Cock Sucker Learning The Game

Here's my story, it's sad but true. About a guy, that I once knew. He took my love, then... hey, you know the rest. Yes, I was the small-town slut, always up for mischief. The sure-thing. A scrawny kid with acne. No-one's dream date, that's for sure. But I know the rules, and I'm cool with it. Yet I can still taste the sense of shame and betrayal I felt over Vince, a good-looking kid a few years older than me who I was sweet on. I'd really had a thing for him since...like, forever. Then he's driving a truck for his old man, and I'm into my last summer before going up to Uni. And, one day there were two older youths verbally-abusing and roughing me up when he intervened, told them to cool it and stop hassling me. With him standing by my side they back down and slouch off on their way, sniggering to each other. I hang around him in an attitude of grateful hero-worship.

It later occurred to me that just maybe I'd been set up, and they'd arranged it all together so I'd feel I owed Vince a debt. I doubt if it was that way, but it wouldn't have been necessary, since I'd have gone with him anyway. I've never played hard-to-get. Never smart enough to play games. You can see it on my face. You can read me like a cheap paperback. Every hopeless hope. Every frustrated dream. But hey, we're both the age of consent. And I'm consenting... aren't I?

He takes me into the old derelict Parker place set back from the road among the trees. It's spooky and gross, dirty and overgrown, with bugs and crumbling clapboard, it smells bad too, a kind-of musty stale-piss smell, but my need to be with him overcomes my fear. 'C'mon, we won't be doing nothing that's not been done before' he tells me, as he extracts his cock from his denims, the long curve of his semi-erection is awesome to me. I feel privileged he's letting me share this special intimacy. I'm weak-kneed and my dick is hard in a heartbeat, it has a libido of its own, as my heart jumps several levels. Taking it in my mouth I'm hoping against hope I'm doing it right, doing it like he wants me to do it. It tastes weird, it feels weird. Oh god, we're actually having sex, he's allowing me to suck his cock. Like we are boyfriends. Almost. Doing it to him is magical, special, a slow surge of rapture. And when he comes there are tears in my eyes. I come out with an infatuation-glazed expression and scuff-marks on the knees of my denims where I'd crouched to suck him off, and pre-come stains along my fly where I'd been excited by doing it to him.

The following day he approaches me again, 'you wanna take a walk, kid?' 'Sure, Vince, thank you', and I follow him like a lovesick puppy, up the alley that runs beside the newsagent store and out onto the trail behind through the woods. He doesn't speak, and walks so fast I have to hurry to keep up with him. We emerge on the riverbank, a little ways from where the railway bridge cuts across it, forming a graffiti'd sheltered space beneath. There's a cluster of crushed lager-cans in the shadow of the overhang and a mound of black ash where someone started a fire. My heart's pounding in my chest. Kids come here when they're up to no good. I know what he has in mind. What else could he possibly want of me? He turns and hesitates no longer than a moment. The sound of the water lapping up against stones, insects buzzing lazily among tall yellow weeds up the steep embankment. Then the sound of his zip. No coercion, no persuasion, no pressure... no words. We both know the score. He unsnaps his belt and shoves his pants down into a heap around his knees.

I sink down into a low crouch, my knees hitting the grass in an instant, tugging at my own fly, releasing my hard-on to pump it and release its pent-up urgency. Pants hobbling me around my ankles, the grass slightly moist under my knees, none of that remotely matters, because it's the first time I've had the opportunity to see his cock properly up close. Its power is breathtaking. I'd seen it before, at the Parker place, although then I'd only had access to it protruding from his fly, now he's more confident in his power over me, and I can reach up and feel his fat hanging plum-sized balls, almost coming myself as my fingers circle that exciting hot shaft and gently squeeze, the big tulip-head swelling upon its coronal ridge in response. This time he's already hard, as though it's learned to expect what it's about to receive. This fleshy monster knows it's going to get sucked-off and sucked-off good.

Fascinated, looking up I catch his eye. I'm taking too long admiring it. He's impatient already. Guiltily I stuff its smooth mauve rubbery head into my mouth and begin sucking, my lips fitting so tight around the rim of his glans it's as though it was meant to be, his sharp intake of breath reassuring proof I'm doing it right. It twitches and jerks up against my encircling devouring lips, and the way he groans tells me he's enjoying it, when each time I go down and its head scrapes the back of my throat, I feel his body tense. 'You suck cock like a bad girl' he says simply, and lets me work, my hands on his thighs, his balls, his ass, only nudging his hips forward to fuck my face as his climax nears. It was hardly ideal. But I'd have done it anywhere he wants – hell, I'd have done it like a shot, but we were just young, had no place to go. This is about as close to heaven as I'd ever been, and I'm content to do it for just as long as he'll let me do it. There's line between love and fascination that's hard to see at a moment such as this, with the delicious brutality of his raw cock ramming my throat.

By now I'm mewling with pleasure, squirming in an agony of sensation, my own balls first squashed up against my heels, then brushing over the spiky grass, I'd come in long ecstatic white squirts, and whatever shy restraint I'd had was totally gone, I was bleary and enamoured, I'd never felt so horny or so sexed-up, so sated and indulged. There are wet tears welling in the corner of my eyes from the sheer emotional intensity wracking me. This guy in my mouth is everything I've ever wanted. There's a greater urgency building in Vince's thrusts, and unless I'm imagining it, his cock is swelling too. Each time he thrusts his cock goes a little deeper. I gag a couple times but he doesn't care. And neither do I, I'm determined to let him use me like he wants, determined to give him the best blow-job he's ever had. If it makes me gag then so be it. I don't care. I'm sucking his cock, that's all that matters. He gives a long slow groan and fills my mouth with spunk. I take it all, c'mon, you got any more in that stuff for me, squeeze it out!

Once he's finished pulsing he makes to pull out, but my hands are cupping his bottom, drawing it back in, sucking it some more. He laughs and draws away, again I follow and keep sucking at it. So he stands there and allows me my way as it loses its rigidity. When it's done and I'm wiping strands of spunk-stains from my chin, I squat defiantly with legs splayed with it all hung out on display as evidence of my devotion, should he care to notice. Not that he cares. I'm proud of the way I took it so deep without seriously gagging, the way I swallowed it so smoothly without retching. Whatever he can give, I can take. 'Gimme your handkerchief, kid, I don't want my Mom to find stains on mine'. I hurry to do his bidding and watch him carefully wiping my saliva off his genitals with it, wishing I was doing it to him myself. I'm weak and gaspish, legs of rubber. Then he says, almost as a casual afterthought, 'we'll do this again, right?' And I nod enthusiastically.

But it was followed by a couple of frustrating failures. I next encounter Vince in the store. We are concealed from sight behind a high shelving unit of utensils. He leers at me. I return a shy smile. He crosses to stand beside me, takes hold of my hand, and presses it up against his groin so I feel the unmistakably hard outline of his cock through the material. My hand stays there, my fingers closing around the ridge it is making. 'How about you want that nudging your tonsils, kid?' 'Yes please, Vince' I murmur. When he turns to go I follow him... only at the exit he meets Jo-Beth. She begins flirting and they get into talking. I stand behind them scowling, surly with impatience. Eventually he shrugs at me, and walks away with her.

On a later occasion he's playing pool in the Bar, as I watch. After some time he quits the game and heads for the john, passing where I'm sitting on the way. He glances at me, and nods his head indicating me to follow. I can scarce believe my luck. I wait only so long that no-one will suspect what we're about to do, then pace breathlessly after him. Through the door at the rear. He's waiting, but both of the cubicles are in use. We wait, in embarrassed silence, my throat dry, scared and made a little self-conscious by my own eagerness. Eventually he fishes his cock out and turns to the urinal, in case anyone comes in, it'll seem more natural. I can see its sleek long downward curve as it gushes a stream of golden urine. So close. I lick my lips. To say I'm hungry for it is inadequate. Should I...? dare I reach out for it? Instead I get my own cock out – awkwardly, because it's already achingly hard, and stand beside him, pointing it downwards and leaking a few unsatisfactory spurts of piss. By now he's eased back and zipped up. I've missed my opportunity. He glances at his watch, then glances at the two closed cubical doors. No sign yet of anyone emerging. It's taking too long. Again he shrugs, and makes to go. I watch him, feeling sick to the pit of my stomach. Another missed chance.

But there's still hope. Some time later, as he makes to leave the pool hall he comes across to me and hisses in my ear, 'you maybe wanna come around my place, say eight tomorrow, 'cos my folks are away for the weekend, and we can do some more dirty stuff if you want'. I can scarcely speak, 'Sure Vince, thanks Vince'. It was like in that song – I'm walking on the moon, walking on the air, in a seventh heaven of anticipation. All day long I'm looking forward to that moment. I wash and comb my hair. Leave off wearing underpants to make it easier, my head full of visions of what we're going to be doing together. Going over every detail in my mind, all the things I'd done, all the things I was going to do. In my handerchief there's a crinkle of his dried sperm, and the faint aroma of his body. I examine it carefully, waiting. Until, when I get there, a spring in my step, it's only to discover he has beer, popcorn, some joints, porn-videos... and three friends.

My blood froze, my flesh crawled. There was no threat or pressure, just an obvious presumption I was to be part of the evening's entertainment. No question, no discussion. My complicity was taken for granted. Naturally I couldn't back down, I was in a cold-cold sweat, I'd never felt to scared, or so excited, but I do what they expect. They start out like it's no big deal. They were cool about me being there. It was a small-town, I'd gone skinny-dipping at the weir with two of them, Jackson and Blue. I knew how big they were. The one I didn't know must have been from somewhere out-of-town, a big hefty lad. He acted all gosh-wow bashful as the X-rated movies begin with girls getting multiply-fucked, but he was the first to break the ice by dropping his pants with a casual 'I guess this is no time to be shy, this is where the cocks come out to play' and gives it a few perfunctory tugs.

Vince glanced across at me, caught my eye, nods in the kid's direction meaningfully. For a corn-fed fat-kid he was well-hung, as obediently I squat down to my task, giggling, like it was a game I was in on. His forehead is sweating. He watches me warily as though he can't believe what I'm doing to him. I take it in my hand, wank it a few times. From the way he squirms and the noises he's making as my lips close around his bell-end it surely must be his first blow-job, and I mean, who would go down on him voluntarily if it wasn't part of some deal? I can still feel the burning embarrassment at the whoops and laughter as his sweaty gut heaves and he shoots his load deep into the back of my throat. I make some choking noises and wipe my mouth with my dirty handerchief, contriving an expression of distaste, although that was largely for effect. Now things are loosening up. The others are getting naked. I'm only wearing T-shirt and shorts, in the expectation of discarding them early on. That part came true. I knew things would get messy, and I didn't want stains. Although achingly stiff, mine is the smallest cock there, as they're quick to point out. It's not fair, there's no justice, I was jealous.

The situation was odd, disturbing. I was a bit afraid, disappointed, my heart a dead lead weight in my chest, but when two of the guys begin playfully wanking each other I feel resentful, as though – hey, that's what I'm here for, I'm supposed to be the centre of attention. No fear, they all get their turn. The sex-funk and testosterone in the air is electric, inevitably getting to me, four eager young cocks flipping and swaying, five including mine, it's impossible not to be all fired up as my warm and slippery mouth goes up and down on Blue, the second guy, it's going like a piston moving in a cylinder. For a moment he looks a little concerned, 'ain't this all like... y'know, kinda Gay?' 'Nah' says Vince. 'If you've got someone's Dick in your mouth, maybe, but if you're getting sucked – hell no, a mouth is a mouth. Up the Big House they do this all the time. They select a guy to do it for them, they call him the Gimp. And those are Bad Dudes, you wouldn't dare call those guys Gay, not to their faces.' Reassured, he lays back, hands behind his head feigning a casualness the state of his arousal denies, letting me work him. Is that what I am – their 'Gimp'? Is that how they see me?

Although the comments hurt, I'm reaching down and jacking myself, then letting go to concentrate on him, until I ejaculate spontaneously up my stomach. There are raucous crude comments about how much I obviously prefer Blue, I feel like telling them no, that's a lie, it's Vince all along I want. I'm doing this for him. I might be sucking this cock, but I'm gazing at Vince, hoping against hope he'll meet my eye, and maybe smile, but he never does. The guy's breathing quickens and his hips thrust upwards to meet me, I don't even come up for air. And this time my handkerchief stays unused, I wipe my mouth with my hand. It's not as though I have any dignity or self-respect left to lose. When it comes to sucking Vince, he sits on the sofa concentrating on the screen-action, and although I try to make it special for him, to make it the best blowjob known to man, he studiously ignores me, obviously preferring to pretend my mouth is part of the video-girl's action. I look up imploring and beseeching at him with his big dick lodged as deep in my throat as I can take it, cradling and massaging his balls tenderly, thinking up at him 'look, I'm doing this thing for you, only you', but he won't even meet my eyes.

All pretence and inhibition is gone now, we're all naked and a little stoned. My groin is still on fire, teetering on the permanent brink of coming again. My bare toes digging into the carpet-pile. When Vince comes I just moan a little, siphon it down and swallow it as the pulsing in my mouth slows and steadies. As I rise up offa Vince, the fourth guy – Jackson, is patiently waiting, offering it for my attention, gently but firmly pulling my head down onto it, I get time for one deep breath and instantly I'm slobbering over him. I'd not seen a lot of porno, but I know the plot, it feels almost as though I'm the target-boy in a triple-X video, and know all about the money-shot. What if they decide to do it like the porns, and stick two cocks in my face at once and get me to suck them both, or even three cocks?

But no, I'm not sure if I'm relieved or disappointed as they just patiently wait their turn, and then, after I've finished him and think it's over, the chubby kid stands there waving it at me, demanding seconds. He has a flabby arse with a freckling of unsightly zits, but his cock is up and ready for more. This time, copying the porn-action on-screen, he stands there as the others jeer encouragement, and I crouch like a compliant defeated slave. The first time his cock-head hits the back of my throat it sets me off geysering up from my groin, helplessly groaning, then he gives me a head-pumping face-fuck, gyrating his hips so it churns in my mouth. I should be beyond embarrassment, but the sound of it goes glug-glug-glug, glock-glock-glock, while his fat pendulous ball slap fleshily up against my chin. I just close my eyes and let it happen. Until he stops at the last minute to shoot off five long white strands into the dregs of beer in a glass – a lot of it to say he's already come something like half-an-hour earlier, and he urges me to drink that. More laughter. My cheeks burning.

I sit there sullen and nude, tasting the cloying taste of them still in my mouth, as they lay around chilling out, shooting the breeze, until around midnight they all thank Vince for a great night as they file out, no-one thanks me, although the plump kid leers as though he has some follow-up in mind. Whatever it is I want no part of it. Even Vince just looks away, although I was shivering with the emotional after-effects of what they'd done to me. Doesn't he care about what I've gone through? Can't he find a kind word of praise or encouragement for me? No, he says 'OK, you can get dressed and go home now'.

Maybe he feels just a little ashamed at what he'd done to me? I cry myself to sleep that night, sobbing like a schoolgirl. Not because of what I'd done, but the way Vince tricked me into it, about how my expectations and excited anticipations of one-to-one intimacy with him had come to nothing, all my hopes and dreams cruelly dashed. But going over my feelings, what else could I have done? What option did I have? I couldn't have shown Vince up by refusing to go along with his plan, but after watching me blowing three of his friends how can he take me seriously ever again, how can he ever look at me in the same way? He'd turned me into the small-town cum-slut. A mouth so filthy it'd need an industrial pressure-hose to cleanse the sperm-taste out of it. Yet even as I sob out my heartbreak the rage of confused memories provokes a stiffy, my own body betraying me, and I wank myself to sleep. Scared at just how extreme my masturbation fantasies have become, of what I dream those four guys force me to do.

So why is Vince so important to me? Why am I telling you about him? Is it because he was the biggest cock I've ever sucked? No, there have been bigger since. It's not even as though he was the first, there must already have been rumours about my proclivities, probably from stuff I'd done with guys. There was that incident when I was found in the showers dirty-messing with the two Clinton brothers. And then the rigged spin-the-bottle in the clearing in Witty's Wood, three guys – one of them was even Jackson, Jo-Beth, and me, where we drank cheap hooch, I lost the game and my penalty was I had to strip bollock-naked. Shoes, T-shirt and pants, but I fumble my underpants nervously, almost tripping myself, hopping around comically on the grass on one leg, with my pants caught up around the ankle of the other, so in the final reveal my cock flipped out waving perkily and I was embarrassingly conscious of the ludicrous sight it must be presenting. There's much mocking laughter, and they start waving long strands of grass across my exposed cock and balls. 'Look, he's getting off on this, he's got a hard-on.'

Jo-Beth plucks a dock leaf and brandishes it, 'hey, you can use this to cover it up'. Jackson plucks a single clover-head, 'no, this is way big enough for his needs!' More giggly laughter. Jo-Beth takes the clover and grasps my stiffy, so easy and natural that I freeze breathless. Bending down she pinches my knob gently to open up the eye, moistens the stalk, and begins to insert it into the urethral opening. It's the first and only time I've been touched-up by a female, and it's oddly unsexual, more like a medical procedure. I'm tense, scared it's going to hurt, but she seems well-used to handling male genitalia. Probably playing 'Doctors & Nurses' with her brothers. At last it's all the way in, with the three-leaf formation decorating the head of my glans. She stands back to admire her handiwork as Jackson claps and jeers.