Cock Sucker Tales The Random Rod

We proudly present the first in a series of unjustly neglected underground classics of erotica, revived and reinterpreted for your entertainment and pleasure by Tristan Trotsky, a noted dilettante of decadent literature.

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Erotica is wonderful. The only genre of literature with the potential to produce a directly observable physical change in the reader. Inevitably I've always been engrossed by it, always an obsessive collector and consumer of its more obscure and esoteric examples. Within my extensive library there are shelves of intimidatingly dour hardbacks. Below them are rows of yellowing thumbed paperbacks, dog-eared books with garish faded covers. But there are also publications of a more dubious nature. Nastily-printed underground porn-novels. These are the secret tales from my forbidden library...

One that particularly appeals to me is 'Maximo Urge's probably pseudonymously-written

'The Random Rod'

, a kind of Victorian pastiche of Charles Dickens, Henry Fielding, and the Marquis de Sade, in which the impoverished peasant farmer of a large country estate falls behind on the rent for his hovel, and offers the sexual services of his slow-witted but enviably well-endowed nineteen-year-old oldest son -- Roderick Random, in lieu of payment. So, a disreputable and morally questionable text, certainly, yet scrupulous in its assertion that each character portrayed, and every sex-act so graphically described, is by and carried out by those above the legal age of consent.

Of course, sex is the cause of it all. Raging irresistible overwhelmingly lustful sex. It opens as Roderick slips his rough peasant shirt off and drops his britches as his father has instructed, then climbs into the hip-bath naked as an old crone begins to sponge his well-muscled form. He faces the wall of the candle-lit hovel in a bashful agony of embarrassment as he hears conversation from outside, voices raised in anger. Then the two men engaged in the conversation enter and sit at the nearby table, his father pleading his poverty to Squire Fleshpole. He hears the Squire's steel-trap voice threaten eviction. The old woman begins sponging his naked buttocks, allowing water to trickle down over their firm tight roundness. His father is pleading now. The woman's fingers trail over Roderick's testicles and involuntarily his large penis stiffens to half-erection. She indicates he should turn to face the centre of the room, and he does so slowly, the water swishing, his heavy cock swaying lazily. His hands clasped loosely behind his back. The Squire, a man of late middle-age, is staring at him as the sponge begins dribbling water over the youth's stomach, trickling it down over his genitals so it ripples along the full length to drip from the tip like urine.

'I hear you're prepared to accept a token in lieu of payment' his father cajoles.

'What have you in mind?' On cue the crone fondles Roderick's cock, pulling it taut, as if offering it to the Squire. His little piggy-eyes become bloodshot-ruddy with greed as they fasten on the youth's generous gift, his yellowed tongue licking his dry lips appreciatively. Then she squeezes the veined shaft so hard the bulb bulges redly from its foreskin sheath.

His father gulps, 'You have a fondness for comely young men. I heard you fucked Seth down the meadow?'

The Squire nods, 'Bah, a whelp, squealed at each thrust.'

'He won't' he nods at his naked son. Roderick smiles as the crone demonstratively wanks him, running her fist up and down its inflamed length. The Squire's interest increases in exact proportion to the more the cock swells, grows, and becomes perpendicular.

'And this item of barter is... virgo intacta?'

'To the best of my knowledge, yes. He has a brother, Richard -- a year younger, and only just ripe. They may have fondled, you know how these youths are. They can't keep their hands off each other's bits. But beyond that, no... he is yours to break in.' He tactfully omits the uncles and cousins who took their pleasure with Roderick during lazy breaks in the harvesting. Or the village boys who delighted in him after evenings drinking the highly-potent 'Saint Phallus' local wine.

'In that case, don't bother clothing the trade merchandise' his eyes bugging out of his head as he speaks, lasciviously rubbing his own itchy crotch, 'I'll take the item as it is, in lieu of what you owe me,' nodding his mat-haired warty head in assent.

Naively accepting the arrangement the amiably docile youth steps out of the hip-bath, dries himself negligently, and follows his new master. Stepping outside the hovel into the sunshine, the Squire mounts his black stallion and trots briskly off towards Fleshpole Manor. Without a backward glance the naked youth lopes behind him on big peasant feet, barely breaking into a sweat. A brisk mile's canter sees them reaching the courtyard where Roderick stands wide-shouldered and narrow-hipped, his blonde hair a curly-tangle of tousled whorls framing his broad square-chinned face, glistening, his chest heaving only slightly with exertion. A uniformed manservant emerges to take control of the horse and lead it away towards the stables, taking a lingering opportunity of pruriently eyeing the Squires latest acquisition all the way up and down, then halfway up again. Roderick smiles. But the servant's attention is firmly fixed, not on his face, but his conspicuously eye-catching groin. Fleshpole snaps his fingers impatiently, and Roderick follows him into the crumbling Gormenghastian once-Stately Home, with the naked youth gawking in a state of awed silence as he's led through the dusty reception hall, up the curving staircase beneath ancient faded paintings of aristocratic ancestors in regal pose -- one as a General, another as a Roman Emperor presiding over attentive nude male slaves. One is done as a hunting scene, but it's not a stag the huntsmen pursue, but a naked young man. Turning right at the top of the stairs they hurry past rusty suits of armour and coats of arms, then along long corridors with threadbare carpets, spaced by secretive doors.

With feverish urgency Fleshpole shuffles Roderick through one heavy oak-panelled door into the nearest bedroom, the Squire's pants already around his ankles, an impressively engorged cock released and twitching in the air. He begins by getting the measure of his new possession. Feeling up Roderick's equally aroused cock with both hands, drawing the foreskin back to uncover the silky-moist purple glans, tracing the forking path of blood-vessels up the richly-pigmented shaft, detecting its pulsing reaction to his attentions, the blood pounding within its aching stiffness, squeezing the fat balls until tears of milky fluid weep from the gaping eye. Then -- as if in some fast-forward movie sequence, he sets about relieving Roderick of what he's been assured is his oral virginity.

Pressuring the younger man down onto his knees, using his legs to wedge Roderick back up against the coverlets, the Squire uses his cock-head to part the youth's pursed lips, then slowly but firmly skewers his face with half the full not-inconsiderable length of his fleshy pole. Looking down with satisfaction, yes, this merchandise is going to earn its keep. When the youth shows no discomfort he slides a further quarter of it in, still no spluttering or gag-reaction, just a drool of spittle coursing down his chin, so he thrusts the final length in, deep-throating him so that Roderick's nose is crushed out of shape by the pressure of his hairy gut, and his heavy oval balls are squashed in straddling either side of his windpipe, close to the adam's apple where the glans of his cock must surely be lodged. Roderick wriggles a little and makes a gurgling noise. Nothing more. Fleshpole holds the position with an obscene chortling, before inching back sufficient to allow the youth to work on his cock-head with rasping tongue, lips and slurpy suction. Every now and then the older man nudges back in as far as the epiglottis, in a series of sharp cock-jabs, enjoying the answering squelch in the syrupy mess of oozing saliva, and the impact of his swaying hairy balls on the youth's throat. But no matter what he does, the lusty youth orally affixed to his groin, sucks enthusiastically throughout.

After enjoying such exquisite attentions for long minutes he withdraws, the bulbous knob slithering out in a slithery torrent of gooey pre-emission and drooling spit-strands. He tips the compliant Roderick over the end of the four-poster bed, knees his legs apart, and takes what he assumes is his anal virginity too by plunging balls-deep into his yielding arse, with a satisfied grunt and only the saliva as lubrication. Roderick's tackle free-swinging and flapping up and down, in a circular motion as he's fucked, strands of dribble dancing and spinning from its tip, his firm young bottom quivering as he receives the slam of each deep stroke. The furious rutting speeds towards climax, until the Squire feels his balls tingle and his toes curl, gripped by the spasms of impending discharge racing through his scrotum to burst in stream after stream of spunk into the warm tightly-enveloping rectum in a messily explosive extended mutual orgasm. Gasping in breathy growls, with Roderick mewling as the gooey white tide floods him, using his sphincter-muscles to milk the shaft buried in his ass, as he's wracked by his own wildly spurting ejaculation. The Squire holds still, deep in the youth's bottom, both of them exhaling heavily. The only other sound is the clock tick-ticking, and the buzzing of two flies attracted by the pools of shimmering slimy stuff the younger man has deposited onto the coverlets.

If the sensual tongue-play of his blow-jobs or the ease with which he takes cock up his rectum betrays some practised expertise, his new master certainly feels no necessity for complaint. And over the coming weeks it's not that Roderick proves an unwilling pupil, far from it. He's as enthusiastic about being fucked as his owner is to fuck him. And the Squire continues to regularly exact his pleasures to the full, as he considers his right under the agreement.

Roderick is also systematically debauched by the other members of the aristocratic family. By lecherous octogenarian Grandfather Fleshpole, in garish lipstick with his long white hair tied back in bunches. He needs long sessions of oral and visual stimulation -- with a naked Roderick obediently bending over sucking his unresponsive flaccid member, the rancid smell of the old man's nakedness enveloping him like a filthy cloak, as the youth's prominently presented bare bottom is mildly flagellated by a smirking valet, until the old man's withered wrinkled penis eventually stiffens, until it's sufficiently firm to bugger him. Which, eased in with the valet's guiding help, he does with mad cackles of delight. When, finally, there's a sad trickle of semen from the aged penis the valet is instructed to stand at the open casement-window and blow a long celebratory blast on a hunting horn to announce the achievement to the world.

Then there's Fleshpole's foppish effeminate son Aubrey, given to wearing ruffled shirts like Byron, who imagines himself romantically bonded to Roderick, empathising with the humiliation of his pain in ways that largely express themselves in long mawkish poems and long spermy afternoon sixty-nine sessions in the intimacy of his four-poster, their sweat-soaked legs firmly entwined. Licking the daubs and smears from other's faces after they've ejaculated there, the dribbling trails of what Aubrey calls 'rich male-elixir' strung like webs spun by a drunken spider. 'When the oldsters are dead and gone, I will inherit all of this' he says wistfully, 'but I'm only twenty-four years old, how long must I wait, Roderick, how long...?'

Then there's the rest of the staff. The manservant who first approvingly appraised Roderick in the state of nature upon his initial arrival at Fleshpole Manor is one of two randy well-hung valets, who take advantage of him whenever the opportunity arises. Roderick proves to be accommodating, in every sense of the word. He cheerfully endures their persistent cruel attentions giving a snatched blow-job during a chance encounter on the landing, or a hurried butt-fuck without pleasantries in the ornamental walled garden. He's always keen and obliging. During their evenings together in the servants' quarters below stairs the pair delight in devising erotic games to inflict on Roderick, tossing a coin for who takes 'head' or 'tail' before jointly enjoying him between them. Then setting each other competitive targets for number of copulations, strange positions and odd locations to be consummated within a set period of time. Due to the binding nature of the contract signed by his father, and due to his own agreeable amenable nature, Roderick is incapable of refusing any of them, taking it all in his stride, accepting each pounding of his bottom and vandalising of his gullet as part of the entertainment. The decisions are not his to make.

Throughout it all, he's trained and disciplined in every possible permutation of sexual techniques, proving an adept, compliant and very enthusiastic pupil, never less than eager to please. Roderick is also presented to weekend guests for their erotic use, and broadens his range of sexual experience while pleasuring a series of weird characters. This is one 'boy blue' who certainly blows some horn! Yet he adapts easily to his new life. After all -- sometimes dressed as a valet, most-times not dressed at all, it proves easier, more enjoyable and more plushly luxurious than backbreaking toil on his father's farm.

The long drowsy-warm English summer passes in a pleasant blurry fug of insistent male nudity and sexual intoxication. But the deciding incident that will bring change to his circumstances inevitably follows. The highlight of the season is Fleshpole's Perverted Garden Party. Beneath the spreading chestnut tree, between an archery stand and a coconut shy the two valets strap a naked unprotesting Roderick onto a vaulting 'horse', his bottom raised and greased, his legs wide-spread, with an elaborate comic cardboard horse's head placed over his own head, and stirrups conveniently positioned to raise and give better access to the appealingly presented rectal orifice. They position a sign overhead announcing 'Ride A Cock-Horse'. Then, in a gay carnival atmosphere as a string quartet dressed in Pierrot-costumes play lively gavots, enthusiastic guests line up to 'ride' him in a particularly excessive series of sexual bouts. His mouth is taped shut so he's only able to moan as they begin. How many? Roderick ejaculates himself as the third cock slides in, lubricated by the copious emissions left there by the previous two, and he soon loses count. Some are bigger, some smaller. Some come almost immediately. Others take longer. Truth to tell, some gentlemen, having enjoyed the hospitality of his warm anus, circle the other events, sampling thick wedges of sponge-cake dripping with strawberries and clotted cream, along with the dainties, cheese and wine on offer, then return for a second indulgence between his buttocks. Cackling Grandfather Fleshpole has the valet's position his chair opposite so he can watch each anal thrust through his binoculars, clapping his hands gleefully at each ejaculation and messy withdrawal.

As evening approaches, and the guests finally disperse, a concerned Aubrey releases Roderick, who is understandably unsteady on his feet, and helps him into the big house, up the stairs to the fop's room where he lays Roderick on the silken coverlets of his bed and carefully sponges away the trickles of sperm leaking from the well-used anus, pausing only to daub a particularly opulent smear on his index finger and taste it critically, like a connoisseur. Then he sympathetically massages ointment into the aching orifice. When this intimate action inevitably results in erection Aubrey crouches and tearfully consoles his friend's meaty rosy manhood orally, which curtails conversation for a full ten minutes, after which -- wiping his mouth, the fop breaks off to broach a subject close to his heart.

'Daddy's gone too far this time, subjecting you to such beastliness' his voice husky with emotion and just a hint of sperm. 'If only it could always be like this, just you and me' he leans over to kiss the messy tip of Roderick's twitching erection, running his tongue beneath the foreskin rim, and sucking the glans briefly between his full lips... then releasing it again. 'I know what we'll do. Just the two of us. We'll go away. We'll leave here together. Run away to London.' There was a goose-feather that had come adrift from the pillow. He uses it to caress up and down Roderick's scrotal sack, circling the fat oval shape of each testicle. Roderick groans and squirms in pleasured response. 'At first we can find a garret-room to share and you can get a job, until I find a publisher for my poems, it shouldn't be too difficult. Then I'll be feted and lionised by the literary establishment and we'll live on absinthe and quail's eggs garnished with fresh-sperm. Oh, it'll be so wonderful.'

Roderick makes no reply, his only reaction is a sharp inhalation of breath as the full length of his penis disappears down Aubrey's greedy throat, as he sets about bringing to a spermy climax what he's already begun. So it's decided, the two 'lovers' are going to run away from such awfulness together, to share a new life in London. Things become even more ludicrous as they steal away to seek their fortune. Aubrey has the kitchen staff prepare a hamper packed with buns, boiled sweets, iced fancies and a bottle of the potent 'St Phallus' wine. Roderick carries the hamper. After several miles of wandering in the endless forest beyond the estate Aubrey decides it's an appropriate time to stop and eat. Roderick lays out the cloth on the short grass and arranges the contents of the hamper across it. As they eat, Aubrey's mind is already crawling with unease, taking fright at the prospect of losing his allowance. Filled with scary forebodings, glancing nervously this way and that, Aubrey begins to change his mind about abandoning his life of wealthy leisure. But first they share the wine, passing the bottle back and forth, drinking it from each other's mouths. And Aubrey's resolve drifts as the wine, piquantly bitter, begins to take effect.

With mutual arousal, they slide each other's pants down and off to release their firming erections to bounce free, hungry for each other's bodies. Naked beneath the canopy of rustling foliage they embrace each other, pressing their firm cocks together, then jousting them like swordplay, laughing as they slap audibly up one against the other. Aubrey reaches down and takes both cocks in his hand -- although the span of his fingers are unable to meet around their combined girth, pressing and squeezing them together pleasingly, massaging the two lengths in single long joined strokes. Then, as they sit together, Aubrey plucks a buttercup and carefully weaves it into Roderick's pubic hair. So Roderick strings a daisy-chain and garlands it around Aubrey's balls.

Taking the game a step further Aubrey teasingly plucks a glacè cherry from atop an iced bun, balances it on the head of Roderick cock trying to slither the foreskin up around it, then takes both in his mouth, devouring them. Roderick smoothes butter-cream from a fairy-cake up and down the length of Aubrey's cock, then sucks it clean. This escalates into a final intense mutual oral indulgence, their naked sixty-nine interlocked bodies rolling over and over across the crumb-strewn cloth, sucking and slurping ravenously until they drink their fill of each other's spurting ejaculations. A little breathless and sated from the intensity of their intimate games, Aubrey gazes with melancholy wistfulness into Roderick's dark eyes. Knowing they must part. 'Farewell to thee my star-crossed Love, take care' he says, kissing his fingers, then the fop fretfully puts his clothes back on, and tearfully takes flight, flouncing back to Fleshpole Manor, leaving the bemused Roderick alone.