1 comments/ 6406 views/ 0 favorites Cock-Sucker: Horatio Cockblower By: tristantrotsky The neglected classic of erotica called 'Horatio Cockblower', published under what is most likely the pseudonym 'Dick Diver', is a kind of sado-erotic version of CS Forester, set in maritime Napoleonic days. It is geographically incorrectly subtitled 'a tale from down-under', unless that's intended as a pun on the genital zones? In their exhaustive study of 'Deviant, Transgressive and Proscribed Literature' Drs Ben Doone and Phil McCavity, present a powerful deconstruction of the text as a savage indictment of imperialism. I tend to disagree. It's just a playfully erotic fantasy. Chapter One: Rum, Sodomy And The Lash (In which our unfortunate hero endures a rude awakening) The fresh-faced hero and central character of the events that are about to transpire is idealistic Horatio Cockblower. The young puritan naval officer takes leave of Emily, his demure chastely virginal fiancé and bids his strict upstanding clerical parents farewell. At twenty-six, he takes a carriage through the bustling chaos of maritime Bristol for his first commission with the Levant Company, to serve god and empire as captain of the 'Golden Satyr'. He books overnight at a harbour-front inn. In a world rife with vice and corruption there are so many temptations to lure the unwary from the paths of virtue. He must be constant in his vigil. The scriptures provide his guide and reassurance. At eight pm there's a knock upon the stout oak door of his room. A serving-wench has brought the evening supper he ordered. Bread, cheese, pickled onions. After placing the platter beside his bed she turns back towards him. He's shocked to see that she's shrugged the low neckline of her dress down to expose her plump right breast and the prominent nipple. "Perhaps as the kind gentleman eats he'd appreciate me gumming his todger?" she smiles. "A mere silver sixpence only." "Please, madam, I'm engaged to be wed." "I won't tell if you don't. I could do it for three pence. You drive a hard bargain, sir, you can even squirt your dirt on my tits if you so please." "No, no, please leave." "OK, I'll suck your old man for you if you stand me a drink downstairs. Last offer. Failing that, I could send the stable-boy up to do it for you, if your inclinations lie in that direction." In a fluster of embarrassed confusion he hurries her out of the room and locks the door with a sigh of relief. Then keeps to his bed where he prays for strength as the raucous sounds of the tavern below seep up through the floorboards. The laughter of slatterns, women of low morals who can inflame impure passions. The wine and ale that can loosen the resolve of the strongest heart. By the following morning things look so different. Gulls circle and wail around the ship's churning wake as they catch the early tide. Standing on the poop-deck, tall and blonde, in his cocked tricorn hat and blue tail-coat he watches his crew with a sense of pride. "Steady as she goes, helmsman." Yes, the helmsman may be a man who's face would not only stop a clock, but would make it shout for mercy too, yet these simple sailors know the currents of the sea, its ebb and flow, its wind and tides, even the saltiness of its brine. The nation's empire and trade links girdle the world. He feels proud of his command. Proud to play his part in the great imperial drama. Checking navigational charts, making entries in the ship's journal, taking sightings with the sextant to confirm their course as they proceed along the English channel and out into the Bay of Biscay. Until, midway on their maiden voyage, passing through what the ancients called the 'Pillars of Hercules', into the Mediterranean he happens to be down below-decks conscientiously taking inventory of the cargo when he hears disturbing sounds from the prow. Cautiously he sidles forward, peeking through a web of cordage and netting. As his eyes adjust to the flickering amber light he can't believe what his eyes are telling him. He can dimly make out the shapes of three interlocked figures. Tinker, the comely eighteen-year-old cabin-boy is naked from the waist down, sprawled across a raised wooden packing-chest lying on his back. The others are two crewmen with their pants around their ankles, one feeding a hawser-thick length of stiff cock between the boy's gaping lips. The other holding Tinker's legs wide-spread so he can slide his engorged erection deep into the exposed rectum. All three are grunting and moving together in their synchronised sexual action. As he watches in horrified dread the two men slide free, cocks springing clear, to change positions. Mouth to arse, arse to mouth. Both of those fearsomely towering members sinking fully into their new targets. Not that Tinker seems to object. Indeed, he's making gurgly grunting noises, that sound more pleasure than discomfort. When the crewman impaled in his rectum slows, as if to recoup his energies, it's the boy who moves his hips with every appearance of impatience for more. Cockblower's throat is dry. The timbers are creaking. He's assaulted by the sour fetor of sweat and body-odours mingling with that of the stale ballast. The floor heaving beneath his feet as his very world tilts. He can see that despite the indignities he's enduring, Tinker is also erect, his perky uncircumcised penis as taut as a bowstring, waving and quivering as his hips vigorously undulate. Cockblower finds he's sweating in crawling disgusted fascination as the sensual dance of rutting bodies goes on. Abruptly, he can see that the standing crewman has begun to fountain jism into Tinker's open mouth, the boy lapping, trapping each spurt although some white beads dribble down his chin, until he takes the messy cock-head back into his mouth to suck at it enthusiastically. By the sounds he's uttering it seems that the other man is also climaxing, his hairy arse-cheeks clenching, his hefty man-meat buried deep in the cabin-boy's undulating guts. Sickened to the depths of his soul, the shocked captain staggers away, back to his cabin where he paces up and down preoccupied. Turning turbulent thoughts over in his head. Sex is something that should only happen between a married couple within the privacy of their darkened bedroom, beneath the discretion of their sheets. And strictly for reasons of procreation. This vile abomination calls for resolve, discipline, firm unwavering action. Eventually he summons Tinker to his cabin. He lights the wall-mounted lanterns to create a pleasing roseate ambience, then sits behind his desk as the nervous cabin-boy stands before him. Tinker wears a single gold-earring which Horatio considers distastefully effeminate. He waits a calculated moment for the dramatic tension to build, before speaking softly. "It has come to my attention that certain members of the crew are taking advantage of your youth, by sexually abusing you. This shocking practise must cease. I want to know how many men are involved." Tinker relaxes, smiling easily. "It's nothing, sir. Please be not concerned on my behalf. Members of every crew take the cabin-boy to 'show him the golden bolt', that's what they call it, it's naval euphemism for buggering him. Jolly Jack-Tars are far from shore for long months, away from wives and tavern-whores. They must expend their seed where they can. I fully anticipate when I qualify for my full papers, that I'll enjoy the cabin-boy's mouth and bottom just as fully as they use mine. It's a seafaring tradition." "Not on my vessel, boy, not on my vessel." Blushing slightly, Tinker steps forward, fumbling as he unbuckles his belt, so his loose pants fall to his knees and his genitals sway free, standing proud from a nest of dark pubic hair. Against his will Cockblower finds himself recalling the way that pleasingly-formed penis jiggled as he was being buggered. "Beg pardon sir, but if the captain would permit me to suck his cock I could demonstrate just how irrational your reaction is." "Logic and rationalism has nothing to do with it. We must have faith. This is an affront to all decency, please cover yourself. This is over. This ends now." He's trying to save the unfortunate urchin. Why doesn't the boy understand what he's trying to do? Events move quickly. The outraged Cockblower immediately moves to impose his authority to end the practice, making an announcement to the assembled crew. Tinker listens, and decides to change the captain's mind by slipping into his cabin that very night. Cockblower sleeps restlessly, his mind tormented by blasphemous dreams. It was as a devout young student at Maritime College he'd first learned that others of his year had fallen to the mortal sins of onanism, mutual masturbation and sodomy that his father had warned him against so graphically. It's true he experienced fleeting moments of weakness, of temptation, but his father's visions of hellfire and damnation had always stopped him at the last moment, even at the cost of appearing stand-offish and sacrificing potential friendships. He had dreamed troublingly explicit dreams and had nocturnal emissions, but had sought the solace of prayer, study and healthy physical activity. Now, caught up in an agony of sensation, in his tortured night-fantasy he sees his virginal love - Emily, although as he watches she shrugs the low neckline of her demure dress down to expose her plump right breast and the prominent nipple, and she winks luridly, 'you can squirt your dirt on my tits if you so please.' Then he's the crewman with his burning hawser-thick erection buried deep in Tinker's warm throat. Squirt your dirt. Then he's the crewman sliding his stiff cock into Tinker's receptive anus. Squirt your dirt. Then, sweating feverishly, horror on horror, it is he who is lying on his back as the two rampant crewmen assault his own body. Now the overwhelming rage of sensation roaring through his groin jerks him awake, but it's too late. Moaning helplessly his hands crawl down to staunch the imminent gush of spermatic fluid. On those regrettable moments when he loses control it is possible to squeeze the base of the offending member, and force the semen back from the brink. But as his hands converge down over his stomach they encounter tousled hair. Is this still part of the vile dream? No, his shocked expression is transfixed downward to where his nightshirt has been shucked up, and the boy is smiling mischievously up at him. Tinker has slid into the bunk beside him, and is eagerly engaged in sucking him off. No-one has ever touched him there before, never mind orally. Cockblower attempts to shove the curly-haired head away from his groin but it's too late, already he's begun emptying the copious contents of his ball-sac into the boy's lusty mouth, and after long months of denial the erupting climax is volcanic. Tinker's chin is freshly smeared with daubs of dribbling spattered cum-juice. From Naval Seamen, to a navel full of semen. "That was wonderful Captain" breathes the boy, his eyes glazed with sated lust. "I will gladly do this for you every night if you wish, I'll give you priority over the others, honest I will." He recoils in horror. "Get thee behind me Satan!" "Well yes, I can do it that way if you prefer, Sir." In another fluster of embarrassed confusion he hurries Tinker out of the cabin and locks the door. If the crew had assumed that once he'd enjoyed such gratification he'd be less inclined to forbid it, they were wrong. The following morning Cockblower, mindful of his duty to maintain a tight ship, knows what he must do. He determines to impose his authority by exacting harsh discipline. It's common knowledge that ordinary Jack Tar seamen will respect a firm stance, and a touch of the 'cat'. He orders Tinker stripped and flogged with the 'Cat-O'-Nine-Tails' for his impertinence. With the crew assembled and a drummer rapping out strict time, the frightened sobbing youth is tied naked to the mast. "You may proceed Mr Mate" says Cockblower, his hands clasped firmly behind his back, his legs braced against the rolling and heaving of the deck. The First Mate brandishes the whip and circles the tethered boy. He leans forward to pass his hand over the smooth curve of the naked bottom. Then stands back. "No, sir, I will not carry out this cruel and unusual punishment." "Are you refusing to carry out my orders, sir? I issued a command, not a request for a debate. Do as you are told, or I will have you keel-hauled for this." "On the contrary, sir, I am relieving you of authority." Cockblower steps forward to admonish the rebellious Mate, but as he does so a growl goes up from the rest of the crew, as they move in to intervene. "Damn your eyes, this is an outrage" he howls. "This is mutiny, you'll all swing from the yardarm for this." Despite his struggles and protests the captain is cast adrift in a small dinghy, watching impotently as the vessel that was his first command, sails away for the horizon. And he is alone on the open sea. CHAPTER TWO: DECLINE & FALL (An unfortunate series of events befall our virtuous here) Three on the bed. Emily lies beside the Vicar on the rumpled coverlet. He wears only his clerical dog-collar, and his socks. She can see across his bare chest to where her maid, Molly is also lying, her clothing in equal disarray. She can see her pretty bubbies, they're so much fuller than her own. But hadn't Molly said, for every man who likes big tits there's another who likes small tits. For every man who likes fat bottoms, there's another who prefers slim boyish bottoms. Molly knows the ways of men. Hadn't she told her how seamen avail themselves of portside strumpets, pinchpricks and whores, as well as the cabin-boy? That when her dear Horatio returns he will have certain sexual expectations his bride will be expected to satisfy. Now the other two are drowsing in post-copulatory afterglow, while she feels more alive than she's ever been, her whole body tingling with new sensations. She can see the Vicar's fat tool, and the bubble of milky fluid oozing from its tip. She was curious. Before Molly had chance to do it first, she leans her head over into his groin. She can simply lap the bead of man-juice with a single lick of her tongue. Instead she takes the full mushroom-bulb into her mouth and sucks it gently clean. Yes, it feels nice. Horatio will enjoy it when she does this to him. Forgive me, for I have sinned. How must I make penance? By doing this... again. And she's still a virgin. That was what Molly had promised when she'd first suggested this threesome afternoon tryst. The Vicar was willing to help her out of her naivety. He knows what to do. He'll show her useful sexual techniques that involve her sucking his pecker, and him putting his rampant manhood into her bottom - the things he does with the willing and enthusiastic members of his Male Voice Choir, while he, and Molly in turn, would only lick at her lady-slot, leaving her maidenhead intact for her dear Horatio to take, upon his eventual return. While Molly is there to help and assist as she's able, they can lick each others nipples and pussies, then Emily will watch with only a hint of jealousy as the Vicar pumps waves of his spunky-milk into Molly's moist cunny. She must wait for her Horatio to do that to her, she will wait... or do her best to wait... She licks her lips. And tastes spunk. She'd imagined it would taste salty. But its taste is more indescribable. Waiting will not be easy. Meanwhile, after long days adrift on the endless sea, tormented by thirst and fever-delirium brought on by the relentless glare of the Mediterranean sun, our unfortunate hero finds himself washed up along the pagan north African shore, the Barbary Coast. Leaving the beached dinghy he sets out along the water's edge until, concealed by a sheltering sand-dune he observes what he assumes to be a party of four Arab men healthily cavorting in the tide. Should he step forward and reveal himself? Throw himself upon their mercy? Hoping against hope that they can help him reach the nearest British consulate? But before acting on his resolve he's dismayed when the frolics he's watching take on an intensely homo-erotic nature, as the two lithe dark-complexioned younger men teasingly bend over, swaying their raised bottoms invitingly, only to be vigorously buggered by their two elders. They pause only long enough to change partners in mid-rut, yelping with exquisite pleasure as they are penetrated by their second cock. He's horrified to find the un-godly vice of sodomy even here. Must he be forever troubled by this evil? Yet he watches in nervous fascination, unable to look away. Sees the two younger cocks jerking and bobbing, their ball-sacs swinging to the fuck-rhythm until they spurt in two unison white arcs that spatter the sand between their splayed legs. And all four collapse into a sleepy post-coital tangle of bodies. Cockblower furtively steals some of their discarded robes as disguise and heads off along the winding track towards the nearest city, hoping to locate a ship back for England, his mind teeming with a confusion of the vileness he's witnessed, haunted by tantalising flashbacks of Tinker's warm moist lips closing in around his pizzle. Trying to force the images away. However, once in the city his pale skin gives him away, he's arrested as an infidel spy and thrown into the stifling humidity of the local Sultan's dungeon, a semi-darkness of foul aromas and irritating midges that feed on sweat and body-grime. From this point on, things begin to get very strange indeed. He spends much of the rest of the novel naked. Cockblower already felt stripped of status and identity without the uniform he'd worn with such pride. Now his dignified assertion of his rights as an officer of the British Empire are ignored as he undergoes an agony of sexual humiliation not only from the interrogators who quiz him in broken English, but from the guards, and his fellow prisoners who taunt and threaten him. Naked, he feels self-conscious, with other men's eyes appraising him, but there's to be no escape. It was also at college that he'd listened with horrified fascination to whispered dormitory tales of Christian prisoners of cruel Moors who'd been forced to endure adult circumcision in order to conform to their captor's blasphemous religious practices, or had all of their teeth extracted the better to perform smooth oral sex on them. Although there was never a suggestion that such a fate awaited him here the ghost of those adolescent horror-stories haunt him. Instead, cleared of spying, but due to his pale-skinned attractively-hung demeanour he's made a gift to Sultan Mustapha Koch's seraglio. The sudden sun is dazzling after the darkness of the cell as he's bundled into a sealed carriage, catching glimpses of a city of minarets and onion-domes from the small inset grille as he's carried through the crowded streets towards the palace. The new walls closing in around him are high, all gates patrolled by mute guards armed with curved scimitars, and the captive occupants of the seraglio are supervised at all times by a strict elder named Vizier Yashim, a man of small gimlet-eyes bright and cold, set above a wispy white beard. He learns there are some twenty captive naked men held within the gilded sequestered enclosure. There are other Europeans. A Frenchman. An Italian. Neither of whose limited language skills allow for conversation. Increasing his sense of isolation. And a number of Africans captured during sub-Saharan slavery forays - for the Sultan enjoys the contrast of dark skin-tones penetrating light skin-tones. But most the others are local young men seized by the Sultan as they'd come to his attention, or had been sold to him by their avaricious families. One or two of the male odalisques are outwardly effeminate with long perfumed hair and exaggerated hip-movements, but all of them have been selected for your youth, their physical attractiveness, and the generous size of their genital endowment. Yet in pampered captivity, they are rendered anonymous, just bodies to be used. They tend the secretive gardens in shaded arbours or beside groves of flowering shrubs, work on light cleaning projects beside tinkling hissing fountains that feed a shimmering hammam pool for nude bathing, do household chores amid the lavish cushions and plush mattresses, and rehearse sex acts on each other in preparation for the whims of the Sultan. To the Captain, it resembles the opium delirium of an Alma-Tadema painting, lush with sinful narcissistic indulgence. Cock-Sucker: Horatio Cockblower But first, secured by two huge mutes Cockblower silently suffers the indignity of the old man's thin bony fingers intimately examining his latest charge. Checking his teeth as though he's a newly-acquired racehorse. Handling him critically, testing the firmness of his taut buttocks, then separating them to probe between, his moist finger sliding deep into his tense rectum. Weighing his balls as though judging ripe plums in a market, masturbating him with a snort of derision as the flaccid 'John Thomas' fails to erect. Irritably Yashim snaps his fingers and a smooth-skinned Arab youth he later learns is called Ahmed, barely Tinker's age, promptly appears, lithe and liquid-agile in his nudity, he crouches, and without being told, takes the flaccid penis in his mouth. This time Horatio can't help but respond. He braces himself, stands with fists clenched, breathing in controlled gasps as the nude youth administers an expert gamahouche, his dancing tongue flickering around the sensitive glans, his mouth gently squeezing the shaft with pure suction. The mutes relax their grip, he's no longer resisting, until at the last moment the Vizier extracts the now-jutting stiffness from between Ahmed's bright white teeth, squeezes the shaft firmly to choke the rising jism, then hoses the squirting spunk-splashes across the young face so the elder can evaluate the ejaculate, dismissively smearing seminal fluid between thumb and forefinger, tasting it warily, like a connoisseur evaluating a rich bouquet, tut-tutting as though unimpressed. Ahmed smiles shyly up at Horatio, gloopy drools of cum dangling from his nose, forehead and chin, as the shamefaced Englishman tries to avoid his eyes. But worse is to come. As a spirit-breaking induction to his new role Yashim immediately has Horatio hooded and strapped into an ornate wooden frame, his hips raised, his legs stretched apart to their widest limit. Panicky fear sets his nerves on edge, as his puckered anus is lubricated with olive oil, terrified by his final glimpse of a line of faceless anonymous men waiting to bugger him. Lying there, he's aware of fumbling movement between his legs, and strains helplessly at the restraints as the first stiffness forces its way in through his rectal sphincter, gasping breathless - his breath heaved out of him in a single lung-emptying gasp as it slams it way in, prevented from praying or shouting out by a ball-gag. He feels giddy as he's anally penetrated, as though he's being split apart, his mind seems about to explode as though he's going to pass out, and when the fuck-pummelling begins it's like his every nerve-ending is shrieking. Nauseated, but increasingly troubled by his own responsive arousal as his cock flips and flops helplessly across his gut with the force of the fuck. Horrified by the fact that he's becoming erect all over again. In that instant he knows sin, as his mind blanks-out with its teasing death-rattle whisper. As the first man pulls free, and the second man enters him, he ejaculates uncontrollably. By the third, wet with repeated bolts of secretions, he no longer struggles. Once released, bathed and rested, but chastened by the resulting aching tenderness in his bottom, he's less inclined to protest. Ahmed crouches by his side supportively as he sobs softly to himself. How can an English Officer and Gentleman maintain dignity and self-respect in the face of such vile provocation? Better that he'd died when cast adrift. Better the mutineers had killed him. Rather that, than be subjected to this relentless abuse. But when he still shows stubborn reluctance Yashim has a smelly unguent rubbed into his cock and balls and massaged up the mouth of his anus, then he administers a foul-tasting aphrodisiac based on the extract of tana-plant. The narcotic combination befuddles and enflames his mind, induces a rigid ten-hour erection with an urgent rage of fierce genital itching that can only be temporarily eased by regular orgasm. With arms crossed and secured behind his back he's shoved into a small pit enclosure with three other similarly treated members of the seraglio, where they have no choice but to work out their drugged-energies on each other. Yashim watches critically from a golden dais as, driven crazy by their enhanced genital sensations they rub their stiff cocks up against each other's bodies, then fall together into a writhing heap, thrusting into whichever mouth or bottom is closest in their urgent need for ease. In his furious madness Horatio finds himself straddling the Italian, ramming his burning erection desperately into the struggling man's throat as the two other victims undulate in agitated soixante-neuf beside him. Then they reconfigure and he's slammed down onto the floor with a slimy cock forcing its way into his mouth. As one cock deluges the tight interior of his arse, only to be replaced by another, he welcomes the ease it brings to the terrible jangling inner itching. Eventually, drained of energies and aching from excess, the four men emerge from the weakening narcotic influence. Lying still, gasping like fish out of water, then breathing more slowly in their wretched misery. Cockblower's defiance becomes muted, then ceases altogether. He will resist no more. He's learned to fear Yashim, he exercises absolute power over the inmates of the seraglio, the power of life and death, the power to exert whatever punishment he chooses. But then, hadn't he - Horatio Cockblower RN, been prepared to have cabin-boy Tinker flogged because of his infraction? What difference is there...? Meanwhile, in distant England, the grandfather clock in the living room ticks away the moments. Emily is reading an erotic French novel by the Marquis De Sade which the vicar had loaned her. She shifts in the chair in an agitated way to stimulate the pleasing moistness flowing between her legs. It feels naughty. It feels nice. She glances up as Molly enters the room. Her expression is unusually serious as she passes the folded newspaper across to her mistress, indicating a passage. Annoyed at being distracted from her novel, Emily reads the paragraph. The good ship 'HMS Golden Satyr' had docked in Alexandria to report the loss of Captain Horatio Cockblower RN. A sudden squall. A highly localised storm. The Captain had acted heroically, but had been washed overboard. Despite exhaustive searches by his loyal crew they'd been unable to rescue him, or even to recover the body. Emily cannot understand why she's not more shocked or distraught by the news. Her fiancé is gone. But her feelings have changed during the months of his absence. She's eager to get back to the scandalous incidents unfolding in the novel. She imagines herself to be Justine, the unfortunate heroine of the novel, used and abused by predatory men. And the vicar is due to arrive later for another three-in-a-bed romp. As the grandfather clock ticks away the moments, she feels the pleasing anticipatory moistness between her legs. While for Cockblower, over the next few days the enforced naked closeness, the sensuous atmosphere of languorous eroticism means that Horatio can't help but notice that sly erections are far from uncommon, and despite sexual activity supposedly being restricted at the prerogative of Yashim on behalf of the Sultan, he sees arousals being mutually eased by hand, mouth, or bottom in secretive corners or shaded arbours or beside groves of tinkling hissing fountains. Such sights prompt a return of his disturbing adolescent dreams. Some are selected to spend the night with the Sultan. Yashim merely prepares Horatio for such a summons. He learns a repertoire of techniques and positions, each session rehearsed on a different partner under Yashim's exacting instruction. And the Vizier has a number of inducements to enforce his will. The old man carries a leather thong which he uses to stinging effect, whipping his pupil's bare buttocks when he performs below expectations. There's also a bracelet which the mutes clamp around his scrotum, extruding the two testicle-eggs tightly, straining redly. When his cock-sucking is unsatisfactory the bracelet is tightened, inducing excruciating pangs of pain. It only has to be used to its full extent once before the lesson is learned, so that when it's locked in place he does as he's instructed. Finally there's the fear of a punishment return to the frame. Under such coercion he's tutored and rehearsed in the subtle arts of receiving anal sex and giving oral. He squats down at the feet of the naked Frenchman, his arms crossed behind his back and secured there, with Yashim closely scrutinising his every reaction, ready with the corrective whip. Fearing reprimand, he kneels as the sneering Frenchman stands impassive, seeming to revel in that he has a captain of the Republic's great imperial rival grovelling before him. Horatio can see that the proud cock standing firm just inches from his face, the cock he must work on, has a number of spacing rings placed around its length. He waits, then at a word, Horatio takes the bulb of the flared helmet into his mouth. The Frenchman mutters a lewd 'Viva La France' beneath his breath as he does so. As he proves capable of mouthing the cock down to the first ring without gagging, the ring is removed and he begins again, going deeper. The Frenchman nudging his hips forward in a deliberate attempt to thrust his cock into Horatio's throat, making him retch, and provoking a stinging reprimand from Yashim's whip. Disappointed when Horatio takes it without a whimper. It goes on for an hour as he's forced to repeat the act over and over again at the old man's instigation, striving to apply himself and control his drooling, as Yashim insists 'no, no, do it again'. Until the final ring is removed, and Horatio is taking the full length into his straining throat, clear down to the tight balls, to Yashim's grudging satisfaction. Cockblower manages to subdue his urge to retch when, after this extended fellatio lesson, gushes of hot spunk floods his mouth. It tastes of garlic. Long days pass as he's tutored in taking progressively bigger cocks step-by-step deeper until he's able to fully accommodate the largest. There's a diminishing revulsion at such 'unnatural acts', until his horror at such Biblically sinful practices, as well as his own disturbing arousals and ejaculations, are gradually replaced by numb acceptance. He has no choice but to adjust to tolerate the taste of cock and semen, the sensation of being anally penetrated, and of being sucked-off himself. As a final test Yashim teams him with Umslopogaas, a giant silent Ethiopian with a towering phallus. Horatio has always been nervously intimidated by its size and power of recovery. Now the Vizier directs the Ethiopian to merely recline on his back on a low couch, expressionless, as immobile as a mahogany statue, but for the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, as Horatio must perform all of the work. With trembling anticipation he manipulates the giant cock with both hands, the dark near-crimson mushroom-head divided by its thick corona ridge from the hard gnarled shaft around the throbbing girth of which his fingers barely touch. He's waking the menacing monster further, feeling its hot expansion. Only Umslopogaas' tight stomach muscles undulate in response, betraying the genital attention being lavished upon him. The fat pendulous balls stirring, heavy and swollen as they hang majestically in the smooth silky bag of his scrotum. His throat dry, his own groin crawling in fierce arousal, Horatio knows what he must do, he must use his mouth, opening it wide, straining to engulf as much of the cock as he can, blanking out all reactions other than the techniques he's employing. His lips stretch to adhere around the velvety tissue of the fat purple head until it squeezes into his straining mouth, pulling back only slightly to feel the tug of his lips tight up around the bulging corona, confirming that the enflamed head is trapped completely within his mouth, then sliding down onto as much of the rigid shaft beneath as is humanly possible, and sucking lustily. His jaws ache with effort as it goes on, with the skills he's bringing into play to achieve the desired result. His own body is wracked with answering sensations, his sensitised erection quivering between his splayed legs. He controls his reaction as the cock-head forces its way into the back his throat, closing his eyes and working with tongue and lips, loud slurping noises escaping as he does so, until the skin of the swollen ball-sack begins crawling and retracting as throbbing intensifies in jolts of energy shocking through them both, and the Ethiopian comes, spewing gobs of slick pearly cream until it overflows his mouth, deluging in tides rippling down the ebony shaft. Then, as it loses none of its virile iron rigidity, Horatio pulls back. It quivers wetly as it leaves the snug clasp of his mouth. Now he climbs to straddle the muscular contours of Umslopogaas' dark passive body, holding the slippery cock, targeting himself onto it, lowering himself, using spunk and saliva as lubrication, relaxing the stretched elasticity of his anal sphincter to the maximum as he's been taught, the first inch nuzzling its way tightly into his rectum, a moment's pause - no longer, as sweat breaks out across his forehead and trickles down his spine. He breathes deep, then force-slides more of it into his aching bottom, until, after the next exploratory thrust he grinds it determinedly into position all the way home. He's taken it all. He's skewered on it. He can feel every inch of that powerful phallus inside him. It pulses, and seems to swell, filling him with its urgent heat. He moves slightly up, biting his lower lip in concentration, then back down, riding it, his head thrown back it pained effort. Yashim's beady analytical eyes are watching every detail, seeking out hesitation or pause, although Cockblower is scarcely aware of his presence any longer, concentrating only on what he must do. First he's facing away from the Ethiopian, but - without once uncoupling, he pivots slowly to face Umslopogaas, and rides the black manhood more easily now, up and down, establishing a slippery slapping rhythm which has his own erection flipping and dancing, drooling and dribbling in helpless anticipation. He feels giddy. His head raging with fever. The tingling sensation working its way in spasms from his arse to the tip of his cock, until inevitably he ejaculates himself, just as orgasm erupts deep in the depths of his rectum, much to Yashim's grudging nod of approval. Cockblower stays impaled for a long moment, trembling with after-shock. A warm glow suffusing his thighs. Almost wary of trusting his weakened limbs he raises himself, withdrawing from it only slowly, feeling it slither free. Finally, smiling apologetically, Cockblower bends to lap the black cock clean, then lick his own white sperm-pearls from the impassive Ethiopian's stomach and chest, drawing the long strands into his mouth and swallowing. His training is complete. Yet after each session he prays that - 'why god, why am I being tested in this way? I've always been a good and devout man. Why art thou subjecting me to these trials?' Maybe it's to teach humility, maybe to instill in me the qualities of servility? He's tempted to wonder whether god has a sense of humour. Then wonders if he's being punished as a bad sinful person for wondering whether god has a sense of humour. His shocked reaction to Tinker's sexual overture recedes to become nothing more than a quaint distant memory. How naïve he'd been, how pompous, how preposterous. He'd learned his bitter lesson. If only he'd not interfered in his crew's harmless games. If, maybe, he'd seen beyond his own priggish prejudices and allowed himself to participate in their romps instead of condemning them. The safe ordered world of chastely virginal Emily is now a thing so distant as to seem unreal. At last his loneliness, home-sickness and isolation is finally assuaged by embracing acts that once repelled him. Horatio had observed intimate trysts in the gardens before, but lately what he'd once viewed with disgust he'd begun to envy the participants their brief closeness, his penis stirring, filling with blood, raising its head, in reaction to what he sees. So, why not, why not give in to the comfort his body is urging? At first there's a mere exchange of glances and shy smiles with Ahmed, the slim-hipped youth who had befriended him and shown kindness from the start. Ahmed is a plaintive Arab youth with dark appealing eyes and a slim wirily-muscled athletic build. Pretty in ways that a girl is pretty. Neither of them knows the other's language, but they communicate through a limited repertoire of fairly coarse gestures. He was a dancer. He mimes the tale of how he'd first been brought to perform for the Sultan as part of a dance troupe, how his dancing drew the Sultan's prurient attention, and he was seized. As a dancer he was an elemental force with graceful skills that would have brought ecstatic acclaim at every European or Russian ballet. The way he gyrates his pelvis and undulates his stomach muscles are as entrancing and enticing as they are explicitly inviting, his penis dancing its own hypnotic dance, he spins and walks on his hands for a considerable distance, talents he employs to startling, not to say crudely erotic effect, a repertoire of moves that instantly beguile and arouses male observers, regardless of their supposed gender orientation. Every man who sees him dance desires him. His body is virtually hairless, but for the coy pubic tuft quite inadequate to conceal the genitals, for the Arab youth's cock, decorated by an intricate swirl of blood-vessels, is attractively large, if not as intimidatingly huge as some of them are. Horatio concedes that if the male organ could ever be described as beautiful, this one was. Yet he sits cross-legged, and is flexible enough to lower his head and comfortably suck his own cock, which he does for the entertainment of the others. Soon Ahmed and Horatio are drawn together in a shaded arbor. The air is warm and sweetly perfumed. Ahmed is flirtatious. He snaps the gaudy-mauve flowering blossom-head on a long stalk from a nearby plant, poses with it between his gleaming white teeth, then extends it, using it to trace a path across Cockblower's chest which seems deathly-pale by comparison, from nipple to nipple, leaving a trail of pollen, then down, tickling its way across to his navel, and lower, its light touch rippling teasingly slow along the length of his penis causing him to bite his lip with pleasure. They're laughing softly together, breathlessly. Sitting cross-legged facing each other. Ahmed plucks a smaller daisy-like bloom, pinches the bulb of his own penis with one hand, opening the eye, and carefully inserts its stem into the urethral opening with the other, slowly, carefully - Horatio watching fascinated, unable to look away, until the flower crowns the shaft. Ahmed leans back, inviting appraisal. Horatio finds himself crouching, reaching forward to extract the bloom, bringing his fingers into contact with the firm arousal, brushing traces of pollen-dust from the glans, holding it, then dipping his head to take the warm solidity of the youth's cock into his mouth, sucking it clean with tears in his eyes, washed by a strange emotional mix of relief, regret, gratitude, shame, despair, misery, hopelessness and acceptance. Ahmed speaks soothingly and encouragingly in words he can't understand. He sucks greedily, thirstily at the exquisite cock, as if drawing comfort from its smoothly intoxicating warmth. But he knows what to do, after indulging himself he unmouths the glistening cock and compliantly bends over, parting his legs, as he'd watched them bending over that first day on the beach, offering himself, then feeling the insistent heat of that same eager young cock easing its way up into his gut, through his own choice, finding solace not in prayer but in the powerful erection its insertion inflames in his own groin, his toes curling with pleasure. This sex is tender, special in a way he never dreamed possible with a woman, never mind with a slender youth. Cock-Sucker: Horatio Cockblower This is the way it must have been for Tinker. Giving pleasure can be so rewarding in itself, how wrong he'd been to reject this, how mistaken he'd been to consider this sinful. Their sweat-sheened bodies slipping and sliding in a mutual riot of lust. He moans low as their linked bodies rock together, his balls swaying up against Ahmed's balls at the youth's deepest penetration, his free-hung cock dancing and swaying, until his breathless shower of ejaculate simultaneously coincides with the orgasm exploding deep within his rectum. And they lie together, still joined, Ahmed's ball-sac nestled up against Horatio's in a warmly comforting entwinement of limbs. Afterwards he even begins to regard himself, his own body, and his sexual identity in different more flexible ways. He doesn't protest when he's selected to be one of four nude men harnessed in tandem to draw two small chariots around the garden in a mock-race for the entertainment of potentates, the body-contoured reins designed to encircle and exaggerate the bouncing motion of their protruding genitals. This also results in erection and spontaneous ejaculation, much to the amused hilarity of the observers. Finally, before his total surrender to the sinfully sybaritic heathen life, there's a last hope of freedom. Cockblower learns Sultan Mustapha Koch is holding a banquet-orgy which the English Ambassador will attend. Seizing his chance to participate in the debauchery, he ensures he's selected to be part of the 'entertainment'. The Frenchman also strives to be selected, he has his own agenda. For serving at the decadent banquet their pubic hair is trimmed, they wear fine gold-chains around their waists, and decorative body-paint. The occupants of the seraglio are bathed, pampered and massaged, their bodies shaved and anointed with rich unguents and perfumed oils, their hair tinted, primped, braided and teased into elaborate coiffure. Kohl eye-shadow is applied, with painted tone-enhancer to face, nipples and genitals, highlighted with careful artistry. Fingers and toe-nails carefully lacquered in intricate designs. Although nude, their bodies are richly ornamented with jewelled ear or nipple-studs, fine gold chains and bracelets for wrists and ankles, and gauzy veils until, catching his reflection in the pool of water, he scarcely recognises himself. He's a decadent androgynous fever-dream from a poet's opium fantasy. He barely flinches. This is what he is. This is what he's become. Drawn by golden genital-chains, Yashim leads them through arches perfumed by the aroma of sandalwood burners, into the orgy. Once within they are instantly consumed by debauchery, with the Vizier presiding over it all like a conductor directing an orchestra. Ahmed whirls seductively, with pirouettes and cartwheels, a tiny tassel of tinkling bells attached to the head of his penis. Umslopogaas wields his mighty phallus into a series of five crouching mouths, one of them Horatio's, then they switch around to become five compliantly raised bottoms, he sunders each in turn leaving them mewling and whimpering, much to the amusement of the diners. While the Frenchman continually fellates Mustapha Koch as he dines, as another eagerly awaits the opportunity of taking the Frenchman's place, in the hope of proving himself and gaining the Sultan favour, becoming his gözde. And all the while Cockblower contrives to work his way through the tangle of copulating bodies, act by act, towards where the grotesquely obese ambassador is seated. One of the guests takes Horatio behind the drapes for a blow-job. He's an older man with drooping distended testicles, who holds Horatio's head as he squats to compliantly suck him off. Resulting in a thin pulse of watery semen. It was disquieting just how easy this has become. After which Yashim arranges him as one of a complex interlocking five-man daisy-chain arrangement, linking together cock-to-mouth in a squirming slurping circle, five heads nodding into five groins, five sets of bare clenching buttocks moving much to the diner's further amusement, drawing ragged applause and lewd catcalls. Another guest selects Horatio for anal. He bends over an opulent pile of tessellated cushions to take it, the cock is small and stubby, after taking Umslopogaas, it offers no discomfort and little sensation. Yet he's unsettled to find he's now derisively judging cock-size, and preferring larger over less generously-endowed penes. The man comes quickly with an obscene grunt. After each brief encounter, determinedly, he crawls naked around perfumed drapes, marble columns, and across voluptuous cushions towards his objective. To finally be close enough to whisper to the Ambassador. "Sir, I am Captain Horatio Cockblower RN of HMS Golden Satyr." The ambassador glances down at him. "Is that so? I presumed it common knowledge that Captain Horatio Cockblower RN died heroically in a tragic accident during a storm at sea. Even if that were not so, Her Majesty's Government would certainly be disinclined to risk trade agreements by interceding on behalf of a painted sexual deviant in a Sultan's harem. So, Captain - if indeed that is what you claim, I suggest you occupy your impudent mouth by blowing my horn." At that moment of devastating revelation Cockblower realises his last hope has been betrayed, transfixed by the towering vein-mapped erect penis that the corrupt ambassador is brandishing. "Yes master" he says. He meekly takes the cock in his mouth, and begins sucking it totally submissively. With nothing left to lose he finally allows himself to submerge fully into the world of the senses he is condemned to inhabit. It is the end of his old life. The beginning of the new... Five years later Sultan Mustapha Koch dies in mysterious circumstances, there's talk of poison involved. During the dynastic struggle that follows, two of his sons are also assassinated, until the third brother is installed as new Sultan. His sexual tastes determine that, although he's rumoured to retain a catamites tower for the indulgence of visiting dignitaries of that inclination, he has no use for the male harem. Cockblower, Ahmed and Umslopogaas are released with Yashim procuring agreement to provide them with a small pension. Although insufficient for their individual means, by pooling their meagre resources they lease a small property built around an enclosed garden, beside a square by the souk in the city's harbour district. Ahmed dances in the square. Umslopogaas does occasional labouring work. But once word gets around that they're former inmates of the Sultan's seraglio schooled in the erotic arts by Vizier Yashim, their sexual services are soon in demand from a series of paying clients. On warm evenings sipping apple-tea outside a café overlooking the harbour's Byzantine walls Cockblower wears a full burqa, his cheeks rouged, his eyes highlighted with kohl. He sees British merchant vessels berthing along the quay, the 'red duster' fluttering in the slight breeze, and he knows he can never return. Better it be thought he'd died heroically in a tragic accident during a storm at sea, than for those at home - his strict upstanding clerical parents, and Emily, his demure chastely virginal fiancé, to know the truth of his terrible fate. At such moments Ahmed seems to sense his melancholy wistfulness, and reaches across to squeeze his thigh affectionately. Cockblower turns and meets his dark soulful eyes, and smiles sadly. Grateful for the warmth of his companionship. At times he can scarcely bring Emily's face to mind any more, she's replaced in his affections by this beautiful youth. So the novel ends with the once-virtuous captain broken, his spirit crushed and reduced to servile whoring. As such, the story's morality appears seriously flawed, unless it's intended to be read as the darkest black humour, or an assault on religious pretensions in the way it sets up the contradiction between spirit and flesh. Maybe. 'Horatio Cockblower RN' is a silly, ridiculous story designed only to stimulate a pleasing reaction in your groin. And yet, despite its flaws, it succeeds in producing that effect.