3 comments/ 9610 views/ 2 favorites Cock-Sucker: Around the World Ch. 01 By: tristantrotsky Around The World With Nothing On... ***** Part 1: Voyage Of Discovery Me, I'd always been the quiet geeky kid. The Johnny No-Mates with bad acne and National Health glasses. My passion was all directed into electronics from being at primary school. Sex never figured very importantly in my life. I studied. I stayed home nights and worked on my projects, short-wave radio and circuitry. I got good grades at college, naturally, I had few distractions. All I did was work. But, introspective, self-analytical, I gained a fascination with all that's spontaneous, like Jazz, which seems to me to be the perfect fusion of the cerebral with the intuitive. I favour horns, John Surman and Miles Davis. Then - once I'd turned twenty-years-old, and I'd graduated, I needed hands-on work-experience, and signed on with 'The Argo' as 'sparks'. Sure, I was a little nervous. It's not the kind of vessel I'd hoped for. A small trader, little more than a tramp-steamer. But it will get me the qualifying sea-time I need, and it will take me around the world, which is a bonus for a repressed kid like me. The taxi drops me off. It's late evening. Outside, on the harbour-edge, the cars still pass and the drunks still pass and the sky is clear and bright with stars and moon and a light breeze is blowing and you can hear the tugs in the harbour chugging and the deep OOOO from their whistles floating across the bay and rolling down the streets of the old town, and even the ferry's mooring winch can be heard, when it was quiet and still, clanging a ferry into the slip. The first day, the day of departure, is one of immediate changes. I familiarise myself with the radio-shack where I'll work. Not cutting-edge electronics by any stretch of the imagination, but it will suffice, at least it presents me with no real problems. Then there's the cabin I will share with a big engineer called Ivan. Although we're briefly introduced earlier in the day, it's not until the first evening that it begins, when we're alone together. "You know why zey put us together, in the same cabin, boy?" Ivan sits on his bed, he continues reading his thick volume of Herman Melville, as I busy myself with final preparations for turning in. "No, I don't know." They call him 'the Bear'. He's maybe Polish, I'm not sure. A big guy with gold rings in his ears, and tattoos that writhe across his shoulders and down his arms. I fold my shirt carefully over the chair-back and stoop to pull off my socks, bare feel slapping cool on the canvas. "We are friends, you and I. I look after you. You have problems, you tell me and I fix those problems for you. Some guy is leaning on you. No worries, I sort it for you. It's a good arrangement. I be good to you. You be good to me. That's the way it works." Something in the tone of his voice makes me turn. He's put his book aside, and he's eyeing me up and down in a strangely unsettling way. I feel suddenly embarrassed in front of him. Naked, despite my y-fronts. "W-what do you mean, Ivan? I don't follow you." "All I ask is that you reciprocate, with a little sexual gratification. I mean zat we make fuck together, you and I. We can do it one of two ways, but we do it. First way is best. You come to me, and I be kind, gentle, you suck Ivan and we be friends, yes? You get to like it soon, you get to like to suck Ivan. Second way is less good, you not like it so much. I come and get your ass. I might come in the night when you're asleep, you'll not know. But I'm strong and you have no choice and I make fuck up your bottom and make you squeal. But either way Ivan gets to fuck you, so it's OK. You decide. Today, tomorrow. I give you time." I half smile. My blood runs cold. I can't believe what I'm hearing. Is this some kind of cruel joke? Testing me out, seeing how I'll react? I laugh nervously. "No way, Ivan, I don't do that for anyone." He stands up slowly and crosses the floor, pacing, to stand beside me, towering above me. He's a big guy. I flinch involuntarily, afraid of what he's going to do. "Ivan is very strong." He extends his tattooed biceps, inviting my appraisal, "feel, go on." Stupidly I touch the iron-hard muscle and make what I consider to be a suitably impressed noise of approval. Hoping that will satisfy him. But no, bear-like his left hand comes around my shoulders, pinioning my arms to my side in a vice-like grip. I writhe and struggle, but the more I resist the greater his amusement, he emits a loud guffawing laugh. "You know how they say 'in space, no-one can hear you scream'?" he hisses in my ears. "What is true of a spaceship lost in the ocean of space, the same is true of this ocean." Then, incredibly, he lifts me bodily off the floor, helpless as a trapped insect. He ignores my protests, his right hand ruffling my hair affectionately, then touches me under the chin. Then, inexorably, his fingers begin to spider down my chest, over the bare skin of my ribcage, and the softness of my stomach. "No" I moan despairingly, inhaling desperately as he traces the oval indentation of my navel and the first wispy protruding strands of pubic hair. But his laughter softens as he toys with the elasticated waistband of my shorts, and his fingers crawl beneath. In agony I can feel his strong rough fingers in my pubic hair, and the excruciating contact of his nails along the sensitive length of my penis, then the intimate pressure of his hand curling around it. "Oh yes, you're a big boy, Ivan likes boys with big cocks." Inexplicably I'm erect. He releases my penis and irritably begins tugging at the restricting material of my y-fronts as I whimper and moan in helpless protest. I'm dangling absurdly as he holds me. My y-fronts are gone, flipped away to the floor. My bare cock waving stupidly. His big fist closes in around it, with long slow masturbatory strokes that cause my ball-sac to sway. Eventually he releases me unexpectedly so that I fall into a nude heap on the floor, hot and flustered in a storm of confused arousal. As I look up I see him unbuckling his pants, and as they fall away, what is revealed is heart-stoppingly enormous... This is the precise moment when everything changes. When my life tilts over from what it had been, to what it became. I wasn't scared. I wasn't intimidated. A voice at the back of my mind is screaming at me to get the hell out of there. I could have got up, grabbed my clothes, and got out of the door. Ivan is deliberately standing back, making no move to stop me. I can go. He's allowing me time and opportunity. But I don't, instead, I drown out that voice and stay exactly where I am, sitting there on the floor, waiting for him. It's as though he's counting out the moments. Expecting me to do something, to stand up, to protest, to leave. Eventually he shrugs. Steps out of the pants that are in a heap around his feet, and takes the few paces across the floor towards me. Despite his encouraging compliment about the size of my own sexual endowment, it feels stubby and inadequate in comparison to what is now hanging in a menacingly lazy curve an inch from my nose. An animal, a thing somehow apart from the man, but thrusting out of his hairy groin. Intimidating. Not yet fully erect, the tight foreskin drawn back from the fleshy glans, a single bead of swelling fluid glistening at its slit-mouth. Demanding. Then it nudges up against my lips, with a soft smeary rubbery insistent pressure. I've never been a street-wise kid, but although unworldly in so many ways, there's no mistaking what he wants. My mouth opens and it slides in, and keeps going further in, inch by inch. I can smell its stale aroma. Feel its firm pulsing heat up against the roof of my mouth. Taste its foulness flooding me. It's as though my head is being invaded. I've taken around a half of it. The outer wisps of his pubic hair tickle my nose. His fat swollen scrotal sack hangs just below my chin. A bead of sweat trickles down my forehead. I sit mesmerised. Amazed by it all. When he says "Don't fight me on this, open your throat" I try to do as he says. When he says "suck", I suck. It seems to be the natural thing to do. I suck until the foul taste is gone, and keep on sucking, afraid that if I stop he'll be unhappy. There's a crick in my neck. I'm not sitting in the most comfortable position, but I'm scared to move in case it incurs his displeasure. I meekly do everything he wants me to. Let him do whatever he wants to do to me without a murmur of protest. Following his instructions obediently. Passively showing no sign of resistance or reluctance. I feel breathless. There's a burning red haze in front of my eyes. The strangest of sensations radiating up from my groin, where leaks of clear liquid are making my own cock-head glisten. His big rough hands, in a tight spread of fingers, are resting on the back and sides of my head, cupping me in to him, not forcefully, just guiding me. When he undulates his hips so that the fat erection in my mouth slips a little further in, his balls sway and knock up against my chin, so that I'm on the point of gagging, my eyes filled with tears of effort at controlling it, fighting it down. He hisses down at me to use my tongue. So I use my tongue to explore up and around the bloated contours of the meat filling my mouth. He says "good, good," and I feel oddly encouraged by this indication of his approval. There's a still silence, other than the moist squelchy sound of my sucking. I can hear the clock ticking away the moments. I can hear his breath rasping. His stomach, the skin hairy and dark-complexioned, flexing, so that when he inhales the muscles tense and the hard ridge of his lower ribs stand out. I feel smothered in him, stifled and enveloped by him. He says "I'm going to cum soon, are you ready?" I'm in no position to respond. Rationally, I know what's impending. But this is not rational. None of this is rational. I swear I can see it swell, its fecund animal girth expanding. When he ejaculates with a speechless animal sound, the gush of spunk fills my mouth, cloying and richly salty, it jerks and twitches tight up against my lips, pulsing against my tongue and the roof of my mouth. Then a second and third spasm. I hear little whimpery-gasping sounds, and realise it's me making them, as convulsive shocks hit the base of my spine, and I lose control. My swaying cock-head tingling. No-no-no-no, like I've been kicked in the gonads, a spurting trickling wetness spraying up my stomach, a dribbling slithery crawl of blobs spattering across my legs. Muffled sobbing noises, not too loud, in case it spoils it for him. His climax seems to go on for a long while in my mouth, each shock slightly less than the preceding one, until it's done. A moment's calm. He grunts "Swallow." I swallow... and it's nowhere near as bad as I'd feared it would be. My life will never again be the same after this. He is everything I am not. He projects a powerful masculine physical presence that's impossible to deny. Was I mesmerised by him? Fascinated by his power? I was certainly hypnotised. Like a snake hypnotising its victim. Even when I close my eyes the vision of what we've done stays burned on my mind as an after-image. I have sinned. I am a sinner. How surreal is that? The next day, I numbly make my way to the radio shack. I can no longer believe the weirdness of the night. It seems unreal. What right did he have to force himself on me? What right to do those terrible things to me? The shame and humiliation still burns. I can't explain it. A couple of crewmen greet me on the companionway. "Hey, everything OK?" I nod stupidly. How can I explain to them? What can I possibly say that won't turn around and make me seem bad? In the privacy of the radio shack I turn over the strange events of the night. And stupidly I'm erect as the memories wash around my head. No, this isn't right. This can't be. I try to deny the persistent stiffness in my pants, and the insistent repetition of the intimate feel of his fingers on me. The first breathtaking glimpse of his penis. I replay it all in vivid detail, as if memory is a magnifying glass recording every cell of that mighty cock's surface. Then the feel of it pressed up against my lips as I attempt to fight it... I force my attention elsewhere. Scan the dials. Recalibrate as the radio rustles and squeals. The ship is navigating down through the English Channel towards open seas. Everything that is safe and familiar is receding way behind its churning wake. I watch the sky, the whirling gulls, the dark swell of the tide. But suddenly, uninvited, the thought is there again, of his cock-length slithering deep into my mouth, the warm taste of it, the vibrant energy of it. Even the thought has me breathless, with a stomachful of vomiting butterflies churning my gut, the pressure in my pants is almost painful, a slight damp patch in the crotch of my jeans where I'm leaking. There's that giddy intoxicating swirl at the back of my head as though I'm going to spontaneously ejaculate now - with just the memory of how I ejaculated last night, so overwhelming. I remember how I'd stood shakily, nude, after sucking him, and my bare toes step into a blobby puddle of semen, my spunk, where I had spurted. Looking down, it is oozing moist and sticky over my toes. What's this man done to me? What Pandora's Box has he opened up in the unsuspected depths of my psyche. I've never felt so obsessively hyped-up before, never. I grip the brass wall-rail and concentrate hard, willing the sensations away, and gradually it subsides. Only to return within the hour... I resist the crawling insinuations. Fight it. Fight it. But as much as I fight, it returns in vivid sensual flashes that rock me. That evening I sit demurely on the bed. It's warm. I wear my y-fronts. Nothing else. Earlier I'd felt scared, jittery-nervous, my heart thudding in a healthily excited manner. But when I hear his footsteps approaching the cabin I am calm, accepting. My brain must be secreting the fuck-me-now molecule. He says "Are you ready boy?" I stand up. "Yes Ivan, I'm ready." And decisively shove my pants down and off, my cock flipping erect for his appraisal. "The penis is a wise organ, it's the only thing that - lacking bone, needs blood to stand up, yet it knows the deepest secrets of our souls, things that we don't even knows about ourselves" he says, noting my eager hard-on with approval as he shucks his own pants down and off. I see the dark shape hanging threateningly between his legs as he sits back on the bunk, his legs parted so that me, already down on my knees, can shuffle in between them. I'm enclosed by the reassuring strength of his legs, and my willing lips seek out and meet the hot flesh of his lazily half-hard cock. I see the round urethral opening, that is where the spunk will gush from, into my mouth. How can I act like such a vulgar slut? It comes surprisingly easy. Dipping my head in to slaver-lick and capture the glans between my lips, its heat and smooth texture strangely exciting, a forceful presence in my mouth. Drawing the smooth length deeper, pulse-sucking all the while. Absorbing its firmness into my head. Yes, I'd resisted, I'd fought against it. Although something in the back of my mind knew I wanted to surrender, I was afraid of what would happen if I do, or even of admitting it to myself. But once I stop the struggle, and let go completely, allowing instinct to take over, don't think, don't premeditate, just follow my body's own urging, it knows what to do, once my gay-gene allows me to want to suck him, as a matter of fact, it feels incredibly good in a disturbing kind of way. Ivan had been right all along. Now I'm sucking deliriously. And I do like it. I'm making disgusting lubricious slurpy-glurgly sounds, but I no longer care. Glowing with excited pleasure myself, while lavishing as much pleasure as I can on him. Having this dick in my mouth feels right. My actions seem to come so naturally. Not only am I his cocksucker, but, judging by the sounds he's making, it seems I'm good at it. The thought that I'm the cause of those hoarse sexy sounds only intensifies the eerie passion flooding me. With a strange sense of pride at my ability to please this big man. Whatever fears and uncertainty are left, ebb away as I feel the sensations my sucking are causing. My own cock, jiggling up and down between my legs is on fire, I make no attempt to staunch it, even if that was possible, and begin gasping and moaning as best I can with a full mouth as I start spunking off. He knows what's happening and smoothes the back of my head encouragingly. I feel totally possessed by this man, a mouth to be used for his pleasure. Slow down. Make it last. But all too soon I feel something like a deep shudder pass through the length of his body, and a tell-tale pulse in my mouth. It kicks hard up against my tongue. I can longer see his glans, it's embedded in my throat, but I can visualise that uretha opening, as the deluge erupts. And I'm drinking him. Slurp, gulp, slurp, gulp, until the storm passes. He relaxes back, all the tension gone from his body, as I remain exactly where I am, reluctant to allow it to leave the moistness of my sated mouth, sucking gently, more for my benefit than his, he slowly coming down from the heights of pleasure, me more than a little enraptured by my act of total cock supplication... Waking next morning with a hard-on and a headful of mixed-up confusion is strange. The sheets reek of sweat. The air smells of sex. I'm no longer the same person I'd been before. There's something new in the world. Something that had not existed before last night. Once I was normal. Or at least as normal as any other adolescent with raging hormones. But twenty-four hours can turn everything around. Twenty-four hours can change your life. In some inexplicable way I was no longer the solitary uptight kid I'd been. I've passed over, I'm a man who had sex with another man. Me, the awkward geeky kid who could never find or keep a girlfriend - no wonder, I should have been trying to meet and keep a boyfriend instead! I've never shared this degree of naked intimacy with any other human being. He's already awake. I can't meet his eyes without blushing like a bashful schoolgirl. I'm reluctant to dress, it feels right to be naked. I feel safe with him, protected in a bond of special intimacy I've never known before. I watch him approach me. "I like freshly-squeezed orange-juice first thing in the morning" he tells me, "with my own special recipe. I got the orange in the chiller cabinet. You want I show you, then you can get it for me each morning, OK?" I nod. He goes to the chiller, gets out the carton of orange, and half-fills a tumbler. "See...?" "Yes," wondering where this is leading. He reaches down and seizes my cock, caressing my balls, smoothly stimulating. As he squeezes the urethra gapes like a small mouth, then like a fish-mouth opening and closing as he wanks up and down my growing length. It's rare that he actually fondles me, but he knows what he's doing, it doesn't take long, I can feel the sensations starting in my gonads. He knows too. He levers my cock down, into the tumbler, until my glans is submerged in the thick orange juice. He squeezes and coaxes, until I ejaculate in long white strands that bubble and float. He allows it to subside, using my cock to stir the liquid around the glass several times, then raises my cock free, shakes it slightly until the last drops of orange and sperm have dripped into the glass. "Good" he smiles at me, swirls the contents of the glass around a few times, lifts it to his lips and drinks it down. "Think you can do that for me each morning...?" I grin shyly, "Sure I can." "Good" he says, draining the glass. "It's a maritime secret, sex between men, furtive, secret, exciting" he explains afterwards. "One that's as old as time. As old as Odysseus. When voyages take a long time, two, three months. Young men get bored, get frustrated. And the crew, they know that Ivan he likes boys. I make them happy. In return, they make me happy. Ivan stops them getting bored. He stops their frustration. So zey give me each new boy, and I teach him. Break him in..." Cock-Sucker: Around the World Ch. 01 So I'm his new boy. Broken in. But despite his tough case-hardened experience, Ivan has a keen brain. Even intellectual, he's well-read, knows his way around literature and myth. And we are going to be in each other's close-proximity for the long duration of the voyage. In that rich erotic fug of overheated emotion and sensation. "You've done suck with many boyfriends back home?" he asks, scratching his big heavy balls thoughtfully. I shake my head shyly. "With one special boy?" Again I'm almost reluctant to admit just how unworldly my life has been. "No." "So this is your first? I would never have guessed. You have natural talent." I'm not sure how much of a compliment that is, but it feels good. Should I invent a fantasy past for his benefit? Pretend there have been other boys I've had sex with over the years? He opens up a locker beside his bed. "I have videos. DVD's. I have books. You can learn..." I look at the gaudy porn within, and already I'm eager to sample it. The pitch and yawl of the ship as it broaches Atlantic breakers increases my sense of unreality. Everything I knew, all the fixed points of my life are lost somewhere beyond that unsteady horizon. This is a new world with new behavioural rules. I'm navigating unknown tides. I watch his DVD's voraciously, hitting rewind, replay, freeze-frame to focus on special moments. Some are hetero, most are Gay, it matters little, all feature deliciously explicit blow-jobs. Cute supple 'Barely-Legal' Twinks sixty-nining with other cute Twinks, slender younger guys taking it from heavily-tattooed older guys, dominant Bears servicing meek submissives, some in scary bondage devices, torrid threesomes, foursomes and moresomes in confused tangles of limbs and sweaty heaving buttocks, group sex, one guy taken by six guys with a big smile of enjoyment on his well-fucked face, hard-core deep throat-jobs climaxing in messy facials. Sex outdoors, indoors, in Jacuzzis and through glory-holes. Big cocks and bigger cocks, shaved, cut and uncut. I study their techniques, almost subliminally learning how to please, how to induce response. How is it possible I've lived so long without realising all this stuff? It seems incredible. All over the world boys are having great sex with other boys, why the hell should I be any different? Why should I be denied what they're doing to each other with such obvious joy? I want to be that guy in the video. Suddenly my electronics manuals and radio magazines no longer hold my interest, Ivan's opened up a gusher in my head that can only be staunched in one way. I watch the screen, with my urgent stiffness in my hand, pumping furiously to relieve the burning building inner pressures. At one point Ivan enters unexpectedly just as I'm tossing off to a favourite scene. Two good-looking well-hung young guys, not much older than me, who seem to be in a railway carriage - maybe Canada, naked and sucking each other in every possible combination of positions for a full twenty-five minutes. Why they're on the train, where they're going, why there are no other passengers, none of that matters, just the loving attentive deep cock-sucking they're bestowing and receiving. They're really into it, blissfully engrossed in tasty-looking cock, getting off on it. I marvel at how they maintain such solid erections, without cumming, despite such furious relentless mouth-action, for so long. As I watch jealously, wishing it was me, barely a third of the way in, I'm already way beyond the point of no return, first that tell-tale shivery-trembly feeling, then the intense ejaculation hits me with blobs of white semen bursting up in a spray of drooling streaks up my chest, so that my cock and squeezing fingers are messy with dripping strands. Ivan watches my predicament, smiling his approval. "You look sexy when you sweat." I lie back and let him watch as the storm of sensations recede. Primed and ready for his attentions, his for the taking... PART 2: MICHEL, MA BELLE We call off briefly in France, a harbour-berth just south of La Rochelle. I go ashore and wander aimlessly. I buy a cappuccino and sit outside in the sunshine, beneath a blue parasol, sipping its froth. After a while I become aware of a dark youth around my own age sitting across from me reading a book, I see by its spine that it is 'Fleurs De Mal' by Charles Baudelaire - 'The Flowers Of Evil', as he catches my eye he smiles. I return the smile. When he gets up to go he turns and looks at me conspiratorially, as though we share a secret, without fully knowing why, I accept the invitation in his eyes and follow him. He wears T-shirt and shorts. He keeps glancing back at me as he leads the way out of the village, up a short steep climb to a bluff overlooking the twinkling harbour. There's an isolated copse of trees with a dry clearing at the centre. He stops, turns and faces me. We speak only once. He speaks in broken English, I reply in broken French. "Yes." "Oui." My throat is dry, there are butterflies in my trousers. He shrugs his T-shirt up and off. Then flicks the belt of his shorts so they fall away, and steps out of them. He seems almost shy, as though wary of my reaction, seeking my approval. His penis is long and slim, uncut, surmounting a neat tight scrotum in a tidy nest of jet-black pubic hair. My teeth ache with anticipation. Hastily I undress, and pace the two short steps towards him. As we embrace our genitals crush together delightfully. No word has so far been exchanged. He says something in French. I smile. And he draws me down, his touch is deliciously pleasurable on the thin sensitive skin of my cock. Moving his fingers lightly up and down my shaft as his thumb works its way around the underside. At the top of each stroke, his thumb teases the underside of my glans sending spasms shooting down my cock and into my groin. I'm squirming as his fingertip runs circles around its very tip, then his fingers are replaced by his mouth, he's gaping his welcoming lips into a wet embrace for my cock to enter, giving it an exquisite whisk of red tongue as we fall naturally into the sixty-nine position, greedily sucking each other. I kiss and lick his cock-shaft, my lips nudging his foreskin aside seeking the moisture weeping from the slit-eye of his glans, like opening up the petals of a particularly-responsive flower to find the nectar within, circling his cock-head, tickling the frenulum with the tip my tongue, the nerve-centres below the glans-head, even as my own cock is drawn inexorably into the warm clasp of his hungry mouth. And oh - it's so sweet. If only it could go on forever. For the first time it seems to me that Gay sex can be tender and gentle as well as strictly animal. We mould into each other reciprocally devouring, sating our bodies. The foliage surging above us in the slight breeze with a shushing sound, rippling shadows crawling over our undulating bodies. The softness of dry grass under me, the fresh clean sweat-fragrance of his flawlessly smooth body in my nostrils, the soothing warmth of his skin up tight against my own. The pulse of his sexual energy hard up against the roof of my mouth, throbbing on my tongue. He draws apart, I release him reluctantly, he turns around and raises his bare bottom to me, rounded in a girlish kind of way. His intention obvious although it's something I've never experienced before. I'm a backdoor virgin. And the aperture looks so small - nothing more than a puckered dimple, surely my cock won't fit? Yet it looks so inviting. I'm slippery-moist with his saliva, and guide its head to the rectum-opening, the tip slips in with the application of only the slightest pressure, then it swallows my glans easily, absorbing me, it seems so delightfully easy and pleasurable. I ease in another inch. He uses his anal muscles to clasp and squeeze me in a welcoming way. I hesitate, until to wait more is impossible, and slither as deep as it will go, he moans deep in his throat. The sensation is astounding. I can't believe he's taken me all. I hold his hips, and fuck gently, back and forth. My balls swaying, aware of his cock and balls joggling in exciting answer to each trust. After a while I draw back and bend over for him. It seems only right I should do so. He enters me in a single smooth motion that takes my breath away and has me on the brink of ecstasy. He's a warming flame deep inside me. Each stroke deep into me has me gasping. At length he extracts, we lie together for a while, smiling deep into each other's eyes, then he bends to suck me and I gratefully resume sucking him, moving my head back and forth more vigorously, until I taste his spurting cum on my tongue, and I gush into his throat. I hold his cock, and his spunk, in my mouth. Swishing it around. Savouring the sensation. Before swallowing it down. He smiles bashfully up at me from a dark nimbus of hair. There's a blob of my spunk on his chin. I move around to face him, licking it away with a single lap of my tongue. He gives a delightfully low laugh of sheer pleasure. After we've both cum we lie together, touching, lost in that great post-orgasmic oceanic calm. He reaches down to kiss my nose, my nipples, my navel, my cock, and my toes. I can see the imprint of grass on the smoothness of his bare bottom, the mark of where we've lain together. I close my eyes and luxuriate in it all. I'm vaguely aware that he's gathering his clothes. I belatedly make a move to retrieve my own but by then his form is already receding through the trees and by the time I've hauled my pants back on he's gone. I hang around restless and a little melancholy for a while. Saddened, but floating on air. I can't believe what's just happened. How can it be so easy and so natural here when relationships have always been so difficult for me? When I've been self-conscious, introverted, tongue-tied, too nervous to speak. Now language is no longer necessary. Bodies say everything that needs to be said. And each moment is eloquence in itself. I think of that old song, 'I will say the only words I know that you'll understand, Michel, ma belle, sont des mots qui vont tres bien ensemble.' How did he know? When he saw me in the street café, how did he know I was up for it? How did he know something about me I didn't even know about myself a few scant months ago? Once you've sucked a cock - as I've sucked Ivan's, does it show on your face? Does it mark you out in some subtle way that others can recognise, the shape of your mouth, the pout of your lips? Could he smell it on me, the need? Is this what he does, beguile visiting tourist boys into delicious sex... or was it just something about me? Either way, what a delightful way to cement Anglo-French relations. A 45-minute affair, from start to finish. I was eager for more, but when it's obvious he's not about to return I wend my way back to the harbour where the ship is berthed. Back in the cabin I find a burr caught up in the folds of my T-shirt. A souvenir of where we'd lain together, me and the French boy with no name. I feel a strange sadness that I'll never see him again. I kiss it, hold it to my nose as though it retains some of his body-scent, and place it carefully in my drawer. Each time I open the drawer I will see it, and remember his touch. Michel, ma belle... That night Ivan says "You suck my cock so nicely. Naked boys are the best cock-suckers. Always. Every time. You suck me so sweet. But you want maybe to take it further tonight...?" "I thought you'd never get around to doing it" I say flirtily, turning around nude on the bunk, and raising my bum ready for him... "I'll be gentle" he breathes, lining up to penetrate what is offered. "You don't have to be too gentle" I coax. And when he enters me it's like I'm being fucked by god himself with a heavenly host of seraphim and cherubim chanting hosannas at each almighty penetration. I'm sweating like we're already passing over the equator... This Story Will Continue... Cock-Sucker: Around the World Ch. 02 Sexual Pleasures Of The Harbour The evening began in a bar off Las Ramblas in the sullen Catalonian night heat. Carlos is so charming, so persistently persuasive. His attentions so urgent, and so flattering. Looking into his curiously thoughtful eyes, I find deep erotic promises there. We are drawn by mutual sexual magnetism, more blatant and urgent than it had been with Michel. This time I'm fully aware what's going to happen, there's no mistaking what we both have in mind. Sure, I was alone, and up for a little action. He was forceful, and that in itself is attractive. Sex was definitely on the agenda. I was up for some serious fondle-ation, some mouth-action blow-jobbery. Already, back on the ship, I must be considered missing, presumed involved. He takes me outside. The night is warm. I was a little uncertain when Juan & Mario join us in the alley as we skirt around the harbour edge beneath those startling-bright Mediterranean stars. But they're so obviously a couple. So into each other I quickly forget my uncertainty, and we arrive in Carlos' low-rent apartment in the Barrio district together. The four of us. It's a typical bachelor pad for a world-soiled twenty-year-old. A faint wet-dog musk. Soiled clothes draped across the floor. Pizza boxes. I was so hot for him it doesn't even seem strange when Juan & Mario join us in the bedroom. There's wine, fat cigarettes of doubt, and it's so humid-warm we're down to underwear simply for comfort. Then Carlos is naked, and that's all I can see. He's a dirty dream come true. My thoughts so kaleidoscopic surely they must be audible to people in the street outside? I tense up a little as he moves to draw my shorts down, but that's only the normal kind of nerves you always get at first-reveal to a new lover, and when my cock flicks out so smoothly into the tight caress of his fist my head goes back in sensations of joy. He smiles at me, then his head goes in, I feel his warm breath on my cock-head, then the moist pressure of his lips on my shaft, and when a guy is down there giving you the best blow-job you've ever had you'll promise him anything just so long as he doesn't stop. Just so long as he keeps sucking at your erection lodged somewhere deep in his throat. There's no sweeter surrender. Jeez but he was good. He was practised. He was experienced. He knows all the most exquisite ways to please your pleasure centres. We tumble back onto the bed, bodies entwined, me on my back, my cock still firmly in his mouth. The fingers of his right hand ripple around the curve of my bare bottom, his nails slightly tracing the cleft between, each touch sparking electric sensations, while his left hand cups, gently squeezes and massages my scrotum, all the time never allowing my cock to leave the pulsating liquid-fire suction of his warm moist mouth. The combination is overwhelming... I was feeling drunk. Carlos was sucking my cock, the combination of sensations is ecstatic. On the other side of the bed Juan & Mario are kissing, their hands fumbling in each other's bulging y-fronts. I look down, catch Carlos' eyes looking up, his face looks flushed, screwed up around a thick mouthful of my cock which is juicy with his saliva. Nodding to his task, his black hair flopping back and forward, he looks delightfully debauched. As I watch Carlos runs his lips up the length of my cock, holding it erect with thumb and forefinger so just the tip of the bulb is in his mouth. He releases a dribble of spit that trickles down the shaft, and opens his mouth, running his lower lip over the leaking glans as he speaks... "You know what I'd like?" He looks down at my cock, bites it gently in such a way that a bead of pre-cum semen wells up from it. "Yes, you want your slut's throat fucking, you randy whore" I gasp out. He licks the bead of spunk deliberately. "Yes, but I'd like to tie you to this bed, then I'll suck you dry until you howl." As he utters the last word he sinks my cock so deliciously deep into his throat, sucking at it so powerfully that my toes curl in pleasure. Then his head comes up again, leaving my glistening cock swaying ludicrously, flopping wetly across my gut. Carlos squats there between my splayed legs, poised like an animal, then he starts moving up my naked body, inching his way. Kisses the tip of my cock, then the indentation of my navel, then my left and right nipples. By now he's sitting on my thighs, his bare bottom gently crushing my aroused genitals with his warmth, then the round curves of his arse are sitting on my stomach, then my chest with his own long stiff cock quivering, his fat brown balls dangling. He thrusts his thighs teasingly so his cock jabs into my face. "You know what you have to do?" he demands. "Yes, anything you want me to" I smile. "Say you'd like this." I lie still. Carlos kneels up over my shoulders now, and teases the tip of his cock along my lips, but as my lips part to accept it he draws back. "Say it." He inched the cock back into range. "Say it." My mouth forms a round vulgar 'O' and comes up to meet the fat dick-head. But he draws back again. My expression must look confused and hurt. "Say it, say you'll let me tie you up." Whoever won an argument with a hard-on? No-one. "Ok, do it, do it." And this time as he lowers his thighs he rams it all the way in, my waiting lips say yes to its caress as the plum-shaped cock-head plunges forcefully through, slides easily into my mouth, pressing my tongue down and aside, feeding inexorably into my hungry throat. "Don't try and squirm away from it, take it" to me. Then "Juan, Mario, watch this queer swallow dick." And the two lovers disentangle to do as he says. Carlos gradually inches more and more into my mouth. My eyes are wide open, looking up over the fat wedge of cock-meat, over the heaving stomach and the smooth hairless chest at Carlos' taunting face. I suck at the cock and watch the reaction, feel the warmth of pubic hair, then the softness of testicles crushing up against my chin. My eyes clam shut involuntarily as the glans comes tight up against the restrictions of my throat. I can feel the hard line of his pelvic bone. "The slut wants tying up" said Carlos. "Fancies of bit of bondage she does. Shall we oblige?" Juan watches with perverted interest, his dark lips creased into a smile. He reaches out and takes my right hand, levering it up to the bedhead and, moving around for ease of access, begins to secure it there with a belt from a discarded pair of pants. Mario catches his intention and moves down to one of my legs with a striped tie, tugging it impatiently into place. I begin to squirm and writhe, making what's intended to be nervous laughter, but the protesting noises are muffled by the cock rammed firmly in my mouth, garbled to moist gurgling noises in my throat. "Keep still" snaps Carlos. He's angling his thighs around, so he's almost down on all fours over my impaled head, warped out of the perpendicular, the better positioned to ram more cock down my defenceless throat as he does so, face-fucking me so I can't move, back and forward, reaching out for my wildly waving free hand and lashing it to the bedhead too, moving up and down so his balls swing to and fro, banging against my throat and chin, his cock squelching around in its moist socket. My other leg is bucking and thrashing wildly, but Juan & Mario work together to pinion it down, and soon I'm securely spread-eagled to the bed. Only then does Carlos draw back, extracting his phallic gag inch by inch until it sops loose dribbling spittle messily over my face as I cough and retch, eyes wet with tears. But they've only just begun. Mario's pants have gone. He's naked, as he begins shoving pillows awkwardly under my buttocks so my thighs are raised and my legs splayed apart grotesquely, my stiff and glistening cock wobbling precariously... These sweaty antics are not what I'd come here expecting. My heart is thundering at double speed, my mouth dry, I was strangely afraid. I'd never felt so vulnerable or exposed. I tug at the bonds securing me, they're crudely improvised but effective. I'm unable to move. A cold knot in the pit of my stomach will not relax. Now Juan is crouched beside me, his groin level with my face. Mario reaches down to fondle his friend's dangerously uncut erection, squeezing it gently, then runs its moist tip up and down the side of my face. It leaves a trail of wetness. Mario moves its moist head around, tracing the circle of my brow with its blunt tip, then down the length of my nose. Carlos is watching with a broad grin of undisguised pleasure. I'm trying to pretend it's a game. Trying to pretend that I'm going along with it. The cock touches my lips. I say one word. I say "Carlos." He says "These are my friends. I share everything with my friends. Love me, love my friends. Suck me, suck my friends." My lips part, my tongue gingerly exploring as it slides in, inch by incredible inch. I have no choice. They say if rape is inevitable, lie back and enjoy it. This isn't rape. I'd wanted sex. This is just a little more than I'd anticipated. Their three lithe naked bodies are toned and physically fit, glistening olive skin and sparse jet-black body-hair. Their dark bodies contrasting with the relative paleness of my own. They're young and up for it with a fierce passion. Delightfully hung, intimidatingly erect. Three lusty late-teen boys with healthy voracious appetities. But so am I. There's no reason at all why I wouldn't want to have sex with any of them. They're sexy as hell. But all three...? Juan is suction-locked deep in my mouth, I can't move my head, so I suck at it, gingerly at first but with increasing enthusiasm, as I feel intimate fingers playing with my exposed and vulnerable balls. Fingers running up and down the length of my cock. Then smoothing lubrication around my anus, dipping into the puckered orifice. And I know what's coming next, forcing my body to relax as I feel the movement between my legs, the shuffling and nuzzling for position, the sniggering, then the warm persistent pressure of a cock-head forcing its way in. I don't even know who it is sliding smoothly into my bum - Carlos or Mario, but it takes my breath away. As Juan vacates my mouth, I can see Mario is poised ready to replace him, balls hung - as they say in the porno's, like a stallion. So it's Carlos now fucking my bum! He speaks to me. Something in Catalan. I don't understand, and say so. He doesn't understand me either. But I've taken two cocks. I've taken Carlos and Juan into my mouth. What difference will a third make? Except that a brutal mouth-fuck goes beyond language, communicating somewhere at the most primal level of dominance and submission. Mario holds my head to fuck his cock into my mouth, not pausing as I gag, laughing and inviting the others to watch as he works my throat... it's a weird and panicky sensation to be double-penetrated, especially when I have no control over what's being done to me. What do they intend doing? What kind of scary situation have I got myself into? But I'm burning erect, quivering on the brink of my own orgasm, moaning like a whore in a dirty pulp novel, encouraged by probing squeezing manipulating fingers, and the rhythmic pressure now emanating from my bottom as a solid heat slides in. It's like being shagged by a science-fictional orgasmatron. What follows is a confusing sequence of ins-and-outs, orally and anally. I barely have time to draw breath between alternating mouthfuls of cock. Then there are two fat cock-heads squeezed together as they joust for access to my mouth, my lips straining to surround them both. The rich spicy aroma of intimate aroused maleness assailing my nostrils. The sound of moist bodies slithering together, and into me, panting like dogs. An anonymous mouth on my erection as a third cock nudges its way into my aching anal orifice. I can't recall the exact order of who does what, who ejaculates first, or even who cums where. Except I wind up with sperm on the cleavage of my anus, another in my mouth, my own across my gut, and sticky strands of a fourth cum-load slithering down my face. Much later it's half-light. I feel sticky-dirty in the Catalonian night-warmth, my body moist with sweat and drying body-fluids, mine, and theirs. My bottom pulses, not entirely unpleasantly. Have I been gang-banged? It that what has just happened? I've taken three cocks into my mouth, and those same three cocks up my ass. Does three guys constitute a gang-bang? Two would not, four probably would. But three cocks... is that a gang-bang? It feels to me that it was. They were nice cocks. Although it was a little scary at the time, looking back now it was exciting. It's only scary when you don't know what's going to happen, and you're apprehensive about what they're going to do. As it is, I've now lived out another of those fantasy-scenarios I'd only ever seen on video. Whatever that means for my sense of sexual self-identity, which is in a state of total all-over confusion. Later it comes to me that they've been working this together. That probably they do this all the time, picking up lonely Gay tourists with the lure of sex, bringing them back here, and mugging them. Taking their euros, mobiles, cameras, whatever they can lift. Tonight, has been a slow night. I've obviously got nothing worse stealing. So they just play shag-bandit sex-games with me instead. Perhaps, at some point in their past, they'd been subjected to this kind of humiliation themselves. Now they're using me to exact their revenge, using me as a convenient target? Now Carlos has released me from the improvised bondage, and I'm sat there massaging some feeling back into my wrists. Looking across I can see Mario and Juan sixty-nining slowly and lovingly, they've lost all interest in me and are totally absorbed in each other once again, the curve of their smoothly-rounded buttocks undulating gently in response to the mutual oral attentions. It's odd to think I've had both of those cocks in my mouth. Carlos has been there too, he was the instigator. Now he's watching my reactions. He's dangerous. That makes him all the more exciting. I look away sulkily. He reaches out and ruffles my hair, maybe affectionately, maybe apologetically. I turn away sharply intending to swear and rage at him, but his eyes meet mine, gazing deep into my soul. Blue, Spanish eyes. He shrugs, "Hey...?" How can I stay mad when he's so maddeningly sexy? I can't help myself, I find myself laughing. We're both laughing. He sits beside me on the bed. Drapes his arm casually around my bare shoulder. Despite myself I feel my body reacting to his naked closeness. It's impossible to hide that reaction, it's pretty obvious, so I make no attempt at concealment. He reaches down and envelopes my growing erection in his cool fingers. I've a feeling that more sperm will flow, that there's going to be more sex before dawnlight parts us forever. But this time, as we roll together, its more how I'd imagined it would be, one-on-one, with some gentle tenderness and soft reciprocal pleasure. As we part the following morning, with wonderful sad-eyed longing Carlos gives me his mobile number. I board up the gangplank. Ivan 'The Bear' is waiting. "Hey, did you find yourself a bum-chum?" I smile shyly and say nothing. Although details will inevitably emerge. As the ship pulls away from the berth and heads for open sea I look back at the receding shoreline. I shred the phone number and drop the strips down into the churning wake in the sure and certain knowledge that I'll never return. I turn away. Look to the future. Looking forward to whatever tomorrows this strange voyage holds, this voyage of discovery with no safe harbor... -- 0 -- The voyage extends, beyond the horizon, settling into routine. Each new morning begins with me preparing Ivan's fortified 'special' orange juice, which - as he says, provides him with fresh boy-protein, while also helping to relieve my raging 'morning glory'. I begin to appreciate how fortunate I am to have been placed with him. He tells wonderful tales of his adventures in many foreign ports, and guides my reading taste by recommending books from his library for me, which we talk through afterwards, developing my appreciation of good literature. I stand at the starboard rail, drinking in the sharp morning air after a night in the musty cabin suffused with the stale odours of sex and bodies, watching the sky where a lone gull flaps lazily alongside us, one opportunistic eye hunting any edible trash we jettison. Still banded with red to the east, the sun lifts its rim above the near-cloudless horizon into a vast blue bowl resting over the heaving plain of ocean. The deep turquoise waves breaking against the bow, streaming away, hissing along the sides of the ship, breaking into mats of foam sweeping astern. The ocean is a metaphor for so many things, life's journey, voyages of exploration, new beginnings, pioneering mariners, new unexplored continents, and I'm living them all. The surface of the ocean heaving like the respirating chest of a sleeping sea-god. The endless lunar-drawn waves that have been lapping since the beginning of time, and will still be there as all time draws to an end. Its vast depths containing all the lost memories of the world, a metaphor for the subconscious where deep submerged and near-forgotten urges and primal instincts we scarce dare admit to lurk and slumber nudged by swirling ocean currents. The ocean is the place where life began, where the first single-celled organisms bifurcated into two, inventing sexual reproduction, and where everything ultimately returns. Water is endlessly renewed. This ocean seethes with the recycled molecular memories of dinosaur-piss, the toilet-waste sluiced from Roman aqueducts, the rain that fell on Napoleonic armies, the organic tissue of shipwreck victims, Buccaneers' mouldering skeletons fused into coral-reefs... as all of the old certainties of my life dissolve, running as formlessly fluid as water. Nothing is real. Now Bear is slumped back on his bunk wearing his grubby T-shirt. Nothing else. Me, I'm crouched nude between his splayed legs, face buried in his groin, the rich taste of his cum still fresh in my mouth, as I rhythmically pull at my own erection. It's been a long day. He lies on his back on his bunk, I crouch over him, still more than a little in awe of his cock's virile power. There are long streaks of his spunk up my face, on my forehead, across my nose and cheeks, between my lips and teeth, dripping from my chin. He'd cum earlier than I expected. Too soon for my needs. He'd come straight off-shift. I'd been waiting, ready for him, mind already gooey with anticipation. In the cabin we share I wear only my 'T'-shirt because I know that's how he prefers me, so he can reach out and pat my bare bottom or tweak my cock as and when the whim takes him. They're his by right of ownership. It seems only natural now. I'd always been unsure about my body. I'd always lacked self-confidence. But I know that each time I move, he's watching me, the way my cock and balls sway, the way my bottom undulates, and I know he likes what he sees. He looks as me as though I'm a sex-object - me! When he's eyeing me up and down, he desires what he sees, he's predatory for my body. It makes me smugly satisfied. How could I not understand...? There's nothing he can do to me that I don't want him to do. "Did you do your Captain's interview today?" he asks. "Mmm" is all I can manage around a mouthful of his softening cock. "He ask if you're OK with the cabin arrangements?" "Mmmm." "So what did you tell him?" Lifting my head only slightly, "I told him I was fine with the cabin arrangements as they are." Cock-Sucker: Around the World Ch. 02 "And you are happy...?" There's a large bead of his spunk dribbling on the bridge of my nose. The way I vigorously nod my assent causes it to slither down, extending like an elongating tear from the tip of my nose. I reach up unconsciously, trapping it and massaging it around my chin. Fresh sperm is good for the complexion. A cure for acne. It's funny, I've noticed on a number of earlier occasions, how the longer his sperm lies on my skin, the more it looses its dense white milkiness, and the more it gradually becomes clear fluid. What causes this change to occur? Is it the individual spermatozoa absorbing into my skin, burrowing their way through my pores, seeping into me? "The only thing is..." I hesitate to admit to him. "The only thing is, it's got me a little confused about the nature of my sexual orientation, if I'm gay or straight, or flexible." He laughs in a way that makes his gut heave, and his slithery-wet cock slap up against the side of my face. "Hey, don't go getting me wrong now, you're a great kid, sure. But you think too much. What we just did, we did because it feels good. You enjoy sucking me off. I enjoy being sucked off. You do it nice. But it was sex. Nothing to do with love, nothing to do with the higher human functions. Gay, Straight, Bi, Bi-curious, they're all just words. People do what people do, that's all. You think I don't like women? I like women sure enough. I've been married three times. Hey, I'm married now. But I ain't never yet met no woman who can keep up with me, sexually, if you know what I mean. If you get my drift. So I've always gone out and had casual sex with guys too. Women get clingy. They want relationships, commitment, monogamy and stuff. They get pregnant. They got interfering families you gotta be nice to. As a general rule, in my experience, guys are happy just with a straight one-off shag. And that's good enough for me. Another thing, women get wary when they first get a look at my dong, 'oh, it's too big, I'll never be able to take that, please be gentle'." His high-pitched imitation voice makes me laugh. "It's different for guys. Guys see my cock and they can't believe their luck, they're goggle-eyed with delight. It's like a challenge to them. They love it, can't get enough. Pretty soon they get all goo-goo eyed about it, pretty much like you do. So, y'know, you take sex where you find it. You do what you wanna do, when it makes you feel happy-happy. All those fancy labels mean nothing. I've had a lot of good sex, but ain't never forced anyone to do nothing they never wanted to do. Last voyage I had a different kid doing what you're doing now. Next voyage I'll have someone else. But I didn't force you... did I? You took a little persuasion. But not a lot. If I'd thought for a moment you weren't into doing it, if you'd once indicated serious objections to doing it, I'd have stopped. You know that? I don't need to use force. Never have. There's no excuse for it in my mind. There's too many partners out there only too willing and enthusiastic. Y'understan?" I smile. I understand. He's correct. "Religions prohibit gay sex because it is not procreative" he argues. "Ha, what do they know? Most of mainstream hetero sex is carried out with some form of contraception in place. It's less about conception, more about comfort, release, bonding, expressing closeness. It's about two bodies giving pleasure to each other. That's what we're doing, correct?" "Correct" I agree enthusiastically. Then I look out the corner of my eye, at the mirror, where I'm looking so vulgar and smug with my mouth full of his big beautiful cock. "You think maybe I should ditch the specs and get contact lenses?" "Naw. And I'll tell you for why. Glasses make you look academic, all the better when you get down and slut-dirty. Some guys like to come off on your face, and spunk smudging your glasses looks pervy. But you get spunk in your eye wearing contact lenses, it's no fun, believe me." "What about the other boys?" I ask him, as I tease his cock with my lips. "What do you mean, what about them?" he prompts from above me. "Well, before me, you shared this cabin with other boys. Were they as good as me? Am I the best...?" Although he's already come all over my face, the copious evidence cooling there, his cock is still hard, I concentrate just on his messy glans, tonguing, nipping, lightly sucking. Tasting sperm. Running the tip of my tongue around beneath the familiar flared rim, lapping at the delta dividing the underside, tracing my way up to the slit-eye at its crest, intercepting another bead of oozing milky-fluid there. The blunt force of its round smug mouth seems to bulge and form soundless words of encouragement. "I think you know the answer. You've got a pretty cock, a sexy mouth, you're shaping up nicely, things are coming together well. You're learning. But hey, it's a long voyage..." I pout, resentfully brooding. His spunk on my face. Holding his glans lightly between my teeth as I tongue-lash it. Then begin nibbling my way down the shaft, gradually inching my mouth down its length leaving a row of regularly spaced marks, the wet, round, red parentheses of my lips, enclosing the sharper pinker blotches where my incisors have worried the flesh. "Are there any guys who refuse you?" I venture. "There are some who hold out longer than others. Some who need a little more persuading. But these are long voyages. There's an urgency about sexual energies that needs to be expressed, and won't be denied. The penis provides the natural route to pleasure, every boy knows that. It's one of the first lessons he does learn. Most of them who come here have had some form of playful sex with others at Marine College, through bi-curiosity or natural hunger, even those who most strenuously deny it. And even the few who haven't, have wondered what it would be like to have sex with another guy. It's natural. So eventually, sooner or later, they decide that - well, a little mutual masturbation won't hurt. And once I get his stiff cock in my hand, I know all the best ways to make a boy squirm, and all thoughts of resistance just dissolves. Within a matter of days they're down there sucking on my cock like a wanton whore, like all the rest. Just like you do." I'm jealous of his earlier boys. If I'm going to be his shagamuffin fuck-toy, I want to be the best. And I will be. "In the future, many years from now, when we've gone our separate ways, and all this is memory, you'll be with some other boy, and he'll be sucking your cock, and he'll pause for a moment, just long enough to ask that same question, 'who was the best, who was the best cock-sucker you ever had?' And I want you to think of me. I want you to remember me as the best cock-sucker you ever had. I want that more than anything. So show me what you want me to do. Tell me how I can do it better..." "What are you?" he says. "Your property." I say. "What are you?" he says. "Your cock-sucker." I say. "What are you?" he says. "Your grateful spunk-slut." I say. "And I'm going to fuck you until you beg me to stop," he laughs. "That's going to be a long long time coming" I smile up at him in a way intended to be coquettish. "I'm going to suck you off so much until you've got no spunk left and you're going to be cumming blood." This time it's his turn to laugh. I gaze up at him with wide pleasurably-moist eyes ashine, rubbing my cheek down the length of his groin with a spasm of my entire body, an undulant motion that is completely serpentine. Then I draw his cock greedily back into the warm cave of my mouth using pure suction. Have the others done this? Have his other boys made him come twice in succession? I try to slow it down, to make the sex last longer, but my own urgent arousal is taking effect. Already my work is bearing fruit. He groans again, thrusts upwards, the white flood deluges my mouth this time, I clamp my lips around the shaft firmly so none can escape and swallow, once, twice, three times, then again, running my tongue over the spouting tip, coaxing more. Only as the ejaculation subsides do I feed more cock into my mouth, sinking its full length luxuriantly into my throat, sucking more wantonly now, holding nothing back. By the end of this voyage, I'll make sure he knows I'm the best. He'll measure the next noodlehead boy, and the boy after that, by standards that I've set. I hold his cock in my mouth for a long time, refusing to release it. Intimidated by it, yes, but I've drawn its fierce sexual energy now. Although it still fills my mouth, it's quiescent. I enjoy it like this. I lose myself when I'm sucking his cock, but I find myself too, my real self. Eventually it becomes apparent that, lying back, he's lapsed into sleep. I shrug mentally, and continue sucking, for my own benefit now. I suck it for a long long time... This Erotic Voyage will continue in 'Literotica'... stay tuned... By Tristan Trotsky Cock-Sucker: Around the World Ch. 03 Further Around The World With Nothing On... A thin mist is ghosting up from the water, it deepens the night as it soaks up the light from the dock we're approaching. The steel deck-plates beneath my feet rumble, as though communicating some interior message... a warning perhaps? The oily black surface of the harbour seethes and churns up against the rusty hull, bells signalling as we backwater to a halt. Soon, we're clumping down the gangway, through the pools of light splashed across the floodlit dock, drizzles of warm rain sweeping through the cones of light along the quayside. Ivan walking with a tendency to roll, sailor-style. In the Barrio's we play snooker. Me, not very well. Until it's obvious the Bear is getting restless. "Y'know, it's a fact" he begins. "Most sexual activity happens during the evening, between sunset and midnight. Of course, there are some enthusiasts who indulge whenever the mood takes them, regardless of the time of day, but statistically, most of it happens around sundown. So, as the Earth rotates on its axis, the zones of day and night shift, chasing each other around the world's surface, with a twilight belt extending from pole-to-pole moving across the continents from east to west. "That means that, as most sex happens then, that there is a zone of furious shagging, a slice of global orgy, also moving around the world. A Mexican-wave of heaving bare arses rippling around the globe. And if you were above it all, on a space-station for example, and you could follow the sunset around the Earth with sensitive instruments, you'd hear the sound of constant moans, rhythmic groans, orgasmic sighs, excited gasps, the slap of body on body, in a planet-wide fucking-segment. That's quite a thought isn't it? So you and me now, we are missing out on this planet-wide orgy of sex that's going on all around us in this twilight. Maybe it's time we went and bought ourselves some cock-fun?" He leads. The rain has drizzled itself out, there isn't a breath of air stirring. We walk some distance, from the bad part of town into the even worse part of town, he obviously knows the way, and we go directly into the kind of place where even the cockroaches have moved out, because it's too filthy for them. Through a red-light door into a dimly-lit corridor. Someone is coughing phlegm in an adjoining room. There's the sound of raised voices from the street outside. The dull drone of a trapped bug. He talks in hurried whispers to a couple of seedy-looking guys. Then we're shown into a room, with a bed and a sideboard, and we wait. Finally, two young prostitutes come into the shabby room and strip off immediately. Coarse cotton shirts of patterned red swiftly unbuttoned and dropped onto the floor, then ragged denim shorts discarded and they're lasciviously naked, gleaming sweaty brown bodies, smoothly hairless but for neat groin collars of jet-black pubic hair, ponderously-swaying uncircumcised penis's with swollen bulging arrowhead glans. The older boy, Enrique, immediately lies back across the bed, legs languorously apart so his fat round balls drape down over his arse-slit, cock semi-hard lying at an angle over his stomach, tip to his navel. "You put plenty hot spunk up my tight arse, pay plenty money" he smirks. I swallow, throat dry, genitals crawling with anticipation. The man who claimed to be their father, but was in reality their pimp, hadn't lied. They were randy and fuckable as hell. A dark fetid jack-off's dream of hot pulsating sperm-dripping pulchritude. Struck dumb, I simply unfasten my pants. "Why do they do this?" I ask Bear. "Because they're hungry, and they must eat" he shrugs. "It's your birthday. This treat is on me. Go on, take them." And he steps outside the room, leaving me with them. It makes me feel guilty. Suddenly, I'm the exploiting European, taking the imperial legacy of plundering the natives all the way into the bedroom. But no, sure - they want the money, no doubt about that, but they're not faking this. Rafael, the younger brother - perhaps nineteen to Enrique's twenty, crouches on all fours beside his brother, rounded curves of his arse facing me, cock and balls hung invitingly. But he reaches out, fingers circling his brother's cock, cradling and teasing it fully erect with a familiarity that says he's very used to doing it, drawing the foreskin back from the gleaming glans. I can see it, stiff and solid, purple-headed. My first overwhelming instinct is that I want it in my mouth. I want to suck that inviting cock. But no, this time I'm supposed to be in control. This time they're here to pleasure me. They're at my beck and control. They're here to do whatever I want them to... I shove my soiled y-fronts down and kick them away, cock jerking stiffly up between shirt-tails with almost embarrassing enthusiasm. Rafael is squeezing Enrique erection, slowly masturbating it, coaxing a bubble of moisture from its slit-eye, a lurid red tongue thickly extends downwards to lick the cock-tip clean. Looking back at me as he licks his lips hungrily, a fringe of black hair like an awning over his eyes. Then he moves his brother's testicles aside to reveal the button ass-hole. "You got thick white cock, much good for fucky ass-hole. Let me see you feed it in there..." Instead I move around the bed. The room is humid. I feel light-headed. Enrique is lying on his back, his head hanging over the edge of the bed. His dark eyes watching me. I move in closer. He opens his mouth. I press my cock down into the horizontal. Nudge it forward to trace the boy's parted lips. It feels so good. I slide it forward, watch my glans disappear into his mouth, then more, his lips close moistly around it. He's looking up at me all the while, his dark glittering eyes on mine. Defiant. Challenging me. I ease more cock into him, almost willing him to react, to gag, to squeeze his eyes shut. But he doesn't. He just takes it. He sucks me so softly and gently that the effect shocks through my entire body. My head goes back in reaction, my toes curl in pleasure. He's good. I force myself to look down at him again. There's an inch of my cock still visible. The rest of it lost in his warm pulsing mouth. I force forward, until there's nothing to see, he's got it all, just my pubic hair up against his mouth, his eyes still on me. Like he's mocking me. 'Is that all you've got? C'mon, give me more.' I ease back ever so slightly, I can see my balls up against his nose. I fuck his mouth once, twice, three times, a little further each time, watching my balls squash up against his nose. It feels so good. He sucks with an energy that can't be faked. He's as into this as I am. The sensations at the base of my spine are crawling incredibly, strange and unsettling. As though I'm losing control. I pull it part the way out. But he moves his head to seize it back between his lips, rimming around the raised edge of my glans. Sucking it back in by the pure force of his mouth. I find myself groaning in appreciation. I force myself backwards, determinedly out of his mouth, and before I have chance to change my mind I circle back around the bed. Moving cautiously. I'm sensitised, trying to staunch the orgasm that's twitching in my balls. Holding my breath until it subsides. Pausing just long enough, then moving in between his splayed legs. Rafael - on all fours above him, has his brother's cock casually in his mouth. He reaches out for my cock, draws me in by it, transfers his mouth to me, gives it a strong suck - with just a faint trace of teeth, then allows a foamy gob of saliva to spew from his mouth to cover me. Swiftly he takes my cock back in his fist and redirects it down towards his brother's spread anus. Enrique raises his hips up from the bed, spreading his legs a little wider to facilitate my entry. Nuzzling my cock-tip into its welcoming pit. I nudge. My glans slips easily in. Effortlessly. Rafael has returned Enrique's stiff dusky-brown cock to his mouth, but his attention is fixed down between his brother's spread legs, to where on my engorged cock is sinking slowly into the warm clasp of Enrique's rectum. The sensation is raging within me, the pressure is exquisite. I try to hold, unmoving, hoping to control the pulsations surging through me, but Enrique's not content to wait, his sphincter contracts, squeezing so beautifully. I thrust all the way in, rewarded by a slight gasp. Rafael watches. He slurps on his brother's cock, nibbling his way around the rim of his glans, his attention transfixed down on my point of penetration all the while. Such scrutiny is a little unnerving. I draw back, and make a few quick fuck-thrusts, my balls swaying up against the crease of his arse. Enrique's moving his hips up and towards me, splaying his legs a little further to allow me deeper access. But I can't hold any longer, I draw back in an agony of uncertainty, my face creased with concentration. This is the moment Raphael has been waiting for. With one smooth practised motion he reaches down beneath to cup my balls, squeezing slightly. The intimate caress of his slim warm fingers is more than I need. With practised ease Rafael whips my cock free of his brother's arse, pulling it up to his mouth just as my ejaculation begins. I see constellations of shooting stars as my guts seem to be erupting. Looking down I see my cock resting between his lips, a big white gob of my spunk trickling down his chin, and he's laughing a rich dirty laugh. He pulls and milks at my shaft so the last beads of sperm ooze and drip, his mouth slurping at it, taking it in, sucking noisily as I stand stock-still, as though stunned. He continues to lick and suck at it until it looses its rigidity. Then he rears up, his mouth full of my sperm, the angry young jut of his cock standing proudly out, turning to his brother, face to face. Enrique gapes his mouth just as Rafael does the same, foamy blobs of saliva and white spunk drooling down from mouth to mouth, Enrique's tongue lolling out to catch it. It's a disgusting lewd but hypnotic thing to see. They're toying with my ejaculate back and forth. Suddenly shy I pull back. The air is over-warm and humid. I'm sweating from heat and exertion. I drag my clothes back on in a stupefied blur. Turning back, they're lying together in a tangle of glistening limbs, languidly wanking each other in long slow strokes. The bead of my sperm is still there on Rafael's chin. They're watching me with what-looks to be mocking smirks. The scorn in their eyes tells me they want more than I'm capable of giving. I push my way out of the room. Ivan is waiting, sat on a battered couch in the shabby corridor. "What...? You're done already boy?" I nod, a little too hastily. He glances at his watch. "Well, we've still got time before we've got to get back. Seems too good an opportunity to miss, don't you think...?" And he shoves his way into the room, closing the door behind him. I sink down onto the couch. My groin feels uncomfortably moist in my pants. I splay my legs and slouch back. Soon I can hear delighted laugher and groans coming from the room I've just vacated. It goes on for quite a while. I wonder what they're doing in there? My imagination's on fire. I feel jealousy. I wish there was a peeping-Tom spy-hole through which I could see what was going on in there. The two brothers are obviously getting what they'd expected. Getting the benefit of what should have been pleasuring me. I ache to see it. To see each thrust and spurt. I feel a sudden surge of irrational resentment... Me, I'd been a disappointment to them. But at least I've learned something from this experience. I've learned that I'm not cut out for the dominant role, obviously. When it comes to sex, I have a need to be used. I'm no good at taking the initiative. Ivan - or, I guess, the next guy I'm with, tells me what to do. And I do it. The responsibility is not mine. He guides and controls me, and I need to be controlled. Stupidly, I'm thinking of my sweet reciprocal sex with Michel. And I'm thinking of my teasingly perverse night with Carlos. Remembering the sensual warmth of their bodies up against mine. Some people can move from one sexual encounter to the next with a careless grin and no hard feelings on either side. Me, I'm different. Somewhere deep inside, I care... - 0 - Back in the ship I experience a series of vividly explicit dreams, which I rationalise as probably my subconscious coming to terms with my new situation. It's night in the narrow lantern-lit cabin. I'm stripped to my soiled white shorts and wait on the rumpled white sheet in an agony of uncertainty. My mouth dry and my body feels clammy and numb with suppressed fear. There's a knock at the door, I lie back, raise one leg in what I intend to be a provocative angle, and say 'enter'. A large sailor comes in, bearded and muscular. I know him, the boatswain. I hesitate, run my hands over my undulating stomach until my fingers stray beneath the elastic. He guffaws cruelly. "I don't want your poxy little tool, lad, just your mouth." Now I know his intention I swing my legs up off the bunk and sit up. He lazily unfastens his belt and flips down the fly-buttons one by one. His pants fall to his knees, to where the spread of his legs stops them, and unceremoniously he hefts a fat limp wedge of cock-meat in his hand and offers it to me. I smile at him, and go down. His thighs feel stale and sweaty but I concentrate only on what I have to do. My lips close around the raw cock-head and I begin to suck it gently. He transfers both hands to the back of my head and holds me there so I can't move, his big pulsing cock expanding in my mouth, his fat round balls squashed up against my chin. I slurp hungrily at it and close my eyes, it's rigid now and in a very short time he grunts, and there's a sensual squirting sensation against the back of my throat as my mouth filled with rich spermy cream. I gulp most of it down, the rest escaping down my chin. He releases my head and slides free. "Not bad, boy, not bad at all, Ivan's taught you well" he mutters, pulling his pants back into place. My mouth feels deliciously violated, but even as he leaves I can see I queue of other guys outside waiting their turn, and even more scary, I recognise each and every one of them as my fellow crewmen! Where is Ivan? He's sitting there beside the table, watching it all with an indulgently approving grin that makes me awkwardly self-conscious. Maybe he's leasing me out to the others? Making a profit from my complicity? The first guy has barely left the cabin when the second one shoulders his way in. This sailor is already naked to the waist, dark-skinned with shoulder-length black hair. Without a word he drops his pants, kicks them free and stands naked, a long slender brown cock already stiff and swaying like a cobra ready for the kill. "On your gut" he snarls, and trembling I lay across the bunk on my stomach. With a single movement he's whipped my pants down and away, laying my quivering arse bare. He nudges my legs apart and inserts himself between them. I feel scared, but also excited. His fingers burrow, seeking my anus and I raise myself to assist him, my own balls dangling free. Then his cock is hot and firm at my yielding back-passage and he's ramming into me. I moan my pleasure and pain as he fucks me, each thrust forcing his cock deeper up me until his balls are crushed up tight against me. My mind is fogged and turgid as his rhythm intensifies until he groans and rams up into me spurting wave after wave of hot spunk into me. The next guy has me lie on my back on the bed, I shyly do so, reluctantly exposing my own state of fierce arousal, he sits on my chest so I feel the warm pressure, and he dangles his fat bollocks in my face. I mouth each round egg in turn. Then he turns, with his balls still in my mouth, to seize my own stiff cock, his grip makes me gasp, and he begins wanking me, up and down my sensitive shaft. I come off in seconds spurting spunk all over my stomach, then his own free-hanging cock ejaculates all over my chest until the milky white stuff joins in shimmering pools all over me... and I'm shocked awake sharply wracked by tremors as my wet dream climaxes in messy orgasm. My heart racing, my chest pounding. Lying there on my back in the night gloom of the cabin as the sensations recede, I'm aware of the perspiration-glisten on my body, the cooling streaks of sperm. I can hear Ivan's breathing in the half-darkness. Deep and regular. What's happening to me? Am I going crazy? It was a dream, only a dream. No-one can be held responsible for their dreams, can they? But dreams are also messages from my deep-psyche, according to therapists. So are these dreams telling me something? That the way I've been abruptly shoved into this new awareness of my sexuality is tipping me over into some uncontrollably obsessive state? Does it matter...? What's even more spooky is that I have a black pubic hair in my mouth. So was it real...? Was I really dreaming it all...? It's too humid to sleep. Time is running away. But I drift back into half-awareness nevertheless. The world wavers. My head swims, dragged under until haunted seascapes flow through my head. A new dream scenario. This time the ship is anchoring at the centre of a bay where few vessels lie, then the engine dies with a last throaty cough. The oily sea heaves in sluggish undulations. I'm in the cramped radio-shack when the door opens outwards and two of the crewmen beckon. "C'mon kid, it's time." I take off my phones and switch the radio off, and do as they say, not sure why. Outside there are others waiting. I grin uncertainly. As they push and jostle me unceremoniously down the companionway towards the games room their attitude seems to change, once inside, laughing drunkenly, they order me to strip. I'm confused and scared, imaging some kind of joke, or maybe a maritime initiation. They get beers from behind the bar as I shrug off my T-shirt and stand awkwardly in my shorts. Then I'm seized from behind and pulled over the snooker-table on my back while other hands drag my shorts down and off, my cock bouncing and swaying over my stomach as I'm left naked. Two of the men begin to fondle me into erection as I giggle and squirm in embarrassment. Another pours beer over my thighs so my pubic hair is matted and sticky with foam, and my skin glistens. Then they twist me over so I lie face down on the table, my firm rounded buttocks raised, legs hanging to the floor. One man sits heavily on my shoulders so I'm unable to move, I hear jeering and more drunken laughter and the sliding of a zipper. Then rough hands are pulling my legs apart, they're massaging the foamy beer around the opening of my anus until it's well-lubricated, and I feel a hot firm object pressing up against the tight sphincter. As the laughter increases, and I feel the tingle and slight pain of penetration I realise in horror that I'm about to be ass-fucked. I struggle and groan but it's impossible to escape the impalement as the unseen cock slides up my arse. Then he begins to pound at me until my bottom throbs, it goes on and on, until it abruptly seems to pulse orgasmically into me. I gasp as it slides free, then sob almost hysterically as its place is taken by a second stiff cock, and the pounding fucking resumes again. My anus tingles as he drives a second ejaculation of spunk into me, shoving so hard I feel his testicles cramped up between my splayed legs. As he withdraws a third penis slides into my arse with a feeling that he will surely split me open, and then a fourth. At last, after pumping his semen into me, the cock jerks free and I'm released, naked, to stagger across the cabin dazed and confused. "Look, the kid's loving it" one of them jokes, indicating my erection which is messy, not only with the last dregs of the beer, but with milky-white strands of my own emissions. Hardly surprising considering my already-aroused genitals have been crushed and ground up against the beer-wet green baize, and forcefully gyrated by pressing bodies. There are six men in the room, three naked, two naked from the waist down, and the sixth with a fierce erection protruding from his fly. Cock-Sucker: Around the World Ch. 03 One of them, in only a shirt open down the front, approaches me, a huge uncircumcised cock swaying before him. "On your knees, boy, say your prayers" he grunts. "I've fucked you once already, now I'm going to place my seed in a different hole." My eyes transfix with fear on his cock as I back away. It's huge. His companions laugh. As I begin edging away around the snooker-table they pursue me with jeering taunts, I sob and make a break for the door, staggering out onto the deck where I break into a frantic run, and the chase continues. I can see there are other ships out there across the bay. Can I shout out to them? No, in my dream-state unreality my throat is so dry I can barely croak out a word. Can they see me? Are they amused by the spectacle of a naked youth being pursued by sex-hungry sailors? Perhaps they're training binoculars on me at this very moment to see more clearly the way my cock flips and my balls bounce as I dart from cover to cover, jumping hawsers and bollards. Despite the humid heat, I'm shivering, but there's nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, at last - whooping like it's some kind of game, they corner me, two of them grab me, forcing me down onto my knees. I'm breathing heavy with the unaccustomed exertion. One of them seizes me by the hair, forcing my head back, as my tormentor comes at me again, his shirt flapping loosely around his bare thighs, huge cock swaying inches from my nose. I can smell its sour musk. "Open up, you'll get to enjoy it after a while." The men holding me laugh as the cockhead nudges my nose, smearing slime, the testicles dangling fat and round between his legs. No, it's too big, I can't take it! Terrified, I part my lips, as he edges his prick towards my mouth. "Good boy" he says soothingly. "Take your medicine like a good boy." "No" I plead. "You don't understand, I'm not Gay, I'm not Gay, I'm not (gurgle)..." My protests slur, dissolving into slurpy throaty noises as he plays it slowly between my lips, its size forcing my jaws apart, its hot fleshy taste filling my mouth. I blink tears from my eyes and moan. Then it touches the back of my throat and I retch, seeing inches of solid blood-veined cock still protruding from my straining saliva-dribbling distended lips, the hairy stomach above it heaving. He applies pressure, another inch slides in, my eyes bugging out of my head. And it keeps slithering impossibly in, it must be halfway down my windpipe by now. Gradually the two men release me, but I stay where I am, resigned. I suck at it submissively in bleak resignation... when I wake my mouth tastes like rats have nested in it. As though what happened was real...? "That's right, Dorothy, it was all a dream!" I lie gasping, in a state of shock. The intensity of it all was so overwhelming. Yet despite the subconscious doubts and misgivings that the dreams betray, there's never any real sense of sexual threat from the rest of the crew, apart from playful bantering about me being 'Ivan's latest girlfriend'. They even call me 'Gloria'. Of course, I act truculent, but beneath it there's a warm response suspiciously like approval. I'd always thought of myself as dull, nerdish, uninteresting, the kind of guy no-one notices, yet here I am transformed into this exotic creature desired and lusted after by this powerful respected man. How strange is that? I tell Ivan the details of my nightmares. He says "It was a bad dream, I wouldn't worry about it none though, them old dreams are only in your head." He's quoting Bob Dylan's "Talking World War III Blues". He's right, of course. But that doesn't mean that what the dream is telling me isn't also true. Almost without realising it, I've changed. I no longer identify myself with any rigid sexual identity, I've become a fluid thing, a creature of endless erotic possibilities... The Erotic Voyage Will Continue In 'Literotica'... by Tristan Trotsky Cock-Sucker: Around the World Ch. 04 Hot Sex With Some African Queens Jo'burg. Ivan shows me around. He's been here before. He has friends, he knows places. We drink in a small bar off Rosettenville, then stroll further towards a club called 'The Blue Dahlia'. There's a low marquee outside. It looks rather run-down. But once inside, with the lights low but for winking red fluorescents and spots directed onto a small stage, it begins to appear more lively. Couples are dancing to a cool jazz soundtrack on a small dance-floor adjacent to the stage, but Ivan locates a table in an alcove and signals for two more drinks. He glances at his watch impatiently. A sinuous female figure sidles onto the stage and caresses the microphone in an intimate manner that draws and hooks my attention. She sings "That Old Devil Moon" and "Strange Fruit" - Billie Holiday songs, but charged with an aching sensitivity that sets the hairs on the nape of neck prickling. An eloquent melancholy giving voice to all the sadness and sweet romantic pain of the world, of loss, of exclusion, of being trapped as a transgressive outsider in a twilight world. Most of the smoochy dancers don't even notice, but I do. Her glamour and sophisticated artistry has me hypnotized. Once she's left the stage Ivan waits a few moments more, gulps what's left of his drink, and indicates for me to follow him. It's only as I pass close by the dance area it dawns on me that the dancers are all same-sex. Women dancing with women. Men dancing with men. Some of them in elaborate drag. I don't have time to gawp, Ivan leads me through a side door and into a backstage corridor. The carpet is worn, but had been rich maroon. There are posters on the wall hinting at better days of old, 'Burlesque', 'Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret'. He knocks at a dressing room door, and enters without waiting for a reply. There are three 'girls' inside in various stages of undress. The vamp who'd sung "Strange Fruit" with such magical intonations looks up as we enter. Her face illuminated with camp joy. "Oh Ivan, what a joy it is to see you again!" She minces across in high heels, her hips swaying, embraces Ivan and kisses him on the lips. Then she turns her attention on me. "Is this your latest boy, Ivan. Oh, he's divine." I feel clumsy and tongue-tied. Their gender is erotically fluid, an alien glamour that takes my breath away. They cluster around me. "This is Honeysuckle" says Ivan. The singer, coffee-dark complexion and a pale orchid in her nightblack-hair, has eyes that are hauntingly deep. Her slim figure outlined in a gold lamè creation cut low to reveal a convincing décolletage. Her voice is deep and rich. Behind her is Lola, in tight basque with blood-red ribbons and lace, suspenders and black stockings, she wears tasteful sequins and her blonde hair is piled high in elaborate coiffure. And Lucy Bluesky, in fifties-style see-through lingerie, a fetishistic baby-doll costume with cut-away nipples, and thong pulled up tight between the ample curves of her rounded bottom. "I loved your songs" I stammer. "Oh how cute. I do believe he's blushing" teases Lola. "Is he as good-bad as he should be, Ivan?" teases Honeysuckle. "Does that surly mouth of his keep your big-brute cock happy? Do you think we should take him in hand...?" "He does look a little dowdy" complains Bluesky through scarlet pouting lips, hands on her hips. "Can we work on him, Ivan, please, please?" Ivan laughs. "Be my guest girls. I'm certain he'll benefit from your tender ministrations." I allow myself to be drawn forward. They seat me in a cosmetic chair in front of make-up mirrors, the desk-top a confusion of powders and exotic creams, then they elevate me higher, and recline the chair backwards. I'm nervous and excited. Don't know how to react or what to expect. Their perfume is making me light-headed. Honeysuckle is easing my T-shirt up and over my head, gently but firmly, her soft feminine touch on the bare skin of my stomach is electric. Over the weeks of my voyage I've come to accept that my sexuality reacts to whatever circumstances I find myself in. That it's impossible to imagine certainty in such an imprecise area. I'd now feel amputated from an integral part of my personality if I were forced to reject one gender for an exclusivity of the other. It's that I so much prefer to relate to people as individuals rather than gender stereotypes. These three, fussing around me, confound even those expectations. Lola uses downy feathers to brush my forehead and cheeks, leaving a residue of aromatic powder, before applying gel eyeliner, smudging on softer lines, and massaging shadow around my eyes. While Lucy splays my fingers across the arm-rests, buffs and prepares to add sparkling nail-varnish. Ivan watches, his arms folded, with a broad smile on his face. I attempt to relax and allow them their way, even as Honeysuckle fumbles with the fastening of my shorts and begins to tug at the hem. Uncertain what to do, still bashful and just a little intimidated by this exotic trio, I relax, lift my hips a little to allow her. My shorts slip down my thighs. The 'girls' momentarily break off their make-up tasks as my stiff cock quivers into view, slapping up against my stomach as it comes free from the material of my shorts. They're cooing with delight and making little appreciative groans. "Oh Ivan, he's simply lovely" simpers Honeysuckle as she reaches out to take the head of my cock between thumb and forefinger, lifting it up so the girls can see it to better advantage. Lola claps her hands in delight. Lucy blows it an exaggerated kiss. I squirm in pleasurable embarrassment. Honeysuckle produces a fine-comb and begins teasing my pubic hair into shape, using clippers and a small lady-razor to snip away strands. As she works I notice the dexterity of her long slim feminine fingers moving over the intimate areas of my groin. Her nails are long and lushly varnished, except for the index-finger of her right hand, where the nail is manicured short and rounded. I don't have time to wonder further as they continue transforming my appearance, massaging lotions, using blusher and subtle tints, tweezering away stray hairs. I'm just a human doll for their cosmetic games. Honeysuckle's fingers are cosseting my balls, snipping away hairs into a neat bush. Her close and intimate touch is setting up inevitable reactions in my groin, her every touch stimulating radiations of pleasure. I bite my lower lip, even as Lola is painting on lip-gloss. I part my legs slightly as she works her way down my inner thigh and around the puckered mouth of my anus. It's at that moment I realise why the nail of her index-finger has been manicured. She's immersed her finger in a jar of cream from the cluttered make-up table, and slides her finger into, and all the way up my bum-hole. She knows exactly what she's doing. I raise my hips in delighted surprise, the shock of complete penetration sending shock-waves through me. Instantly my cock stands to fully vertical attention, and I lose control. Orgasm hits me with trembling pins and needles tingles of exquisite ecstasy. The girls shriek and giggle as I groan and whimper. Lola swiftly reaches out for a cocktail glass and holds it just below my cock so that the sudden spurts of glistening semen splash and dribble into its rounded glass contours. Then her slim cool fingers encircle my cock delicately, pointing it more directly into the glass, and milking it so that more droplets of spunk ooze and drip into the milky mess already pooling there. I feel indulged, cosseted, faintly overwhelmed by it all. Breathing in short excited gasps. "There's a good boy" coos Honeysuckle, her finger still tightly embedded within my bum. "Such a generous gift of nectar." Lucy carefully spoons up stray droplets from my stomach with the crook of her finger and drips them into the glass, then gets a moist wet-wipe and carefully cleans around the sensitised head of my cock in a way that has my toes clenching, as Lola holds the champagne glass up for closer inspection, turning it this way and that in the light. She sets the glass down on the desk, rummages in the cupboard below and produces a bottle of Cape Rosé, and spills a small amount into the glass. Satisfied she swirls the blend of liquids around, tilting the glass so that the wine washes the dribbles of spunk into it. She sips it delicately, like a connoisseur, holds it to the light rolling it between her fingers. Then passes it to Lola who also drinks. "Hey, steady there girl" simpers Honeysuckle. "Leave some of that for the rest of us." She slides her finger out of my bum-hole, with a slight plopping noise, then uses the spermy wet-wipe to clean her finger before reaching out to take the glass for her turn. She sips and holds the liquid in her mouth, swishing it around, before swallowing. "What a wonderful vintage. Such a delicious infusion. I could quaff it all day. Fresh spunk is so good for the vocal chords." The girls laugh and clap their hands as Ivan guffaws, and I just lie there, enjoying every moment of being the centre of their indulgent attentions. The post-orgasmic warmth radiating from my groin relaxes me into a mildly drunken languorous state. My cock has lost its aching hardness, but the attention it has received is conspiring in other directions. I feel the building need for a piss, provoked by the stimulating friction on my prostate. I hold back as long as I can. "Please, I need the little girl's room" I manage eventually, when I can ignore the urgency no longer. "Here" says Honeysuckle. "You'd best put your shorts back on. You'd be eaten alive out there if they saw you like this. Lola will take you, it seems that Lucy is already otherwise engaged." As I'm guided down from the chair and Lola takes it upon herself to help pull my shorts back up, her soft fingers taking care to fold my cock and balls safely in, I glance around. Ivan is standing up against the wall. Lucy is crouched in front of him on her knees, she has extracted his big cock from his pants and is sucking enthusiastically at it, her head bobbing up and down its considerable length, I can't believe she's taking so much of it so soon, her make-up already smudged, little dribbles of saliva trickling down her chin and dripping down in long strands. She's easing his fat balls out as she sucks, shrugging his pants down impatient to gain better access. Momentarily, I'm jealous. That is my cock. It's mine to suck. But Lola is holding my hand, she pulls me away. She leads me out into the corridor, back out onto the dance-floor and across to the toilets on the far side. I follow her obediently, all will and self-identity dissolved with my sperms in the wine-glass. There's muted music and the sound of running water inside. The toilet-room is T-shaped, three cubicles off to my right, non-too hygienic, with graffiti and glory-holes punched into the partitions, and a urinal to left and right ahead of us. As we enter a big guy is just making to leave. He stops and eyes us up and down. Lola smiles sweetly at him. "Lola" growls the man, making the name sound like a dirty word. "Lola, lovely Lola, we have unfinished business you and I." He reaches out and takes hold of her arm, pushing her back and towards the one of the cubicles. "Wait Honey, we have all the time in the world" she purrs, although obviously a little disturbed by his urgency. She flashes a quick nervous smile at me, reassuring me that she can handle the situation. I just stand and watch. The guy is unbuckling his pants, shoving them down eagerly. I can see his bare arse and the heft of a large uncircumcised cock swaying menacingly free. Lola sees it too. Her eyes widen and glow as he pushes her through into the confined space. He moves her around, so that she's facing the toilet pedestal, and shoves her down. She reaches out to grasp and hold the white ceramic, using it to brace herself as he pulls and tugs at the lower part of her basque. I see the sweet anal orifice winking, and her cock and balls dangling as he moves in to bugger her. I hear her delighted squeal and visualise that cock sliding into her vulnerably raised bum. The door has partially closed behind them. I can't see too much, my fervid imagination supplying all the details I need. He's fucking her, that big cock pumping into her pretty bum-hole. Maybe she teased him earlier, led him on? Maybe they've got an agreement, maybe she made promises she now feels obliged to make good. Perhaps he's even paid her...? I move towards the urinals, catching my reflection in a mirror and scarce recognising myself. I pause with lingering gaze, my eyes are shadowed, my cheeks rouged and my mouth shaped with cerise lipstick. I'm a vision of perverse sexuality that courses through my body and stimulates my mind with fantastic imaginings. There's a sound ahead of me, one pace more. To my right a tall blonde man is standing, a beautiful cock protruding from the flies of his pants, aimed at the urinal. To my left, a boy of perhaps my own age is slumped in the corner, his legs splayed across the floor-tiles, his back up against the wall. His eyes are closed as if he's asleep. But more immediately, his pants have been pulled down and lie in a messy puddle around his right ankle. He wears nothing else. The image his distraught situation presents takes my breath away. There are splashes and dribbles across his face, which are obviously cooling jism. There are specks and pools of cum across his hairless body too. His own boyishly small cock is drooping softly between his legs, strands of oozing liquid dripping from its tip into a glistening puddle on the floor, joining a steady drip of spunk from his puckered rosebud anus. He resembles a debauched angel. I look up startled at the standing man. "Is he alright? Should we help him?" "He's fine" he says firmly without a moment's hesitation. "He's got exactly what every cum-slut deserves. He's been testing his limits, or his owner has instructed him to do so, and he's testing the limits of his obedience. You know what these faggot-fairies are like. They love all this spunk-dirty stuff. Give him time to recover and he'll be ready for more." He turns around to face me, pulling at his own cock demonstratively. "In fact, I'm half-minded to take my own turn. Maybe I'll just piss all over him. What do you think - eh, what do you think?" Alarmed, I hold up my hand and stand between them protectively. "No, no, please, leave him alone." He laughs in a compelling way, that's both derisive and authoritative. His self-assurance is intimidating. His fine-boned blonde arrogance and Aryan certainty brooking no resistance. "Well, what have we here? A little girly solidarity. I've got sexual jollies that demand to be expressed, if I don't use that boy, what alternative are you offering? C'mon, I've not got all day." I glance down at the sleeping boy. I can't allow this stranger to abuse him further, I just can't. And well, he has an attractive manner. "What exactly have you in mind?" "Have you always been a dirty-minded cum-slut?" The gaze of his piercing blue eyes is so intense it seems he's stripping me bare, piercing my soul, so that I have to look away. Even meeting his eyes is a contest of wills, which he naturally wins. "No. I was a late starter, I guess." Not contradicting his assessment of me, but trying to preserve a little dignity. "But you're making up for lost time? You like getting fucked in the ass?" he demands. "Everyone likes sex, it's a basic human need" I say coyly. "That's not what I asked, and you know it" he growls. "I said do you like to get fucked in the ass?" I lower my eyes shyly, conceding warily "If it's the right guy, I guess." "You best believe I'm the right guy" he says firmly. "Yes sir" I flutter prettily. It must be the answer he wants. He grunts approval, then turns to the urinal and begin to piss. Intimidated and just a little in awe of him, I stand beside him and do the same, our urine-streams washing into each other and merging. I look down into his groin with fascination and desire. He looks down at mine with a derisive sneer. Then he zips his pants up. I'm a little confused. Just what is it he wants of me? He beckons to me, and I follow him. I sneak once last look at the slumped boy. Let him sleep. At least I've helped him do that. I'm led back out of the toilets onto the dance-floor, and then towards the exit. We step outside onto the street. The sun is brilliant. I shade my eyes from its brilliance. I'd almost forgotten it was still daytime, it seemed like a haven of forbidden twilight inside the club. An enclosed world with its own rules. Outside I feel suddenly exposed and vulnerable. I hesitate. He looks back at me accusingly. I'm already scared of his reprimand. "I have friends inside 'The Blue Dahlia'" I protest weakly. "I can't leave them." I think of Lucy squatting there with Ivan's cock in her mouth. I think of Lola bent over the toilet system with the big stranger pumping his length up her bum. I think of Honeysuckle about to perform another onstage set. "They can wait. I'll bring you back. No worries." He's reached a parking lot adjacent to the club. I follow him meekly. There a red sports car, an MG. He climbs in. I hesitate for less than a moment. What has he in mind? If he'd wanted a simple straightforward blow-job we could have done it back there in the toilets. The memory of seeing his cock makes my groin stir with anticipation. Admit it, my teeth ache to get it into my mouth. Will he drive me somewhere so I can suck him off, then return me here so I can rejoin Ivan? So I climb obediently into the passenger seat beside him, sinking into the leather upholstery, feeling it warm up against the bare skin of my back. His name is Kurt. This is less like a mutual thing. I feel I've been chosen, selected by him, and I have little choice in the matter. He engages and revs the engine, then accelerates out of the lot onto the narrow street, weaving around parked vehicles and bicycles, out into the cross-town traffic. I watch the city blocks spooling by like a documentary travel-movie. This is taking more time than I'd anticipated. But I tell myself 'hey, relax and enjoy the trip'. He's a good-looking guy. He's compellingly attractive. Go with the flow. He flips the red open-top onto a fork and travels some way down a winding incline. We are beyond the city-sprawl now. The slope is densely forested with only occasional properties set back from the road. Eventually he hangs a right into the drive of what is evidently his bungalow. A secluded location. He leads me inside. Gets me a lager. There's a big ceiling-mounted fan lazily turning with a faint crick-crick-crick sound, doing little to provide cool. I smile at him, hoping for some kind of response. He merely nods towards the back of the house, through the lounge with its big flat-screen TV, and out onto the veranda. Below us, down a short flight of tiled steps, is a pool. This is obviously our objective. We undress, I'm glancing across at him, to see if he's checking me out as I lower my pants, but - disappointingly he's not. Leaving our clothes on the loungers, we dive in. He's athletic, his body smoothly toned and flawless. My attention irresistibly drawn to his groin. He's shaved, which makes the full length of his impressive cock stand out. He's uncut. And I look forward to the opportunity of sucking it. He seems quite content to swim the pool, demonstrating his agility and superb fitness. Allowing me to admire him. Later we lie side by side on loungers, the sun glistening the moisture pearling on our bodies. Much of my make-up washed away. After a moment's hesitation I sit up, my eyes travelling around the hillside beyond. Are there other houses out there overlooking us? Can they see what we're doing? Then I gaze down at his body. I can hold back no longer. I lower my head into his groin. I only get to kiss the head of his cock before he shoves my head away. Cock-Sucker: Around the World Ch. 04 "No, not that way." He gets up now. Indicates for me to bend over. So, he wants it that way. I should have guessed from his earlier assertions. So be it. I turn around, crouching up on the lounger, presenting myself for him, reaching back to part my buttocks, allowing him access, inviting him. I feel him positioning himself. His hands on my hips, the heat of his cock-head seeking out the anus opening. Then the pressure. He's not using lubrication, apart from the moist pool-water on our bodies. There's a strain of sharp pain as it forces its way in. But each wince and whimper I make seems to excite him more. He's laughing as I brace myself to receive his forceful penetration. Biting my lip. He draws back until only the knob-head is inside me, and pauses for a moment, allowing me to catch my breath, then forces back in further. I cry out. He stops, withdraws a little way, less this time, then shoves more into me. I can't tell properly, but I think I've taken it all. I was wrong. He begins a leisurely fuck, each thrust taking it just a little further in. It's less than a pleasurable experience for me. But I'm learning another aspect of sex. Giving myself to the needs of a dominant man. And despite myself my own flipping bouncing cock is hard, although he ignores my state. He's concerned only with own pleasure. It goes on for some time, pausing then resuming, slowing then speeding up. I'm sweating in flushing waves of heat that surge up and down my body, radiating out from my burning straining anus. I close my eyes as it goes on. He slows, pauses, allowing his sensations to quieten, before resuming, enjoying my discomfort. Eventually, after what seems like forever he grunts low in his throat and slams forward so deep I cry out. And I feel his orgasm jerking inside my gut. It kicks off my own ejaculation which starts spurting uncontrollably as I squirm and move as best I can around my impalement. He leaves it in me until the last tremors recede. It feels easier now. The burning recedes to a warm glow that is undeniably pleasant. My own jism, spattered across my stomach is cooling and congealing. He pulls out, and slaps me painfully across the bare bum. Of course, the entire episode has been more a dominance thing than it has been a sex thing. By the time I warily straighten up, unwilling to trust my legs, he's already back in the pool. I sit on the lounger, gathering my thoughts. Then join him, laughing together. Soon we resume our positions, side-by-side on the loungers. I glance across at him. His eyes are closed. His arms folded behind his head. I glance down, drawn to the instrument that's already ravaged me. I can still feel its effect tingling in my bowels. This time, when I go down to kiss it, he does not push me away. Encouraged, I run my tongue up its full length, and it squirms in response. I suck its head into my mouth, only the head at first, and explore it with my tongue. It's fucked me already, but I've not really had chance to get to know it up close. I take full advantage now. My eyes luxuriating in taking in its every hairless detail. A beautiful cock, tall and white. So pale I can trace the tiny blue pattern of blood-vessels mapping its terrain. The smooth foreskin hood around the rubbery glans. The raised sperm-duct running along the underside. The perfect fit for my mouth, as though designed by nature for that one singular purpose. Looking up, I catch him watching me. The situation is obvious. He's generously allowing me to use his body for my pleasure. I feed more of his cock in. Because it's only semi-erect I can take pretty-much all of it, loving swirling it around my mouth, loving the sensation, feeling it stiffen, hardening up against the tight clasp of my lips. I begin sucking in earnest. Fearing censure, but bringing my hands to play with his fat balls. He lies back and lets me have my way. I alternate sucking hard, with a slow relaxed sucking, so that I hold it in my mouth, never releasing it, while caressing it with my tongue. As it goes on I'm forced to reach down and take my own cock in hand. He's not touched me once. He's not concerned with my pleasure or sexual fulfilment, only his own. So I began to leisurely wank my aching stiffness as I oralise him. I can hear the warm breeze stirring the foliage above us, hear the birds angry cry. The warmth of the sun tenderly drying the moisture off our interconnected bodies. It is idyllic. It's a perfect moment. I suck him as deep as I can, as if to show my appreciation. It swells and throbs against the restriction of my throat as I bring him towards climax. At the same time I'm approaching my own, wanking more furiously now so that my balls are jiggling with the excited action. I begin cumming too soon, erupting up over my stomach. Forcing the distracting rage away as it storms my head, to concentrate on him. With my other hand I'm smoothing his balls. Feeling them retract with the build-up. Then, impassive, with barely a trace of expression above the waist, it spews rich fluid into my mouth, I feel the first spurts flooding me. I make a gaggling gurgling sound, only half-faked to better communicate what I'm doing to him, what he's doing to me, closing my eyes to concentrate on taking his orgasm, the white cloying gusher, licking and squeezing with my lips to amplify the sensation for him, milking the tide of spunk into my mouth, gently squeezing his balls upwards and working the cum up the length of his shaft, from base to head, into my greedy maw. It feels amazing. I keep his cock in my mouth as it loses something of its rigidity, loath to release it, swishing it around in a bath of saliva and semen. Come on, react you arrogant bastard! "You sluts can't think straight unless you've got a cock in your mouth." His voice is infuriatingly calm, despite what I've just done to him, and continue doing. "Did you enjoy that?" I relinquish it only long enough to tell him, "Yes, very much so, thank you sir." "You think you can use my body for your own pleasure? You've got to pay for your spermy treat." I lift my head from his sloppy cock, unsure of what's about to happen. "Stand up, touch your toes." I do as he says, feeling stupidly vulnerable. He begins to smack my bare bottom in a rhythm of sharp precise blows concentrating systematically on each buttock, until I'm stinging. The detonations of each fleshy slap clear and distinct. Then he reaches between my splayed legs to seize and squeeze my balls so tightly that I wince. "Now, run three times around the pool." He's got to be kidding, right? This is silly. He can't be serious, surely? But if this is what gets him off, if this dominance thing turns him on, why not? It's a game, isn't it? It's erotic play-acting. Why not. So I do as he says, loping easily around the pool, hoping he's watching the way my genitals move as I do so, swaying from side to side, jiggling this way and that. Hopefully he likes what he sees. But I don't think he's even taking notice. At length I flop down onto the lounger beside him, breathing heavily, looking towards him for some sign of approval. But his eyes are closed. Excluding me. Not asleep, but he might as well be. I lie back and allow the silence to consume me as the bizarreness I've just been subjected to replays in my head. In the evening we sit on the veranda beneath the bright African stars, as a black woman serves us a meal. The white wine sings on my palette. Later I check out his selection of DVD's, most of them S&M, dominance and submission, genital torture. It makes me nervous. What exactly am I getting myself into? Turning my confused ideas about Kurt over in my head. Then I think of Ivan back at the 'The Blue Dahlia'. Is he missing me, does he wonder where I am? He had plans for the evening, involving us and the three 'girls'. I feel guilty about letting him down. When we go to bed Kurt uses lubrication to fuck me, which makes it easier. As though the first time was to make a point, I was there for him to use, at his discretion. This time it's better, although again he ignores my own arousal. I lie on my back as he enters me. I try to hold his eyes as I reach down to stimulate myself as he thrusts into my ass. I wriggle my hips forward, onto him, using my sphincter-muscles to clasp and draw him in, trying to provoke a response, showing my enthusiasm for him. Both of us breathing heavy. As my climax approaches I gaze up into his face. "Oh fuck me, Kurt, your cock feels so good" I moan, then, as my orgasm hits me, I begin shooting long white strands that surely he must see. But it's as though he's not even noticed. I lie back as it cools and dribbles across me, as he continues fucking deeper into me, again and again. I hear him breathing. It's his only response. It's cold and impersonal. A clinical fucking machine that explodes in my rectum with tides of hot jism. But it's only on the genital level we're communicating. And that, only one way. His way. I'm being used. It's scary, unsettling. But if that's part of sex, it's a part of sex that's worth knowing. Once it's over he turns away and falls promptly asleep. I lie there in his bed, feeling only the pulse of my heart, the swell of my breath. It's uncomfortable warm, despite the endlessly-circling crick-crick-crick of the fan, but I feel a chill. The next morning I awake to find the maid already in the room. She smiles indulgently at my evident distressed embarrassment at her seeing me nude. She's obviously well-used to finding strange naked young men in her employer's bed. After we breakfast Kurt takes me driving again. I sit beside him a little awkwardly, obedient, compliant, saying little. Uncertain about the events of the previous day. Unsure of my feelings for him. His attraction is all to do with his arrogance, his dominance. Nothing to do with affection or sensitivity. It's a mysterious relationship. If you could even dignify it as such. Every relationship has complexities that go beyond where you think they will. That's how we find out about ourselves. But what's going on inside his headspace? He's a perfect physical specimen in every way, but with the emotion-chip missing. He barely speaks as we speed through suburbs towards the promise of open countryside. I wonder what he has in mind. Eventually we skirt the encircling shanties around the rim of the city to pull in through high metal gates set in encircling walls. Two security guards step forward as Kurt flashes his ID, they nod him through, sparing only a curious side-glance at me. There are shading trees lining the drive up to what was once obviously a colonial mansion. As he slows to a halt a uniformed black youth rushes to open the door. As he climbs out Kurt tosses him the keys. Obviously old apartheid attitudes still prevail here as well. The youth is there to park the car, as we saunter across into the entrance foyer. Inside, the house is a warren. Kurt seems familiar with its lay-out. He's been here before. He leads the way through a reception hall hung with glittering chandelier. I'm immediately startled as we approach an inner door, it opens and we stand aside as a middle-aged portly man emerges, leading a youth on a leash, the submissive is probably my ago, he's naked but for a few leather straps and a fetishistic hood, and he's crawling on all fours, like a dog! I watch in fascinated revulsion, noting his smooth hairless skin, the rounded curves of his undulating girlish bottom, the way his tight balls and small cock jiggle as he shuffles long behind his dominant master. Kurt shows no reaction, just leads us into a large lounge beyond. It's obviously an exclusive 'Gentleman's Establishment', catering to those of a certain disposition. A 'club-room', for members only. Predominantly male. Females not required. Like a bigger more sophisticated version of 'The Blue Dahlia' the lights are tastefully dimmed, allowing all manner of deviance to flourish with some degree of discretion, although those in dresses and evening gowns are decidedly suspect. I notice prints and expensive artworks on the wall, portraying naked youths in shackles being abused in various situations by cruel masters. Or entwined male lovers coupling in erotic embrace in flowery bowers, or elaborate pedaristic orgies staged in neo-classical settings. This place obviously has a long history, extending back into the Boer era. The upper floors, it seems, have been subdivided down into specialist suites for client use, fitted out and equipped with a variety of sexual devices and toys. The guests, myself included, sit in plush upholstery drawn up into intimate circles. There are also alcoves for those who appreciate a greater degree of privacy, some with the screens of homo-erotic DVDs running. There's a subtle Afro-jazz soundtrack playing in the background. I feel more than a little uncomfortable, as two black youths, Nkomo and Makumbe serve us drinks on trays, their smooth ebony skin moving gracefully in their bulging-tight brief panties. Kurt keeps me plied with sophisticated conversation and ensures my glass is never empty. "These guys..." I indicate the servants, "aren't they being exploited? Is being gay an essential prerequisite of their job?" "You can no more make a straight kid gay than you can make a gay kid straight. It's either there, or it isn't, if it's not there already you can't put it there," he suggests. "No, but you can set up problematic confusion in his mind." "Only if he likes it. If he has sex with another guy and feels only revulsion and disgust, chances are he won't do it again. If he has sex with another guy and enjoys it... maybe. But why should pleasure be a problem? Orgasm is always pleasurable, no matter how it is induced. What kid dislikes orgasms? It's only social pressures that force orgasms into separate boxes ticked 'gay' and 'straight'." "But he has to live in, and make sense of that society. You can't argue it away as easily as that." "Right. But great literature, Folk song, Romantic Poetry is all about virtuous maidens seduced and abandoned by heartless fickle lovers. It's part of the great game of the sexes. There are always lecherous roués planning the corruption and debauchment of virgins on a wager. Why should it be different for emotionally vulnerable gay guys? We live and learn. It's what they used to call the 'sentimental education' in the facts of life." We are sitting in an alcove, divided off from the main floor by draped curtaining, but there are several other clients sitting in adjacent circles of couches. Glancing across I can clearly see two elderly gentlemen sitting together sipping cocktails, while two youths crouch between their splayed legs, their heads nodding up and down in their groins, obviously sucking them off. Even as I watch, one of the gentlemen clicks his fingers imperiously and the crouching boys obediently change positions, shuffling around, resuming their sucking at the other cock. My throat is dry with crawling sensations at the beguiling perversity I'm witnessing. Meanwhile, sensing some loss of conversational momentum, Kurt decides on a little floorshow by way of practical demonstration. "Nkomo." "Yes'm master?" "I feel that Makumbe would be more comfortable working without the encumbrance of so much clothing, don't you? Beneath those fancy knickers I swear there's a pair of fancy knackers. Perhaps you'd be an angel and help him undress?" "If you say so, sir." "I do say so, Nkomo, I do." Makumbe looks decidedly embarrassed, standing there with a tray of drinks in the centre of a circle of sudden interest. Reluctantly Nkomo crosses to his side and goes down on one knee, his slim black fingers hooking the silky material of the briefs and pulling them down. There's audible silence as the elastic crawls across the cheek of one smooth round buttock, the first strands of pubic hair whispering free at the front. Then the slight resistance is gone and as the curves of his bottom are bared, a ferocious nest of black wiry hair bushing up beneath his undulating stomach. Both boys are nervous. Then the flimsy briefs drop to his ankles and a pendulous circumcised penis sways languorously into view over a pair of fat and swollen testicles. "There Makumbe, isn't that better?" "Yes suh, it sure is" he replies uncertainly. "And you, Nkomo, just feast your eyes on that big meaty hunk of black cock, don't it look good to you?" "I guess so, sir. Can I get up now please?" "Can you get up Nkomo? All that fat dick hung in your dirty little face. I know you filthy whore, you're longing to get it down your fucking throat and suck it dry, aren't you, admit it?" "Guess so, sir," he moans miserably. "So get your dirty lips wrapped around it, don't be shy." Nkomo reaches out, his finger brushing the penis-tip, then drawing it up, levelling it, at the last moment he glances around at the circle of watching faces with an expression of desperation and abject humiliation, his large white eyes rolling, his lips part. He swallows audibly and rests the rubbery cockhead on his lower lip, his mouth now a wide 'O', and he hoods it. Makumbe closes his eyes, his stomach caving. There is a slurping sucking sound. "C'mon Nkomo, you're not trying, you can take more than that in" urges Kurt. The kneeling youth screws his eyes shut and slides his lips inexorably down the stem of the cock, his cheeks inflating. Makumbe groans loudly - 'oh ooooh oh' while Nkomo seems to be losing any pretence of reluctance by the moment, his sucking becoming more intense and ferocious as the cock swells and erects majestically, visibly expanding in his mouth forcing his limpet-lips further apart. Matting the pubic hair and drooling his chin with saliva. His hands slide smoothly around his friend's black thighs to cup and caress the firm plump buttocks, squeezing rhythmically and drawing the hips in at his face - either that or Makumbe, visibly now biting his lower lip in ecstasy, has begun to rock his hips, fucking on the sucking mouth uncontrollably, his fat bollocks swaying. There's a tense silence in the room but for the sound of heavy breathing and the associated moist luscious slurp from somewhere deep within Nkomo's throat. Almost without me realising it Kurt has moved to sit closer by my side. "I can tell you're enjoying our little exhibition." My throat is dry. I manage to nod. He chuckles low. "I'm trying to estimate which aspect you find most appealing. Are you the guy standing there being sucked, or on your knees doing the sucking...?" "Maybe both" I say in an attempt to appear light and flirtatious. He laughs unkindly. "Come, follow me. You too Nkomo." The black youth seems a little confused. He unmouths the cock and stands up uncertainly. Kurt is leading us off between the sprays of potted plants as Makumbe quickly replaces his briefs, struggling to conceal his moist erection in its flimsy confines. Parting another wall of curtains, behind a partition there's a device which Kurt indicates with a flourish. It is surrounded by a network of small camera lenses. I suspect that what occurs here is recorded for the later delectation of club visitors, and maybe even close-circuited so that others can watch simultaneously. It is largely transparent Perspex and is designed to secure a male submissive in a way he can be sexually accessed, while unable to move or resist. Nkomo seems visibly perturbed. Perhaps he's had bad experiences here before? He seems scared, his eyes darting left and right as if he's seeking to escape. He's the obvious intended victim of the device. And he dreads what is to come. Kurt turns to the youth. "C'mon, you know what to do." With obvious reluctance Nkomo reaches down to his flimsy panties and tugs them down. I've already seen Makumbe. This is even more breathtaking. It's big, I'd have been disappointed if it wasn't, but not scary-big. A superb perfectly-sculpted cock already semi-erect from the sexual activity he's been interrupted in the act of performing. He's breathing heavy. He's visibly perspiring, shrinking away from what he knows is to come. I can't help but feel his pain. Cock-Sucker: Around the World Ch. 04 "Hey Kurt, it's alright, let me try this thing." The words escape me almost without thought. What I've seen has me undeniably aroused. Kurt has fucked me before. What have I to lose if he fucks me again, even locked into this contraption? "You serious? You really want to do this?" "Why not," I shrug. "So get naked." I do as he says. I can hear the music continuing from the main club room. Hear the muted conversation and movement. It makes it all seem more of a forbidden adventure. I pull my shirt up and off. Nkomo watches my every move. I shrug my pants down and off. I'm hardly as physically impressive as he is, but naked I feel his eyes on me. I move in to straddle the device. Irritably, impatiently, Kurt nudges me into the correct position. I'm essentially crouching down with a contoured Perspex shape supporting my chest and upper torso. My head is affixed by a kind of stocks that closes down across my neck, with my hands also locked in to left and right. My knees are forced as far apart as is humanly possibly and locked down with clamps, while my bare bottom is elevated in such a way that it's higher than my head, splayed apart to present my anus. My own genitals dangle freely. It's a curious sensation. The kind of bondage sex-torture scenario I've seen on internet sites, but never thought I'd be a part of. I feel exposed, vulnerable, full of crawly trepidations that maybe this isn't such a good idea. A quiet ache of nausea rising in that no-man's land of emotion between throat and stomach. It had been Kurt's intention that we share Nkomo. Perhaps I shouldn't have felt sorry for Nkomo, after all, he's paid to do this sort of stuff. It's what he's here to do. The fact that he's probably compelled by economic necessity is not actually my concern... is it? But here I am. At Kurt's instigation Nkomo retrieves a lubricant-tube from the unit, squeezes it between my buttocks, and gently massages it around my anus. His touch is so sensitive as his fingers circle the orifice, then he's smoothing the cool cream in, bit by bit, his finger - first one, then two, probing deeper in a way that has me squirming as best I can against my restraint, my bare toes clenching, my anal muscles tightening around his penetration. Kurt is undressing as this goes on. At his instigation Nkomo moves around to smooth cream onto Kurt's cock, around the glans, then taking long indulgent slides to massage it up and down its length. Kurt positions himself behind me, and Nkomo guides his erection in, seeking out the puckered orifice, lodging it there. I feel a momentary flutter of dismay as Kurt slides in. But the lubrication is so perfect it slides in all the way effortlessly, causing me to exhale sharply. Impatiently Kurt fucks back and forth a few times, then indicates for Nkomo to circle around the device, to where my head protrudes. I wasn't expecting this. It becomes all too obvious what Kurt intends. Nkomo targets his erection at my mouth. I part my lips to accept it, and he slides it in over my teeth, inch by inch, forcing my mouth open to its limits. Kurt is laughing unkindly as I'm penetrated from both ends. Nkomo pauses while it's still comfortably in my mouth, but Kurt waves him on. So he brings his hands in from either side, to hold my head firmly in place, then he forces more in until its blunt tip reaches my retch-point. I gurgle around it, my eyes filling with helpless tears. His heavy balls are swaying at my chin. There are movie-cameras taking it all in. The device's transparency leaves nothing unseen. Other people in other rooms are watching my debauchment. Getting off on it... At that moment there's a sound from behind us. The curtain swishing aside. I can't see from the position I'm forced to assume, but someone else has entered. "Is this a private party, or can anyone join?" enquires a male voice. "Be my guest" says Kurt. Maybe this was what causes Nkomo's fear? That once secured in the device, events can get out of hand, and you're unable to stop them. I flinch warily. Sense the new presence. What a sight he must see. Me with Nkomo's stiff cock lodged deep in my throat, and Kurt thrusting deeper into my tight rectum. The newcomer squats beside me. I catch a sideways glance of him. Older than we are. Well-dressed, cultured. I feel his hand cool on my body, smoothing its way across my bare back, then questing around and down to trace the contours of my stomach. Inevitably it works its way further down. His hand traps my hanging ball-bag and squeezes it gently, firmly, once, twice, over and over, forcing the testicles to stand out redly from his fist. The sensation, combined with my double-penetration, is excruciating. But I'm unable to escape his attentions. He shifts to my cock, squeezes and manipulates it this way and that, pulling and tugging, forcing it back as far as it will go, then releasing it so it sways and quivers. Grabbing it again. He sets his empty wine-glass on the floor, enabling him to use both hands on me, wanking me continuously two-handed in a milking flow. I'm moaning now, it's almost impossibly strange and overwhelming. I'm enduring this to save Nkomo the indignity... aren't I? But something deep within me is responding to the humiliation. Answering a need. I can't control myself. I'm totally a creature under their domination. My cock is on fire. At bursting point. He senses my condition, and holds the wine-glass ready. A second later my helpless orgasm erupts and I'm pumping out hot bursts of spunk. He's laughing at my ecstatic twitching jerking climax. He's catching most of it in the wine-glass. Just as Honeysuckle and the 'girls' had done. My eyes are closed. I'm feeling multiply used, wracked with uncontrollable surges of emotion. Nkomo's cock is swelling up against the palette of my mouth. I have most of it inside me. There's about an inch of it still outside the reach of my lips. The newcomer is circling around us. I only catch fleeting glimpses of his movements. He holds the glass which contains my spermy-emission. He holds it out, between us, and slowly, carefully angles it over. I can see the cloudy spunk washing around inside the glass. He holds it just above the exposed inch of Nkomo's cock, and trickles it down in gloopy strands so that it pools on his shaft and trickles down towards me, towards my straining lips. It touches me, I can taste it, it slithers in almost without my conscious will so that it's oozing into my mouth. I swallow my own spunk. The newcomer is chuckling as he shakes the glass until it is empty. He sets the glass down again, and transfers his creepy fingery attentions to Nkomo's balls. Feeling them up, squeezing and coddling them. I feel the reaction as his cock stiffens and twitches at the back of my throat. I gurgle in response. I know that Nkomo can't hold on much longer. This intervention is pushing him over the edge. His head goes back. His hips thrust forward near-choking me. And my mouth is full of his gushing spunk. I'm drowning in it, I'd never imagined so much spunk could cum from one cock. He's whimpering and moaning as spasm after spasm pours into me. As though picking up on the collective throb Kurt thrusts yet deeper into my arse, holds my hips as tight as he can, and I feel him exploding his cum into my gut. I'm quivering and helpless between them. I'd fall to the ground if it was possible, but I'm held in place, trapped. Waves of raw passion are flooding me, back and forth, up and down, mouth, arse, cock and balls. I'm trembling in shockwaves wrenching me mindless, pliable, an animal thing without thought or conscience. Eventually it recedes. My eyes are teary-moist and closed. I'm shivering with trembling aftershocks. My mouth is empty. Nkomo has withdrawn in long spermy-saliva strands that leave messy trails down my chin. Kurt extracts, slops loose, and leaves my bum sore and tender. I'm breathless. I stay suspended, fixed in the contraption. Until I become aware of fingers releasing me. Nkomo's hands are easing me down more comfortably, across into the deep upholstery of a nearby chair. Kurt and the other guy - the newcomer, are momentarily nowhere to be seen. "I'm sorry" says the black youth simply. "Thank you, I know you did that to save me from it." I try to smile. We are both still naked. He uses a moist cloth to clean my face. I'm shockingly aware of his close proximity. The softness of his smooth skin, the gentleness of his touch, the slow languorous sway of his genitals as he moves, the still-clear memory of that beautiful cock lodged in my mouth. This is becoming habit-forming. I'd first come away with Kurt to save the naked sleeping boy in 'The Blue Dahlia' toilets from further humiliating degradation, now I've done the same for Nkomo. "That Kurt, he is not a good man. It's not my place to say such a thing. But I know it to be true. You are a good man. You are better than him." He's wiping traces of semen off my groin now, his touch triggering off little tremors of pleasure as he circles the glans of my penis. "I'm here on a ship" I manage at length. "We leave port tomorrow. I don't know anyone else here, but Kurt." He kisses my nipple. The touch of his lips is arousing. "We know each other. I am in your debt. We can be together. If it pleases you." I smile into his radiant face. "It pleases me very much." He finishes his spell of duty in little over an hour. I retreat to the main club-room where I get a drink and sit in one of the alcoves recovering my composure, breathing a little more easily. Letting it all wash out of me. At one point I look up and see Kurt. He's obviously looking for me. Making enquiries that yield only disinterested shrugs. Eventually he seems to reach a decision and makes off towards somewhere deeper within the building. Perhaps he's meeting someone? Perhaps he's set up some new sex-action involving the guy who'd tossed me off in the harness. I no longer care. I want nothing more of Kurt. He's history. I meet Nkomo. He's dressed casually in 'T'-shirt and faded jeans. His hair in neat braids, he seems almost shy in an attractive way. We walk together out of the club-house, down the drive, and down a stretch of side-street to the bus-stop. We're both tongue-tied, although he keeps glancing bashfully at me, smiling, and looking away with mischievous delight when our eyes meet. The coach is crowded and raucous with women in bright robes and squalling children. We sit together. His fingers brush mine, and intertwine. We hold hands. "Why do you work at that place?" I whisper to him. "I must work. My family needs the money. Can you really see me working down the mine? Can you imagine that?" his expression is delightfully flirtatious. "No. Most of the men are not so bad. Not bad like Mr Kurt. Some give me money, a tip, if I do dirty stuff with them. A toss-off or a blow-job. But none of them are as nice to me as you." "I've got no money. I can't give you money." "I don't need money from you. I don't want it. For you I do it because I want to. OK?" There's soul in his eyes. The coach drops us off at what is little more than a shanty town. He leads the way down an alley of lean-to's to his home. A surprisingly spacious well-lit wooden shack alive with energy and colour. His mother is a big welcoming woman who hugs me to her then seats me at the kitchen table and we eat. His father, old and broken, but with a lively wit, sits smoking something dubious and regaling me with exaggerated stories of his no-doubt eventful life. The sun goes down. It seems to be taken for granted that me and Nkomo will share his bedroom. It's just accepted. I get the impression that, although it's not exceptional for him to have boyfriends staying over, it's something that's far from regular. "My family love me" he says simply. "It's not easy to be girly-girly in this town. Some families disown their boys if their turn out that way. But the fact that I'm a batty-bwoy makes no difference to them." I'm thinking, yes, and the fact that the money you get from working the club is the only thing that keeps this family solvent. But no, that's unfair. They're obviously good people. Eventually, we retire to bed. A mattress covered by a single sheet, which is soon a crumpled thing discarded on the floor. As we undress I'm speechless with desire. And the sex is of a passionate intensity I've scarcely experienced before. A beautiful fusion of bodies rolling together, interlocked, with no limits or restraint. At first his touch is delicate, the analogue of a whisper. With our rearing cocks crushed up together. I reach down and circle both, squeezing them together, black and white, as they should be. It feels so good. It's a sticky-hot night and our naked bodies glisten with sweat, slithering like fish into and around each other. His radiant body-heat raw on mine. Mine on his. In equal loving sensitivity, ravenous for each other. Kissing and sucking lips, nipples, cocks and balls. Penetrating and being penetrated, taking each other inside, mouth and bum. My spunk spattered white across the dark skin of his stomach. His rich spunk in the back of my throat. "Does your cock never go down?" he teases. "Not when it's faced by such sweet stimulation" I tease back. In the friendly shadows of that African night I do things I've never done before, or ever wanted to do, not even with Ivan. Licking my way carefully across the smooth curve of his raised bottom, thirstily tasting his sweat, my tongue lapping over into the crease of his buttocks, insinuating its way between, following it down, seeking out the puckered orifice there as his legs part to gift me access. Later, his eyes gleaming bright as I go down on him yet again. Then kissing with mouths full of each others copious seed and saliva. Midpoint, bladders bursting, we hurry to the toilet together. I hold his cock as he takes a piss, heavy in my hand, guiding his urine-stream in swirling patterns. When he's done I wipe the last golden piss-drop from his urethral-eye with my index finger, then lift and taste it curiously, sipping it from my finger. When I've done he bends down and kisses the urine-dribble from my glans, then very gently absorbs my cockhead between his lips, sucking it clean. Looking down, it looks amazing. How many times did we cum? I forget. Lying back sleepily spent, only to feel his insatiable mouth on my balls, teasing and sucking one then the other, stirring me to a new erection. Finding new relentless reserves of fuck-energies. "You boys have a good night?" asks his mother as she serves us breakfast, with just a cheeky hint of humour. "Not much sleeping, perhaps?" We smile at each other in secret shared intimacy. He travels with me down to the harbour the next morning. "Don't forget me" he whispers softly. Forget him? I can think of little else. Kurt might have the flash car and the big house. But Nkomo reached out to me in a human way, and touched my heart. It's him I miss. Him I yearn for. I'm caught up in fantasies of regret. I should have jumped ship, stayed with him. I could have worked the club with him. Would they want a white boy? I could have served them drinks wearing nothing but tight panties, I could have gone back to private rooms with old gentlemen to suck cock, or take it up the butt. I'm no stranger to that now. We could have been together. But it's too late. Ruefully I note how far my journey has brought me. From the tight-arsed innocent I'd started out on this voyage, to seriously considering taking up a position as a male fuck-toy for dirty old pervs. That thought alone is sobering. Initially Ivan is angry. I had been part of his devious plans at 'The Blue Dahlia'. He wanted to watch me having sex with Honeysuckle, Lucy and Lola. That had been his entire idea. That they would feminise me, and then they'd fuck my mouth and bum. All I have to show for those plans is the chipped nail-varnish. I've never seen him so angry with me before. I cringe away from him unhappily. But later that night Ivan catches me with a regretful tear welling from the corner of my eye, thinking of Nkomo. And when we have sex, I do things to him that I've never done before, or ever wanted to do. In memory of my African night... ***** There will be more sexual adventures to cum as the voyage around the world continues. Check 'Literotica' for new naughty episodes...! by Tristan Trotsky Cock-Sucker: Around the World Ch. 05 A New Career Opening For A Dirty Slut... I wake up naked in bed between two naked men. I can feel the closeness of their body-heat, the touch of their skin. I'm scared. Where am I? Who are these guys? I lie as perfectly still as I can. It's dark, I can't see far. Although the intimate warmth is already have an arousing effect on me. It doesn't mean anything, it's just a natural reaction to close physical proximity, but I fight for control as my cock stirs into uninvited erection. This is unreal. The guy to my right moves away. I lie still. He moves into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, running his fingers through his tousled hair. I pretend to be asleep. He stands up and scratches his bare arse, then paces across the floor into what I assume is the en-suite toilet. So this is a motel? I hear the long deluging slosh as he pisses. Then, after a moment's pause he reappears, and I get the full frontal. It's even more scary. This guy is seriously hung. It sways lazily down between his legs, impressive even when limp, hooded with a dark wrinkled foreskin. Has he fucked me with that? I feel an answering ache deep in my arse. I can detect the familiar sensation of dried spunk on my face. There's a hair in my mouth, a pubic hair? And I know without doubt. Yes. He gets back into bed. I'm too scared to move. I keep my eyes clammed shut scarcely daring to breathe in case it provokes his attention. Cursing my stupid erection hard up against my gut. It has no conscience. I lie awake for a long time. Next thing I know I must have slept, despite everything. Because it's bright daylight. I'm sprawled across the bed, but I'm alone. They're no longer in this motel room. I get up cautiously, the bathroom is empty too. I swill cool water around my face, and rub my teeth with my finger. Then I hunt around for my clothes. There's a T-shirt, and some denim shorts. They're not mine but they're all there is, so I pull them on. The shorts are little too short than I'd prefer, frayed along the bottom where they've been hacked off. But it seems I have no choice. There's a short corridor outside. I follow the smell of coffee and the sound of country music into a diner. The two guys are already there, it's too late to avoid them, they've seen me and beckon me across. I glance around warily. There's a big old Rockola chrome jukebox, lit up with maudlin country hits. Outside, beyond the plate-glass frontage I can see only a scrubby landscape that goes on forever. A highway strung with telegraph wires, and sandy ochre grit. I slouch across to the table they're sharing. They're eating a big fried breakfast. I feel bashful, don't quite know how to react. So I sit down beside them. "Hey, another order here" yells one of them, in the direction of the serving hatch. The guy I saw during the night. "Sorry guys" I mutter. "I'm not too sure what's going on here." "Don't worry, boy. Nothing to get overly concerned about." I hear his voice for the first time. Thick with southern accent, firm, allowing for no argument. A big blowsy woman wearing too make-up has come across with a pad. She has tattoos and sagging breasts like twin airships. "Same for our friend" he says brusquely. Allowing me no choice. "Where are we? Where are my clothes?" "You won't be needing no clothes where you're going, boy" laughs the other man. He has long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, and a drooping mustache. "Tell me, I don't remember much about last night." "You got a friend called Ivan" he explains wearily, as though he can't really be bothered. "It seems Ivan has a weakness for pretty boys and for games of chance. Not a great combination as it turns out." Yes, I remember now. New Orleans. We'd docked in Louisiana, and were spending shore-leave together. "Must have drunk more than I'm used to" I manage with a half-smile. "Ivan's in trouble. He lost more than he can afford to lose. He owes money. You're standing surety on his behalf." The blowsy woman shoves a greasy breakfast in front of me. Suddenly I'm not hungry. "What do you mean 'standing surety'?" "What I say. No more, no less. You are held as a bond, until he comes up with what he owes." "That's not possible. There's no law in the world says that's possible." He shrugs and leans back in his chair. "I'm just telling it like it is. It's not up to us, me and Luke, we're just delivery boys. Transporters. We're just doing our job. You got a beef you gotta take it up with them when we get there." I stand up abruptly. "This is crazy. I'm getting the hell outta here." They don't raise a finger to stop me. I storm angrily across the diner, through the door and out into the porch. There's a highway that goes all the way north and south. And there's grit desert, dry mangy-looking scrub-bushes and scraggly cacti. There's one vehicle, a motor-home pulled in off the road, which must be how we got here. I stand there getting my breath back. My heart pounding up against me rib-cage. No way out. What now? I go back in and sit down. "OK. Where are we? What happens now?" "Nevada is where we are. You're coming with us is what's happening. Best you do it with good grace, and you'll come to no harm." They've finished their meal. They stand up and head back for the room. For want of any better alternative, I follow them. The one called Luke pulls out a mobile and keys into it. He pauses, then thrusts it across me. "Hello...?" it's Ivan. "Hey, I'm sorry. I fucked up, I apologise. But bear with me, bear with me. This is just a little what you'd call a cash-flow problem. I'm sorting it. I'm doing the best I can. I'm gonna come through on this, y'understand? In the meantime just go with the flow." I give a surly grunt. "You owe me big on this, Ivan. You've got no right, no right at all." "I know, I know. I was out of my depths. I had no alternative. But I'm straightening the situation. Just bear with me on this." The line goes dead. I look up. They're both looking me up and down in an unsettling way. "We've got time to play before we get back on the road, what do you say, boy?" Luke gets up and comes across to me. Runs his fingers across my chest, circling the outline of my left nipple through the T-shirt, then tracing a path down across my stomach. I inhale and hold my breath. His hand outlines the shape of my genitals through the thin denim material of my shorts, then closes in tight around my balls. "Relax." The ponytail guy is closing in. He holds a document up for me to see as Luke is unfastening my belt. It's a contract. "Signed, sealed and delivered, you're ours." He tugs my shorts down and away so that my cock shivers into view. There are two of them. They're tougher than I am. I could yell, but there's no-one to hear. "Time to say your prayers, boy." Luke pulls his cock out. The big foreskin cock I'd seen during the night. Erect it's even more scarily impressive. I gulp in disbelief. But I must have taken it yesterday. Now it looks like I'm going to have to take it again. It seems I've got no choice. He manipulates me around. I'm conscious of my bare genitals moving, my balls swaying between my legs, my cock nodding up and down, as I sit awkwardly on the edge of the bed. He holds me by the back of the neck and stands directly in front of me, hefting his cock into my face. He hasn't showered. It smells of stale sweat and piss. The glistening-moist glans bulging free of the foreskin, inviting - nay, demanding my attention. I have no choice. It's already decided. I open my mouth and it nudges its way in, insistently pressing my lips apart, forcing my tongue aside and sliding its way into the back of my throat. He's holding my head firmly in place so I can't move. There's only one way I'm going to get out of this. I give it a quick desperate suck, its taste floods me, then I begin sucking more determinedly, feeling the reaction shocking up through his body, his gut heaving, his fat balls swaying. "That's the way, just keep sucking on that thing like that and we'll get along fine." For a long while the only sound is the slurpy squelch of suction. "Hurry up Luke, I wanna get some of that." "That the reason they call you Eager Beaver?" He waits for a long moment as I work his fat cock up and down, then - after a final shove deeper into my throat than I'm comfortable with, he pushes my head away, a long slobbery strand of drool glistening from its fat wedge-crown. I was already gasping with quaking aftershock, could scarcely believe something that huge had been in my mouth. He shoves me around roughly. Prodding and tugging me into position, raised on hands on knees across the bed. "You get your turn, Eager, but I'm taking the alternate route, you could say, ha-ha-ha." The blonde ponytail guy - Eager Beaver, laughs over my head to Luke. "You go to your church, I'll go to mine." By now Eager has removed his pants and takes his place, standing in front of me. His cock is equally as intimidating, cut, and fiercely mapped with mauve veins. I know better than to resist. Submissively I move my head forward, mouth gaping wide, to trap its flared head. He nuzzles it to meet me and it slithers in. A muscle tightens convulsively at the corner of his mouth as I suck hard on it. "He's got an ass as cute, round and smooth as a girl. Seems to me it'd be a mortal sin to pass up on this generous gift nature has provided." Luke smacks my bare bum, arches my hips and edges my legs apart. Then runs the palms of his hands possessively over the two curves of my raised bottom, moulding me by forcing my buttocks apart. I wince and cringe nervously, recalling how big it is. I've not had time to clean up or clean out. This could get seriously messy. He's got a jar of Vaseline from somewhere, and greases me up, one dirty finger penetrating me, rotating smoothly, opening up the tight orifice, then two fingers. Then, with a thrill of alarm I'm conscious of the warm head of his cock at the mouth of my anus. I whimper around the mouthful of cock and brace as best I can. With a trembling gut-wrenching lurch it feels as though my bum's about to burst. I gasp and moan, shoved forward so the cock in my mouth locates deeper into my throat making me choke and gurgle, tears clouding my eyes. I force my rectal muscles to relax, allowing it access. He thrusts into me from behind. The sensation is bizarre, my sphincter opens up and he's in, I'm taking it, absorbing it into me, he's ploughing deeper, then deeper still. He rests a moment, then shoves again making me gasp. I suck hard on the cock in my mouth, in a misdirection attempt to concentrate my energies. "The little faggot loves it. Check the state of its sex-junk." It's true. My body has let me down again. The brutal hard-fuck is taking its effect. My own cock is painfully hard, jiggling up and down against my gut as I'm being assaulted, long gloopy strands of pre-cum dancing down from the reddened tip, my balls swaying back and forth like agitated pendulum. My mind lost in a kind of numb panicky out-of-control funk, heady with emotional overload. I feel as weak, as helpless as a rag doll trapped between the two bigger more dominant men. They control everything that's happening. I just take whatever they give. The one in my mouth - Eager, eases back slightly and mops his sweaty forehead with a dirty handkerchief. Playfully he makes a series of jerky fuck-movements into my throat, toying with me, watching and laughing as I gag and splutter. The full length of the veiny shaft of his gnarled cock, down to the dense blonde mat of his pubic hair, is already messy with a drool of my saliva. At least he's no longer gripping hold of my head, he's allowing me to do the work. So I do the work, sucking and slurping at it greedily. Then he pulls it abruptly out of my mouth in a saliva-spray, smears the slippery-wet cock-head around my face, up and down my nose bending it out of shape, slaps it up against my cheek once, twice, three times, then rams it back into my mouth again. At the same time the other guy, Luke, is pumping my arse with a regular smack-smack-smack of flesh on flesh, his muscles cording as he exerts pressure. It's like I'm strapped into the front seat of a hurtling sexual rollercoaster, the climax moment hurtling ever-closer. "Wee-hee, this bitch sure as hell's got a sweet mouth" breathes Eager. "They're gonna make a mess of him at the ranch." I'm too numb to take notice of his words. I grimace, despite the cock in my mouth, as an orgasm chain-reaction starts ripping through me. Luke first, an obscene dirty oath as the throbbing pulse erupts deep in my arse, my bum-cheeks flexing and clenching in muscular spasms, kicking off my own answering cum, a stinging shock that has me squirming as I'm spurting out helplessly in streaming jets of white. A second later my throat is choking-full of more bursting spunk, like I'm drowning in it, dribbling in messy saliva-strands from my lips and down my chin. Groaning as shock-waves surge up and down my body, hot and chill, fierce and cool, delirious as a narcotic-high. I'm sobbing and whimpering. Three bodies hunched up into each other as the sensations recede. Still connected. Luke impaled into me from behind. Eager's softening cock still resting in my mouth. Sucking it thoughtlessly out of a habit reaction. When they pull free I collapse in a face-down heap, breathing in sobbing gasps, the jism I've not managed to swallow oozing out over my lower lip, down my chin, to drip-drip-drip in gooey strands onto the covers, as I'm lying in a cooling pool of my own spunk. I feel soiled and used. Eager sits beside me, grinning stupidly, his half-limp cock glistening with saliva. He ruffles my hair. "You did good, boy. You eat cock like a whore." Luke lurches off to the en-suite where the sounds of copious pissing can be clearly heard. When he gets back he buckles his pants up back into place. "Move." There are bodily-fluid stains messing the crumpled duvet. That blowsy woman-owner is not going to like what she finds here. And I'd rather go through another double-fucking with these guys than tangle with her. There's a spunk-stain on the lower hem-edge of my T-shirt. I no longer care as they escort me, one on each side, out through the diner area and into the motor-home. Luke slides in behind the wheel. The vehicle jinks and jounces as we pull onto the freeway, gathering speed. I sit, petulant with resentment. Sulking, but annoyed at getting into this kind of mood. I'm thinking back to Barcelona, there was gentle playful forced sex. But that was with attractive boys. I was seduced into it. This incident now proves I can perform sexually with guys I hardly know, and don't even like. What does that say about me? What has this long journey of self-discovery taught me? And how of earth did I ever get into this situation? I can remember the quayside bars of Baton Rouge, Ivan getting me Mint Julep - "you're gonna love this." Were the drinks spiked? Rohypnol? Had I drunk a 'Mickey Finn'? That would account for it. Maybe it's his way of getting back at me for that incident in Jo'burg, where he's wanted me to fuck with those three cross-dressers, and I'd run out on him...? And the contract. Well, it's true I'd countersigned documents for Ivan on ship, and provided witness signatures too. It's possible I'd signed without realising what I was signing. But the fact that Ivan had duped me, and is using me in this way, is what hurts the most. I don't say a word for an hour. Finally I manage to blurt out "Back there you said 'They're gonna make a mess of him at the ranch.' What did you mean by that?" "The boy's found a use for that mouth which doesn't involve sucking cock" laughs Luke. "You heard of the 'Chicken Ranch'? In Nevada that brothel is legal, and famous" explains Eager, more patiently. "Well, its Gay counterpart is less well known, but just as legit in the eyes of the law. That's where you're headed." "You can't do this. It's sex-slavery. It's human trafficking." "Wrong." They ignore my protests, and drive on. The journey seems to take hours. I drowse uncomfortably. Around noon they wake me. Luke is driving. Eager has his cock out of his pants and he's masturbating it in long lazy strokes. I know what to do without being told. I squirm around, wriggle down, and get it my mouth, sucking him off as we drive. There's a radio playing melancholy country music, it's warm in the cab, I suck almost contentedly as the endless journey continues. When we eventually arrive, I discover it's a remodelled rancheria enclosed by a high adobe wall, miles from anywhere, pulled off the main interstate at the end of a long dirt trail. There's security at the gates, three big Hispanic-looking guys with shades. It's a fair guess they're packing guns too. Once inside we get out of the camper. The sun is hot. I scuff my heels in the grit, but have no alternative but to follow them in. There's no place else to go. There's another large blousy lady who comes forward to greet us. "You boys looking for bum-fun?" "No way" sneers Luke. "We had all the bum-fun we need, I guess. No Lady, we're delivering the goods, this little faggot-boy here." "Ah yes" she turns to me, looks me critically up and down. She shakes hands with them. They go to the check-in desk while I stand feeling stupidly awkward. They're exchanging documents. Then she clicks her fingers at me impatiently to indicate me to follow. I glance across. Luke and Eager Beaver are already on their way out, back towards the camper. "Look, I think I should explain, there's been some kind of mistake" I stammer. She turns. "You call me Miss Ticque. I'm in charge of the day-to-day running of affairs here. So far as I'm concerned, there's been no mistake." We're in her office now. She open up a humidor, extracts a fat cigar, clips it carefully and rams it into her mouth. The flare of ignition sending choking clouds of smoke my way. "See here boy, we just had one of our whores quit. He'd raised enough through sucking cock and taking it up the ass to put him through college. That was his target, you see. So we need a replacement. And that, boy, is you." "No madam, please let me explain. I was duped into that contract, it's not valid or legally binding. With your permission I'll just catch the next coach out of here. I'm sorry." She puts her feet up on the desk and puffs contemplatively on her cigar. She's blonde in a Dolly Parton sort of way, with dark roots showing. "Tell you what I'll do, boy. I'll do you a favour, just this once. We got Mr Wishbone booked in for this afternoon. He's a lawyer. You be good to him, do what he wants, make like you like it, and he might just be inclined to read through your contract and check it out for loopholes. I'm doing this on your behalf, just the once, you understand. You owe me on this. I don't have to do it." I stand there mouth agape. Unsure how I should react. "Now, follow me." I follow her out of her office down a short corridor lush with rich purple carpet and into a half-darkened room leading off to the left. "This is your room. This is where you entertain your clients. You can personalise it to an extent, if the mood takes you." I look around. One wall is mirrored, so is the ceiling. There's a cabinet stacked with sex-toys, big black dildos, handcuffs, jars of KY Jelly, packs of condoms, enemas. A closet with lingerie, black, scarlet, lace. There's erotic art, male nudes and porn photos on the wall. A wall-mounted flatscreen TV with a stack of Gay Porn DVD's. Its scary. Sliding doors lead onto a terrace out back. She pulls it open so I can see. There's an inviting full-length pool shimmering in the midday sun. There are five boys on loungers snuck into the shade of awnings and overhung trees spaced around it. They all look to be naked. I eye them warily. Cock-Sucker: Around the World Ch. 05 She leaves me alone. She has things to do. I lie back on the bed, breathing deep. I won't be here long. The lawyer will get me out of this. All I have to do is kill a little time until then. Everything will be sorted out. I feel exhausted. Maybe I'll drowse for a while. When I wake I feel refreshed, and a little curious. I pace out onto the patio. There's a free lounger so I pull my T-shirt off and slouch down onto it. I still feel grimy with sweat and body-fluids, the pool looks inviting. I have no costume, but no-one else seems to bother, so I pull off my pants and swim up and down the length of the pool naked, sluicing away all the dirt, leaving me feeling cleansed. As I climb up out of the pool I'm aware of the other guys watching me, checking me out. Their attention fixed exclusively on my groin. Let them look. I'll not be here long. I lay back on the lounger and let the sun dry me off. I glance around. There's a smooth-skinned black youth. As he sees I'm looking he rolls lazily onto his back so his big cock lolls into clear view, he smiles as my eyes widen. A little way further there's an olive-skinned boy who might be Thai, he has a nice little curved bottom, but intriguingly, he also has breasts like a girl. Before I can see more one of them paces across towards me, his bare feet slapping on the tiles, to sit beside me. His body is shaved hairless, and I'm keenly aware of the close proximity of his down-hung uncircumcised cock. "Hi, you're the new kid. Here to replace José. He's a tough act to follow. He sucked serious cock. But me - I'm Fifi, anything you want, help, advice, or anything... more intimate, just ask. I'm here for you." His voice is high, flirty and more than a little camp. He has sparkly pink nail-varnish on fingers and toes. "Don't worry about Fifi" laughs a third boy a little way down. "She's just a cock-tease." "James, when I tease your cock you know its being teased by an expert" he flounces. I can't help but laugh. I feel a little more relaxed by the non-threatening banter. I lay back and enjoy the sunshine. After about an hour Miss Ticque appears and impatiently claps her hands. The five guys immediately get up and head back into the rancheria. Fifi is pulling on a kind of diaphanous negligee thing. He looks across at me and winks, "must look my best for the clients." I try to hang back as they line up. There's a guy in a business suit checking each of us in turn. I'm hoping against hope he doesn't choose me. He doesn't, he goes for the black guy, leading him away towards his private room. As he's leaving he turns back to us and sticks his tongue out cheekily. As though he's won the contest. We return to sit out around the pool. It's over an hour before he joins us again, grinning from ear to ear. Finally Miss Ticque emerges and beckons to me. "Mr Wishbone is here. I've told him you're good. Don't let me down now." I nod dully, and follow her pace by pace down the purple carpet, as naked as the day I was born. She opens the door and ushers me in. "Here's the new boy I told you about, sir. Make sure you return him well-fucked" she laughs. I step inside. He's sitting on the bed. A rather overweight guy of late middle-age. There are perspiration rings around the armpits of his buff-coloured shirt. He's balding, with a straggly greying moustache. His smile is an unpleasant leer. I force myself to walk across to face him. He reaches out and takes hold of my cock, his skin like sandpaper, and he wanks me in long slow strokes from base to tip, then feels up my balls. He reaches down and unfastens his pants. Pulls out a long thin cock with a prominent foreskin. There's a bright bead of moisture glistening at its tip. He wanks me with one hand, and himself with the other, his jerky wrist-action becoming rougher and more painful. I brace myself, biting my lower lip as it goes on. "You liking that boy?" "Yes sir, I'm liking it very much, thank you sir." "So I expect you'd like to demonstrate just how much you're liking it?" "I'd like that very much sir." He stands up clumsily and removes his pants. I help him pull them down and off. He pulls his shirt up clear of his heaving gut and lies back on the coverlets. "So show me just how much you love sucking cock." It's imperative I get him onside if he's going to help me. It's important that he likes me. I sit beside him, and dip my head into his groin. Despite the roughness of his attentions, I'm erect, which he notices with approval. He is not yet hard. I reach out and gather it up into my hand. It feels slimy and unpleasant. I steel myself, open my mouth, and put my lips around it. It squirms at my touch like a slug. It tastes foul, disgusting with sweat and smegma. I swallow the taste down with an audible gulp, then suck more of it into my mouth. Because it's slack I can get all of it into my mouth without difficulty, massaging his ball-sack gently with my hand as I nuzzle into his pubic hair, sucking harder and more intensely. He grunts obscenely, and I feel an answering tremble of sensation as it stiffens reluctantly. I have to keep working at it, using tongue and throat before it's fully erect. Despite my revulsion I get a feeling of satisfaction at my success, and begin running my mouth up and down its full length, making little moaning noises of approval. It's slithery-wet now. I can see myself in the mirror, the cock impaled in my face, it looks unbelievably vulgar. It's difficult to believe I'm watching myself. It looks like something from a low-rate online Porn clip. It's almost fascinating to watch, I slide the cock out of my mouth just so I can see myself running a sloppy tongue around its bloated head, licking and lapping into the foreskin. My own rock-hard erection bobbing as my head rocks in and out of his groin. It has no shame. It has a mind of its own. It's already tingling and leaking a tear of pre-cum. "I expect you'd like that up your tight little ass now?" "Yes please sir." "You're polite and respectful, boy, I like those qualities in a slut." I make sure I smile for him as I move around onto the bed, crouching down with my hips raised and my legs apart. Gritting my teeth ready. He lumbers around behind me, his sweaty hands pawing me, tugging at my cock and balls, smacking my bottom with a loud throaty laugh that breaks into a cough. I force myself to laugh too, as though I'm enjoying his crude attentions. It sounds unconvincing even to me. I feel his cock slide in. I'd pre-greased. It goes in smoothly, although I make sure I groan appreciatively, for his benefit. He begins fucking, breathing so heavy I feel sure he's going to have a heart-attack. It goes on for some time. Then he pulls out. "On your back boy, on your back." I roll over. He shuffles up the bed ludicrously holding his cock-end firmly in his fist, red-faced with urgency. "Open your mouth, quickly now." I lay on my back on the coverlet. He shuffles up so he's crouched over my face, my mouth wide open ready. The knob of his cock is deep maroon-red where he's squeezing it, its little mouth gaping wetly. He thrusts it an inch from my nose, then looses his grip, and a hail of white blobby spunk sprays in gloopy strands over me, the first pulse deluging my nose in dripping trickles, the second across my eye-socket and up across my forehead, the third finding its target and jetting across my lips and teeth, into my mouth and across my chin. The sounds he's making, like a strangled pig, are almost comic. I make deliberate little purring noises as the ejaculation peaks, and subsides, a few dribbles and gooey strands oozing down onto me. I extend my tongue upwards to lap at the underside of his glans, encouraging a few further spunky teardrops to leak free. Then suck the messy cock-head down gently into my mouth, cleaning it with a slithery tongue. The energy seems to leave him, and he flops down into a heap beside me. His breath rasping like he's snoring. I lie perfectly still as the milky fluids dribble and cool across my face. Despite the sleaze and the unattractive aspects of my partner, my body is on fire, I reach down, and a single stroke has me spurting, my own orgasm spasming up my stomach in long smears. At least that makes it convincing for him too, when he notices. There's a long silence as his post-climax breathing returns to normal. This is my opportunity. I'm more nervous now than I was before. I sit up naked on the bed and reach for the contract that I'd left conveniently within reach. "Please sir, I wonder if I could beg your opinion..." and I get into telling him my tale. He grunts unpleasantly, as though he's going to refuse. "You suck on my cock while I read through that contract, and it's a deal, boy." Naturally I readily agree. He sits on the edge of the bed scrutinising the document, while I squat submissively between his splayed legs and suck... and suck. Either he's very conscientious or else he's spinning it out to get full oral value. Eventually he harrumphs dramatically, like he's summing up in a court of law. "Well boy... keep sucking that thing, I'm not done yet. It seems to me that this document is perfectly in order. It's signed and witnessed. You accept responsibility as guarantor on behalf of your partner. He defaults on the money so the complainant is perfectly entitled to take possession and seek recompense. Until the outstanding debt is paid off, either by your partner, or by yourself, through your labour. What you have to understand is that prostitution has recognised status. In the eyes of the law, what you're doing is working off a legal debt, through a legal profession. Sorry boy, but there's no obvious loophole." This is not what I'd banked on hearing. My cock-sucking takes on a more contemplative tone as I become reconciled to what's happening. Eventually I release his cock long enough to ask a further question. "How long will it take for me to work off the debt?" He whistles low through his teeth, pushing my head forcefully back into his groin. "Six months, at a guess. Give it another month to pay off interest. I'll help. I'll be back to use you again, you can count on it, boy." Once he'd gone I lapse into a period of lethargy and depression. He was my last hope. Now I've nothing to look forward to. I lie in the gloom of the shaded room without moving. Then there's a knock. It's the olive-skinned boy who might be Thai. I've learned that his name is Tui. He comes in brandishing a mobile phone, and sits beside me on the bed. "For you." Like a drowning man I snatch it from him. A text message. Nothing more. From Ivan. 'Sorry. We've sailed. Nothing sorted yet. I'll wire the money when I can. Sorry.' A terse, brief text, offering no hope. So he's not going to rescue me either. If they've sailed they must have a stand-in sparks in my place in the radio-shack. Maybe he's sharing Ivan's sexual favours too. As far as they're concerned I'm history. My whole body slumps visibly with despair. Tui, sitting beside me on the bed, puts his arm protectively around my shoulder so that I find myself leaning in towards him, our bodies pressed up close together. I guess I'm on the trembling brink of crying out the depths of my hopelessness, and allow him to hold me supportively for long comforting moments. It's only gradually that I become aware of the closeness of our proximity. "I'm sorry, I'm touching your breasts" I apologize. "That's fine" he says soothingly. "Touch them all you like." Curiously, I find myself looking more closely. They are small but perfectly formed. I reach out and cup the nearest breast, it fills my hand with a pleasantly soft warmth. It feels nice. I smile at him. "I've not had much experience of touching breasts. In fact, this is the first time." "You've never felt a girl's breasts?" I feel my face colouring. "No. I've never had the opportunity. It never, kind of, happened." "You can kiss mine if you like." I reach down and kiss the nipple. It tastes of sweet clean perspiration. I bend down a little further and kiss the tip of his cock. "You're not going for the full sex-change?" "Hell no. I'm not transgender, I love having a cock - hey, who wouldn't, but I don't see why I shouldn't have pretty girly-tits too. Do you like them?" "Yes" I admit breathlessly. I suck the nipple into my mouth. It feels like a small hard penis. Then I go further down and suck his glans into my mouth, which tastes even better. Suddenly there's a commotion at the door. Fifi is there, hand on hip in a defiantly camp posture. He's wearing a pair of tight transparent panties that leave nothing to the imagination, with pull-up stockings held in place by pink floral garters. "You two faggot cum-sluts. You just couldn't wait to get started could you, you didn't even wait for me to join in." He flounces into the room where we are sitting coyly together in intimate embrace. Fifi reaches out to runs his perfectly-manicured fingers through my hair. Then he deliberately nudges his way in between us, jostling space with his bottom, then reaches out and takes a cock in each hand, mine and Tui's. "Now Fifi is here the fun really starts." He begins to slow-wank us, with a comical expression of debauchery on his face. We lean in together. I can feel the comforting warmth of their bodies. The whisper of their breath on my bare skin. We collapse in on each other, kissing mouths and cocks, balls and nipples. We sixty-nine. First me and Tui, taking each other deep. Then me and Fifi. Then I watch as Tui and Fifi suck each other. Then we form a daisy-chain, the three of us interconnected in a magic undulating circle, it's so delicious I can scarcely believe the intensity of the feelings flooding me. Me and Tui crouch together, side by side exchanging flirty smiles, bums raised, so Fifi can fuck us, alternating first one then the other. Then me and Fifi crouch while Tui fucks us. Then they both crouch for me, I slide my cock all the way into Tui's smooth bottom, pull it out and plunge it straight into Fifi's. Then switch again. Finally I lie on my back, mouth open, while they crouch over me, and Fifi and Tui both cum into my mouth. I hold their spunk there while Fifi goes down to suck me off, and we all kiss together, exchanging mouthfuls of spunk one to the other, and back again, giggling and laughing at our beautiful naughtiness. And it's some considerable time later that I follow them meekly back out to the poolside. Some people might call them freaky-queers, but at that moment I've never felt such a sense of belonging in my life. There's no need of pretence here, nothing hidden or false. I've never experienced such affectionate closeness. Such openness. I've never had friends like this. I've never really had friends. I was always the geeky kid, the Johnny-No-Mates. And here, they're much more than just friends, they're surrogate family. We care for each other. Brothers and lovers together. We help and comfort each other. Weeks pass. Reconciled to my future. Guys come and guys go. Sometimes they pick me, and I suck them off, or they fuck me. I learn to fake it. Sometimes I even get to enjoy it. Miss Ticque is more than happy with the way I've settled in, and with the positive feedback about my performance she gets from clients. I've already got a couple of regulars. Mr Wishbone makes visits. I don't think he ever pays for sexual services, just checks out the rancheria's legal documents and tax returns in exchange for freebies. He favours me, and makes a point of booking frequent sessions for us. Mostly he just lies back on the bed and allows me to suck him off at my own slow indulgent pace, while he talks in an amusing cracker-barrel folksy way about his wife who would blow him when they were courting, but once she got a ring on her finger thought it 'wasn't right and proper for a married lady to be doing such dirty thangs.' So now I get to do what she won't do. I find myself looking forward to his amusing and entertaining visits. I even see Luke and Eager every now and then as they make drop-offs here. They wave in a companionable kind of way, as though we're friends. There are weekly medical check-ups in case of infection, and precautionary shots. All my physical day-to-day needs are catered for. Sometimes I lie in what I've come to think of as my room, and reflect on all the craziness I've lived through. All the weirdness that has turned my life around since first I boarded 'The Argo', since I joined that outbound tramp-ship on the voyage of my life. I think of Michel, Ma Belle, and how we sixty-nined beneath the sun on a French hilltop overlooking the harbour-berth just south of La Rochelle. I get a sly erection just thinking about us enjoying the Flowers of Evil together. I think with warm affection of the taste of Nkomo's body in the warm African night-darkness, and the memories are so aching-strong and intense I yearn for his touch. I even forgive Ivan's cruel betrayal and desertion. He used me, but what we had together was a positive thing. He showed me the truth about myself. The secrets of my inner soul. He knew my needs and orientation better than I knew myself. Nothing can ever take that away. Relaxing back on the lounger Fifi takes care painting my toenails. He talks while he does it. "James, he's raising funds to put him through college. Why work at a call-centre or a fast-food counter for minimum-wage, while you can do this, lie in the sun between clients, and make good money? Tui is financing his breasts. Some of the guys really go for that Lady-Boy look. He makes good money. Anton over there wants to get into Gay porn, so he's gaining valuable technique here while earning his travel costs to set up in LA. Miss Ticque gives regular clients tokens, collect ten and they get a free session. Weekends we have parties and one of us guys gets to be the lottery prize. You make good money that way. You keep tips, so it's in your interest to give customer satisfaction. You pay off your debt, with interest, in six-seven months. After that you're into profit. Another five months you get enough for a flight home to England... or anywhere you wanna go. Think about it." "What about you Fifi, why are you here?" "Me? Why am I here? Well, I guess I'm just the kind of wanton hussy who is queer for cock. I like your cock, you must know that. I know that each time your cock and my mouth are properly introduced we make sweet slurpy music together." I'm thinking, yes, the more clients you get the better. You give satisfaction you get tips. I can do this. I've come a long way since that first night with Ivan. Nine months... a year. It's not too long. Fifi reaches down and kisses the tip of my cock. I lie there, and let him... By Tristan Trotsky As the ribald story of 'Around The World With Nothing On' draws to a moist close, I hope you'll perhaps read and enjoy my other stories in the 'Cock-Sucker' series, you might care to leave a comment and maybe get in touch...? After all, Tristan Trotsky is not the Cock-Sucking messiah, he's just a very naughty boy...!