1 comments/ 11509 views/ 7 favorites Cock-Sucker: Weekend Ch. 01 By: tristantrotsky Broke. Down and out in Paris. Hiding out from brutal creditors. I'm in scarily way too deep. If you wanna hear about it, the things I did, the predicament I find myself in, all you have to do is buy me a cognac... and listen, eventually I may come up with the truth, only slightly embellished. Of course, you'll never be certain which parts are true, and which teasing fabrication. But I'm not about to get into that, right now. No, just listen, and I'll tell you all you need to know. I'm the guy who tests out the limits of conventional morality, sees through all the petty lies and hypocrisies of the bourgeois lifestyle, all the festering unhealthy repressions of those small-minded plastic people trapped in their daily closed-up commuter grind. I view the world through Beatnik eyes, a hipster's view, an existentialist live-for-the-moment Left Bank immediacy. I'm the rebel against conformity. And trouble follows me around. It's not always deliberate. It's not something I do intentionally. It just tends to happen to me. It just does. Until, in a cheap Brasserie wondering where the hell my next franc is going to come from, I encounter a college friend, a slightly built French boy of some twenty-three years. When he first sits down across the table from me I don't even recognise him. Paul... isn't it? Paul something. It's been a long time, and I'm preoccupied. A lot has happened. But he buys me a drink and I'll be nice to anyone who buys me a drink. As we get into talking, with the wine coursing its pleasing effect through my mind, details of my predicament begin to emerge. I don't know why, but I tell him things I probably shouldn't have. He's easy to talk to in a relaxed Gallic kind of way, and hey, I can shoot the breeze anyway. It's one of the few things I'm good at. Maybe I exaggerate – about Mack The Knife, the Mafiosi drug-deal rackets, but only a little. He catches my drift. "Money, you need money? No questions asked, fringe legal?" "Why, what do you have in mind?" I'm intrigued now. And yes, more than a little desperate. If I can't at least come up with a token repayment on my loans... things start getting nasty. You don't mess with Mack the Knife. He's about to suggest something, then backs off. "No, you won't be interested." "I might be, try me." Something ticking in my head. "No, it's alright." I persist. He deals me clues and hints, nothing explicit, his suggestions coming in fragments. But I'm sure I've got him fitted into my inventory of character-types. I can work him. Eventually he glances around in a conspiratorial sort of way, and draws his chair closer to me, then mentions a name, a casual acquaintance. "Photos and stuff, risqué, you know? They've got it lined up, an erotic movie, but one of the guys dropped out at the last moment. So there's a vacancy there, an opening, you want in?" I pause. He shrugs. "You say why, I say why not?" He writes me an address on a napkin. I'm dubious, but I'm a free spirit, an adventurer, a ducker and diver, I'm the fly-guy, aren't I, living the edge? Loose cars, fast drugs and hard women. That gives me license to transgress further. Don't think for a minute that I'm about to make excuses for myself. No way, I haven't changed my opinions a jot, and anything I admit here and now is not – repeat not, by way of justification. I'd do exactly the same thing again if the same situation arose again. The only difference between me and you is that I'm not afraid to admit it. So, with nothing to lose, I follow the lead up across the bohemian Montmartre to an ageing apartment block set back off the Rue D'Remarks. The concierge looks at me oddly, but directs me up to the correct suite where a man with a paranoid edge cautiously opens the door a crack, then suspiciously admits me. "Paul sent you?" I nod. "He said you'd pay me for some, er porn shoots." "He told you that did he?" The man says he is Mr Jules, which is probably not his name anyway, and he must be on the wrong side of his fifties, greasy, in a black leather jacket and thin greying moustache. He smells of Gauloises and garlic. "You have the necessary equipment?" I shrug. "I guess so." "Let me be the judge of that. Undress please." There's a momentary startle of fear. This is a little weird, a bit too pervy for my liking. But I think of the Bad Guys out there with my name on their list. I look around for a changing room, then stupidly realise there's no reason for modesty. I'll be nude for the shoots, so I might as well get used to the idea. Think of it like a trip to the Doctors. I pull my T-shirt up and off, then slide out of my sandals. The Frenchman's eyes are on me as I nervously tug my jeans down and turn shyly to let him appraise my nudity. My cock swaying stupidly, it seems suddenly small and unimpressive and I find myself blushing, fighting the urge to cover myself. He leans back in his chair and lights a cigarette. "Make it stiff now." I feel like turning away and forgetting the whole deal. This is a mistake. But in an agony of embarrassment I reach down and begin to wank the defiantly flaccid penis, my balls bouncing. I think of porn shoots – of naked girls opening their legs for me to fuck, of one girl sucking my balls while another has my cock in her lush mouth, and slowly it stiffens in my hand and stands out red and fierce. "Yes, OK, enough – it will suffice, you get 25 Euros for some test-shots." I nod unenthusiastically, aware of my cock jiggling sympathetically as I do so. At the same moment there's movement from the room beyond, and Paul comes in, my contact. He's wearing a short dressing gown. Something snags at the back of my mind, a connection. "He's pretty good, eh?" says Paul running his eyes up and down my naked body. "Good cock." "It'll do, it's adequate" nods Mr Jules. "You wanna start now?" I nod, a little uncertainly this time. Mr Jules hoists a big heavy Pentax from a drawer and gestures with an expression of bored tedium that I should follow him. We go through into a half-darkened adjoining room, I'm pacing naked, aware of the cool air on my bare skin and the motion of my penis slapping up against my belly. The thought that I'm naked with two guys, and my clothes are out of reach somewhere in the room we've now left, is a little unsettling. But 25 Euros is tempting. Sure, I could do with more – much more, but it's a start. It's something. It's an old house, there's a stale mustiness to the air, shadowy shapes of furniture shrouded in protective off-white sheets. Old portraits hung on old walls of people who I suspect are long-dead. We emerge unexpectedly into the blinding sunlight of a small enclosed garden. There are shrubs and shady trees, a low fountain that doesn't work and is rimmed in green mould, but no women. At the same moment Paul slips the dressing gown casually off and is as naked beneath it as I am, and startling erect. The size and arousal of his penis belies his slight body. I feel trapped and scared, this is gay porn, I've been set up, but retreat is impossible. I have no clothes. Mr Jules is already aiming his camera, and horror of horrors Paul is moving to stand way too close by my side. I suppress an urge to move as he drapes his arm around my waist and smiles for the camera. We pose, two naked sissy-boys with our todgers hung out. "Let's get some contact" says Mr Jules, coughing around his Gauloises. "You are friends, you fancy each other." Paul reaches out in one easy movement and I wince as I feel his fingers closing around my shaft. "C'mon, c'mon" urges Mr Jules impatiently, indicating with rapid gestures. Steeling myself I reach down and grasp Paul's cock in a cringing toe-curling moment of contact. It feels warm and firm in my hand as Mr Jules moves around taking a series of shots. "Now, a little mouth-action please." Before I have time to think Paul bobs down like liquid sex to crouch at my feet. I feel cool intimate fingers on my balls, and before I can react, a warm moist enveloping mouth sliding over my glans. I stand there with my cock in Paul's sensual mouth as the camera flashes. As the film is wound on, instead of releasing me, Paul is easing more cock between his lips and sucking gently, sucking me with a mouth that might have gone to a special college to learn all the wonderful tricks it knew. I close my eyes in a fury of sensation as the camera flashes again, and the sucking continues. At last Paul eases back and my cock bounces free glistening with his saliva. Despite myself I'm now fiercely aroused, my cock fat and inflamed with passion so that when the instruction is called I comply only too eager to get it back into that mouth. It feels bizarre, erotic, in a numb sensual way, my body reacting with a raw eagerness that my mind is still incapable of accepting, my cock glistening with saliva, swollen to bursting point with the intimate attentions it is receiving, and it craves more, pulling me with a will and urgency of its own. Helplessly I'm caught up in the unreality, stupidly naked with a nude youth at my feet, mouth gaping and the sleazy Frenchman squeezing off camera shots. "Down and kneel please" and I go down. Paul is on all fours now with my tower of flesh buried in his face. I grit my teeth as it begins again. "Lean back, fuck his face." Then Paul lies on his back and I'm straddling him, he's looking up now, my cock poking into his face, and I'm willing the lips apart and sliding it in as far as it will go, until Paul emits a throaty gurgling sound and retches deep in his throat, and I draw back. As directed I rest my slimy cock on his chin, on his nose, in each eye-socket in turn, then my balls are in his mouth, I can't help groaning in sated pleasure. With every move his eyes are fixed on my cock, which is fat and swollen up to the navel, my stomach crawling in sensations I dare not admit to. Then I stand up again, Paul crouched beneath me, my cock an inch from boy's face. "I want you to come all over Paul's face" orders the Frenchman. "You can do that now?" Numbly I nod. Already one of Paul's hands is circling my waist to hold my bare bottom firmly so I can't move, the other begins pistoning my cock into his face, pumping saliva at such a rate I fear he'll drown, tongue snaking out to lick and kiss it. And all of a sudden I'm jetting out long spermy strands of whiteness over his face that run like tears down his cheek and across his nose. I feel a chill, and that strange shyness that always follows ejaculation. I feel vulnerable, exposed, cheated. Paul gets up cheerfully, uses a towel to wipe his face and we're conducted back into the house, where I retrieve my clothes. With a begrudging manner Mr Jules counts out 25 Euros and tosses it casually onto the desk-top. "This was a test-shoot. You understand test-shoot?" 'Of course I fucking understand test-shoot' I think, scooping up the money. I've earned it. I need it. "Now you do a blood test." "Blood test?" "Oui, you understand everything we do, we do bareback. We always operate the same team with known medical histories, so first we must check out you're not carrying anything nasty in your body-fluids." It makes sense. I let him wield a syringe and extract a sample. He nods. "Good. You turn up here. Tomorrow. Nine am, for proper filming. OK?" "OK" I admit grudgingly. "There will be girls?" Mr Jules snorts derisively. "You young whippersnappers are vile disgusting creatures. Such dirty pretty things. Slime, semen and filth are all that drives you. Why should you be permitted to inflict your base urges on the fragrant beauty of young women? Better young men expend their perverse energies on each other, if they must. Until they're fit to rejoin civilised society." Feeling a little truculent and cheated I allow Paul to accompany me back out into the street, and towards a Bistro where his buys us cognac. "I didn't realise..." I manage to stammer out eventually. "I'm sorry I did that to you, cumming on you, you know." He brushed my apologies away. "You've got a nice cock, I enjoyed sucking it, and hey, we've all done stuff." "I haven't." "I don't believe that for a moment. There must have been times at ecole when you experimented, when you fooled around with other guys?" "Well, maybe." "And since then, there have been times when you are curious, when you are tempted to try other things, taste from another menu...?" I'm not sure. What happens in your secret fantasies stays in your head. It's different to being naked in the garden with a naked guy sucking your todger. Now I'm dressed, now the alcohol is having its pleasing effect, combined with the post-orgasmic calm, I relax back into the chair. "So what's the big deal with this shoot tomorrow?" "Loving sex between two guys can be a beautiful thing" he smiles pleasantly. "This is not like that. This is nothing to do with being Gay or straight. It's just things we do with our bodies. Minds, gender orientation, the higher human functions have nothing to do with it. They've got a big estate-car to take us, crew and performers, to a chateau way out there. A fantastic dream of a place. The owner allows us to use it as a set, on condition he gets to watch. Know what I mean?" The melancholy warmth of the Parisian afternoon is affecting my senses – and after all, ecstasy, despair, mental unbalance are all part of my day-to-day norm. The money in my jacket. It won't solve my problems, but it's enough to keep my creditors off my back for a few vital days, until some other opportunity presents itself. "That's it, Paul. I'll not be there tomorrow, I'm not going through with it." He drains his glass, and watches me curiously. "You sure?" We've more or less wound up, we walk a little way together, then he indicates his flat. We shake hands. It's strange to think where that hand has been, and even stranger to recall exactly which part of his body my hand was holding. I head off alone, but accidentally meet my favourite Moroccan dealer in the square. Sometimes there's more to life than just living. I score some hash. It takes my 25 Euros, but what the hell. I need a little relaxation. I never fail to fail, it's the one thing I really do well, the easiest thing to do, the path of no resistance. It's only when I turn onto my boulevard that I pull up fast. There's a car parked directly beneath my flat. Gun-sharks, bullet-monkeys, hit-men from the dark-side of Uranus. Or from Mack the Knife anyway. This is where my life gets really psychedelic. I don't need hallucinogenics, the very molecules of my being generate their own acid. I'm instantly regretting the hash. Well, no, not so much the hash itself, merely the loss of cash involved in acquiring it. I duck back before they can see me, head down an alley and around the back. It looks clear. I climb the fire-escape and ram in through the sash-window, only they've been here first. Cold tremors rake up and down my spine. My room is trashed. Sure, it's never actually pristine, some might not even notice the change. But I do. They've been in here ransacking the place. Now they're sat out there watching, waiting for me. I flatten up against the wall so I can squint out the window without being seen. Yes, they're still there. It's not safe here, it's not safe anywhere in the city. I tumble back down the fire-escape taking three rungs at a time, almost screwing my ankle in the process. Slouch low and walk fast until I've put distance between us. They'll be watching the coach station. Rail stations too. They'll have snitches out sniffing for me. Almost by accident, or maybe it's destiny I realise where I am. I hang around as long as I dare, then climb the stairs and knock timidly. It opens inwards. "Hello Paul, guess I've changed my mind about tomorrow." He ushers me in, smiling in a darkly attractive way. "You want to stay?" "Sure, if it's alright. I can sleep on the couch here." "Share my bed, it's better that way. We can... y'know, rehearse the movie together, if you follow me?" "Merci, but I think I'll take the couch if that's alright with you?" He smiles, and prepares coffee and a plate of Madeleine's. Unnervingly, as he smiles, I get a memory flashback of looking down and watching my erection sliding in between those sweetly smiling lips. How do I feel about that? Judging by the reaction in my pants, not in a bad way. I sit down. His apartment is clean and neat in ways that mine never has been. A row of well-read books arranged in alphabetical order by author. Some arty framed prints on the wall, only a few of them vaguely homo-erotic. I take mental notes of the ones worth stealing, if things get really bad. I want to smoke the dope. Hell, I deserve it. But if I get it out I'm going to have to share it with him. Eventually the need overcomes my reluctance and I carefully roll a fat joint. We sit passing it back and forth breathing in the hallucinatory seeds of ecstasy, the evening light falling through the curtains becoming hazy with intoxicating fumes that swirl and dance as my mind slurs delightfully. He has a tousled angel-headed gipsy-poet look, somewhere between a young Marc Bolan and the androgynous Maria Schneider in 'Last Tango In Paris'. He's twenty-three but looks eighteen, and probably always will. Inevitably, I don't use the couch. Against my wildest anticipations we end up on his bed together, although I make sure I keep my pants on. I sleep alright, between nightmares. I wake to find his hand resting on the flat of my stomach. When it creeps down to the elasticated waistband of my shorts, and insinuates beneath I reach down and lazily shove his hand away. He waits a few moments, then tries again. This time his hand slides down the front of my shorts more quickly and I have no time to stop him, until he's holding my cock. It actually feels quite nice, so I let him begin to slowly and sensually masturbate me. Once it becomes apparent that I'm not about to interfere his other hand draws my shorts down and hooks the waistband under my balls so he has greater free access. I lie back as the warm sensations glow from my thighs. Then, before I know what's happening, I feel his mouth on me. I inhale sharply as the sucking begins. Why not? It's been snug in his mouth before, and that felt kinda nice, as I recall. Why make him plead for something you need? A blow-job is a wonderful thing no matter who's doing it. It seems so easy. With girls you gotta build up through a complex courtship, bide your time, be patient and tender until she might, or might not, go down. With Paul there's no complications. He insists on sucking it. So I let him. Perfectly paced, neither too fast or too slow. He only unmouths me once, long enough to shuck off his own pants, then lies down next to me, before returning it to his mouth. The way he's lying it's as though he expects some sixty-nine action. In the twilight I can clearly see his stiff cock inches from my face. It's clean, almost sculpted and, as cocks go, it looks OK. I begrudgingly reach out and encircle it, giving it a few long strokes. The least I can do, considering that he's got me halfway down his throat. I lie still, holding his cock, watching it close up. For no apparent reason I can explain I dip and lick its head. The way he responds, taking me deeper and sucking with excruciating intensity has the desired effect. He's offering quid quo pro. I lie back. Well, why not, there's a technique to this. If you just circle your lips around the crown, just tight enough for him to feel it, but without sucking or tasting, slide your lips up and down, it's like you're doing it without doing it. Hell, I've had chicks do that. It's no big deal. Is it really too much to ask? I tense up, but the way his mouth is working me, and the way the dope is still swimming around the back of my head, I'm not really thinking straight anyway. Cock-Sucker: Weekend Ch. 01 I go in determinedly, holding it an angle towards me, and pause. Am I really doing this? Then my lips circle the knob-head gingerly, barely touching. The response is instantaneous, the way he slurps at me juicily is sensational. I pause with it barely in my mouth, then run up and down its length a few times, take it out and wank it some, wait a calculated pause, then lick its head, and repeat my minimal blow-job technique. Yes, I can do this. But the way his voracious mouth is going I'm not going to last long. I can hear his muffled moan, and feel the sound vibrate his palate against the head of my cock. This turns into a rhythmic grunting sound as he works my cock harder and more furiously. As though he's willing me to come. The energy is building in my scrotum, I circle his glans with my lips just as I feel muscles deep inside me contracting, forcing semen on its way up my cock, as I begin erupting spunk, far from retreating he nuzzles in deeper, sucking lustily and lapping with his tongue, my gasping reaction to the shock of his first heart-stirring swallow so intense that almost accidentally his cock slips deeper into my mouth and I gulp at it. As the tremors recede he just keeps on sucking, I release his cock and wank it. It's obvious he's on the brink. His thigh muscles trembling at my touch. I've never been up close and personal to an ejaculation. His balls expand and contract, his shaft pulses, the eye opens – I turn it away so that the first white spurt sprays up his gut, and I hold the throbbing shaft as it keeps shooting, until it subsides. Watching each stage curiously. I lie back. Close my eyes. My head swimming in an immense lake of calm. Until sleep overtakes me... Then it's morning, some time about whenever. I'm lying on the crumpled bed, feeling grimy and dishevelled. The dawn-light slanting in through the blinds is pleasantly warming. As I slump up I become of aware of the shower hissing. I sit nursing my aching head. At length the shower-stall glass opens and he steps out, making no attempt to cover his nakedness. He smiles in a disconcertingly intimate way. I look away. I've seen more than enough of his dangly-bits to last me, thank you. But I can't help but notice he's using small nail-scissors to trim his pubic-hair, and that he takes an enema in further preparation for the movie. Manicured pubic hair I can accept, but hey, no-one's coming anywhere near my butt-hole! I shower, making careful use of a towel around my waist, as he makes breakfast. Munching croissant I look warily out through his casements. No sign of the bad guys, the Gun-sharks, bullet-monkeys, hit-men from the dark-side of Uranus. Staying over with Paul has effectively evaded Mack the Knife. When you owe money you don't have, there's only one thing to do. Run! Avoid my own 'Last Tango In Paris'. A few days out of the city on this stupid exploit will allow things to cool off. A step-by-step adventure to the next kick. Yeh, I fly by the skin of my teeth, pretty much always. I'm a delinquent misfit living a footloose hit-&-run hipster lifestyle. I've got this urgency inside me, and it's burning hot all the time. Some of us like it hot. But it makes sense to maintain a low profile, for a while. We step outside. There's a morning chill. The faint ghost of a mist that gives the immense sad melancholy Paris morning its unique flavour, all the ancient dust of its history, the generations of lives paced out here in fear and fleeting joy. They had their lives, now it's my turn. This is my moment. And I'm grabbing every part of it. We wend our way down through the scruffy elegance of small shaded squares and tree-lined cobbled inclines where a liquid golden light spills and drowns the valley of alleys so we swim in luminous guilt, to emerge onto the appointed rendezvous spot. The van is already there. A guy who styles himself the director – François, wears Jean-Luc Godard dark-shades, and although his hair is thinning, it's scraped back into a pathetic ponytail over the nape of his neck. Some 45-years old, he obviously fancies himself as a real director. He's glancing impatiently at his big heavy watch, although we are not late. Paul's in conversation with the director. Seems he was expecting someone else. An experienced regular called Jean-Claude who is out of sorts. I'm the stand-in, the last-minute replacement. François is not happy. I take a last hasty suspicious glance around to make sure I'm not being followed, take a deep breath, and climb in beside the film-crew and other 'performers'. As the vehicle pulls away and merges into the traffic-flow, oddly I feel a sense of relief. I'm safe here, no matter what happens. Paul is already getting affectionate with one of the guys. Jacque D'Or has a prominent Gérard Depardieu nose, and – as I was soon to discover, there's truth in the saying that big-nose equals big 'talent' in other anatomical respects! I feel a little self-conscious. Never realised Paul was such a raging faggot. But then again, I'd never really known him all that well. It's just weird circumstances that have thrown us together on this strange adventure. I can deal with it. Whatever happens is bound to be less painful than whatever punishment the Bad Guys would hand out if I stay in Paris. Some considerable time later, way outside the Paris limits, we draw in sharply to a lay-by on the edge of a deep tree-filled valley. "You know, we aren't too sure of your suitability for this movie. I think it's time we saw you in the state of nature." François, the director. I turn to face him and give him the smile his suggestion is worth, which isn't much. "But I was checked out in Paris. They passed me OK." He barks, it couldn't really be described as a laugh. "They might have done, but they're not doing this movie. Paul stays with the car, we go down where I look you over. You no like, you get the hell out now, goodbye." I look at Paul, he shrugs. "Do what he says, what have you got to lose?" I have no choice. We climb out the car and set off down the slope, all my glands charged up with expectations. Once out of sight of the highway and François indicates I should stop, while the other two, Jacque & Pierre go on down the track until I can no longer see them. I breathe a sigh of relief. Perhaps it won't be too bad if only François gets to see me. "Right, let's see you Dear, hurry." What...? Surely he must have seen the photos Mr Jules took? If not, what was the point? Unless Mr Jules is just another devious old perv, and he wanted them for his own personal gay-stash? What the hell, I struggle out of my T-shirt, kick my sandals off, and after only a moment's hesitation, slide my pants down and off, facing him naked, nervously inhaling so my belly is flat, can't allow any suggestion of bulging gut. He studies me appraisingly, his attention fixed unswervingly on my cock. "Shit" he spits derisively, with what sounds to be all the sneer he can get into his tone. "How the hell do they expect me to work with material like this? Make it stiff please." Here we go again, another pervy old guy after cheap thrills. We just passed through a village. There could be someone out jogging, or walking their dog around here. This is nervy. I begin to massage it, the scary images conjured up in my head while I'm doing it are of Paul crouching down there with it in his mouth, even more disturbingly the sexy image soon produces the desired effect. I turn for him to look me over critically, he beckons and more warily, almost timidly I approach him so he can seize me, measuring my penis-length with his cool fingers, squeezing and weighing each testicle in turn, stroking the curve of my buttocks until I relax a little and even find the intimate attention not unpleasant. "Don't get me wrong" he concedes. "It's a perfectly acceptable cock, I'm sure your boyfriends..." "Girlfriends" I correct him. "Whatever, I'm sure they're quite overjoyed with it, and derive much pleasure from it. But the good folk who pay hard cash for my films, they wanna see big, something extra, special, you understand? They expect... I was expecting Jean-Claude, you understand? Me, I've got aspirations, you see. Together we are taking Gay porn to new heights. No, not even Gay porn – I'm not restricting myself, but erotica itself to new heights. The trouble is" he goes on, fondling my cock and balls affectionately, "you have a pretty little cock." I squirm as he squeezes. "Personally, I think it's a perfectly reasonable little cock. And I know there are lots of guys out there who enjoy pretty little cocks like yours. I guess fucking a guy with a pretty like cock like yours is like fucking a very boyish guy – what do you think? Is that true?" Holding my shaft with one hand he runs his fingers lightly across the tip in a way that has me biting my lip with sensations. "The trouble is, on-screen, my clients want size. It may be superficial and shallow, but they want to see big cocks. They want to see cute boys gratefully sucking big cocks, so jaw-breakingly big that their lips strain to get around them. They want to see big cocks going up bottoms, so tight that the boy on the receiving end of them squirms and groans with tension and delight. So you see my problem, don't you?" He moves down to squeeze my balls. "And your problem, stick this dear little thing up a boy's derriere and he'd barely notice, stick it in his mouth and he'd have ample space for another. Insofar as it is a problem, you do want to earn money...?" I nod hastily as he begins wanking up and down. "You want to earn money by being in my film?" Again I nod, more eagerly now so he won't stop. "So you have to be the receiver of cock, not the giver. Your cock is onscreen, of course it is, and it will be hard – like it is now, but they'll see it as you kneel down to suck a guy's big dong. A really big cock – you understand? We got the best, the biggest stunt-cocks in the business. Or they see it as you spread your legs to take a guy's big cock up your rectum... right? All the way up that tight little anal hole of yours." I grunt incoherently. Thinking that, yes, I'm average-size, surely he's overdoing the 'small', it's not that bad, it's never let me down. Hell, it's even reacting beyond expectation now. "I take it you've sucked cock onscreen before? You've been fucked in a movie?" I blush as his fingers circle my cock and squeeze until the knob stands out purple, and I suspect his close scrutiny of my gonads is not entirely down to business. "No, er yes." I'm confused, getting giddy, light-headed, his intimate ministrations having an inevitable effect. "No? – but you do suck cock?" Again I colour as he resumes wanking slowly and lasciviously. I nod quickly. I nod furiously, biting my lip. "Good, nothing worse than a cock-virgin who doesn't know what he's doing. I suppose you have a spunky little boyfriend and you can't wait to get into his pants, and you get naked together, and suck each other dry. I bet you can't get enough of his cock. Do you only do it with friends – or in the line of business?" "Both." This time I can't even be bothered to protest, and I lie. "And you enjoy it?" "Love it." "You eat spunk of course? You take it up the ass?" Again I nod. "But I prefer oral." "Big ones?" I close my eyes and nod. "Whenever I can." "You'll do doubles too. You understand that? One guy so far down your throat he's saying hello to your tonsils, another simultaneously ramming up your arse. You'll take both." He runs the hand that's not holding my balls over the curve of my bare bottom. "So, as delectable as your perky appendage is, this is not up to being the focus of the action. You're gonna be relegated to supporting cast, if you get my drift. Know what I mean?" Then, to my horror, he unzips himself and hooks his stiff cock out. "Let's see what you look like with this in your mouth." "But...." "Look, in the movie you suck what you're told to suck, I have to know how you do it, your expression, your technique. Understand?" He squeezes and releases my cock so it sways and bounces wildly. "Come on, this cock isn't going to suck itself. You do this, or you're off the movie." I look at it. Don't panic. You can do this. Didn't even Marilyn Monroe give casting-couch blow-jobs to make sure she got roles in movies? I can do this like I did Paul, so it doesn't even touch the sides. I approach it warily. With all sense of right and wrong, and all sense of consequences deliberately temporarily suspended. Squatting down, reaching it to take it in my hand low down on the shaft, near the balls, and lower my head onto it. The cock is thick and warm in my mouth as I suck it tentatively once or twice, just for realism's sake. He grunts impatiently, and waits. "This is terrible" he groans. "This is the worst blow-job I've ever had in my life. It's just no good. It's useless. I can't use you. It's over. Thanks, but it's time we split and you went back to Paris." That's what I do not want. That's the last thing I want. Maybe I can do this? After all, you expect girls to do this to you, so why ask them to do something you wouldn't do yourself? Isn't that a bit too genderist? So I crouch there, nude and red-faced with the disgusting fat cock in my slimy fist. "No, let me try it again" I whisper stupidly. "I'll do it better this time you'll see. I'll take it any way you want." I reach out and lick its smooth purple head, with a lustily forced expression of delight, lapping up a glistening bead of pre-come from its single eye like it's some rare and exotic delicacy. 'Mmm, look at me sucking it this time.' I slide the entire round bulbous head into my mouth and suck heartily like a man dying of thirst. My cheeks inverting from the effort of the sucking, which makes a loud and wet squelching noise. As though I'm telling him 'I really (gulp) lurve doing this (slobber) a lot, watch me (slurp), I can take more.' I'm unable to speak anyway as for a long deep-throated moment I sink it into my mouth near down to the balls. Then I'm slobbering, licking and sucking, in and out, up and down, 'Oooo, I love it so much I can't help jacking myself off, it gets me so horny.' "Good boy, good boy" he says. "I think we understand each other, yes?" François groans in a way that suggested the exercise, for him, isn't entirely academic. "Ah, ooh, that's... quite good, a little more tongue on the underside of the glans, that's right, let's see a little more movement of the head, up slightly, now down, no, further down, ooh, that's good... no, little further down, a bit more in, now suck hard so's I can see how your cheeks pulse." It's only some time later, as I raise my head that I realise we have an audience. "What's he like?" Jacque is standing behind us in his y-fronts. I pull back, red-faced, saliva drooling down my chin. François tucks his angry slimy erection back into his fly. "He shows promise, yes, he might be alright." "I found a spot, little way down, by the stream." I try to hide my hard-on rather inadequately with my hand, but feel stupid and try to edge towards my clothes. "It's alright" says François, moving my neat pile of clothes out of reach. "Follow us down there, you won't need clothes. I just wanna try out a few ideas for the movie." I feel uncomfortable and confused, a little exploited – as though I'm being used above and beyond the call of what I could have expected, but I do as he says, walking a little way down the sloping forest path nude, embarrassingly aware of the conspicuous sway of my cock. It's unreasonable to expect this, there could be broken glass or dog-crap on this path. Instead, we arrive at a small glade beside the stream, a secluded place where flower-dotted sward shelves down thick with fern and delicate moss, onto a soft-grass clearing edging into the nodding green spears of water-reeds. Pierre stands waiting – also down to his y-fronts. We join him. Jacque & Pierre are standing close, watching developments with close interest. "Whaddya think of him boys?" says François. They both stare critically at my groin. "I've seen better. What's he suck like?" "Does it adequately with me" admits François. "With a little persuasion, once he gets used to the idea, in a one-to-one situation, without an audience." He looks thoughtful for a moment, then turns to me. "Get down there with Jacque and Pierre and we'll run through a scene from the movie." "Good" says Jacque as I pace the few steps down to face him. "What's the story-line?" I venture. François laughs as Jacque skins his y-fronts down. "The plot is, you get your mouth fucked, dear." I gulp. I've already sucked François – surely he doesn't expect more? But obediently I slouch down into a crouch. Jacque is naked from the toes up, nothing but a big twelve-tooth grin and evidence that my earlier suspicion was correct. Big nose, big cock. My heart sinks. It's big. Bigger than François. Even soft, even not telescoped to its full height, it's much bigger than his is at max. My eyes fixate on that heavy club of flesh, laced with veins, sinuous and thick curving from his hips hovering obscenely in the air, a big lazy arc of fat dick hanging in my face. The foreskin tight and pulled back to show a little circle of dark skin at the head. I see dribbling pre-cum. He's not even fully aroused, what will that feel like inside me when it is? The thought nearly makes me faint. Am I expected to perform sex acts on THAT...? He must be joking...! A bead of sweat oozes its way down my thighs, coursing its way through the hairs on my legs. I glance at François, he nods at me, and it is an instruction. I have no choice, I can smell it's stale sex-scent, but to refuse will be to be kicked off the movie, and I can't do that. He stands over me, arrogant in his muscle-corded confidence. An exhibitionist tendency. Proud. So I open my mouth and hood the disgusting object, a quick suck or two and the ordeal will be over. I suck the hard shaft and feel it begin to swell and pulse up against the roof of my mouth. "No, no, no" from François. I release it so it springs up wetly, fully erect now. "Is THIS how you suck off your favourite boyfriend? Is that how you suck Paul's cute cock? This is a MOVIE, you have to do it visual. Look at that cock – see how big and juicy it is, there's nothing in the world you want more than to suck it, right? You can't wait to get it into your greedy little sewer of a gob. I was led to believe you were good at fellatio, obviously I was misinformed. I guess we'll have to call the whole thing off." I've come too far, done too much to back down now. I steel myself. He's standing over me. It's hung an inch from my face. I glance at François. Glance up at Jacque. Swallow hard and focus my attention on it. Follow your instinct. Move your head forward and down onto it, lick around the head, pull the foreskin back over the slimy head with one hand. Grip his big balls with the other hand. Now, open your mouth, take the head fully in between your lips again. Swallow as much of it as you can. Start wanking him with your mouth as you feel it rapidly pumping to its fullest state of erection. "Now, I wanna see you twisting your head around so I can see that cock bulging the side of your cheek out of shape. Yes, that's much better, dear." It must look as though I've got a bad case of the mumps. Jacque runs his fingers wonderingly over my distorted cheek, as though he can't really believe he's responsible for such a sizeable bump. I wonder if he can feel those fingers on his glans, through the stretched tissue of my face? "Now I'd like you to try something different. Just hold your head still and allow him to fuck your face, no other contact than mouth and cock, OK? No, no, not like that Jacque, here I'll show you..." Cock-Sucker: Weekend Ch. 01 And François crosses the copse lowering his pants as he does so. Jacque extracts juicily from my mouth and François takes his place. "Don't move" he tells me. "Let me do the work this time." He levels his stiff cock and slides it into my mouth. Then he stands with his hands on his hips and begins to fuck in and out. "Mmm, that's nice, isn't it? looks good onscreen too... ah, now you try that Jacque." Again the switch, and Jacque is back in my mouth, his lower jaw thrust out in concentration, his thick lips slightly parted, greedy and sensual, his eyes hard and selfish. He fucks in and out, in and out with a ludicrous grin on his face, and his big heavy balls swaying like a pendulum banging rhythmically on my spit-messy chin. It's going 'schlock-schlock-squelchity-schlock' as I brace myself to receive each thrust, my lips gripping on tight to its sleek pistoning shaft. "Good Jacque, now slower, slowly slide it in as far as you can." He goes in deep, then deeper and nearly chokes me. I gag and draw back coughing as the cock wetly dangles on my nose. "Not so good was it? You're going to have to work on learning to take it deep. People wanna see it going in deep. You must TRY." "I'm sorry" I manage, wiping hair and saliva from my face. "Sorry's not alright, nowhere near alright, I know it's difficult at first. You need practice. Now I want to see how you handle two cocks. Pierre, can we use you – and naked please?" I breathe more easily, more grateful for the respite than afraid or reluctant to participate further. Pierre and Jacque are both nude, both heavily erect, François indicating they should stand either side of me. The director toys abstractly with his own erection through his open fly as he does so. While still maintaining that both Paul and I are respectably-hung, I begin to appreciate François' point about respective penis-dimensions, by comparison, these guys are intimidatingly freakishly huge. Like they're deformed. Surely their abnormal anatomical proportions determines there can be no other career open to them than Porn? Both cocks are now scarily leveling my face and it occurs to me that I'm now expected to suck Pierre too. I shrug inwardly, I've sucked two of them, one more hardly makes a difference. "Now, I'd like you to take one in each hand, hold them in close to your face... closer, closer, so they almost touch, that's it. Now give Pierre a quick suck, no no no no, a little more enthusiasm! Do it PROPERLY for fuck's sake. Suck that fucking dick like you mean it. Better. Now switch and suck Jacques – THAT'S better. You like Jacque don't you, you greedy little fucker? You love that big throbbing shaft in your gob, don't you? But let's not show favouritism, do it to Pierre now, the same way, deep and luscious, lots of slippery tongue action, lots of suction, THAT'S IT, play with his gonads like you can't wait for the cream, like you wanna squeeze all that lovely spunk up out of them and into your throat. Suck, suck that big fat cock." A pause as I suck. "Now Jacque again – no, quicker, you've no time to breathe between cocks, just stuff 'em in. Part your legs now so we can see how stiff your pretty little cock is, so we can see your balls move, and your arse, that's it. C'mon, suck Pierre now, you shouldn't need telling goddamit. Hold both knobs together so you can lick and slobber them both together. Can you get your lips around both knobs at one? Sure you can, sure you can, force them in, stretch that mouth, C'mon – you're not trying. Jacque, Pierre, help the little cock-sucker, hold his head, HARD, now force 'em in. Stop wriggling you bastard. There, that's great, that's beautiful – real gobful of cocks, a little more? That's it, you have a real talent for this, don't you. Right, let him get used to it lads, let him get a good dirty-taste, make him suck on 'em for a while, enjoy it." François is leaping around, here and there, coming in so close I feel his breath on my bare skin, making a little square frame viewfinder by lacing his fingers together and squinting through them at the point the cocks enter my mouth, lining up imaginary shots. I can't move my head because my mouth is impaled, but I glimpse him from the corner of my eye. "Believe me, mes enfants. This is not what I was intended for. I have the blood of Jean Cocteau, Luis Buñuel and Georges Méliès in my veins – metaphorically speaking. I'm going to do great things. Some use cheap digital. I've got proper up-market kit, a gaffer, post-production editing software. But I need financial backing, so first I make my mark doing this. This is what gets me noticed – so it's gotta be good! Right – now for spunk-shots. Sucking cocks is one thing, but eating spunk's another. You like the taste, eh? The more the better. I know your type, can't get enough, a real jism-guzzler I'll be bound – but we must make certain." "Why don't we just let nature take its course?" suggests Jacque. "The way my cock's squeezed in here I'm gonna shoot off any moment anyway, and together we'll drown the little fucker in spunk." He nudges his hips forward, fucking my mouth with a moist squelching sound. "Feel that boy? It's all for you." But Pierre is already pulling free. "No, we have to make sure he takes it up the ass too, don't we?" "Good point" concedes François thoughtfully. I pull back in fear. "No, sorry, I don't do anal. I've NEVER done anal." I feel so naked, vulnerable and humiliated already. Surely they don't expect me to do that too! In a moment François is on his feet and there, and he HITS me sharply across the face with the back of his hand. "You fucking little queer, you've been nothing but trouble from the start. You want to do this fucking movie? You want to earn this money?" I was confused and afraid, my face stinging where he'd hit me. My mouth foul with the taste of cock. I was cold. Jacque stands a little way off, angling his still-stiff cock downwards, grinning broadly as he pisses a stream of thick yellow urine onto the moist grass. "We don't use a stunt-man for the movie you know? For a suck scene you suck cock. For a come-shot you EAT spunk. For an ass-fuck you get REAL HARD cock up your tight little bottom, like it or not, and it goes all the way in until you squeal. You want this job? OK? – let me think, for this scene I see Jacque lying on his back, you crouch on all fours and gorge your pretty mouth on his cock until he comes while Pierre fucks your precious pretty little butt. You don't want to do this job? OK – we call it all off. Now, we go. You do what you fuckin' want to. Starve or eat shit for all I care." Jacque shakes droplets from his cock ostentatiously and lies on the grass on his back. Miserably I go down on him. A droplet of urine glistens on his purple glans. I'm past caring. I suck it all deep. Me – usually so in control in sexual situations, and I'm being used and abused like some dumbly unresisting sex-object. Why? I've become so numbed and fuzzy-brained it's like my obedience to his dirty-talk has become almost a conditioned response. My continued and increasing arousal showing undeniable evidence of physical responses. They are laughing. There are hands on my hips, positioning me, bottom raised, legs slightly parted so my genitals dangle and sway. I close my eyes and concentrate on sucking Jacque. Despite my earlier protestations to Paul, I don't resist, I just wait. There's intimate pressure at my rectum, slight pain. A voice says "C'mon, loosen up, your ass is so tight it's vacuum sealed." I force myself to do as he says, there's a grunting, an odd slithering sensation and heat forcing my bottom open. I groan around the cock in my mouth. A bizarre unreal sensation as I'm penetrated inch by inch. It triggers an uncontrollable orgasm. My cock begins to lurch. When I come its as forceful as a kick in the balls, almost painful in its intensity, I jet it out in three long spurts as though I'm pissing it, shooting long gooey strands across my stomach, after which it just keeps dribbling out. If I'd not been supported, spindled on two cocks, I'd have fallen in a quivering heap on the grass. "Think you've found his prostate g-spot in there" chortles François enthusiastically. "Nice, nice. Now make like you're enjoying it." I'd never felt so totally helpless in my life, so utterly at the mercy of other men, penetrated as I am from both ends, my legs splayed so my own fiercely aroused genitals sway exposed and trembling at each indignity, messy and dripping emission. I suck and slobber, holding onto Jacque's cock by its saliva-slimed base so I don't lose oral grip on it, while Pierre begins his fucking motion, sliding in and out. I can feel his balls slapping up against me at his deepest thrust, and my own free-dangling cock is bobbing lewdly, bouncing and slapping up against my gut at the force of his rhythmic impact on my bottom. Then, before I know what's happening my mouth is full of spunk, awash with it and I'm near-gagging as more hot jets of it hit the back of my throat. Jacque is grunting and laughing at the same time as he pumps semen into my mouth, and I'm taking it so sweet and docile. "No, no" from François. "I know you young queers can't get enough of gobbling that white joy-juice stuff, I understand that, but visual, make it visual. The spunk goes on your face – get it? And once it's there, you don't wipe it. Let the lens linger. Let the voyeuristic hoohads enjoy their jack-off looking." My head is spinning with disgust, confusion and – yes, excitement too. Pierre pulls free from my bottom, and the sudden force of it wrenching out sets my own cock bobbing. Jacque pulls my head up off him and together they manipulate me around onto my back, I'm still dribbling from my own emissions as Pierre kneels over my face and begins rubbing his fat cock around my already-spermy lips and cheeks. By now I know what's expected of me, and I'm too broken-in to care, my tongue is out lapping at it, it slides into my mouth, then out around my nose and eyes then back in deep, then out to hang one inch from my nose. I lift my head to lick at its underside and he's on the brink of coming. It's as though time slows to a crawl, and freezes. In a silent void I can see every detail in slow-mo as it happens. It's like a living thing. The way it trembles, lifts slightly, seems to swell, the bulging piss-hole opening like an eager mouth, almost as though it winks knowingly at me, arrogant, like an obese eel flexing, poised, on the brink, a slight moist dribbling ooze that precedes what is to come, long seconds of eternity tick by, then the first gushing rain of spunk erupts across my face. White fluid that spins and arcs onto me, my nose, across my parted lips, my teeth and tongue. A second jet closes my right eye, gumming it shut, slithering wetly down my cheek. A third jet directly into my mouth. Then more. When he's finished he slides it slowly back into my mouth, and with passive acceptance I suck at the spermy penis until it's clean. Its cloying taste clogging up my mouth. Eventually, after what seems like a very long time, he withdraws and both men stand up, glancing across at François for his approval. My mouth is awash with semen. I swallow. My face is swimming with it, dribbling and oozing over me. I press my finger against the side of my nose, and snort. A blob of spunk spurts from my blocked left nostril. My stomach and genitals are crawling with the cooling of my own sperm, more of it trickling down my leg. My ordeal is over. I feel strangely calm. I lie still on the damp grass. Waiting. Almost beyond caring. The three men are talking in a tight group, dressing and laughing, turning every now and then to point at me. "There's something special about shagging in the open air" opines François. "We should do it more. The whole primal back-to-nature thing. Today, you were like two Satyrs taking a fawn, like in the old mythologies, you know?" "I don't care where we shag" says Pierre. "Just so long as we shag." He rubs his crotch grotesquely and they laugh. Eventually François crosses to me. "Get up Dear." I rise slowly, as though I can't trust my legs, wiping my face with the back of my hand. "You've done the screen-test, and you did fine. I was dubious, I'll level with you. Jean-Claude is better-hung and his fellatio is to die for, believe me, I know. And I had my doubts about you. But you'll be OK when we do it for real. You enjoyed it, didn't you? The penis is a strange animal. Some things you can't fake, like that hard-on as you got yourself fucked – you liked that, I can tell. And coming off like that was a nice touch." He reaches down to fondle my softening cock. Stupidly I feel embarrassed, even after what's just happened to me. "Y'know what makes me crazy, what gets me every time? Watching porn-clips where the guy can't even be arsed to get a real hard-on, where it's dangling uselessly half-hung semi-limp while they pretend that oo-ah, it's SO Hard stuff. It's fake, a turn-off for the voyeur watching, and his lack of arousal is a total insult to the best endeavors of his co-performers. It's inept and sad. The very least you can do is compliment your co-star with a good stiff hard-on to show you're turned on. In my films you will never see a limp cock. You weren't faking. You were into it. I like that. I can use that." He begins tugging me by my cock, and I can do nothing else but follow. "Wait, my clothes François, let me get my clothes." "Leave them, Pierre will carry them for you. You don't need clothes for what you're gonna be doing." Followed by Pierre and Jacque, and towing me reluctantly by his firm grip, François leads the way up out of the dell. I try to resist, mumbling 'no, no, no' beneath my breath, holding back as long as I can until the discomfort becomes painful and I have to stumble up the slope. The road is ahead. "No, François, please." I try co cover my red and inflamed genitals with my hands. François turns on me, holding me tight by the cock, his expression stern. "Look, this is for your benefit, you must learn to obey directions without question. You must do as you're told without argument or shyness – OK? And you must learn to regard your body as a sex object. You've got a decent cock and an accommodating little bottom, men like those cute-as-a-button things, you must get used to being looked at and desired. You just need intensive one-to-one tuition, I'll help you with that. No need to say 'thank you' now. In the meantime, be proud of your sexuality, flaunt it. Do that, and we've got ourselves a movie. Now, I want you to walk to the car and get in as you are without any more stupidity." I swallow hard. "Yes François." He releases me so my cock quivers and sways, a little more than half-erect. He leads the way, and this time I follow without protest, resigned to what I must do. I emerge through the low scrub just as a Citroen hurtles past. I feel the wind of its passing on my bare skin. Our car is where we'd left it on the verge. The carriageway is otherwise clear. I pace across the stretch of grass, forcing myself to do it as slowly as I dare. François watches my progress with a smile, his arms folded. I reach the car. Pierre and Jacque are already inside. They gesture me to circle the vehicle and enter from the far side. I can see Paul inside, he smiles encouragingly. I shrug and do as they want, stepping out into the road, bare feet slapping on the tarmac, dangling balls knock-knocking up against my inside leg, until I can climb in beside Paul who immediately puts his arm around me, holding me to him supportively. "What did they do to you?" he hisses. François slings himself in behind the wheel. "Tell him, in detail." A look of furtive shame. A hangdog expression of shifty denial. "I sucked their cocks" I confess. He grins delightedly. "All three of them?" "All three" I reply. He looks pointedly down at my groin. "Looks like you enjoyed it too." I colour slightly. "Well, I came off too, if that's what you mean." I look up, meet his eyes, and suddenly we're both laughing uncontrollably. He drapes a coat around my shoulders as the car pulls out and gains speed down the winding road. My body still trembles with after-shocks, but my mind is clearing. I start rationalizing it through. What does this crazy scene make me? Hey – I'm a free spirit, an adventurer, a ducker and diver. I'm the fly-guy, aren't I, living on the edge of wisdom and foolishness, belief and incredulity, the best and worst? That gives me license to transgress further. To try out the dark side, to taste from the forbidden devil's cup. Or something very like that. So, put this incident down to experience, to expanding the horizons of the possible, opening up the range of human responses. A new drug. A new game. Open your mind. Feed your head. If I'm slightly messed up, out of my comfort zone, that's OK too, it'll pass. Otherwise, how can you condemn what you've never tried. Well – I've tried it. Boy, have I tried it. As the aching pulse deep in my bottom keeps reminding me. (There's more to come in 'Weekend: Part Two') By Tristan Trotsky Cock-Sucker: Weekend Ch. 02 Bearing No Relationship To The Jean-Luc Godard Film Of The Same Name... When we arrive at the Chateau, it takes my breath away. It's an amazing place of turrets and ivy-framed balconies, set in its own private grounds, like something from an exotic tourist brochure. Once there, Paul and I spend most of the time naked, obviously because that's the required state for the films, but also because it's part of the agreement with the ageing wheelchair-bound Comte who owns the place. He's an aged cadaver with effete pince-nez glasses, a deep-green velvet jacket and cravat, and his obsequious manservant Raphe in constant attendance. The benefit of opening up his property for our use, for him, is that he gets to see attractive boys in the state of nature. At François' urging me and Paul approach the Comte to thank him for the use of the chateau. Naturally, we must do it naked. The old man drools with delight as we stoop over him so he can take our cocks into his hands, one in each wrinkled arthritic hand. I fear it'll bring on a heart-attack at any moment. "You are both such healthy boys" he rasps, making 'healthy' sound like something disgusting, as his withered claws squeeze and fondle our firm young flesh. "Fifty years ago I'd be rogering you both, wouldn't I Raphe?" His manservant nods dutifully. "Certainly sir, no young ostler or pretty serving boy was safe from you in those days." I wonder momentarily what dubious services Raphe is performing for his ancient master these days, apart from pushing his wheelchair, and shudder at the thought. Later, as the crew set up the cameras, François takes me into a private side-room for the 'intense one-to-one tuition' he'd promised. "You like Paul?" he begins conversationally. "Sure I like Paul." "You like having sex with Paul?" I shrug. "I guess so." "You see, I've given this some thought, Dear. He's a poppet, a slip of a thing, and he's popular. They all like being paired with Paul on film. He's prettily-hung, but he guarantees good reliable sex. From the feedback we get, the jack-off junkies who buy and download the end-product, they like him too. With some experience, with some practice, I think you could be like him, yes?" He shoves me a couple of capsules. "Here, take these, they'll give you a firmer and more long-lasting erection." "I never have problems with that." "I've noticed, Dear, take them anyway." I gulp them down. "Now, on your knees and open wide, you're ready for my advanced blow-job class" he says, shrugging his pants down. "Be my guest choke yourself on it." I simply do as he says. He looks down as I tongue his glans. "Hmmm" with a critical edge, as it eases its way between my lips. "You'll have to lose some of your curly locks. Either that, or you pull it back into a pony-tail." I've taken half its length now, and begin sucking. "When the viewers see stiff cock plunging into your mouth, they want a full uninterrupted view of the cock, the whole cock and nothing but the cock. They don't want their sightlines spoiled by random strands of hair. Right?" I mumble approval as best I can, before spending a full hour with his cock in my mouth in various positions and from a variety of angles, on my knees, on my back, crouched, on all fours, as he instructs and encourages my blow-job technique this way, that way, deeper, pausing only long enough for him to regain control with breathing exercises, before beginning again. It's as though the episode in the glade was a deliberate desensitising process, because once you've interacted with specific cocks, it's easier to do it the second time. And the time after that. By now I'm at ease being naked with other guys. Maybe it's part of my extrovert self emerging? And, amazing to say, it's no longer terrible having a thick cock pulsing in my mouth. It's just something I do. I'm just adding a few new skills to my sexual repertoire, and that's always useful. "You're all the same" comments François as my head bobs up and down in his groin. "You protest 'Oh no, I'm not gay, oh no, I could never do that, I could never do gay sex.'" He waves his arms in an effeminate way, and caricatures his voice into a campy high-pitched bitch affectation. "Then, when you get a cock in your mouth, you just can't get enough of it. Admit it." I make an indecipherable gurgling noise in the depths of my throat. "Well Dear, just think of that lonely sex-starved porn-using guy. When he logs on to watch you sucking cock, he's fingering his hungry hard-on as he's watching you on-screen. Think of him, you've got to work for him, make him imagine that you're on your knees between his legs, that there's nothing you want to do more in the entire world than to get his cock in your mouth and give it the sucking of his life. That's it, crouch with your legs splayed so the camera can focus on your excited cock, so it can see the way it bobs as your head goes up and down, that's it. Now take it deep... ugh, I realise when you're doing this fun-stuff with your boyfriend you just take it deep then do lots of intimate tongue-stuff, but the camera can't see that, so on-film you take it deep, then slowly pull back, bit by bit, not all the way, leave the glans in your mouth, but just so they can perv in and see just how much you're taking, so it makes them gasp, then slide it all the way back in. Looking into the lens. Make it personal, for him, the viewer..." "No hands, just mouth and cock, nothing to interrupt the sightlines. Make little pleasured noises to show you love doing it. Wriggle your bum so your cock and balls sway and jiggle, c'mon, squirm for me boy, let's see those bollocks bounce. The trick is to make him feel that you're giving him the blow-job, that you're performing on him, so it gets him off. You're the slut-guy gone bad, the answer to his dirtiest dreams and fantasies. You want his spunk in your throat. And don't make it seem too easy. You're enjoying this, but you're enjoying it because his cock is so big that you're having to strain, it's a little too big for comfort, but that's how you like it... right? And when that pervy porn-using guy spunks-off he has to believe it's your mouth tight around his cock, slurping it down greedily. That guy, and all the others. You're sucking a hundred guys, maybe more, they're all coming in your mouth. That's the way it is... If they like the online taster, they'll use their credit-card to download the whole movie." His words have an undeniably arousing effect. It gets easier. After a full twenty-minutes with the same cock permanently in my mouth, sliding back and forth, all the way into my gullet, then back until just the slimy glans is inside me, but never for a moment leaving the warm cavity of my mouth, I gain confidence. It's snug, warm and familiarised. It's dribbling wet with my saliva. It's no longer strange or unnatural. It's familiar, intimate. That's what this is all about, familiarising me with it, breaking down my resistance – what little resistance I have left. Bizarre to think with what trepidation I'd reacted to Paul's first sexual approaches in his apartment so recently, yet here I am, so soon afterwards, taking cock like a seasoned Gay Porn professional. Perhaps I really do have an aptitude for these skin-games? But judging by the persistent strength of François' erection, by the force of the copious river of hot fluid he ejaculates across my up-turned face, and by the way he gets me to lick and suck his spermy glans clean, I've a suspicion François gains more from the session than I do. "You know Dear" he says conversationally as I lick the last gooey white blobs from the tip of his wilting cock. "I'll let you into a trade secret that few know. Since the very origins of porn film – not just gay-film but straight as well, when the guy can't muster up enough spunk for the final money-shot, when he can't make it look good, they use egg-white, spattering it onto the face of the up-turned cock-sucker as though it's a rich deluge of fresh sperm." He laughs conspiratorially. "Porn-viewers like to see a generous amount of spunk, you know. And raw egg-white makes a convincing substitute. But I'll level with you. The team we've got here, I've never had to resort to that. With Pierre and Jacque, when they cum, they shoot copious amounts, as you've found out. No problem there. Jean-Claude too, his ejaculations are endless, a wonder and a joy to behold. You know, in many ways, you're lucky to be a part of this project..." I emerge in a hot fug of arousal with a slightly-bruised lower lip. Paul is waiting for me, with a sympathetic and encouraging smile. "François gives each newbie some intense oral tuition. We've all benefited from his personal attentions" he tells me. Then he comically adds "Dirty Perv" in a way that makes me laugh out loud. By now the equipment is set up and the crew are ready. I'm nervous. But once begun, the filming goes ahead in a blurry fug of highly-sexed bodily arousal. Details merge into one another confusingly. I remember Jacque's rigid cock on my mouth, his wrinkled-foreskin sleeve pulled back, and Pierre's cock up my ass, then the other way around. The more it goes on the more it effects me, the more my body reacts to it, the more I want. But after the initiation I'd endured on the journey here, with Pierre and Jacque in the glade by the stream, I was physically and psychologically prepared for anything. The fluttering butterflies in my gut drowned by the spunk I've inadvertently swallowed. At odd moments I look up and catch a vision of the old Comte and Raphe, his manservant, sitting in a corner watching it all going on, a curious expression on his face midway between longing and regret, memories and yearning. Then we watch the playback rushes at the end shooting, and I can't believe what I'm seeing. Did I do that? Did I really do that? Yes, it's undeniably there on screen. During a lull in filming that afternoon, still nude but free of their lecherous attentions, Paul and I sit together laughing. When he offers to trim my pubic hair I stand and allow him to. "When did you...? Y'know, start doing this?" I ask him as he holds my cock to one side to snip stray strands. "I've been gay since before I knew there was a word for it" he smiles openly, kissing the tip of my glans prettily. "Sometimes I think there was a homosexual agenda at Grand Ecole, where we showered together after games. The big-cocked boys swaggering and showing off. The small-cocked boys hiding behind their towels. The rest of us just taking notes, eyeballing each other's genital set-up, compare and contrast, thinking 'yes, I like that one, oh – not so sure about that one, and ah, that one's really scary.' The master knowingly watches us going into the shower-stall limp, and coming out perky after the furtive tweaks and fondles. He must have been aware what was going on. I soon had a crush on a dishy boy a year older than me, I'd have done anything for him. Once he found out, he took advantage of that, and had me doing pretty much everything for him, sexually, if you know what I mean? Did he fancy me? I doubt it, he just took advantage of my infatuation to get his cock regularly sucked. I was only too happy to oblige. Crouching down with his luscious cock halfway down my gullet I considered myself the luckiest boy in school. Believe me, no-one loves cock more than an infatuated gay-boy." "Later, a family friend, Uncle Vanya had a gité in Normandy near to a naturist beach. I'd stay with him for long weekends, we'd exercise nude, bathe nude, then each evening we'd fuck. I loved every minute of it, couldn't get enough. I could tell you more, I might tell you, if there's time, later. How we watched and rated the bare bottoms on the beach. How his 'friend' stayed over with us, and they took turns tossing me off, competing to see who could make me come first. Stuff like that. I sometimes think my mother knew, that she'd intuited my orientation, and wanted me to be sexually guided by a trusted and reliable friend, that if I was going to be out there doing it, she'd rather I was out there doing it with someone she knew to be safe, although she might not have realised quite how rigorously he pursued my erotic education. Or how enthusiastically I responded. My mother was always so caring and solicitous upon my return, 'was I alright? had I enjoyed myself?' 'It was wonderful' I always told her, truthfully, my bottom still tingling, the taste of his come still in my mouth." "And you've been with lots of guys since...?" "I've had my share, why? Are you jealous of the thought of me with other men?" I turn away confused. "No, of course not, I just wondered...?" "Are you fishing for flattery? What is it you want me to say exactly? You want me to say you're special, that you're the best? Well, it's true that I like you, and I enjoy having sex with you, I look forward to doing more stuff together... is that alright? Is that enough for you, at least for now?" He seems to enjoy my blustering. I'm not even sure of myself anymore. Looking down I admire his handiwork, yes, my pubic bush does look tidy, kind-of strange and oddly arousing. He smiles at me, and I smile back. --- 0 --- Meanwhile, with rest and recuperation periods, the filming continues. We do four short movies during the weekend, two on the Saturday, two on the Sunday. Before each new shooting begins François slips us the pills. We purge, and massage lubricants into each other's anal orifices. When Paul's close attention to my bum becomes a little too intimate François slaps his hand away with the rebuke "save that for the cameras": FILM 1: An antique pocket-watch shows 12:00. Close-up of Jacque's engorged cock sliding up my tender bottom. He fucks me in the shade of a copse of trees. Watch-face shows 1:00. Close-up of Jacque's cock sliding into my bum, my face contorts. He fucks me over the bonnet of a veteran car parked in the chateau grounds. Watch-face shows 2:00. Close-up of Jacque's cock up my arse on the backseat of the car, parked in the garage. He fucks me doggy-style, my own-hanging cock and balls swaying with each anal thrust. Watch-face shows 3:00. We're nude in the bedroom, sprawled across the bed. I'm feeling him up. He indicates for me to turn over so he can fuck me. I lean down to kiss his cock. "My bottom's sore" I lick his glans. "Can't I suck you off instead this time?" He hits me across the face and I cower away. "What the fuck's it got to do with you? You do what I tell you to do, right?" He hits me again. "Yes sir, I'm sorry sir" I whimper, and obediently crouch with my bottom up. He fucks me hard and ejaculates over the curves of my rump, then sits on the coverlets to wipe his cock with my hair as I lick his balls. "You disobedient slut" he says and hits me across the face as I'm sucking his balls. "I'm sorry" I whisper. "I won't question your will again. I'll do whatever you say." "But your insolence demands punishment, does it not?" "Yes, I deserve punishment." "So open your mouth..." Watch-face shows 4:00. I'm nude on the bed alone, self-indulgently masturbating, legs writhing together, body undulating. Outside the bedroom door, Pierre gives Jacque some money, Paul stands slightly behind them, he's obviously Pierre's 'boy', as I am Jacque's. They're costumed in Edwardian garb to match the chateau's lavish décor. The door opens. The three enter. I cover my genitals in obvious shocked surprise. Jacque's hard glance at me is an obvious reprimand, so in camera close-up I move my hands away from my quivering erection. "These gentlemen will use you in whichever way they please. You will obey them." I lie back compliantly, "Yes master." I watch as they undress. Nude, Pierre stands beside the bed and I crouch to suck him. He indicates Paul to stand beside him, and tugs my head around so I suck him too. Inked in his groin, around the base of his cock are the words 'I Am Property'. I hold a cock in each hand and transfer my sucks from one to the other, holding them together so I can take both at once. Meanwhile, Jacque arranges a pile of cushions, then undresses himself, pulls me away and arranges me on my back, thighs raised on the cushions, legs splayed. He moistens a finger and slides it up my anus, then beckons Pierre who crouches in between my legs and slides his cock up my bum. Paul straddles my chest and shoves his cock deep into my mouth, and fucks my face. Jacque wanks me and himself in long slow strokes. Pierre extracts from my bum, and Paul takes his place. Pierre and Jacque crouch at either side of my head and direct each other's cocks into my face. I suck them alternately, then together. Then Jacque uses my bum as Pierre and Paul use my face. Eventually Pierre lies on his back and I straddle his thighs and impale myself onto his cock, sliding up and down on it. Jacque and Paul stands on either side so they can stick their cocks into my face, so I suck them. Then I'm on all fours with Jacque up my bottom and Pierre and Paul in my face. Finally, I lie on my back, Jacque sits on my chest, his cock in my face while Pierre and Paul crouch close at either side, in turn I suck all three until they ejaculate into my open mouth, I swallow and lick and suck them clean. "Well?" demands Jacque. "Thank you Master" I simper, my face streaked by three loads of dribbling cum. "Will there be anything more?" I lick his glans in the final close-up. FILM 2: No dialogue in this one. It opens with Paul and I dressed as unlikely schoolboys on a cross-country run. I pause in a copse of trees, pull my shorts down and begin to piss into the bushes. There's a close-up of my cock, and of Paul eagerly watching me as a mystery voyeur in the bushes also ogles, he pulls a stiff uncircumcised cock out of his grey coveralls and begins to wank in long strokes. Paul circles close in behind me, reaches around me to hold my balls in one hand, and the shaft of my cock with the other, playing my piss-stream in waving patterns as he flexes my cock this way and that. We both snigger. There's a close-up of the voyeur's copious ejaculation spurting and dribbling into the grass as I pull my shorts back up. Later, in the changing room, Paul and I get nude, with lots of slow shots of our bare rounded bottoms. In the shower we push and frolic, play-wrestle, our stiff cocks rubbing up against each other, our touch becoming increasingly erotic. We fondle each other's cock and balls. He gets me to kneel down and rubs his cock over my lips. I lick it curiously, as though I've not done anything like it before. I lick around his glans slowly, give it a quick suck, then stand up. He kneels down and sucks me all the way in, clear down to my balls. I show lots of surprised ecstasy on my face as he sucks, his head bobbing up and down the length of my shaft. Then, with water still raining down on us, I go back down on him and suck experimentally, but with increasing fervour and energy. Suddenly, the Teacher is there (Pierre in mortar-board and black cape). I turn my head just as Paul cums, spunking down the side of my face. The angry Teacher orders us out, flexing his cane. We stand, hands by our sides as he lectures us, spunk tricking down the side of my face and drooling in long strands from my chin. Then he orders us to touch our toes – still nude, as he swings his cane. There are lascivious close-ups of our two roundly-presented bottoms as he canes us. For authenticity's sake each stroke is stingingly painful, each wince making our stiff cocks flip and jerk, for despite having just cum Paul is still hard and firm. The mystery Janitor (Jacque) watches our punishment-ordeal from concealment, and unable to control himself he pulls out his cock and begins to wank again. There's another close-up of the cane striking our bare bottoms, leaving red painful marks, causing Paul to sniffle piteously. Cock-Sucker: Weekend Ch. 02 Compassionately, the Teacher (Pierre) cautiously examines the welts on our buttocks, his fingers tracing the soft curves to the cleavage between. He produces some Vaseline and rubs it leisurely into the wounds as we both still bend over to receive his intimate attentions. He rubs both bottoms, then inserts a lubricated finger into each puckered anus. Expressions of surprise and pleasure flicker across our faces as we exchange mischievous grins and squirm our penetrated hips delightfully. He finger-fucks in and out as we move responsively. Eventually he indicates us to stand up. He sits down so he can examine our cocks, taking one in each hand, cupping and fondling our balls. He kisses our cocks in turn, sucks one, then the other, holds them together so he can suck both as we arch our backs and groan appreciatively. At the same moment the Janitor (Jacque) emerges behind us, poised like the comic-villain from a silent movie, brandishing his erection and wanking furiously at the sight of the Teacher sucking both cocks. At first the Teacher shies away with a shocked expression, until I reach out and seize the Janitor's cock firmly, just below the wicked glans, and everyone smiles. The two men hurriedly undress and a series of short sequences follow (a) the nude Janitor and Teacher stand side-by-side while us two boys crouch and suck them in long slurpy mouthfuls, (b) the Janitor sits, I bend down to suck him as the Teacher fucks my bottom, Paul stands close enough for the seated Janitor to reach out and wank him, (c) Paul lies on his back sucking the Janitor who stands over his head, while I bend over to suck Paul, my hips raised so the Teacher can fuck my bottom. The Teacher withdraws from my bottom and we move around so I can transfer and suck the Teacher, then go back to sucking Paul as the Teacher relocates his cock back into my cutely-pursed bottom, (d) I lie on my back with Teacher and Janitor separately and jointly in my mouth, while Paul bends over to suck me. The Teacher moves around to fuck Paul's bottom as he simultaneously wanks me. I ejaculate across my own stomach. Paul wanks as he's being fucked, so he spurts over my cock and stomach. The Teacher withdraws from Paul and puts his cock back into my mouth, as with loud grunts and groans the Janitor and Teacher ejaculate over my face and into my open mouth as I lick and slobber at their erupting cocks. Paul licks white blobby strands of our spunk from where it's pooling on my stomach. A brief final sequence shows the Teacher marking our report cards. We both get 'A+'. FILM 3: Opens with a shot of an online job-recruitment ad for 'Two Corporate Cum-Sluts'. Then cuts to Paul and I entering the house, obviously applying for the positions. We're wearing 'Tom of Finland' Gay Cowboy T-shirts and jeans. As we climb the staircase Paul watches the exaggerated sway-movement of my bottom, he smiles at me, and as we near the top he reaches out and caresses the crotch of my pants. He pulls the zip down. I wear no undershorts. As my pants fall away to my ankles he seizes my hard-on and caresses it affectionately. As he feels me up I unfasten his belt, his pants fall to the floor and he steps out of them. We're standing in conscious imitation of the two Gay Cowboys posed on our T-shirts, cocks almost touching. Then he's one step beneath me, his total attention fixed on my groin. Later, watching the replay, it's obvious that the desire on his face is not faked. As he squeezes my cock a silvery bead of moisture oozes from the tip. In an improvised action he uses his finger to carefully wipe it away, retrieving it, and lifting it to his mouth. He tongues the glistening pre-cum away, and licks his lips. He seems about to reach forward and kiss my cock when I indicate the time on my wristwatch. Sulkily he releases his hold on me. Then I pace down the corridor, bare-arsed, cock and balls teasingly glimpsed swaying beneath my T-shirt. He follows me crawling on all fours like a sinuous panther, his lips parted forming a suggestively open 'O'. The camera follows the curve of his cutely-wiggling bottom, down to the winking mouth of his anus, and on down between his legs to his dangling balls and his erection flipping and jiggling as he crawls. We enter a small office. A smartly-dressed business-man (Jacque) sits behind a desk keying a computer. We sit down on two leather swivel-chairs facing the desk. Paul reaches out into my groin and begins leisurely wanking me, I do the same to him, but Jacque consistently ignores us and keeps his attention fixed on the computer-screen. Paul nudges me and points at Jacque. I snigger, and now it's my turn to get down on all fours onto the carpet, and crawl under the desk. My bare bottom protrudes from the underside of the desk as I wriggle in between Jacque's parted legs, and draw his fly down. I extract his meaty stiff uncircumcised cock and lick carefully around the glans, my bottom wiggles as I suck his cock into my mouth as far as I can. My head rides up and down in his groin. The door behind us opens and a second smartly-dressed business-man (Pierre) enters carrying a clipboard. He sees what's happening, and watches open-mouthed with shock. Paul kneels down before him, unzips his pants and tugs them down, his heavy erection swaying out between his shirt-tails. Paul sucks it into his mouth. The double-sucking continues in lurid close-up. Eventually Jacque pulls me up off his cock by the hair and we stand up. As I emerge from under the desk, I shrug off my T-shirt and bend down forward over the desk naked. Jacque parts my legs and nudges his glistening cock into my anus and slides it in slowly. Simultaneously Paul unmouths Pierre's cock and stands up, pulls Pierre across to the desk by his saliva-wet cock and guides it into my mouth. Paul pulls off his T-shirt, and once nude he moves around to the other side of the desk to lie backwards across it adjacent to where Jacque is fucking me. Without even pulling out of my bottom Jacque moves backwards, pulling me up off Pierre's cock by my hair so that I'm partially lifted up from the desk, allowing Paul to shuffle across and in beneath me so he can reach my stiff cock with his mouth. Once we're positioned Jacque propels me forward and lowers me back down so that my cock slides forward into Paul's throat and I continue down towards his groin, taking his cock, so that we're now in the sixty-nine position, mutually sucking each other. Pierre moves around to take advantage of Paul's close proximity. Raises his legs up to target his bum. I'm so close I can see the full length of his mighty cock feeding into the tight orifice. Pierre fucks Paul, as Jacque fucks my bottom, and we suck each other, four bodied writhing and squirming together, fully interlocked. The copulating choreography, all worked out and directed by François, continues until the spunking-off begins. I rear my head back sufficiently so the camera can pick up every detail of Paul's jism spurting up into my mouth, as I withdraw sufficiently from his mouth so that my spurts splash across his upturned face. Finally, as Pierre ejaculates across Paul's bum cheeks, and Jacque does the same over mine, he turns the computer screen around so that the viewer can see what he was paying such close attention to in the first place. It is explicit Gay Porn. Fade. FILM 4: I'm strolling through a copse of trees, maybe a public park. Paul is walking the other way. We smile at each other. He looks down at the bulge in the groin of my tight jeans. I return his attention. He licks his lips suggestively. We glance around, no-one is there. Hand in hand we move into a more sheltered clearing. I pull my pants down and off, he does the same. We feel each other up, then I get down on my knees and suck his cock. There are close-ups of me sucking him, my pursed lips comfortably enveloping his proud stiffness. At that moment two policemen (Pierre and Jacque) suddenly appear. They hustle us away – still trouserless, and handcuff our wrists behind us. They thrust us into the back of a van, with close-ups of our dangling balls and swaying cocks as we climb in. Jacque climbs in with us. We both crouch there, as though scared. Jacque sits on a low fore-bench. I smile appealingly up at him. He brandishes his baton and stirs my genitals with it, I bite my lip approvingly. He uses the stick to stir Paul's cock and balls, he smiles and licks his lips. Jacque sneers. "Filthy little queers. Let's see what you do to each other. Come on, do it for me." We squirm around to each other, I glance flirtily up at Jacque, then dip my head into Paul's groin and begin sucking him, lying back so he can do the same to me. We writhe together in an indulgent sixty-nine. Jacque watches open-mouthed, wiping sweat from his brow as we mutually slurp at each other. He goes to the van door, looks out this way and that, closes the door, unbuckles his pants and drops them to the floor, then sits down splay-legged before us, indicates his fat cock with his baton in an obvious direct order. I release Paul's damply swaying cock and shuffle forward, reaching up to suck the head of Jacque's cock. Paul shuffles around and begins to suck his balls, then we both lick his cock and take turns to suck it. He holds our heads in place directing who does what. There are close-ups of me, mouthful of cock, eye-to-eye with Paul who waits his turn, then me watching as it slides deep into his receptive mouth. Unexpectedly, Pierre enters the van behind us, to be confronted by the sight of our two bobbing bare bottoms, as both of our heads are buried in his companion's spread groin, Jacque's eyes closed in erotic bliss. For a moment Pierre watches, then he closes the door, removes his own pants, moistens his stiff cock with saliva and slides it into my arse. There's a close-up of my wide-eyed expression of shocked surprise around a mouthful of cock. Then Pierre extracts and fucks into Paul's bottom while Paul sucks Jacque. I watch, my own cock twitching, as Paul is debauched from both ends. Pierre reaches out to release our handcuffs. I bob my hand in under Paul's gut and seize his dangling cock, wanking it energetically. Pierre pulls out of Paul's bottom, and I immediately twist around so that, squatting on all fours, I can take Pierre's cock in my mouth. Jacque pulls out of Paul's mouth and slides into my bottom. Paul goes down and sucks my cock. After a while we all disengage. They lie on their backs on the floor, we crouch over them, rumps in the air. I suck Pierre. Paul sucks Jacque. Then we switch. Jacque ejaculates messily into my open mouth until it dribbles down my chin. Pierre does the same with Paul. The 'policemen' then dress and release us. We walk away hand in hand, still minus our pants. I look flirtily at Paul, he looks at me suggestively. We hurry back into the same clearing as before, fall down together, and eagerly begin to sixty-nine... I've watched plenty of Porn. What guy can honestly claim he hasn't? But I've never really watched Gay Porn before. Watching these play-backs later it's obvious that, although they're cheaply exploitative, there's more than the usual level of invention and imagination taking place, plus a modicum of humour too. Despite my assumed air of bored cynicism, I must admit François' direction and the subsequent editing is mildly impressive. In addition, although I'm a participant, the distancing gives the action an unmistakably arousing effect. In fact, I can't deny I'm getting turned on, by watching myself in a series of very compromising situations. How strange and disturbing is that...? --- 0 --- During a break in the filming Paul and I, still nude, take the opportunity of exploring the upper floors, pacing like naughty inquisitive schoolboys along the richly-carpeted corridors where oil-paintings of ancestors hang regarding us critically, or lustfully. I find myself absently watching Paul padding up ahead of me, lingering over the shape of his elegant polished limbs, slender and finely knit, alive with suppleness, the way the muscles in the cheeks of his bare derrière move, feeling a pleasurable thrill of anticipation at the thought of having sex with him again. Catching myself scarily... what's happening to me? All of this gayness is affecting me. It's getting to me. Warily, Paul nudges an ornate gilt bedroom door ajar, it's empty beyond, so we steal into a plush boudoir of soaring ceiling and Venetian mirrors. It seems to me there's a lengthy tradition of aristocratic homosexuality in the chateau. There are lavish paintings hung on the wall, in the classical style, but with a pronounced subtext of predominant male nudity, a wistful tousle-haired naked shepherd-boy leaning on his crook watching the muscled toilers straining in the field with homo-erotic longing. Formations of rather well-developed cupids frolicking playfully-entwined in arcadian floral bowers, arranged within kissing distance of each other's perky blush-pink pego's. A pastoral riverbank with a rickety jetty and the cutely-dimpled bottoms of skinny-dipping boys bathing in the shallows, their coyly down-turned penes untouched by pubic hair. Beautifully-muscled well-proportioned naked olympians running in ancient Grecian settings. Are those two glistening athletes really involved in the healthy manly sport of wrestling, or is it a pre-copulatory tussle to establish who fucks who? It's difficult to tell. It's a wonder the family managed to survive long enough to breed a dynasty with such a persistent gender-orientation. I can't help but wonder what scenes of pederastic debauchery this bedroom has seen over the years. If those pictures could talk, what scandalous tales would they tell? Of when the now-ancient Comte was younger, rogering young ostlers or pretty serving boys, bending them over this bed. And his predecessors in their time. "Gay culture is so single-mindedly cock-centred, to the exclusion of everything else" I point out. Paul smiles beguilingly. "Yes, wonderful isn't it." There's an inlaid dressing-table with rows of small drawers which I begin sliding open and poking around inside. Third one down there's a selection of jewel-cases. Flipping the first one open there's an expensive-looking antique diamond ring. I slide it onto my index finger. It fits. It stays. Must be worth a considerable amount. "So are you... are you cool with these movies?" "I get paid to have sex with three well-hung guys" he shrugs. "What's not to like? What most people don't realise, and daren't admit, is that lots of guys like doing Gay porn – even straight guys. After all, think about it, it's a window of opportunity to play out all of those dark sexual fantasies you were always too scared to confess to, or too self-conscious to accept. To answer those troubling bi-curious questions, in a controlled non-threatening guilt-free way. You can reason that you're not doing this through choice, you're only doing what François, the director dictates. Me, I don't need excuses. I don't need any convoluted reasoning. The only motivation I need is there, between your legs. For me, as a special bonus, I get to have sex with you. So yes, I'm more than happy with it." I glance across. Paul stands beside the bed, wearing a petulantly perplexed expression – and nothing else, his hand rests on his hip in a casually camp way, gifting me a view of the smooth hemispheres of his bare derriere, as round as the moon, giving me the full benefit of its swell, and its cleft like the world's most perfect nectarine. Some might say he looks exceedingly appetising, as tasty as one of the sybarites in the paintings. "But what about the anal stuff?" "As Uncle Vanya told me, as he buggered me, it doesn't make sense to say that to use the anus sexually is unnatural. To say that, because the anus is designed for defecation disqualifies it as a sex organ, is like saying because you piss from your penis that is disqualified too. He said I have a self-lubricating rectum, like a vagina. I don't know, maybe he's right. I've never experienced any discomfort." Maybe it's the effect of the capsules François had given me – although I think not, or a bi-curious impulse fired by his words, but I get a sudden urge to play-wrestle him down onto the eiderdown and fuck him. Something nervy and muscle-tightening creeping up from my gut, prompted by that familiar prickly-pleasing urging in the groin. Unsettled by this illogical surge – the first time I'd ever felt so blatant a desire for another guy, that heady adrenaline-rush. But as Oscar Wilde says 'the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden itself.' I skirt around the bed towards him, he seems to sense my intention and half-turns towards me, smiling beguilingly. "By the glint in your eye, sir, I fear you are about to ravish me. And me too weak to be anything other than compliant." He holds his hands out before him. I press my hands up against his hands, palm to palm, fingers lacing into each other, and I apply a little pressure, easing him gently back so that he's sitting on the edge of the bed. Then press him back further, his legs are splayed wide, so as we fall together, I find myself lying between them, our genitals pleasantly crushed together. I can feel his nakedness, his smooth hairless chest. We lie for a moment. Under stress or excitement I can see the blood coursing olive in his face. Then his hand moves down, his slim cool fingers find my cock, squeezes it gently and relocates it down, levering it between his legs to target the opening. I'm breathing like I've been running. He's still lubricated and dilated from the most recent filming, and my glans sockets easily into the mouth of the tight constriction. For a moment we lie still. He's gazing directly into my eyes. He undulates his hips lasciviously, urging me further in. It only needs the slightest pressure to slide deeper, then a little more, so easily until it's all the way in. He exhales sharply, for a moment his eyes close and his head arches back, his mouth tightening into a thin line of concentration. It feels peculiar, strangely exciting. I draw partway back, he's smiling flirtatiously up at me now, a teasing inviting smile. I could get to like this, he tightens his anal muscles, clasping me tighter, and flexes, I can't help but glide in again, cleaving like a silk torpedo. His arms come up around me, holding the cheeks of my bare arse, drawing me in. "You know" he whispers. "This is what I've always wanted. All that time ago at college when you never so much as noticed me and I was too shy to speak to you, this is what I wanted, to have your cock inside me. To be honest, you were the object of several vivid and very explicit masturbatory fantasies." "I wish I'd known, back then, I was aching to get my cock sucked." "Don't worry. Your cock was getting well-sucked every night, in my wank-fantasies." I laugh softly and begin to fuck him. He's moaning with pleasure, rolling his head on the bed-covers as the pace of my rhythm speeds up, driven by a mounting urgency in my groin. The bedsprings are creaking so I'm certain someone will hear and know what we're doing, but no longer care. I'm conscious of his erection bouncing up between us, the lolloping movement of his tight testicles. This is sex on fire, fierce and fast, and over too quickly. Soon, with the sex-bug crawling down my spine, I'm jerking and groaning out my orgasm, rammed deep up into his pulsing gut. As though someone thumbed the hot-button in every arsenal on the planet, and every thermonuclear warhead was simultaneously detonating at the tip of my cock. It was that powerful. Feeling the breath shuddering through his body in response. I collapse onto him weak and drained, and we lie together. I'm aware of the sticky wet pool of his ejaculation, where he's come, with his slippery-moist cock crushed up between us. It feels good, a pleasing slithery wetness. Cock-Sucker: Weekend Ch. 02 I make a move to withdraw, but his hands, tight-circling my buttocks, restrain me. "No, leave it in, it feels so nice, I like to feel it there." His eyes moist and gleaming. I relax, my cock still buried inside him. This calm togetherness is amazingly good. I close my eyes, more fully un-tense now than I've been for many months. It's like I've soaked his twitchy energies in through the pores of my skin. A little voice inside my head goes on and on telling me how he's incubated the Gay-toxins that are now coursing freely through my skin like some new kind of drug, from sated cock all the way to the pleasure-pathway neurotransmitters of my mind. And I'm grateful for it. This is about as good as it's ever got. Eventually he reluctantly allows me to draw back. Extracting slowly. From where I crouch above him I can see through a gabled alcove window looking out over the quadrangle courtyard. My attention momentarily snags. What? Wiping myself as I stumble to my feet I snatch a gaze out across the grounds. There, on the gravel is the car we arrived in. There's another car, the antique one we'd used in one of the movies, belonging to the chateau itself. But there's a third car too. Men are talking in deep conversation. What's going on now? There's François, with Mr Jules from Paris. What's he doing here? But even more frightening is the other men they're engaged with. One is definitely Mack the Knife – a short overweight slob in a slouch hat, and the others are his goons! My whole objective in being here is to escape their prying and probably injurious attentions. My heart leaps into my throat, my heart beating like a Paris Metro train. How have they tracked me? My mind racing. On that first occasion, when I'd met Paul in the Bistro, he wrote down Mr Jules' address on a napkin. I'd taken that napkin with me. What happened to it? I must have dropped it in my haste to get out of my ransacked room. That was it. They'd found it there, followed the leads. And now they're here, after my hide. Shit! Is there still time to escape...? Some back entrance out into the rear grounds, and the woods beyond? Leaving Paul baffled and confused, I start my stealthy way down the curving staircase towards where I can skirt the entrance hall out through into the kitchens... when the door explodes inwards, and there stands Mack the Knife with two of his bullet-boys. My stomach drops a long long way. Paul watches from the top of the staircase, tarrying uncertainly, not sure what's going on. But a beaming François is there too. "Ah, dear boy, excellent" he gushes as he pushes his way towards me. Hand on my shoulder he guides me into the lounge. Mack and his heavies follow us. He sits me down in plush upholstery. They're all fully clothed. I'm the only one naked. They seem to enjoy my self-conscious nervousness. "This is wonderful, wonderful" gloats François rubbing his hands in glee. "What's wonderful, I fail to see anything wonderful here?" I pout unhappily. "This gentleman from Paris is the answer to our prayers, dear boy. He's seen what we're doing here, and he approves. He's explained to me in detail how he sees commercial potential. So he's agreed to financially sponsor the films we've done, and several more. This is what I've always wanted. This is our big chance. Oh, our films are going to be so wonderful. For you, I understand, there's a certain debt involved? Well – he's prepared to accept your total and future earnings in exchange for repayment. So there are no losers... isn't that wonderful?" I glance from him, to Mack – who nods sternly, and back again. Yes, I guess. This lets me off the hook. I should be relieved. I am, temporarily relieved. There'll be no violence. Limbs will stay intact. I'll escape the beating. But I do all these gay movies, suck all this cock, get my bum multiply fucked... and come away with nothing! Except my life. My freedom. Does that equation add up? Is that right? Is that morally justified? I shrug. I can work out all the implications later. For the moment at least, I can breathe. A month later and I'm still living with Paul. We are still a duo, penciled-in for further movies together with François. He promises that the elusive Jean-Claude will be involved in the next shoot. Although in the clear and certain knowledge this means I'll be fucked orally and anally by a man I only know by reputation, I feel only intrigued anticipation at the prospect. And why not? Mack the Knife showed me the balance-sheet, I still owe him two movies, so it seems I've waved the straight-life goodbye, at least for now. We share Paul's flat, and his bed. It's almost like a romance. Except it's not a romance. He helped me out of a jam, from that first moment when he approached me outside the Bistro. Now, as a result, I've never been involved in so sexualized a relationship, the more cock I feed him, the more appreciative he is. I've never been so sexually satisfied. His Uncle Vanya was entirely correct, he has the most amazing self-lubricating arse, as I've discovered on a number of subsequent occasions. And I've always enjoyed a blow-job, what healthy adult male doesn't? Paul does it better than just about anyone else I know, and if that means I'm obliged to reciprocate every now and then, I'm more than content to settle for that. Until something else comes along. And if I need finance in a hurry, I've got an antique diamond ring on my index finger that must be worth lots... BY TRISTAN TROTSKY