Cock-Sucker - Testimony Ch. 04

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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