Cock-Sucker - Testimony Ch. 05

I don't envy them. But by then I'd moved on too, and was bonded to Bryan, who was everything that I need. I'd noticed him before, during my final weeks with Wolfie. His interest in me was obviously sexual, but he seems different, and his interest was immediately and enthusiastically reciprocated. When the opportunity arose, we seem to gravitate together naturally, almost as though it was planned, preconceived, as though it was destiny.

As a low-risk trustee, he has his own room, with his own collection of dog-eared and well-read books, mostly Beat poetry and counter-culture literature. He was in for possessing cannabis, a cultured bohemian who talks to me in ways that Dean had not. On a supportive human level, warm and encouraging. But there was an unspoken understanding about what I was there to do. We share a mutual interest in carnal pleasure. No two ways about it, we both know full well what was going to happen. But after all the weirdness I'd been through, I couldn't believe my luck in even being here with him. As shy and nervous as a virgin on a first date, so anxious to please him it was pathetic, I was all fingers and thumbs in my eagerness to get naked when the time is right, hampered by my erection entangled up in my underpants, tearing the worn material in my haste to get free of them, quickly -- before he has chance to change his mind about allowing me the opportunity to suck him off. Before he has chance to dismiss me with a 'Dig you later'.

By contrast, he undresses stylishly, in no hurry, folding his clothes carefully, then lounges back as decadent as some Roman emperor. The instant focus of my attention, his cock lolling as big as Wolfie's, a beautifully formed piece of human anatomy, thick, but no foreskin, which is fine, I was over my fixation with them. The blue ridge of a pronounced sperm-duct running the length of the underside, like a long line of joy leading to its fat plum head.

He put me at my ease, telling me "You don't have to do anything you don't really want to do."

"But I do want to" I insist. "I do."

And boy -- do I, his consideration only makes me want it even more! At that moment there's nothing I'd ever wanted more than to get that cock into my mouth, lavish it with succulent attention, and slake myself on the gush of sperm I could conjur like thick milkshake through a flesh straw. But he makes no further move. And I was hesitant.

Stupidly I pointed to it and say "May I?"

He smiles in a way that has some parts of me melting, and another stiffening. "Please do, I was kinda hoping you would."

And when I avail myself of the invitation, it's as good as I'd expected it to be, only more so. Sinking my bare bottom down onto the bed beside him, leaning over him, dipping in to gorge myself on him. I kiss the base of his cock and then align its angle down slightly so it's pointing directly toward my mouth. I kiss the tip, pressing my pursed lips lightly over the cock-head, allowing it to slowly slide in as if by natural gravitation, savouring the delicious sensation of my mouth slipping right over the edge of his corona and clamping down on the smooth foreskin shaft beneath. The taste of him floods me, I swallow and begin a gentle sucking motion, suck-suck-suck, then firmer and faster, suck-suck-suckity-suck, hearing the moist slurp escaping my drooling lips as I sink it further into my throat. All the while I'm leisurely pulling myself off to the same rhythm. I have to keep reminding myself that this is not for my benefit, that nothing is certain, this is just as much an audition as the three guys I'd gone with before Wolfie.

He settles back into a more comfortable slouch, my head going with him, affixed mouth-to-cock. When our eyes meet, he's smiling down at me over the undulations of his smooth stomach. He's watching and noting each detail as I demonstrate my cock-sucking expertise. My tongue darting here and there, circling and teasing. My fingers cosseting his fat sperm-filled testicles. With our penile blood-pressure mutually increasing towards its successful, if moist, culmination, I have to ensure it's as good for him as it is rewarding for me.

"You know what's going to happen now, I'm going to cum off in your mouth. If that's not what you want then I very strongly advise you to stop and desist what you're doing pretty damn soon."

I've never been shown the courtesy of being offered the choice before, but there's nothing in the world that could induce me to stop now. Caressing his richly-hung balls in a smoothing upstroke motion, applying the slightest pressure, gently persuading those millions of sperms upwards towards me, intent on not missing a single one of them. I force my face in closer to his warm belly, feeling the voluptuous sensation of his cock clenching in my throat, and holding it there. Moaning with pleasure as his ejaculation begins spewing into my mouth, my eyes closing as I suck that spurting cock-head wantonly. The spasm after spasm of pulsing semen seems to go on for an eternity, my mouth pressing in tight on the shaft, encouraging his complete pleasure, as exquisite sensations radiate out through my body.

We stay joined cock and mouth for as long as I dare, bathing his cock in a mouthful of warm jism as the semen flooding my mouth soaks my senses. My hands around his thighs, holding us together, as it stirs against my palette with an occasional post-climax throb. This is always one of my favorite parts of sucking cock. Then I swallow it all smoothly.

"Was that alright? Is that the way you like it? Tell me," I manage to say afterwards, as I lift my head from his groin anxiously, scarcely daring to meet his eyes.

"You did fine, don't worry. You have a real natural talent for it."

I smile with relief. Can't believe my luck. He thought I was talented -- me? talented! I duck down again to kiss its messy tip in pure gratitude, bending to retrieve a clear pearly semen-drop swelling from its gaping eye, an act that also serves to conceal from him the relief on my face. Would that I had a chameleon's flycatcher tongue, capable of extending and coiling around it to sip my sperm-bubble reward without such evasion. I linger there.

"Why do you always get naked just to give a blow-job?" he asks gently.

"I don't always, but it's more like an act of total submission when you are, isn't it? Anyway, it tends to get messy down there, for me too, as well as for the guy I'm doing, so it makes practical sense too" I argue.

"So you always cum when you suck someone off?"

"I guess so" I concede warily.

"That's interesting. It's like, in 'Deep Throat' Linda Lovelace was supposed to have her clitoris located in her throat. It seems you've got something similar, sensitive erectile-tissue located down there in your esophagus maybe, an orgasm-trigger that turns you on. That's interesting, and good. A rare talent."

Previously I've always felt uneasy about being complimented for my blow-job skills in this way. Always thinking, is he taking the piss? After all, sucking cock is usually considered a dubious act for a guy to perform at best. But because the praise comes from Bryan, I was smugly pleased.

After that first time, there was regular sex between us. I make sure there is always sex, that's the vital and basic part of the new deal, but I was happy to do it with Bryan. It was consensual, more so than it had ever been with Dean, or with Wolfie. This was more than just a convenient contract or a pragmatic transaction, it was a relationship. And I luxuriate in the nights when I can lie with him, nude and grateful. Being with Bryan strengthens me more than anything else. We talk a lot. His natural charm ensured he's had lovers of every gender and persuasion, and he regales me with outrageous tales of his adventures 'outside'. How he'd worked his way from being abused and used, to being the user. He seems to me to be supernaturally cool, in a magnetically attractive way, like some superior being beamed-in from a UFO, from the great cosmic unknown.

He taught me stuff, and in return I show him what I've written. He was interested to read the things I'd written about Ian -- who he instantly names the 'Artful Todger'. Of course he knows Ian, how could he not? It's a small enclosed world, word gets around. Later he admits they've talked at some length, and even already had sex. But the things I'd written about Ian were new to him. So I nervously suggest bringing Ian around to Bryan's room too.

Once I've broached the subject with Ian -- to a positive response, it takes very little time indeed before we are all three of us together. It doesn't require much more to encourage us out of our clothes, and then we're lounging naked on the bed together.

Flirtatiously Ian is first to go down on us alternately, his lips slithering gluttonously down the length of Bryan's shaft. At first I feel a slight twinge of jealousy watching him murmuring little moans of approval as he sucks Bryan -- that cock is mine, it should be me sucking it. I feel a momentary isolation, exclusion. Hadn't Ian told me the story of the exclusive bond shared by Lee and Adam in the potting shed? It had never been like that for me and Ian. Never. I know all the delicious details of his encounters with other guys, as he knows all about mine.

But knowing is one thing. Seeing it consummated so close is something else entirely. Seeing that beautiful prick juicily disappearing into his familiar maw is unsettling, but then he's transferring his wet mouth to me, sucking my cock, then dipping from one to the other, and then back again. And it feels warmly OK again.

Now it's my turn to be the centre of their attentions. Feeling warm and indulged, I crouch on all fours, legs invitingly apart, as they take turns to use my raised bottom. And oh, it feels so good. First Ian eases his cock through my tight anal sphincter, and slides it deeply all the way in, then -- when he extracts, Bryan slithers solid, hot and exciting up into me. Holding his cock buried balls-deep inside me as he reaches around to finger my straining cock, wanking it in long lascivious strokes.

Then he's fucking me in regular thrusts that have me groaning and squirming in pleasure. Until Ian replaces him in me again -- and he's pulsing spunk in throbbing bursts, and then Bryan until he orgasms too, while I shoot off uncontrollably into Ian's gobbling mouth. Unlike the way it had been with Wolfie, to have their semen mingling together in my rectum seems entirely natural. I was hungry for them. Our three naked bodies lying together, licking sour cooling perspiration from bare skin, from nipple, buttock, and testicle, tasting Ian's saliva on Bryan's cock, is the most intense thing I've ever experienced, leaving me totally sated and fulfilled physically and emotionally, until I begin sobbing, crying out all the fear, pain, and uncertainty in my life.

Being together becomes a regular thing, so much so that we no longer need to seek solace in the laundry basement. Ian shows me his latest sketch. Three dark figures in slouch hats and long coats, titled 'The Untouchables'. Next to them, three smiling naked figures embracing each other -- with our names beneath, and the title 'The Highly Touchables'. In Bryan's room we have everything we need, or have ever needed.

We return to the laundry room one last time. It is still warm and humid. White pipes, and hints of steam. A foetal sense of comforting enclosure. I get a strange emotional tug, I'd felt secure here. A place to escape into and feel safe. I'd seldom felt that way about anyplace. I might never again. From now on, things will never be quite the same. A new phase starting. Something lost, and something gained...

This is my story, and it's not one for the faint-hearted. Because there's just one more disturbing note. Buzz was due for release, and on his last day he sought me out. There was something he had to tell me. Something he felt that I should know. I was wary, but he seems genuine, sincere, and he's got nothing to gain and nothing to lose. I follow him.

On the way we pass a young guy I recognise as Wolfie's new possession. He's hurrying determinedly in the opposite direction, a serious expression, maybe stressed, looking neither left or right, looking clear through me. I imagine where he's going, in fact I know where he's going, and what he's going to do when he gets there. He's got the 'summons'. He's on his way to crouch down and get his mouth filled with cock. I get a momentary sting of jealousy. That had once been me. Those days have gone, forever. And hey, one more time with Wolfie might not be such a bad thing?

But I was with Buzz. He takes me to the locker room where I'd once blown him. What does he expect -- a repeat performance? A once-more for old time's same? Sorry, I only do that for... or at the discretion of, the right guy, and anyway -- hasn't he got Simon to do that kind of thing for him? Doesn't Simon suck his cock? But instead, he confides in low earnest tones that I have been the victim of an elaborate conspiracy.

"Your friend Ian is the biggest pimp on the block. He cynically monitors all the likely new inmates for their potential, the vulnerable new young flesh, then eases them into their roles, their dependence. You. Simon next. There are probably others."

According to Buzz, I was being duped, and he felt sorry for me, perhaps he even regretted the brief part he'd played in it. I'd been targeted and manipulated from that first night when Dean had 'broken me in', in preparation for Ian to skilfully erode my resistance further, making it all seem reasonable and acceptable, soothing and smoothing the process, then passing me on to Wolfie who ensured my unquestioning compliance was taken to the limits. They were working together. So that finally, with Bryan, I was grateful to do things, and pathetically eager to perform acts that I'd have found abhorrent just nine months earlier.

I'd been set up, groomed, used, conditioned in ways that would continue into the future. So that I would even be exploited by Bryan later, in the outside world. I'd be no more than a Rent Boy, with Bryan acting as my Pimp, lining up guys for me. There was one final revelation which he intended to confirm his story. The 'older guy' that Ian had been living with before they'd both wound up here in the 'Big House', the 'older guy charged with possessing dope and living off immoral earnings', don't you see? It had been Bryan...

I close my eyes and pretend not to hear, as I consider what he's telling me. Some of the elements seem almost plausible, certain parts of it are undeniably true. I had been 'acclimatised' to doing stuff. Hadn't Ian once said 'some guys just take to cock-fun, and some never do, no matter what'? Hadn't he told me how he'd recognised my 'potential' from my first day here, how he'd sensed it, smelled it on me? Had he suggested as much to Dean? Is that how, is that why it had begun on that first night? And later, after my spectacular three-cocks-in-one-day failure to secure myself a new Protector, hadn't Ian even set me up with Wolfie? Sure he had.

But to believe that Ian and Bryan had been together before all of this, it stretches incredulity too far. That would mean a network of collusion. No, in the end I reject it, it can't be true. No, it wasn't like that. Bryan, Ian, they are my friends. The only friends I have in the world. Sometimes you have to do stuff to earn friendship, everyone knows that. It doesn't make that friendship any less real. Take that bond away from me, and I'll be truly alone, without that bond I have nothing and nobody. On a couple of occasions I try to pluck up courage to ask Bryan if the stories are true, but I chicken out at the last moment. I don't really want to hear that they are. No, I'd rather not know.

I can't afford to believe what Buzz says. He was meddling. Vindictive. That was all. Nevertheless, it scares me. I wonder, is my future state of mind, my human equilibrium, the pattern of my adult relationships, being hideously distorted out of shape by the events of these past months? Consciously or not, is it closing down my options, determining the course of my life-sexuality, programming me? We get back-to-work advice on benefits, courses, and retraining assistance provided by one bored gum-chewing young woman and an unreasonably enthusiastic guy who obviously doesn't know the score. As though employers are going to be up for ex-offenders with behavioural problems, when they've got their choice of unemployed graduates bulging with degrees and positive-CV's?

How can I ever find any kind of 'normal' life out there, after what I've experienced in here? But what the hell is a 'normal' life -- I've certainly never had a chance of living it, and what's so great about it anyway? There never is, and never can be an absolutely equal relationship. There is always one who gives more, and one who takes more. There's always one who holds the balance in that relationship, by nature, by temperament, or by necessity. So be it. The worst thing in the world is not to be used by anyone, for anything.

Or -- conversely, through it all, am I discovering aspects of my true nature I'd never have otherwise suspected? If some element of this sexuality was not already present within me, wouldn't I have fought with every fibre of my being against doing what I'm doing now? Sometimes I feel like a stranger in my own life. I think of all the guys I've had various kinds of sex with since I've been here -- on a routine every-night basis with my three 'protectors' obviously, Dean, Wolfie and Bryan. Then repeatedly, whenever the mood took us -- which was often, with Ian. My three 'auditions' that happened in the same day. And the strange one-offs, Buzz, Adrian, Dread, and a couple of others who's names I never knew who I sucked off at Wolfie's instigation.

Eleven, maybe twelve. Is that a lot? Is that excessive? It's only bodies. It's only sex. Sometimes I daydream it as a field of phalluses growing thick and robust with their pulsing visible veins, swaying in the gentle breeze, every now and then quivering, spurting jets of milky-white sap into the air. But it can't touch what's inside. Inside I'm still the same person I've always been, a little more grubby, a little more used, a little more experienced. But I've come out of it OK. If this is what I am, that's fine, I'm happy with that.

Except that sometimes I suspect that none of this, from bleak start, to satisfying finish, is really real. That I'm as much a fictional character as 'Roderick Random', a masturbatory fantasy invented by a frustrated dreamer, through which he acts out all the repressed indignities he's afraid to admit to desiring. And that soon, now he's into the closing paragraphs, he'll turn the page, and I'll cease to exist. Does the fact that I -- as a fictional character, can pose these questions, mean that I'm also a post-modern construction? Is this whole bare-assed tale a bare-face lie?

Understanding is only part of it. I used to wonder when understanding would come, I thought I'd grow up into some kind of maturity where it'd all come clear. Now I'm grasping that the more I see, the more I see there is to see. Sometimes I just want my head to stop. None of this is fair. None of this is reasonable. But whoever said that life -- or fiction, or sex, is fair or reasonable? As we approach the dates for our release, I begin to get nervous about returning to the unpredictable threats of the outside world. Bryan gives me his 'phone number. We arrange that what we have here, will continue there. He has a flat we can share, he has ideas, plans. We will be free, but live on a basis of mutual need, not compulsion.

Ian will also be a part of that future. The three of us. Bryan explains how, if we want to, he has friends who will help with our living expenses and rent, if we are 'nice' to them. But only if we want to. But of course we will want to, it's only right that we should contribute by -- as Ian said, 'bringing succour to the needy'.