's been assured is his oral virginity.

Pressuring the younger man down onto his knees, using his legs to wedge Roderick back up against the coverlets, the Squire uses his cock-head to part the youth's pursed lips, then slowly but firmly skewers his face with half the full not-inconsiderable length of his fleshy pole. Looking down with satisfaction, yes, this merchandise is going to earn its keep. When the youth shows no discomfort he slides a further quarter of it in, still no spluttering or gag-reaction, just a drool of spittle coursing down his chin, so he thrusts the final length in, deep-throating him so that Roderick's nose is crushed out of shape by the pressure of his hairy gut, and his heavy oval balls are squashed in straddling either side of his windpipe, close to the adam's apple where the glans of his cock must surely be lodged. Roderick wriggles a little and makes a gurgling noise. Nothing more. Fleshpole holds the position with an obscene chortling, before inching back sufficient to allow the youth to work on his cock-head with rasping tongue, lips and slurpy suction. Every now and then the older man nudges back in as far as the epiglottis, in a series of sharp cock-jabs, enjoying the answering squelch in the syrupy mess of oozing saliva, and the impact of his swaying hairy balls on the youth's throat. But no matter what he does, the lusty youth orally affixed to his groin, sucks enthusiastically throughout.

After enjoying such exquisite attentions for long minutes he withdraws, the bulbous knob slithering out in a slithery torrent of gooey pre-emission and drooling spit-strands. He tips the compliant Roderick over the end of the four-poster bed, knees his legs apart, and takes what he assumes is his anal virginity too by plunging balls-deep into his yielding arse, with a satisfied grunt and only the saliva as lubrication. Roderick's tackle free-swinging and flapping up and down, in a circular motion as he's fucked, strands of dribble dancing and spinning from its tip, his firm young bottom quivering as he receives the slam of each deep stroke. The furious rutting speeds towards climax, until the Squire feels his balls tingle and his toes curl, gripped by the spasms of impending discharge racing through his scrotum to burst in stream after stream of spunk into the warm tightly-enveloping rectum in a messily explosive extended mutual orgasm. Gasping in breathy growls, with Roderick mewling as the gooey white tide floods him, using his sphincter-muscles to milk the shaft buried in his ass, as he's wracked by his own wildly spurting ejaculation. The Squire holds still, deep in the youth's bottom, both of them exhaling heavily. The only other sound is the clock tick-ticking, and the buzzing of two flies attracted by the pools of shimmering slimy stuff the younger man has deposited onto the coverlets.

If the sensual tongue-play of his blow-jobs or the ease with which he takes cock up his rectum betrays some practised expertise, his new master certainly feels no necessity for complaint. And over the coming weeks it's not that Roderick proves an unwilling pupil, far from it. He's as enthusiastic about being fucked as his owner is to fuck him. And the Squire continues to regularly exact his pleasures to the full, as he considers his right under the agreement.

Roderick is also systematically debauched by the other members of the aristocratic family. By lecherous octogenarian Grandfather Fleshpole, in garish lipstick with his long white hair tied back in bunches. He needs long sessions of oral and visual stimulation -- with a naked Roderick obediently bending over sucking his unresponsive flaccid member, the rancid smell of the old man's nakedness enveloping him like a filthy cloak, as the youth's prominently presented bare bottom is mildly flagellated by a smirking valet, until the old man's withered wrinkled penis eventually stiffens, until it's sufficiently firm to bugger him. Which, eased in with the valet's guiding help, he does with mad cackles of delight. When, finally, there's a sad trickle of semen from the aged penis the valet is instructed to stand at the open casement-window and blow a long celebratory blast on a hunting horn to announce the achievement to the world.

Then there's Fleshpole's foppish effeminate son Aubrey, given to wearing ruffled shirts like Byron, who imagines himself romantically bonded to Roderick, empathising with the humiliation of his pain in ways that largely express themselves in long mawkish poems and long spermy afternoon sixty-nine sessions in the intimacy of his four-poster, their sweat-soaked legs firmly entwined. Licking the daubs and smears from other's faces after they've ejaculated there, the dribbling trails of what Aubrey calls 'rich male-elixir' strung like webs spun by a drunken spider. 'When the oldsters are dead and gone, I will inherit all of this' he says wistfully, 'but I'm only twenty-four years old, how long must I wait, Roderick, how long...?'

Then there's the rest of the staff. The manservant who first approvingly appraised Roderick in the state of nature upon his initial arrival at Fleshpole Manor is one of two randy well-hung valets, who take advantage of him whenever the opportunity arises. Roderick proves to be accommodating, in every sense of the word. He cheerfully endures their persistent cruel attentions giving a snatched blow-job during a chance encounter on the landing, or a hurried butt-fuck without pleasantries in the ornamental walled garden. He's always keen and obliging. During their evenings together in the servants' quarters below stairs the pair delight in devising erotic games to inflict on Roderick, tossing a coin for who takes 'head' or 'tail' before jointly enjoying him between them. Then setting each other competitive targets for number of copulations, strange positions and odd locations to be consummated within a set period of time. Due to the binding nature of the contract signed by his father, and due to his own agreeable amenable nature, Roderick is incapable of refusing any of them, taking it all in his stride, accepting each pounding of his bottom and vandalising of his gullet as part of the entertainment. The decisions are not his to make.

Throughout it all, he's trained and disciplined in every possible permutation of sexual techniques, proving an adept, compliant and very enthusiastic pupil, never less than eager to please. Roderick is also presented to weekend guests for their erotic use, and broadens his range of sexual experience while pleasuring a series of weird characters. This is one 'boy blue' who certainly blows some horn! Yet he adapts easily to his new life. After all -- sometimes dressed as a valet, most-times not dressed at all, it proves easier, more enjoyable and more plushly luxurious than backbreaking toil on his father's farm.

The long drowsy-warm English summer passes in a pleasant blurry fug of insistent male nudity and sexual intoxication. But the deciding incident that will bring change to his circumstances inevitably follows. The highlight of the season is Fleshpole's Perverted Garden Party. Beneath the spreading chestnut tree, between an archery stand and a coconut shy the two valets strap a naked unprotesting Roderick onto a vaulting 'horse', his bottom raised and greased, his legs wide-spread, with an elaborate comic cardboard horse's head placed over his own head, and stirrups conveniently positioned to raise and give better access to the appealingly presented rectal orifice. They position a sign overhead announcing 'Ride A Cock-Horse'. Then, in a gay carnival atmosphere as a string quartet dressed in Pierrot-costumes play lively gavots, enthusiastic guests line up to 'ride' him in a particularly excessive series of sexual bouts. His mouth is taped shut so he's only able to moan as they begin. How many? Roderick ejaculates himself as the third cock slides in, lubricated by the copious emissions left there by the previous two, and he soon loses count. Some are bigger, some smaller. Some come almost immediately. Others take longer. Truth to tell, some gentlemen, having enjoyed the hospitality of his warm anus, circle the other events, sampling thick wedges of sponge-cake dripping with strawberries and clotted cream, along with the dainties, cheese and wine on offer, then return for a second indulgence between his buttocks. Cackling Grandfather Fleshpole has the valet's position his chair opposite so he can watch each anal thrust through his binoculars, clapping his hands gleefully at each ejaculation and messy withdrawal.

As evening approaches, and the guests finally disperse, a concerned Aubrey releases Roderick, who is understandably unsteady on his feet, and helps him into the big house, up the stairs to the fop's room where he lays Roderick on the silken coverlets of his bed and carefully sponges away the trickles of sperm leaking from the well-used anus, pausing only to daub a particularly opulent smear on his index finger and taste it critically, like a connoisseur. Then he sympathetically massages ointment into the aching orifice. When this intimate action inevitably results in erection Aubrey crouches and tearfully consoles his friend's meaty rosy manhood orally, which curtails conversation for a full ten minutes, after which -- wiping his mouth, the fop breaks off to broach a subject close to his heart.

'Daddy's gone too far this time, subjecting you to such beastliness' his voice husky with emotion and just a hint of sperm. 'If only it could always be like this, just you and me' he leans over to kiss the messy tip of Roderick's twitching erection, running his tongue beneath the foreskin rim, and sucking the glans briefly between his full lips... then releasing it again. 'I know what we'll do. Just the two of us. We'll go away. We'll leave here together. Run away to London.' There was a goose-feather that had come adrift from the pillow. He uses it to caress up and down Roderick's scrotal sack, circling the fat oval shape of each testicle. Roderick groans and squirms in pleasured response. 'At first we can find a garret-room to share and you can get a job, until I find a publisher for my poems, it shouldn't be too difficult. Then I'll be feted and lionised by the literary establishment and we'll live on absinthe and quail's eggs garnished with fresh-sperm. Oh, it'll be so wonderful.'

Roderick makes no reply, his only reaction is a sharp inhalation of breath as the full length of his penis disappears down Aubrey's greedy throat, as he sets about bringing to a spermy climax what he's already begun. So it's decided, the two 'lovers' are going to run away from such awfulness together, to share a new life in London. Things become even more ludicrous as they steal away to seek their fortune. Aubrey has the kitchen staff prepare a hamper packed with buns, boiled sweets, iced fancies and a bottle of the potent 'St Phallus' wine. Roderick carries the hamper. After several miles of wandering in the endless forest beyond the estate Aubrey decides it's an appropriate time to stop and eat. Roderick lays out the cloth on the short grass and arranges the contents of the hamper across it. As they eat, Aubrey's mind is already crawling with unease, taking fright at the prospect of losing his allowance. Filled with scary forebodings, glancing nervously this way and that, Aubrey begins to change his mind about abandoning his life of wealthy leisure. But first they share the wine, passing the bottle back and forth, drinking it from each other's mouths. And Aubrey's resolve drifts as the wine, piquantly bitter, begins to take effect.

With mutual arousal, they slide each other's pants down and off to release their firming erections to bounce free, hungry for each other's bodies. Naked beneath the canopy of rustling foliage they embrace each other, pressing their firm cocks together, then jousting them like swordplay, laughing as they slap audibly up one against the other. Aubrey reaches down and takes both cocks in his hand -- although the span of his fingers are unable to meet around their combined girth, pressing and squeezing them together pleasingly, massaging the two lengths in single long joined strokes. Then, as they sit together, Aubrey plucks a buttercup and carefully weaves it into Roderick's pubic hair. So Roderick strings a daisy-chain and garlands it around Aubrey's balls.

Taking the game a step further Aubrey teasingly plucks a glacè cherry from atop an iced bun, balances it on the head of Roderick cock trying to slither the foreskin up around it, then takes both in his mouth, devouring them. Roderick smoothes butter-cream from a fairy-cake up and down the length of Aubrey's cock, then sucks it clean. This escalates into a final intense mutual oral indulgence, their naked sixty-nine interlocked bodies rolling over and over across the crumb-strewn cloth, sucking and slurping ravenously until they drink their fill of each other's spurting ejaculations. A little breathless and sated from the intensity of their intimate games, Aubrey gazes with melancholy wistfulness into Roderick's dark eyes. Knowing they must part. 'Farewell to thee my star-crossed Love, take care' he says, kissing his fingers, then the fop fretfully puts his clothes back on, and tearfully takes flight, flouncing back to Fleshpole Manor, leaving the bemused Roderick alone.


Cock-Sucker Tales: The Random Rod 02



We proudly present the second part of the first in a series of unjustly neglected underground classics of erotica, revived and reinterpreted for your entertainment and pleasure by Tristan Trotsky, a noted dilettante of decadent literature.

--- 0 ---

The earnest literary critic can but conjecture about the state of mind of the author of the sad and perverse litany of profanity that is 'The Random Rod'. Who was the miserable pornographer masquerading behind the pseudonym 'Maximo Urge'? Did he write other forgotten works? Does it matter? Probably not.

It's notable that in this shoddy work every male character -- and there are few of any other gender, are all mightily well-hung, lusty, erect, rampant, and permanently ready for sex. Is that logical? Is that reasonable? Indeed, this fantastic tale flows with the lubrication of so much gushing sperm the reader almost expects the yellowing pages to be moistly sticky with its residue. Although there's a kind of rationalisation provided by the narrative later on, such justification is not strictly necessary. Although there are elements of Voltaire's great satirical work 'Candide' -- in which another naïve innocent endures picaresque adventures through which he is debauched and abused by a corrupt world, this is not great literature, but cheap tawdry pornography. It needs no other excuse. And, after the wild adventures that befell poor Roderick Random in the first section, it's around this mid-point that this novel takes a stranger turn. From a kind of debauched Henry Fielding, into a darker more-Gothic realm, with De Sade overtones.

The narrator addresses his audience directly, commenting 'Gentle reader, I will not profane your sensitivities over-much with too many details of the hazards and indignities of Roderick's journeyings, for they are beyond imagining. Suffice it to say that, leaving 'Swift' Nick to his fate, he eventually finds himself stranded on the road to London, with gathering storm-clouds in the darkening sky. Our unfortunate hero finds himself following a sign down a long winding tree-lined lane towards a monastery, through lengthening evening-shadows. The building silhouetted black against the sky stands like a forbidding fortress. But 'Sanctuary' he thinks, 'they'll offer me sanctuary.' In the wall there's a heavy arched wooden door. At his firm knock a panel set into the oak slides opens and a monk's head protrudes. A tonsure of hair, with gold-rim spectacles perched upon a protuberant nose mapped with blood-vessels. The wanderer requests overnight sanctuary. The main door opens.

'I am Father Benevolence' announces the monk gravely, rubbing his chin while circling the newcomer critically, 'what is your age my child?'

'I am nineteen, gentle sir, almost twenty, if it pleases you.'

'It pleases me well, for only those over eighteen are ever allowed into this sacred place. So you are welcome to share our frugal hospitality, in full, in exchange for a simple obligation. Are you willing to enter and abide by our rules without coercion and according to your own free will?'

Roderick is hungry, he imagines maybe chopping wood or carrying water as the price. Yes, he could do that. 'I am, I freely accept.'

'Then you're welcome to partake of what our community has to offer.' He's ushered in through high locked double-gates, its eaves decorated with many strange symbols, and set into thick ivy-patterned fortress walls. Then across a courtyard through a lower arch into the cloisters beyond. He's surprised and a little disturbed to see naked shackled youths tending the herb-gardens, vineyard and stables. From what he can estimate, none of them are younger than his own nineteen years, but none older than mid-twenties either. All of them are slim and fit, and obviously at perfect ease with their nudity. He's even more surprised when a group of them break off their grimy labours to form a jostling circle of sweating male bodies to watch as two of them take turns to bugger a third. Watching as the 'victim' raises his bottom readily to take them, grunting with pleasure at each anal thrust, his own bouncing arousal equally apparent. The audience crushing together show similar physical evidence of agitated excitement, with down-hung organs quivering horizontal, then perpendicular, rubbing up against each other lasciviously.

Roderick feels a little unsettled, but also undeniably aroused, an answering stirring crawling in his loins. He glances uncertainly across at Father Benevolence, who merely smiles and shrugs in a 'boys-will-be-boys' way, and leads him further. He glances back wistfully at the entwined bodies moving together in erotic choreography. Feeling intrigued, fascinated and more than a little threatened by it all. What is the secret of this strange place?, before following his host through an enchanted garden of roses and hydrangea which line the walkway, and then up beneath high spires overshadowing them pleasantly, climbing a flight of narrow twisting stairs into the monastery building itself. Each step worn concave, as if by generations of pacing feet. There's a sense of great antiquity about the stone walls, hundreds of years old, while the deeper they penetrate its echoing passages there's evidence of even greater age. As though this edifice has existed since the very dawn of time.

But entering through an ornate doorway he finds himself in a large airy furnished suite, around the walls of which are disposed high mounds of embroidered cushions in many bright colours. There are mobiles hanging from the ceiling, jingling constructs of bells affixed to silver wire, and explicitly homo-erotic scroll-paintings in the manner of stained-glass church-windows skilfully executed unfurled across the walls. There are strategically placed fresh flowers and segments of fruit laid in tiny porcelain water-pots from which delicate scents waft. A chess-set laid out on a mosaic-inlaid table lit by the flickering light of a multi-stemmed candelabra. And coloured-glass vials of amber, sapphire, violet and peach liquids. He'd assumed life within these walls would be ascetic, dedicated only to prayer and contemplation. Perhaps he was wrong?

Barely taking in his lavish surroundings he's seated at a stout wooden table. The monk claps his hands sharply for Random to be served food, and two handsome naked young men appear, bringing it to him on a tray -- their ankles, wrists and throats circled by metal bands. The newcomer feels a little embarrassed, afraid to look, but incapable of looking away. Aware of the powerful sexuality of the tousle-haired youths, the heavy weight of the thick cocks which pendulum between their legs as they move. He rouses himself with an effort, tries to force his gaze away and focus his concentration on the food they've brought him. There are fist-sized rolls of bread, each of which when broken open reveals a filling of some kind of salty mushroom heavily seasoned with herbs. All delicious, served with shimmering richly full-bodied white wine.

The monk holds a shimmering glass of the wine up to the light, 'as rare as gold' he says in a tone of respectful reverence, 'and infinitely more precious.'

Once he's ravenously eaten and drunk his fill -- the wine leaving a curiously warming bouquet after-taste, Roderick is invited to bathe and cleanse himself of the sweat and dust of his travels. There's a wetroom revealed through a half-curtained chink at the room's far side, leading into a sparse steamy annex where a large tub is already prepared for him, filled to the foamy brim with warm water. Again, the two naked well-hung youths stand ready to assist. When he's instructed 'thou shalt divest thyself of all worldly apparel,' he begins to undress, jerkin first, then shoes. The Monk and the two nude youths watching as each garments is removed. There's a moment's hesitation at the britches stage... should he proceed?

'Thou shalt carry naught of the taint of the world into these sacred walls,' and in response he doffs his final covering to stand naked. Aware of heir close appraisal as he straightens. What is there to lose? He climbs into the tub to be bathed, with the two youths in intimate attendance, as Father Benevolence watches. When the monk says 'Thou art well-formed and not unpleasing to the eye,' he's uneasily reminded of his first encounter with the predatory Squire Fleshpole, when his father showed him off in the hipbath. But surely the gentle pious monks will have no rapacious interest in his body?

'Thermal springs' says Benevolence conversationally, 'volcanic vents deep underground ensure us constant hot water, and a sub-tropical microclimate that encourages all manner of exotics to grow, as well as making nudity the choice mode of dress.'  

As he talks, they shampoo, shave and soap him as he stands there, but inevitably the bizarre atmosphere has its effect upon him, especially as they devote much attention to his groin area, more than is strictly necessary for the demands of cleanliness. One sliding his foreskin carefully back so the other can drool warm soapy water over the sensitive exposed tip. One cupping and holding his balls aside so the other can sponge between his legs and up the crease dividing his full buttocks. He grits his teeth, yet it results in an unbidden erection he's unable to suppress.

Athough he's initially embarrassed, Father Benevolence merely nods to one of the attendant youths, who promptly bends over and takes the bloated cock-head into his warm mouth. Taken by surprise by the succulent-moist envelopment, Roderick simply stands stock-still, immobile with his feet in the tub, pleasantly amazed as the boy swallows his full length down his throat. Even more so as the second youth takes over and equals his companion's expertise, taking it just as deep, something even Swift Nick could never accomplish, sucking on his engorged member, slithering it all the way down until all that can be seen is his nose lost in the bush of Roderick's pubic hair. He gasps and moans as the unexpected sensations radiate from his groin. The two continue to alternate their juicy sucking, and when Roderick squirms out his ejaculation into the welcoming mouth, they carefully exchange his sperm from one mouth to the other, so he can see its milky bubbles between their teeth, and its freckles on their glistening gums as it drools from one tongue to the other, and then back, before swallowing, to the monk's evident approval.

Breathlessly, in the warm sensual after-glow, the suspicion gradually dawns on him that this is not a normal monastery. That maybe the 'simple obligation' he's so readily agreed to fulfil equates to more than merely chopping wood or carrying water. And that he will not be allowed to leave. Not until they decide. By now the two youths are smoothing an unguent he assumes to be olive oil into his tingling bare skin, massaging it into his shoulders and chest, down over his stomach and legs, down to his individual toes. Then the round hemispheres of his bottom and repeatedly down the full length of his still semi-hard penis.

Once dried, his clothes are not returned, instead gently but firmly the two youths move to bind him into a leather restraint harness. They've become visibly excited by their actions, and there's much sniggering and fumbling which reduces the threat, making it more like a game, and in the warm post-orgasmic haze, with the Monk in stern attendance, he allows it to continue without protest. Now he's naked but for a leather thong that circles his neck, runs down his back affixing his arms crossed and immobile behind him, then running further down between the crease of his rounded buttocks, between his legs to circle the base of his genitals, emphasising his penis and testicles, making them stand out defiantly.

The Father turns to him, beckoning, and submissively he follows him from the room. Despite being towelled dry, he leaves wet footprints on the tiles. Glancing back he sees the two youths caressing each other's attractive erections, and almost wishes he could stay. But the monk is leading him, pacing naked through the cold stone corridors beyond. Although self-consciously aware of his nudity at first, his genitals swaying from side to side, his cock slapping occasionally up against his stomach audibly, it seems nudity is taken for granted here, and there's a charged air of ever-present eroticism. The rich smell of fetid male arousal hanging in the shadows. He's led to the 'scriptorium' where the youth is shown the tasks the monks perform.

With only the sound of scratching pens to interrupt the reverent silence there is a row of five immense carved-oak desks where the monks toil in copying illustrated manuscripts. Benevolence speaks in hushed tones -- 'we require you in the attitude of prayer.' As Roderick goes down on his knees, the monk sits at an unoccupied desk and unfastens the sash of his habit, parting the robes so they fall open, revealing an obscenely large erection protruding lazily from a mass of pubescence nesting the big orbs of his balls.

'We offer you hospitality' he continues, the cock swaying an inch from the youth's eyes, its stale odour reaching his nostrils, its swollen gleaming head as blood-mapped as the monk's nose, oozing purple from the ragged foreskin, 'for as long as you supply the hospitality of your tight rectum and ruby lips. Now you may stuff your mouth with cock-meat,' so Roderick is instructed to give thanks to his benefactors through this act of voluntary submission. He mentally shrugs, after what has occurred he has no choice. And it's not as though he's unfamiliar with being used and abused by male lust. His mouth opens, his temples pounding, his cheeks colouring, as his lips close over the invading crimson corona of the grotesquely engorged glans, its salty taste filling his mouth. The spongy shaft-membrane stiffens and writhes against his lips, sliding forward to penetrate the soft moistness of his mouth, slipping further into him, across the roof of his palette until he's almost gagging on its length. Unable to control the depth of its forceful penetration, his arms affixed behind him, he begins to suck determinedly at the solid meat, his lips straining, saliva dribbling down his chin. He can see an inch of it -- maybe less, still outside his mouth, impaling him.

And beyond the naked hairy thighs he can see as the monk shows him extracts of the art-work they're preparing, illustrating the life of the saint the monastery is dedicated to -- Saint Phallus. Echoes of which he recognises from the scrolls decorating the walls of the room he's been brought from. The martyr was an early evangelist in the pagan days of ancient Rome who was arrested and sodomised by Roman soldiers. It was then, as the sixteenth legionary entered him, that he experienced a revelation. A spiritual vision that told him it is nobler to receive than it is to give. That instead of his humiliating ordeal being a variety of martyrdom, he could see it as a way of submission, an act of giving himself up to the needs of other man, loving his fellow man in a very literal sense. So afterwards, once he was released and resumed his missionary wanderings, he continued bringing sexual pleasure to as many men as he could, as part of his mission. Gathering a coterie of followers who shared his vision, and each other's bodies. Each phase of the story is graphically and explicitly pictured, with beautifully detailed images of fellatio and anal sex, erect penises and orgies, as Roderick is shown, with the monk's throbbing penis lodged in his throat all the while.

The combination of blasphemously erotic images and the monster in his mouth has an undeniably ecstatic effect. Other scribes and the occasional naked youth passes by, glancing with evident prurience at what he's doing. Two, then three other monks pause to watch more closely, forming a circle about them. To Roderick, it seems that their eyes are raping him, and he's powerless to avoid their demanding gaze.

This monastery, Benevolence explains, is dedicated to living according to the Saint's example. 'We devote ourselves to instructing those younger than we are, by donating the example of our precious seed to their need' breathes the monk, 'are you ready to receive my sacrament?'

Roderick nods, as best he can.

'It is (grunt) more blessed (groan) to receive than to give' he continues huskily, 'to share the (gasp) love of brother for brother and (groan), to drink the milk of human kindness... now, but do not swallow until given permission...' as the flood of semen fills his throat. A smoky pungent flavour. With his mouth filled he stands, shakily, as the monk tells him, 'I know your kind are greedy for white fluid. But sperm is alive. It swims. It is the purest essence of man. A gift from man to man to savour. Hold it in your mouth. Stir it with your tongue. Allow it to absorb up into the tissue of your palate, to permeate and burrow through the cellular structure of the roof of your mouth and up to impregnate your brain with its vital neurochemical signature and biological energies. St Phallus taught us through his sacred example that sex organs are our route to the divine. That you have been so generously favoured with so well-endowed an appendage is evidence he intends you for our special vocation. You will join us as our number four... you may swallow now.'

Two spermy gulps later, too late, Roderick realises his fate. The other monks are claustrophobically close, their questing intimate hands on his body, cupping his balls, stroking the soft curve of his bottom, tugging at his cock. He's fallen foul of a fanatical phallus-worshipping cult, sinful monks who keep runaway youths caged naked in dungeons, youths they have sexually enslaved for elaborately choreographed blasphemous orgies. He reconciles himself to playing along with their vile practices, at least until the opportunity for escape presents itself. He does not resist as he's led from the scriptorium to a workshop where the temporary leather harness is removed, to be replaced by metal circlets soldered around his ankles, wrists and neck. Exactly like those worn by the other inmates of this place. Each metal band has raised eyelets allowing shackles to be affixed.

'Sit here' says Benevolence indicating a low cushioned bench in an alcove, 'I must attend to a duty in the scriptorium.' Moments later, flexing his bonded hands, he finds himself temporarily un-chaperoned. Sitting in the alcove adjacent to the workshop he can look through the slit-window out over the enclosed gardens where youths tend the vines and herbs. He can't help his attention being drawn to their groins, screwing up his eyes in his effort to discern detail. He can also see the high imprisoning walls encircling the entire monastery grounds, and to the forest and countryside beyond which is now impossible to reach. Caught in such thoughts he quickly turns at the sound of someone approaching, and sees one of the handsome tousle-haired naked urchins who'd earlier served him food. As he makes to pass by Roderick smiles, and casually asks his name and how long he's been kept a prisoner here.

The youth immediately seems nervous and starts glancing left and right. 'I am Eli' he manages at length, 'but we must not be observed just talking. To be together we must engage in a sex act. At the very least toss each other off.' Roderick agrees. Eli is well-hung with a large uncircumcised hose, so he's quite agreeable to the suggestion. They sit together and take each other firmly in hand, Eli's long cool slim fingers wrapping around Roderick's cock so tightly it causes his balls to wobble, while Eli's cock snugly fills Roderick's fist in a satisfying way, radiating a pulsing living heat. They begin slow masturbatory strokes. A passing monk smiles at them, and watches indulgently as their mutual tempo quickens. More calmly now, but in quick excited exhalations matching the actions of Roderick's rhythmic fist, Eli explains that many of the twenty young men have been incarcerated here for years, selected from local villages ever since they came of legal age, the villagers consider it an honour for them to be chosen. Once within its fortress walls some of them have spent their entire adult lives within its strict enclosure, accepting its rules, and knowing little of the world outside. Most of them are classed as initiates -- 'sex-zombies' he calls them. Roderick, Eli, and two others, are considered 'novices'.




Cock-Sucker Tales: The Random Rod 02



Discipline is strictly enforced. According to rota each boy must spend one night in turn with each of the twelve monks. Father Pious, Father Innocent, Father Virtuous, Father Forgiveness, Father Mercy, Father Bounteous, Father Altruism, Father Reverence, Father Purity, Father Veracious, Father Seraphic, and Father Benevolence. Those not required are caged in a locked dormitory where again, according to rota, they sleep three to a palette -- and have sex with the youths they're paired with, so as to show no favouritism and form no emotional bonds. No sexual whim can be denied at any time, and no genital concealment -- or indeed, concealment of any sex-act, is allowed.

As Eli explains, once broken in and properly schooled in a range of sexual skills they will eventually be presented to 'The Bishop', for his pleasure. But the most favoured ritual of the year is the re-enactment of St Phallus' revelation, when a youth is selected to take the saint's part in the great hall, and experience sixteen consecutive penetrations. As he is the latest member recruited to the order, Roderick will be the recipient of this year's honour...

It's at this point that Eli squirms uncomfortably on the seat, and his words become little more than a series of grunting gasps, indicating his imminent ejaculation. 'Seed' -- he warns, 'please, it must not be wasted.' So Roderick compliantly kneels, takes the hot and heavy testicles in his hand and uses them to pull down so he's drawing the hefty shaft lower until he's faced by its large mushroom-shaped head. Close up, despite all the sex he's had, he never realised just how perfect a cock could be. Its savage beauty takes his breath away, it slides and slithers across his face as he licks and slavers at its swollen glans, worshiping it, his tongue tracing the thick veins running its length. Eli is moaning with urgent desperation, so Roderick quickly focuses, moving to plunge the straining fore-skinned plummy-tip in his mouth, sheathing it just as the white eruptions begin to pulse like a severed artery into his throat. Gulping, and gulping again at the rich, thick and powerfully flavoured fluid. Once the flood has been staunched Roderick continues to suck contentedly, until his own impending climax forces him to stagger unsteadily to his feet so Eli can swiftly duck his head down to do the same, taking Roderick's achingly red cock deep and drinking the uncontrollable bursts of spunk that deluges him. The sensation is overwhelming.

Eli lifts his head smiling a lopsided smile, wiping his mouth, 'thank you Roderick, thank you.' His eyes glazed with infatuation, his lips a little parted as though about to say more. 'It may be selfish of me, but I'm glad you're here. I think we're going to be good together.'

Time passes. During the first two weeks, while participating with other captive youths during the day, he's summoned to service the varied nightly sexual requirements of each of the twelve monks. Each of them has a peculiar peccadillo. Father Purity likes to have two boys together, shifting his attentions from one bottom to the other as they orally pleasure each other. Father Veracious has an adjustable pulley system in his suite enabling him to suspend harnessed-boys upside-down from the ceiling, in such a position that he can insert his penis into their mouths and then rock their heads up and down on it, so he has absolute control and they have no control whatsoever over the depth of penetration, while he explores to his heart's content between their splayed legs, inserting various large dildos into their bottoms while squeezing and foldling their helplessly exposed genitals into a variety of devices. Father Purity prefers to use his wet-room for piss-games, which Roderick is at first a little uncertain of, until the warm play of yellow liquid splashing across his body, concentrating on his groin produces a pleasurable response. Father Bounteous likes mild flagellation, spanking them until their buttocks are red. Father Seraphic enjoys long anal sessions, while Father Benevolence just wants sucking-off, a service Roderick is more than happy to supply.

In the scriptorium various boys model events from the saint's life for the monks to sketch, while other initiates crawl on all fours from monk to monk stimulating their creativity more directly, orally taking them to the point of climax, but using their skills to pause and extend the moment indefinitely. In the vinery it's explained to Roderick how generous doses of semen are added to the wine, to give it its special quality, making it popular throughout the county (although the secret ingredient is obviously not revealed to outsiders), and is particularly favoured by the diocese priests and clerical officials. During the distillation process the youths line up to be orally stimulated, but carefully ejaculate directly into the vat. This is repeated over and over again. Resulting in, of course, the famous highly-potent 'Saint Phallus' wine which he's been drinking all his days, never aware of its aphrodisiac properties. The secret ingredient explains so much about his life, insidiously tweaking his libido.

Then, in the herb-garden he's shown the special shrub that must be nurtured. 'The Hellflower is a secret that goes back to the pagan Druids' explains Eli to him, 'which the monks of St Phallus have continued over the intervening centuries due to its unique properties. It's leaves are dried and, when ground to powder, are added to the food we eat. Combining with the special-ingredient in the wine it stimulates a constant aphrodisiac effect, the results of which can be clearly seen all around us. For orgies extra doses can produce frenzied and long-lasting effects.'

Eli breaks off a leaf, offers it to Roderick. Without hesitation he chews it up and swallows it. That he's intrigued by the secret powers of the plant, and tempted by its promise, is perhaps already a result of its strange energies. As he has been savouring the cloyingly rich wine as it slithers down his throat. Or teasing out the dark particles mixed into his bread with his tongue, and devouring them greedily. Feeling the thrilling response surging through his thighs. Fuelling his hunger for more into a tangible and growing force. His nagging fidgety need drawn to, and more and more aroused by other bodies, the lure of the sway of large penises, the sensual curves of rounded bare buttocks. His own persistent and uncontrollable arousals becoming increasingly frequent, his orgasms more volcanically intense. His growing craving to indulge becoming an irresistible intoxication.

That evening he finds himself in the caged dormitory assigned to Eli. While wistfully thinking back to the sex he'd enjoyed in past times with Aubrey and Swift Nick, the outside world now seems impossibly distant. Something from another life, lost forever. And he's formed an affectionate friendship with Eli. 'What did Father Benevolence mean about me being number four?' he asks.

'If I can fuck you, I can whisper in your ear.' This seems an eminently sensible suggestion, so Roderick rolls over onto his stomach, parts his legs and raises his thighs a little, offering access. He feels the warm weight of Eli's body upon him, then the firm heat of his first penetration squeezing just the cock-head inside. Using only the natural lubrication of saliva and cock-ooze, his anus opens smoothly in response to receive the rectal invasion, raising and flexing his hips to draw it in, exhaling hard, as the shaft noses its way inch by exciting inch along the tight anal passage, until it slides all the way in. For a long moment they stay locked together without moving, the pleasure so startlingly intense he almost forgets the subterfuge. His own erection almost painfully hard, quivering up against his stomach in its own desperate urgency, his hanging balls trembling.

'Only three of us are novices' whispers Eli determinedly, 'you are now the fourth. We will soon be taken to see the Bishop. I'm not sure what that means...'

'Yes, yes' groans Roderick, 'but please start fucking me now, I can't wait any longer' and in response the deeply embedded cock begins moving back and forth within the clasp of his tight rectum, slowly in short but lengthening thrusts at first, but gradually increasing speed, pistoning faster.

'But whatever it is, I don't intend being around. It's after their audience with the Bishop that they end up as sex-zombies. So before that, I'm out of here.' He groans soft and deep, pauses, then -- as Roderick wriggles his raised bottom to encourage more, he resumes more furiously. 'Each month a cart from the village arrives to pick up amphora's full of wine. The next time, with your assistance, one of those amphora will contain -- not wine, but me,' his voice barely audible above the loud slap of their bodies impacting each other, Roderick forcing backwards, meeting each thrust as he attempts to drive it deeper. Their balls jerking and dancing together in shared rhythm. Roderick is unable to control the howl of pure joy that escapes the moment Eli's orgasm roars through his body, almost biting his tongue in half as his body spasms as he feels each spermy-spurt gushing deep inside him

After a long pause Eli extracts slowly, plopping loose, wipes oozing drips from the tip of his engorged cock, and licks the white slime from his fingers. 'It's good with the others' he whispers hoarsely, almost shyly, 'but it's best with you.'

'We are not in control of our own destinies here. But at least we've found each other, I'll never regret that, never.' They turn, grinning at each other, their mutual raw arousal beautiful to see, moving to reverse their positions. Their bodies sheened with perspiration, trembling with anticipation.

This time Eli compliantly bends over, parting his legs wide so Roderick can slide his eager cock up his yielding bottom. And Roderick scarcely needs to guide his over-sensitised cock in, it seems to know its way already, rearing and twitching, drawn by some kind of sexual magnetism towards the waiting button mouth. Looking down he sees the drooling head feeding in between the round curves of Eli's hairless bottom-cheeks, forcing its passage in, and out of sight. It's hard to concentrate on anything other than the raging sexual energies radiating from their interlocked thighs. Their breath racing in moaning mewling sighs as with the gentlest pressure it slip-slithers exquisitely further, until he's all the way in, fitting tightly snug up against the contours of Eli's body, totally enveloped by the soft heat, and the frantic fucking begins, and extends, with their grunting and gasping making dirty erotic sounds. The round-mounds of Eli's buttocks quivering with the shock of each deep penetration. Roderick is no longer in control, he's fucking like an animal, ramming his stiff cock into the welcoming flesh with such urgent force that he's grinding his teeth, biting his lower lip until it bleeds, with no thought for his partner. Then his legs are weakening to water as he feels the sperm racing within him, and the burning shock of ejaculation hits him like a powerful blow in the gonads, doubling him over Eli's warm supporting body as he's gushing a tide of sperm into Eli's bowels, drunk with pleasure as the multiple orgasm overwhelms him. His cock still embedded, still pulsing with after-shocks long moments later. 'That was incredible' gasps Roderick as the pleasure-waves recede, breath rasping in his throat, 'I've never come off like that before.'

'I know, it's amazing. Whatever they're doing to us here seems to heighten physical sensitivity several levels above the norm. That's why it gets so addictive. That's why you just want more all the time.' United in a sense of hollow emptiness now they've both come, in the brief beautiful calm of sated peace that follows orgasm, they stay joined, stroking each other with a kind of clumsy tenderness. Only gradually forcing themselves to continue laying their schemes in short exhausted phrases. Eventually, with their plan worked out in detail, over the next few days they operate together until the day the cart arrives.

Some time later, Roderick unconsciously reaches down to tweak his penis, answering its dull throb. It always seems to be semi-hard these days, moving and questing with a greedy life of its own, with a voracious appetite demanding his attention. And his plump balls, surely they're swollen? Aching and heavy, crawling with strange sensations, as though a horde of ants are streaming inside the inflated orbs. He'd always been considered well-endowed, but this is obscene. With only the slightest stimulation needed to trigger full erection. And there's a constant stimulation of attractive bodies, all afflicted with the same sexual need. The same urgent irritation that can only be eased by ejaculation, by draining the balls of the build-up of seed. This place is affecting him, the drugs he's ingesting in everything he eats, the wine he drinks, the copious amounts of sperm he digests, the continual atmosphere of homo-eroticism working on him, gnawing away at him, until it's all he can think of. Sure, he's always enjoyed sex, and has always been sexually active, but this is swallowing him up. If he doesn't escape soon, it will be too late, and he will never escape.

Then they're working together within the shadowy confines of the wine-cellar where rows of barrels are stacked in neat regimentation. Their nervy jitters not entirely the result of the chill on their nude bodies. This is the day they've planned for. Decanting the contents of the barrels into the heavy amphora's, and manipulating them towards the loading bay. Nervously ensuring that one of the large glazed pots is empty, ready to contain Eli. And when no-one else is around, they make their move. Roderick watches as his companion clambers into the vessel, the taut muscles beneath his skin visibly stretching and straining with effort. Roderick feels a pang of remorse. Once Eli has gone he'll have lost his only friend... while he's helpless to control the way his eyes are feasting on the sight of his Eli's bare bottom as it wriggles and slithers his way down past the rim. The urge to reach out and caress and lick its curves is almost overpowering.

Eli turns to him before finally ducking down to conceal himself inside. He interprets something of his friend's mood. 'I will wait, once I'm safely outside, I'll wait for you to follow me. I promise, then we'll be together again.' Roderick forces a weak smile. Then, with a scrattled breathing-hole punctured in the otherwise air-tight seal, he helps to load the heavy amphora up onto the cart. So far so good. Breathlessly, his chest heaving with effort, he watches the cart pull away and prepare to leave -- will there be checks carried out? will Eli be discovered? no, the cart passes out through the firm wooden double-gates into the world beyond. Next time, he thinks, that will be me. But before that can happen he'll have to inveigle one of the others to help him. Unless Eli can work something from outside on his behalf? The day seems long and empty. Time drags by. He works in the herb-gardens, his thoughts always distracted by thoughts of the escaper. Where is Eli now? Has their desperate gamble succeeded? But, within twenty-four hours he hears a commotion as the gates re-open, a delegation of villagers enter, shoving the naked Eli between them, he is firmly bound, dirty with an abrasion on his forehead. Roderick is shocked. Obviously the entire county shares the shameful secret. There is no escape. His heart sinks. Eli is bathed and returned to the pen. Roderick is frightened and unsettled by witnessing, and participating in the entire episode.

'Please sir, can you tell me, what will become of me?' pleads Roderick to Father Benevolence as they lounge across the embroidered cushions in the luxury of his cell, the suite to which he'd first been taken on the day of his arrival. The monk is obviously feeling expansive in the warm flush of the energetic mutual sex they've enjoyed, and encouraged by the way the younger man continues to kiss and lick his lolling cock.

'Just keep doing what you're doing, and I'll tell you. You may have noticed, just as there are none here younger than eighteen, so there are none over the age of twenty-five' he explains. 'You want to know why? listen. Some who show particular aptitude will be invited to join the order. To become one of us. That is rare, although it happens. For there must always be twelve of us, and a newcomer can only replace one who has passed over. But most of our boys will leave here to become emissaries and missionaries of the message of Saint Phallus.'

He reaches down to ruffle Roderick's hair, with every sign of affection, sighing contendetedly as the younger man mouths his fat balls, 'this is a cruel, hard world, Roderick. But most of the troubles that befall our benighted planet, the wars, crusades, dynastic struggles and conquests, are due to fierce male competitive aggression. We know this. We also know that it is due to sublimated forms of repressed sexuality that, unable to express themselves in any other way, are enacted through violence. If men would learn to expend those restless energies by sexually pleasuring each other -- as you're doing now, as St Phallus teaches us, there would be no need for such pain. Even the ancient Greeks knew this to be true. They knew that warriors who have loving sex with each other, are more strongly bonded and less prone to fight among themselves. So we must work towards creating a better world, cock by cock. This is what our missionaries do, sometimes in the missionary position, at other times doggy-style, sixty-nine, or whatever erotic configuration you prefer.'

Roderick briefly lifts his head from his messy task. 'So I will be released from here?'

The monk firmly guides his head back down. 'Don't stop, boy. Keep sucking me. Yes. When your time comes, once your training is complete, yes, you will be returned to the world.'

Later that same day, before he's had time to fully discover all the details of what befell Eli beyond the walls of the monastery during his brief hours of escape, a group of monks arrive -- Fathers Purity, Veracious, Seraphic, and Father Benevolence, who separate out the four 'novices'. Eli's actions have hastened events. They are now to be taken to 'The Bishop'. The four naked youths are bonded as he'd been on that first day in the scriptorium -- with their hands crossed and affixed behind their backs. The youths are then attached to each other, Eli at the front, a slender chain clasped onto his penis-ring, threaded down between his legs and out between his buttock-cheeks, up and fastened to Roderick's cock-ring, down between his legs to the boy's cock-ring behind him, and so to the fourth. In this clumsy chain-gang they're shepherded down dark stairwells and corridors they've never seen before. Long stone staircases lit only by flickering torches, their bare feet cool on the moist dusty chill. Emerging eventually into a natural cave-system deep below the monastery.

A far more ancient realm lit eerily by luminous moss that grows on high ledges. Across the floor of the labyrinth a mutant form of mushroom is cultivated, a group of naked initiates feeding the crop with human excrement. Each fungoid growth bears two spherical seed-pods surmounted by tall phallic mushroom-heads, impregnating the very air with hallucinatory odour. The initiates are brought to a halt before a Neolithic henge-shrine. Around its stone base are ancient skulls and white rib-cages.

There's a row of four crystal goblets of wine, although unlike the wine served above this has thick globules of fresh sperm floating, dribbling over the rims in slimy squidgy blobs. Glancing warily at each other as it is lifted to their lips, they gulp it down, licking the messy rim. The wine has a rich fungus taste. It takes but seconds for the charged-intoxication to reach their bloodstreams. Then the connecting chain is loosened so that Eli is pressured down to crouch, and sucks each of the three other penis' in turn. Then Roderick crouches and does the same, after which the other two repeat the actions. Then Eli spreads his legs and bends over, and each of the three slide their stiff cocks up his rectum. Then Roderick bends over and they take him, then the other two. Each of them stops, as instructed, before ejaculation, but all are now straining with fierce erection.




Cock-Sucker Tales: The Random Rod 02



In one part of his still-functioning mind he finds it strange that they each wait passively, patiently, for their turn to use and be used. While from another part of his mind his lingering lustful gaze is drawn against his will, mesmerised to their inflamed twitchy drool-dribbling hard-ons. Roderick feels his testicles swell until they're the size of two oranges and he's scarcely able to walk properly. The blood-vessels on the purpling shaft of his penis large and swollen. The others also hobble, with the same affliction. He realises dully that they're being sexually and narcotically primed... but for what?

Led through the shrine into a dark warren beyond, through a volcanic warmth where is seems something huge and powerful pulses, as though they're entering the veins of a beast and hearing its heartbeat. The air crisp with the scent of electricity. They are lined up together, their wrist-manacles affixed to a series of low pillars, ankles drawn apart and fixed in the same spread-eagled way, and it's difficult to see into the brooding troglodyte gloom. A skittering clicking sound in the dirty-green blackness, a voluminous noxious stench, a crushing acidic darkness that ripples, until he gets an impression of a spidery creature of octopoid limbs, quivering tendrils draping from a huge plant, as tall as three men, with tentacles slithering across the floor towards them in scribbles of twitching fronds. His first instinct is to break in terror, he pulls and writhes but the securing manacles make movement impossible, although his ball-sack bounces and sways between his splayed legs. He's aware of the monks behind him, and the other novices beside him, sweating and shivering as the blades of the drug work in their eyes and their blood. The boy attached to Eli is so terrified he literally pissed himself, a fountain of glittering yellow urine arcing out into the encroaching gloom.

'The Bishop' is an ancient evil, older than civilisation, older than time itself. An abomination darker and more terrible than HP Lovecraft's most fevered nightmare. Birthed in the airless white-heat of supernova nebulae among the farthest oldest stars, and spawned from meteorites in the primordial slime of primeval Earth. Worshipped by prancing shamanic Cro-Magnons, and heavy-browed Neanderthals feeding it blood, semen and white brain-matter. Like terrible serpents the long grey-green traceries of weed extend and coil, its snakey heads raising, questing, the swaying head of the nearest splitting open like flaring petals, a poised cobra prepared to strike, darting forward to close tightly over the head of his erect cock, a penis fly-trap suction-cup slithering down over its full length, so his penis is sheathed, sleeved and hooded, sparking off sensations of impossible sensual delight with a thousand tiny insistent pin-prick suction-pads. Another seeks out his anus and slides inside, feeding more and more, tunnelling in, seeking out and stimulating the sensitive prostate. A nest of smaller fine-tendrils web his scrotum, separating the delicate eggs and applying gentle squeezing pressure to each, forcing spermatozoic-fluid upwards.

Through a mist of tears he can see the other initiates undergoing the same treatment. One of them is whimpering and sobbing in helplessly resigned terror, he can't tell who it is, it might be himself. The plant begins an ecstatic stimulation that sends erotic shock-waves and muscular contractions through his body, feathery fidgety butterfly kisses crawling like ants up and down his cock inflaming a swoony giddy red-heat intoxication, screaming out his orgasm, the plant milking him as he gushes sperm into it, which it greedily devours, the stem pulsing like a hose. Multiple orgasms follow in chain-reactions of ecstatic sensory detonations, seven, eight of them, each one igniting the next, roaring through him in riptides.

The very air around them seeming to crackle with orgone energy. His mind fervent with flashes of incandescent images in a bizarre coital frenzy, as though his eyeballs are exploding in his skull. He can see into the mind and sexual-memories of the other initiates, every tender, tentative, breathlessly exciting, overwhelming, frightening incident, he can see it all, each smooth penetration, every intimate ejaculation. Sees Eli running naked through the forest as the villagers pursue him with barking dogs and horses, as if it's a fox-hunt with human quarry. He sees his own stark memories too. Each one flashing into focus, only to be deleted, forever. His parents. Fleshpole Manor. Swift Nick. The ostler. The magistrate. All vividly recalled, then gone forever. Realisation dawns only dull and slowly. They'd all gone through this terrible initiation. All the sex-zombies. That's why they are as they are. But it would never happen to him. He'd fight against it. But already he can feel his will draining away to nothing.

He groans as sensations wrack through his body over and over again, letting himself go, so he's submerging in it, drowning. It goes on forever, until he feels he can stand no more, adrenaline storming through heightened blood pressure in torrents through his body, until he can orgasm no more and each shock of ejaculation is almost physically painful in its intensity. At last, sated and bloated with sperm the tentacles release the row of reddened cocks and slither out of the raw rectums, recoiling back into the darkness where the huge Triffid-like growth towers, a foul mind-twisting hell-bred antiquity.

Drained, his wrists are bleeding where he's convulsed and spasmed up against the manacles. Their legs turned to water, unable to support them on the stone floor slick with mucus and body-sap, but unable to fall due to the pillars they're shackled to, their minds numb and barely functioning as the four are unfastened and led away. But the ordeal is not yet over. Now they are separated, hot-blooded ghost-pale bodies wracked and still awash with constant shivery feelings. Roderick is led down into further subterranean chambers where moans and screams echo in the semi-darkness.

He's pressured into a twilight cell. Naked and stumbling, his first impression is of darkness silvering along bare tumescent flesh, but as his eyes adjust it makes him inhale sharply, his genitals stirring and crawling with renewed sexual energy. There's the urchin Eli, sprawled on the crude straw of the cell, some steel mesh and chain arrangement at his thighs and also his throat, but otherwise naked, his dark skin well-muscled and gleaming with perspiration. His eyes closed and his face contorted in a kind of frenzied ecstasy, sensuous lips parted and lolling moist tongue drooling saliva down his cheeks, Roderick's attention travels over the light hair of his chest and gleaming protruding nipples, over the smoothness of his undulating stomach to where his pubescence grows in thick tangles, to the straining torturously erect object of his inflamed passion.

Of course, he's seen Eli naked before, they'd frequently had sex before, but never like this, never in this state of drugged hyper-arousal. Eli's hips move lasciviously, with blatantly copulatory motions as the air causes his stiff penis to sway and weave brutally, thick and tall, its dark shaft veined and knotted with blue veins to the fat arrowhead wedge crudely extruded and slimy damp, a bulbous purple helmet divided by a perfect cleavage to the single cyclopean eye which bubbles and bleeds albumen-like fluid that hangs in long crystal strands to dark liquid pools on his stomach and spiders-webbing the black curly hair around its base and covering the round full testicles hung below. That almost supernaturally bloated cock draws him like a magnet, Eli flexes his thighs and it writhes like an overfed snake to smack audibly on his stomach, and Roderick's mouth hangs open in deliciously yearning awe. It's almost out of proportion, almost too animal huge and engorged for his body, like the beast phallus of a horse grafted onto his sleek sexual flesh. The ponderous sperm-filled spheres of his bollocks so obscenely huge they seem to splay his legs apart to accommodate them.

There are intimate fingers moving across Roderick's chest, down over his stomach, circling his own embarrassing stiffness, then caressing the tight testicles. 'You like what you see?' hisses Father Benevolence in his ear.

'It... it's beautiful.'

'The sex-drug is still in his system, as it is in yours. Your very diet here ensures that even the sperm you drink has aphrodisiac properties. It enlarges the genitals and maintains a state of erection indefinitely. Also enables copious sperm production in massive amounts, constantly renewing within the goolies, and induces vividly erotic trances and hallucinations. You want to try some? Sip it direct from source?'

His meaning is obvious as more tears of creamy liquid ooze from the achingly fat tip of the quivering cock. His bare feet slap across the cell floor, his genitals swaying eagerly towards that young marble giant.

'Sixty-Nine' he hisses, 'you must be bonded to ensure continuous fluid interchange.' Roderick is already in a heady blur of expectation, his concentration on that slithering sexual cobra of a cock soon to penetrate him, the air strangely arousing on his nudity and his own strong erection that seems a vulnerable betrayal of his earthy lusting. His legs brush the splayed thighs electrically, as the monk manoeuvres him, and the reclining youth seems to sense his aroused presence, moaning low in his throat, his mouth opening his tongue slithers, flicking in and out, his thighs rolling so his cock wobbles lazily. Roderick is positioned stooping over Eli's head, the monk tugs his full penis uncomfortably arcing it down, angling it into the open mouth, his touch firm and stirring, brushing the soft tip along the lips and sinking it into the syrupy moistness of the gaping throat, soft lips closing vice-like on his root and sucking enthusiastically.

Roderick goes down as the monk fumbles chains and clasps up over his thighs and around his buttocks. The spermy cock looks impossible huge as he goes down on it, smeared and slimy with spunk, bloated bruise-purple with sex-crazed blood, trembling on the mighty brink of permanent ejaculation. He opens his mouth and spit dribbles uncontrollably over its matted pubescence, a long glittering strand of pre-emission comes loose and drapes across the bridge of his nose. At the same moment he can feel the monk threading a steel clasp up between his legs and he feels pressure on the soft orifice of his anus, he makes a connection and the persistent pressure increases, his anus opening involuntarily to its penetration. He groans and gasps as he feels an alien firmness slide deep into him, larger and more fully an invasion than any penis he's ever been fucked by.

His senses spin in a sensual whirlpool as his cock is ferociously sucked, his balls spread across Eli's nose, as the dildo is lodged irremovably up his arse affixed in the bondage straps. At the same moment his lips contact dick-head and he immediately tastes creamy spunk, hot and rubbery, feeling it pulse and swell as his mouth strains to encompass its heart-shaped dome. He fears it is impossible, his jaws as wide as they'll go, but there's pressure on the back of his head, more chains about his neck and a leather thong around his shoulders. Each tightening ratchet forcing the two entwined bodies closer, forcing his cock further into Eli's throat, and Eli's cock deeper into his. He sobs with his lips straining at breaking point and more of it slip-slithering in, the entire head forced into the deepest well of his eager throat, and still more, his lips now around its gnarled stem, its taste flooding him, its stale spunky smell in his nostrils. Eli rolls his hips involuntarily upwards, fucking his face, ramming more cock in until he's retching and tears well up in his eyes to course down his cheeks, but sucking voraciously at his prize as the belts and chains are secured more tightly around them so it's impossible for him to release the enormous shaft.

There are fingers on the fat round bollocks in front of his eyes, a strap coming up, a long white greased ivory dildo sliding into position, cock-shaped and grotesquely moulded, built into the leather it seeks out the kiss-hole of his puckered arse and slides inside. This is what penetrates his own aching rectum. He watches, scarcely believing, as it feeds smoothly out of sight, feeling the cock in his mouth pulse and throb in reaction, until the final strap comes up and they are securely locked into each other. Roderick sucks Eli greedily, he sucks back.

'I will return in twenty-four hours' said Father Benevolence. Roderick panics -- so long, with constantly renewing sperm regeneration, how much spunk can they drink? But already it is too late. He whimpers and his toes curl as his whole body melts and his cock trembles at the exquisite lip-play it's receiving, and he's gushing sperm uncontrollably into the enveloping mouth, Eli's cock quivering and straining against the back of his own throat as it kicks. Instantly his mouth is awash with thick waves of spunk and he's swallowing but can't take it all, and it deluges down his chin and tongue and teeth and he's sobbing and choking and groaning and gulping, vast waves of ecstatic pain and exultant degradation. That pulsing volcanic cock has become his universe and he its slave, nothing else matters as his guts are filled and he feels its strength in him deliriously. Not softening, his own genitals growing and expanding, more sensitive and sensuously bloated, feeding on as well as injecting sperm, until he's become a mere appendage of two relentless sex-crazed cocks drinking each other in lustful mutual cannibalism. It goes on, hour after hour...

This is the turning point. After this, nothing will ever be the same again. As the days pass and accelerate into weeks, life resumes. But not as before. Roderick's next ordeal starts when he's summoned to the chapel where a line of six standing priests are praying, their gowns open down the front providing sexual access, Roderick becomes one of six nude slaves crouching in front of them to fulfil their less spiritual needs with greedy mouths, the six kneeling supplicants applying their own devotions to the fleshy alabaster-white columns that are their own objects of veneration, sucking lustily, preparing to receive their own spermy sacrament. At intervals dictated by the chorister they shuffle along the line to the next stiff saliva-glistening penis, mouthing each in turn. Roderick sucks the six successive cocks with the same docile acceptance. Who is the youth to his immediate right doing the same? It might be Eli. He no longer cares. Nothing else matters. They have become what he once called 'sex zombies'.

Father Benevolence watches with an indulgent smile. Yes, Roderick has become a worthy recruit to their order. This scene leads them to yet further satanic debauchery, as the time approaches for Roderick's central role in the annual re-enactment of the Passion of Saint Phallus and the sixteen Roman soldiers. But he's now lost the will to escape, he's forgotten everything else, and obediently accepts his new role. To serve the will of the Monks, and they, in turn, serving the vile will of the monstrous alien 'Bishop' that resides in the deepest catacombs beneath the monastery...

As the novel closes, a full year has passed, and the setting returns to how it all began. This time, it is Roderick's younger brother -- now eighteen, who slips his rough peasant shirt off and drops his britches as his father has instructed, then climbs into the hip-bath naked as an old crone begins to sponge him. Two men enter and sit at the nearby table, his father pleading his poverty to Squire Fleshpole. Again he hears the Squire threaten eviction. And again the old woman begins to sponge naked buttocks, allowing water to trickle over their firm tight roundness. His father is pleading. The woman's fingers trail over the youth's testicles and involuntarily his large penis stiffens to half-erection. She indicates he should turn to face the centre of the room, and he does so slowly, his heavy cock swaying lazily. The Squire is staring at him as the sponge begins dribbling water over the youth's stomach, trickling it down over his genitals.

'I hear you're prepared to accept another token in lieu of payment' his father cajoles.

'What have you in mind?' On cue the crone fondled his cock, obviously enjoying the opportunity of pulling it taut, as if offering it to the Squire. It's bigger, and fuller if that's possible, than his brother's had been. His eyes are fixed on the youth's generous gift, he licks his lips appreciatively... The situation is obviously full-circling towards a sequel -- 'The Random Dick' perhaps? With so much rollicking dirty-minded fun, I enjoyed the fantastic tale immensely. Every character and plot-motivation revolves around sex. Every crisis is precipitated by a sex-act, and its solution provided by yet another. There's some plot-justification provided by the mutated Lovecraftian Horror in the catacombs, which has evolved to feed on a diet of fresh human semen, and is using the toxic sperm-adulterated wine to transform the county towards supplying this commodity (is there another work of porn derived from the writings of HP Lovecraft? I doubt it). But that's surely to elevate the work beyond its remit. 'Maximo Urge's pseudonymously-written 'The Random Rod' is relentlessly single-minded. But then, as all pornography is priapically cock-centric, obsessively concerned with insatiable erections, penetrations and ejaculations, gay porn must be its purest distillation. Because it consists of nothing else.

There are other examples that I will be re-considering very soon...



Cock-Sucker Tales: The Random Rod 03



We proudly present the third and final part of the first in a series of unjustly neglected underground classics of erotica, revived and reinterpreted for your entertainment and pleasure by Tristan Trotsky, a noted dilettante of decadent literature. 





Cock-Sucker Tales: The Random Rod



Some hours later, heading in the opposite direction, the lost and wandering youth happens across a group of six fusilier infantrymen camping overnight in the greenwood. Initially friendly they share their evening meal with him, but then the captain makes it obvious he's expected to compensate them for their hospitality with sexual favours. Roderick readily agrees to suck the captain off and they retire to the privacy of his tent where the soldier drops his military trews, the youth crouches and begins lustily feasting on his primed trouser-artillery, but as the mutually pleasurable blow-job approaches its inevitable climax the sergeant unexpectedly parts the tent-flap to make his report, and observes what's going on. Once the activity is revealed, an audience gathers, the rest of the troop jealously demand a share of the action. Hauling the hapless youth up and out of the tent, they strip him, tie him face down over a fallen trunk, forcing his legs wide-spread and his anus lube'd with gun-grease, then -- as in the Fleshpole Garden Party, Roderick patiently awaits each new rectal invasion, as the soldiers throw dice to determine in which order they are to take him, breaking off at intervals as the next winner takes his turn.

Laughing and joking they eventually march away leaving the hapless Roderick still tied up, until several hours later his undignified predicament is discovered by a passing highwayman. As 'Swift' Nick Nelson enters the clearing he's confronted by an enticing vision. The two perfect curves of raised bottom. The legs parted so that the testicles hang between like two ripe plums, with the thick penis dangling between them like a knotted bell-rope. And the puckered orifice indicated by criss-cross snail-trails of drying semen, a sight that so inflames his passion he is compelled to embed his own lusty dart in the target so invitingly presented. So he parts Roderick's buttocks and takes his pleasure where the soldiers already have.

Once the grunting and rutting, and the mutual spurting is done, he releases and befriends the runaway. Roderick is bashful at first, but as they stand together naked, the very visible mutual physical attraction of the two virile young men soon overcomes his shyness. They cavort nude like wild woodland creatures in a nearby stream where a waterfall forms a still cool pool, splashing water over each other's bodies, then they lie together on the mossy bank sheltered by reeds on a bed of celandines, their bare skin drying in the sunlight that filters through the leaves overhead, leaning over every now and then to kiss and lick each other's now-quiescent cocks. Looking up to watch a kingfisher darting over the rippling murmur of the water, almost like the symbol of something beginning, a new start, for a better tomorrow.

Roderick had enjoyed frequent sex with Aubrey. They were both healthy generously-endowed young men. How could they fail to enjoy sexual congress? But from the first encounter with 'Swift' Nick, Roderick knew that this was different. The two new companions are now more than friends, their affectionate closeness has grown into the most meaningful relationship of Roderick's eventful young life. Once dressed they determine to continue Nick's outlaw trade together. Masked, with a brace of pistols and a 'Stand and Deliver!' the duo hold up a stage-coach. Firstly, a dainty Lady dismounts in a flounce of gowns and cleavage, her hands in the air, 'I do fear that should you two big powerful highwaymen take it into your minds to relieve me of my most precious pearl, I'd be quite helpless to resist you.'

'Fear not Madam' said Swift Nick hastily, 'your... dubious, maidenhood is entirely safe with us.' Is that an expression of petulant disappointment on her face?, as her younger brother, of some nineteen years, is the second to emerge from the carriage behind her. The dashing highwayman seizes the opportunity of instead taking the comely youthful passenger at the point of his pistol into the undergrowth for frenzied sex. Needless to say, despite his protestations, the 'victim' is far from unwilling to participate in the adventure, and happily surrenders his anus to the insistent penetrations of 'Swift' Nick's lustful penis. As he divests the other passengers of their valuables Roderick can hear the squeals and moans of delight they're making behind the shivering shrubbery.

The final occupant of the carriage, a miserly elderly grey-haired man looks up at Roderick through thick gold-rimmed spectacles, 'I pray the merciful Lord you don't intend subjecting me to perverted sexual humiliation?'

Roderick is about to reassure him that he has no such intention, when the miser removes his dentures and puts them in his pocket, then falls on his knees, fumbling at the belt buckle of the younger man's breeches. 'Have mercy I beseech thee, Bold Sir Highwayman, don't force me to extract your mighty organ' as his penis swings free, Roderick merely stands there with his pistol pointing vaguely in the direction of the carriage, and his trusty weapon now pointing at the rutted roadway, dumbfounded by the unexpected turn of events. 'Dear god, please no, don't ram that mighty appendage down my poor virgin throat.'

Before Roderick has time to protest that nothing is further from his mind, the miser had thrown himself upon it and begins to suck it ferociously deep into his toothless maw. His gimlet piggy eyes bulging and his face flushed red with exertion, as he slurps and makes lusty glug-glurping noises deep in his scrawny throat. The miser's head is slowly drawn up as it erects in his mouth, despite Roderick's distaste for the disgusting little man.

For one moment, and one moment only, the miser draws back, 'If you have one ounce of mercy and decency you will not fill my mouth with your vile seed and compel me to devour it,' his attention all the while fully focused on the glistening monster hanging one inch from his thin nose. Roderick merely stands there, incapable of even protesting as he returns to the interrupted task, and he's sucked off, as the dainty lady watches, sniggering behind her white-gloved hand. Until Roderick groans once, and is emptying into the miser's greedy gulping maw. Choking, and wiping his sperm-flecked mouth, the miser stands up, his eyes gleaming. As he fumbles in his pocket and replaces his dentures, he's muttering 'he raped me, he forced me to do it, the highwayman raped me' to the rest of the carriage occupants 'I feared for my life, I had no choice.'

'Of course, of course' tut-tuts the Lady in feigned support, as Swift Nick and the youth eventually emerge re-buckling their breeches while sharing grins of mutual satisfaction. Come nightfall the duo of Highwaymen invest their ill-gotten gains by taking a room in a tavern called the 'Ram Inn'. A sturdy ostler, barely months younger than himself, tending the horses in the cobbled courtyard catches Nick's eye. Following him into the latrine he watches him taking a piss, unleashing a steaming torrent of urine and sluicing the rich yellow stream into the trough. Noting his interest the grinning ostler stands back so he has a better view, inviting appraisal. And Nick's impressed by what he sees. Although Roderick is initially reluctant to part with more of their stolen cash, Nick insists. So they use gold coin to hire the ostler's favours. Once in the room they gleefully undress him, and seeing the strapping youth naked Roderick's doubts dissolve. While, faced by two solid raging erections the ostler readily goes down on them, sucking Nick lustily, then Roderick, then switching his oral attention from one to the other, careful to show no favouritism. Then they lay him on his back on the bed, feel him up, take turns to suck and be sucked in all manner of three-way combinations, then enter the ostler from behind, first one, then the other, with much delighted giggling. Wiping a generous sperm double-shot from his face, a tingle in his bottom and a coin-jingle in his pocket, the ostler leaves with a smile.

Once he's gone, with their lust not so much diminished, as aroused by the appetiser, they turn their attentions on each other. As the narrative emphasises, both are aroused and visibly magnificently endowed, they fully appreciate that singular quality in each other, and enact every physical permutation it's possible for two lustfully inventive adult males to devise when it comes to the insertion of penises into every available orifice in each other's sweat-glistening bodies. Pausing only momentarily between frenzied bouts to regain breath, and stamina, before mutually devouring each other's nakedness again, re-coupling in new configurations of limbs with raucous throaty laughter and thrusting taut buttocks. However, innocently answering queries in the courtyard below, the ostler unintentionally gives away the fugitive's location. And, nakedly entwined yet again in the midst of their prolonged and graphically-described fornication, the constables break in on them to arrest them, and drag them off to a jail. A short journey escorted through the swirling mist brings the two prisoners through the winding alleyways of the sleeping town where only occasional lights glow dully in leaded windows above closed shops, and their clattering footfall echoes back at them ominously. They're marched into the Police Station and shoved roughly into the holding cell. Their right ankles shackled by a length of chain to the wall of the dirty prison-cell with straw on the floor, and a lone slack-jawed guard slumped lazily at a desk with a tankard of wine.

Once incarcerated, 'Swift' Nick glances critically around their chamber -- and swiftly as his alias would indicate, devises a sexual ruse which he explains to his companion. Their chains are long enough, so they must ensure that Roderick is observed crouching to noisily suck Nick off. His partner agreeably gets naked and ducks down, extracts Nick's cock and plunges it deep into his throat, his head bobbing up and down the glistening length, which soon has the desired effect of luring the attention of the prurient jailor. He watches through the cell-bars, his shifty feral eyes wide, the crotch of his loose pants tenting, as though he's concealing a hefty truncheon. A faint trace of moistness at its peak which might be spilt wine, or more likely excited pre-emission.

From Nick's leering and winking invitation -- 'you want my friend to suck you off too?', the jailor soon gets the idea, unlocks the door and slouches into the cell with them, lowering his own pants. A full pleasing monster hard-on bounces free to slap up against his hard stomach. Roderick orally relinquishes Nick while still holding onto his balls as though reluctant to release him entirely, and in an instant transfers his warm mouth to the jailor's groin, engulfing the hose-like stiff new fuckmeat with such skill and practised technique, tonguing and teasing up under and around the foreskin, that he soon has the jailor weak-kneed, his eyes rolling back in his head and closing with ecstasy, while Nick stands back, watching with approval as he continues to wank his own spit-shiny prong energetically towards climax.

Roderick enthusiastically services the jailor, feeding like a hungry animal as though he's forgotten this is a ruse and is simply caught up in the moment, totally absorbed in deep-throating it down to the heavy balls, absorbing its leaking fluids, reluctant to unmouth it for a second, while Nick utters a strangled cry and spatters a shower of sperm over his crouching friend's head, splashing slithering dollops, droplets and spiders-web strands that cling to his bobbing hair, and, as if overcome by the force of orgasm, Nick staggers backwards, circling behind him to deftly seize the keys from the jailor's belt. Too late, the slow-witted and sexually-intoxicated oaf bounces a little on the balls of his feet as his moaning grows more frantic and louder and he begins to pump Roderick's mouth full with his own powerful creamy ejaculation, barely realising what's going on.

First Nick is unshackled. Then, Roderick is released, lurching wobble-kneed to his feet with his mouth still dripping-full of cum, as though he's equally beffudled by the sudden turn of events. Working together the two prisoners soon overcome the jailor, and tarry only long enough to take advantage of his exposed body. Looking down at him with his pants scrunched up around his ankles, it seems too good an opportunity to miss. So they bend him over, spread his legs, and first Roderick, then is companion, slide their cocks up the tight bum-hole. They leave the bleary jailor shackled with his own chain, naked, and sexually spent, to make good their escape. Circling around the cellblock, losing any pursuers in the bustling town, and disappearing quickly into the dense forest tangle beyond.

At first they see only squirrels, rabbits and lizards. However, they soon run into the same squad of six fusilier infantrymen in their scarlet uniforms camped in a greenwood glade with musket fife and drum, who recognise them from the 'Wanted' poster nailed to a nearby tree, and apprehend them. Recalling their earlier encounter, the Captain smiles in lustful anticipation. Stripping the two escapers, two soldiers hold the naked Roderick between them, as the Captain stirs his helpless semi-hard cock with the point of his bayonet, then lifts his balls on the flat of its blade, balancing them precariously. They laugh and jeer as Roderick sweats uncomfortably, not knowing what to expect, before the two are forced down onto their haunches.

The Captain drops his tight white military breeches, takes position in front of the crouching Roderick, angles his hefty man-meat down and slaps him sharply across the face with it, so hard it leaves a red blush-mark, then he slots it easily into his open mouth. 'Right men, cocks out. England expects every one of you to do your duty here. Line up. First take one mouth 1-2-3, then the other 1-2-3, then one butt-hole 1-2-3, then the other 1-2-3. In formation, from the left. Starting... now. Shoot your seed at will.' As they're lowering their own pants, the troopers glance confusedly at a tall gangling Private, the Captain groans -- half in exasperation, half as a result of Roderick powerfully sucking the cock impaled in his face.

'No, not at Private Williams -- although we've all enjoyed and learned to appreciate our latest recruit's body and sexual skills over the last few months.' The lanky soldier looks down and shuffles his feet in evident embarrassed pleasure. 'And indeed, it might well have been you again had these two strapping bucks not come along with their firm young bottoms and deep-throats, just in time for our regular evening's sport. No, I mean spunk off when you're ready and where you choose, right?' 'Yes sir, thank you Captain sir' they salute in chorus, their line of stiff cocks twitching in unison as they do so. The two crouching youths know better than to argue or protest. They accept their fate as best they can as the troopers assemble, as if on parade, to take their turn, massaging their sturdy erections in readiness.

The rich stench of stale sweat, male arousal and testosterone as they step forward in pairs, the sound of grunts, squelches and slurps as the sucking and fucking extends. Nick can see Roderick with a fat cock pumping his throat, its outline clearly visible bulging his cheek out of shape. From the corner of his eye, Roderick can see Nick being energetically buggered beside him, watching his free-swinging ball-bag bounce with every new anal slam. Even young Private 'Will' gets caught up in the excitement, and bends down to suck a couple of his companions as they wait, his own long red cock urgently stiff and dripping blobs of eager pre-cum. As the spurting ejaculations begin in Nick's mouth and Roderick's anus -- then vice versa, and across both of their upturned faces, Will stands to attention, ludicrously without his breeches, perky cock equally erect swaying as imperceptibly as a flagpole, with a wisp of ooze unfurling from its shiny head, and he plays a triumphant blast on his bugle.

The following morning, after a night of repeated oral and anal assault, the infantrymen briskly march their aching prisoners back to town, and return them to the jail. This time there's no conveniently gullible jailor to enable their escape. The following morning Roderick appears before the court, only to discover that the presiding magistrate is non-other than Squire Fleshpole, his father's aristocratic landlord. The charges are read, and the first witness is brought forth to deliver his evidence, the miser from the stagecoach robbery. 'Yes, your honour. I can confirm that's the guilty man, m'Lud' he splutters, his sallow skin colouring,' I'll never forget how this evil villain raped my mouth in such a cruel and lustful way. I still have dreams about it... er, nightmares you understand. No virtuous citizen remains safe from sexual violation while he walks free.'

The leering Squire calls for an adjournment for a private 'hearing' in his chambers. Alone together, Fleshpole sits behind a polished desk upon which the charge-sheets are spread, lit by the flickering light of a blazing log-fire, while Roderick nervously stands to attention before him, unsure what to expect. Surely, he should have suspected...? for predictably it involves Roderick bending down over the desk as his former-master tugs impatiently at the youth's pants, until Roderick feels the coarse material of his trousers rasping down over the sensitive curves of his raised bottom, to fall into a heap around his ankles. Then the familiar sweaty palms and probing fingers take repossession of the puckered orifice so invitingly revealed. There's a smear of goose-grease, which the Squire obviously keeps in his desk for use at such plea-bargaining occasions. Followed by the insistent pressure of the Magistrate's stiff cock sliding back into where its been numerous times before, welcomed by the warm clutch of Roderick's tight sphincter. The uniformed court usher outside the door tactfully pretends not to hear the throaty copulatory grunts and whimpering sighs that seem to go on for an inordinately long time.

Eventually the sexually satisfied Squire re-buttons his trousers, as Roderick straightens up. The intimate sexual friction and vigorous humping have had their inevitable effect on Roderick's responsive aroused genitalia, so that, as he straightens, the uppermost document that had been on the desk beneath him, is now adhered to his groin where he's torrentially ejaculated. Very carefully he pulls the sheet loose and returns it to the desktop apologetically, where it, and its fellows are gummed together by glutinous pools of his ejaculate. The print smudged and smeared, blurring and distorting, the parchments crinkling and rippling under the effect of its moist seepage. Fleshpole very critically picks up the sodden documents between thumb and forefinger, holding them by the one remaining unblemished dry tip, and drops them into the log-fire with an expression of distaste. They sizzle, spit and bubble, the pages curling up as the flames first boil the moisture, giving off a pungent aroma, then devours them to black crisp.

'It would seem there are no longer any documented charges against you' Fleshpole smiles grimly, wiping his fingers on a soiled handkerchief, 'so you are free to go.' He gestures Roderick aside, opens the door where the usher waits. 'There's been a sorry miscarriage of justice' he explains, 'this man is to be released.' Thanking the Squire profusely for his kind generosity the smiling youth allows himself to be escorted out of the courthouse into the bustling street. It is midday. The sun is shining. He glances around, then sets out for new adventures...

--- 0 ---

We shall resume our consideration of Roderick's epic travels in a later instalment of 'Cock-Sucker Tales'...