Cock-Sucker - Testimony Ch. 04

"He's OK, he'll do" says Wolfie.

It's almost at that moment I orgasm, pumping my spunk out in long jets across the floor. Moments later, when he finally ejaculates into my mouth I feel overjoyed, my mind yelling 'yes, yes, spurt it into me, yes, gulp, again, again, more, fill my mouth, I can take it, gimmie more, slurp, gulp, gulp.' I was vindicated. I'd proved myself. Swallowing it down sets my mind at ease, I have the warm reassurance of his spunk in my gut. I was safe. This cock is my property. No-one else gets to suck it off like I do, I've earned the right. From now on I'm keeping it regularly well-sucked, I'll keep him so drained of spunk he'll have none left to feed to anyone else. I'm almost laughing inside at my cunning, my cleverness. But I'm still scared to stand up. Shy of seeing the other guy. So I stay down with his cock in my mouth for as long as I can. Until he shoves my head away. My knees are sore from crouching. The other guy, whoever he was, has gone.

wipe my mouth, forcing myself to speak. "Thanks Wolfie, I really love it when you cum in my mouth," steeling myself to say the words, even though I'd said much the same to Dean.

He laughs, not too cruelly. "Wipe up your dirt before you go."

I smile with a kind of defiant pride, pulling my pants back up slowly so he has every opportunity to notice I'm still erect, and wiping my pool of sperm up with a grubby handkerchief as he watches. I breathe easy as he walks away.

Everything that has happened occurred within a stratified structure that I understand, and feel protected by. To me, I've effectively been relieved of the complexity of choice. I no longer have the troubling responsibility of making decisions, I've surrendered all of that to him. Which has the result of leaving me liberated. Life is simpler. There's something reassuring about the regimented life of having everything planned out for you. Choice and decisions are no longer my concern. He does all that for me. No part of what I do is down to me. I wasn't doing it for me. Nothing I was doing was due to my nature or to my taste. I was not to blame. I was doing what I had to do to survive. He's taken over those aspects of my life, and I was reconciled to it. I'd become totally biddable. I'd become numbed - like 'Roderick Random', I'd lost the will to escape, forgotten everything else, and obediently accept my new role.

If I'd once naively imagined that Ian's lurid tales of the humiliation of 'Frenchie' had been exaggerated, then here I am, submitting to exactly the same treatment without qualm. Will I ever be talked about like the legendary Frenchie? Once I've left here will they talk about my erotic exploits in the same hushed tones that they use to talk about Frenchie? There was the story about when his protector was strapped for cash, he sat Frenchie in the end cubicle of the toilets - the one still referred to as Frenchie's throne, and then charged a queue of guys 50p each to go in one at a time for a blow-job suck-athon. When the queue was done the Protector went out into the corridor and the day-room to harass and intimidate others to go down and use him. When some seem reluctant he haggles, reduces the fee down to 30p, then 20p.

Some say he placed a paper-bag over Frenchie's head to protect his anonymity, with just eye-holes and a mouth-hole for access, but that after a while the lower part of the bag got so sodden with spunk and drool that it disintegrated. I listen with fascinated horror and contrived grimaces of disgust. How much cash did the protector need to raise? How many 50p's was that? Could I believe that such tales are true, or even that Frenchie had existed beyond urban legend? But there's no legend without some kind of substance. Legends don't always lie. This place is full of intrigue and untold stories, secrets never to be whispered, of fear and humiliation, loneliness and unlikely friendships, perverted delights, excess, and maybe even love.

It would be wonderful to be in a position to tell them all. But they will remain silent, all but mine. Can I become a similar legend? I guess this manuscript makes that possibility more likely. Meanwhile, my imagination takes me to increasingly outrageous places. And, in fact, it's the only way to escape these confining walls, if only for brief intense moments of fantasy. I've always enjoyed a rich world of daydreams, as the fact I'm even writing this stuff down surely indicates. But now it's taking a more sexually-charged, more focused form. Sometimes stupid stuff of the Roderick Random porno-variety, or else conjecturing what I'll do once I'm out of this madhouse.

New scenarios I've never envisaged before. My mind idly moving into new realms of possibilities. New tomorrows. Developing what I'm doing here, into the future, only with rich older men instead of 'protectors'. As though this is more than just an obscene necessity forced on me by the intolerable situation I find myself having to deal with, but more a vocationary training, a preparation for a future way of life. Sometimes involving Ian, sometimes not. Or else just me, contriving to meet up with some wealthy indulgent gay guy, who appreciates what I can do for him. He provides the open wallet, I provide the open mouth for his dick. A mutually beneficial arrangement.

And we sail away together on his yacht. Away from here. Away from this relentless drabness. With me as his kept man, his toy-boy, his boy-toy, his sex-toy, his fun-bunny, sunbathing nude on deck for the prurient benefit of my generous benefactor, as he gratefully watches me. My pale and scrawny body healing, nourishing, reinvigorating and re-energising, a slow-tan bringing colour back to my limbs after these long months of cruel incarceration. I deserve it.

Close my eyes, I can feel the warm sun caressing the sprawled contours of my bare body, hear the lapping of waves up against the ship. I'd scarcely need to bother with clothes at all, giving him leisurely head as we cruise the Med. Maybe, at his instruction, having sex with his guests too, one by one in his private cabin when he berths at Monte Carlo to host extravagant parties. I can do that. I'll be so good I'll make him proud. After the things that have happened to me here, it'll present no problem. After the things that have happened to me here, it'll be too easy. My life here is a rehearsal. All I need is the connection. Uncomfortably aware that in this route to escapism I'm now thinking of sex as a negotiable commodity. A life-style...

*****

Look Out For The Next Chapter -

Cock-Sucker - Testimony Ch. 05: Bryan

by

Tristan Trotsky