Cock Sucker Testimony Ch 04

Things get weirder in the House Of Shame

As the weeks extend, things get weirder. A lot of water under the bridge, a lot of other stuff too. Wolfie becomes more confident in his power over me, and also, I guess, something of the novelty of my slavish attachment to him is wearing off. So he needs to shove it further. We were in the gymnasium, I was close to Wolfie. But there was this other youth who has dark hair gelled back, I much later learn he's called Buzz, and he was fooling around suggestively.

Eventually he hisses at me "Hey, sweet-boy, I could really fuck your face, how about it?"

I feel embarrassed, but almost despite myself I blurt out "You'll have to ask Wolfie. I belong to him."

Wolfie smirks at me, then at Buzz. "What's it worth to you?"

They begin talking in low voices that I can't quite hear, but to my amazement I realise they're bargaining for me. Eventually Wolfie comes across to me. "Go to the changing room with him and suck him off."

It's assumed I have no say in the matter. Meekly I do as I'm told. The price - I later discover, was two cigarettes. Without a murmur I obediently follow Buzz back into the changing room and wait as he looks around for a suitable corner, then he shoves his elasticated gym shorts down to his knees. He's got a big cock with a wicked highly-pigmented foreskin and pendulous testicles. Despite myself my entire attention is fixed on his groin and I feel myself colour slightly with expectation at what's to occur. Imagining already how much of it I can get into my mouth. Yes, I can do this.

I sit down on the nearest bench so that I'm level with his thighs. He stands with his hands on his hips in front of me with a wide grin. Momentarily I look up at him, meeting his eyes, then take it gently in my hand, hot and firm, moving my head down submissively to slide it between my pursed lips.

I was controlling the situation, but almost immediately his arrogant coolness dissolves as he feels my lips circling him, I see his gut quake and his hips move as I begin to suck it. I'm losing control as he moves in closer, his pelvis easing in an evil steady thrusting motion forcing me back until my head is backed up against the wall, fucking my throat. Uncomfortably I hold his fat balls in one hand and concentrate on sucking as best I can despite retching and involuntary tears clouding my vision. All control gone.

Halfway through I hear movement and giggling, which tells me we have an audience. Someone sniggers "The dirty little sod."

It makes Buzz pause for a moment, lodged so far down my throat I feel I'm suffocating, my face must be reddening, my eyes bugging.

"Don't kill the pervy bastard" came a second disembodied voice.

Why is it always me that's the perv? I wouldn't be doing this if they weren't compelling me to do it. Well, I would, but just not so much. And that moist pre-cum patch staining the front of my shorts? Well, I can't help that, can I? Buzz shrugs, and resumes fucking and I keep sucking, mewling slushy, gushy, squishy wet-noises, dribbling long drooling spit-bubbles down my chin.

My only hope is to make him cum sooner rather than later, get it over with as quickly as possible. So I suck with savage determination, using my tongue around its thickness. Until with a groan he begins creaming down my throat, a single slurpy pulse, followed by two smaller pulses, then nothing more than the slightest trembling. Wolfie and a couple of others are standing there smirking, applauding.

"OK?" enquires Wolfie.

"Not bad" concedes Buzz breathily, wiping his wet spermy cock across my face. "I've had better. Tell you what though, Wolfie." He rubs his cock in my hair to remove the last traces of saliva. "I've heard that practice makes perfect, and purely as a friendly gesture to you, I'd be willing to put him through his paces, sharpen up his technique, give him all the practise he needs."

"Fuck off" laughs Wolfie. "You want more, you know what to do. I'm sure we can come to some sort of... arrangement."

He snaps his fingers at me, and without a backward glance I meekly follow him back out into the gym, my hair drying into the hard flaky ridges left by his ejaculate. And again, rather than feeling cheap and debased, I feel a sense of considerable achievement. I'd been set a task, and I'd performed it.

Others might consider me weak? Feeling that I should fight such debasement and humiliation. Such a possibility never existed. Some would likely have died rather than submit. Me? call me spineless, but I'm not that strong. I realise how I must appear. A gutless wimp with no pride or self-esteem. And of course, they'd be right to think that. I was all those things, and more. I suck cock when it's expected of me. I know I have no choice. No other possibility exists. By now it's way too late. Within that first month at the Big House I'd been reduced to absolute sexual servitude and fully accepted the role without regret or remorse.

One day I saw 'Chuckler' Phil again, the young guy from the kitchen, and - jealous or resentful perhaps, he cornered me in the cloakroom. If he'd been sullenly silent before, it seemed he's found his voice.

"I think it's demeaning and degrading the things you do with Wolfie" he spat out. "Do you like what he forces you to do? Do you like the way he does things to you with his... penis?"

"Who says I do those things with Wolfie?" I counter.

"Come off it, it's common knowledge you're his cum-slut."

I smile defensively, a little awkward. How can I deny his accusations, when I've already decided that my 'protection' depends on people knowing what's going on?

"Sometimes it's OK. Sometimes it's not too bad."

"So you're his sex-slave?"

"Not exactly, no. I can always refuse."

"But he sticks it in your mouth?"

"Yes."

"And that's OK?"

"I guess so. That's what he wants, that's what I must do. At first it seems a little strange. After a while you get used to it. Then it's fine."

"I never could. Yuch."

I squirm in discomfort, not at all at ease with this disapproving level of intimate interrogation. "But I'm not the only one doing stuff, and anyway, what we do together is no business of anyone else."

Then it gets worse. "But it is, don't you see?" And he accuses me of making it worse for others. "You've made yourself into a cheap cock-pig, putting yourself around as a push-over, a sure-thing, a Slag, and by your absolute acquiescence and your willingness to do whatever Wolfie wants you're setting the bar others are compelled to conform to."

Perhaps he's telling me something about himself, about his own situation, whatever it is the two trusties are making him do when they take him into the store-room, who knows? That's as maybe. He could be right. Of course, if force, duress or threat are being used I'm very much opposed to that. I'm not being forced to do anything, and firmly believe that no-one else should be either. Since that very first night with Dean I'd been faced with a clear choice. I can resist and fight back alone, or go with the flow. I'd taken what I considered to be a pragmatic decision. To do what he wants.

The fact that I've accepted the situation determines what I'm doing now. But it was down to me and no-one else. It was my choice. I could have refused to participate. I still can. I choose not to. But I can't be held responsible for the sex-life of others. That's unfair. I must do what I must do. All I'm concerned with is getting through the day. And the next day. And the one after that. One day at a time. Surviving from day to day. That's enough.

Maybe you - reading this, think of me as a poor miserable little sod, a pathetic victim? Perhaps I am all those hurtful things 'Chuckler' Phil says I am? Yet certainly, despite it all, I grudgingly admit, I'm also increasingly driven to extremes and attracted to excess, just as Wolfie is. In a different way, I have appetites and tastes that amplify as I go on. His extremism takes the form of pumping more sperm down my throat, my extremism, increasingly, is to accept it.

Do I enjoy sucking his cock? Stupid question. It's fairly obvious I do. Whenever or wherever he wants. And to those of his friends he specifies. I must do as he says. It's not my fault. It's not of my volition. But fate has arranged it that I'm his to do with sexually as he pleases. That's enough. But, yes - own up, there's a weird pleasure in that submission too. Perhaps my essential nature is, what they say, submissive, and I have a real need to be dominated?

I begin to seriously have doubts about my state of mind, is this all getting out of hand? Am I losing all semblance of control? This sex thing had begun as a pragmatic acceptance of the inevitable fate I've been forced into. Now it was more than that. Now it's all gone into some other place. Am I developing a dependence on it? Am I getting addicted to it? And if so, what does that make me? Will I ever be the same again? And Wolfie ratchets it ever-higher. I was sleeping over in his dorm now, on an unused bed adjacent to his, to make it easier, to make it more convenient. And as far as I'm concerned, that's no problem.

I never really speak properly with Phil again. Perhaps he was as embarrassed by his outburst as I was? But there's a curious sequel to the incident. One night I left Wolfie's bed driven by the urgent need to go take a piss, pacing through a strangely haunting moonlit emptiness. In the neutral space between dorms the toilet was often used for assignations, there were penis-sized holes bored in the partition walls and graffiti indicating dates, times and lurid promises. But tonight it was empty. Idly glancing out of the window once I'd completed my ablutions, I could glimpse an expanse of the grounds, the lawn, outbuildings, and the wooded area beyond. And there was a pale moving shape.

I focus my attention on the figure, the ghost weaving through the trees, running in a slow-jog - and completely naked. I can't be certain, but I was convinced in my mind that it was Phil. What was he doing? Was he being pursued? No, he was alone. So he's running a complete circuit of the grounds, around the inner retaining wall, for a wager, a dare, or a forfeit? A bet, or a penance, or because of a threat? I wished I had binoculars, or a high-powered telescope so I could see him more clearly, pick out the detailed movement of his tackle as he ran. My interest was curiously aroused. I watch the furtive figure glancing around, ducking through the shadows of trees and around the sheds, then further until he vanished out of sight.

It was easy to move between dorms, as I've discovered, but after lights-out it was virtually impossible to descend to the ground floor, never mind leave the building. Unless he knows a secret route through the kitchen? Or unless there's actual collusion with the staff? Sure, there were rumours of illicit drinking and gambling - and more, in the outbuildings at night, although no-one could ever provide proof to substantiate the rumours.

As I tiptoe back to my bed I have to pass Wolfie's bed, and in the gloom I can see him lying on his back in a deep sleep, his covers sufficiently disarrayed for me to glimpse his groin. The ridge of body-hair leading me down from his navel. In this place of shadows, whispered breathing and semidarkness, my head fills with possibilities, I find myself drawing the sheet back further to see it better, bit by bit, a long way, and god - it looks so wickedly appetising, I can't resist it, glancing around guiltily I seek out his godlike megadick with my fingers, just a quick feel. My own half-hard cock stiffens in response, and my touch leads overwhelmingly to taste, just a lick, swish my tongue around its purple-pink head, dancing it along the cleaved ridge. It stirs and reacts, although he doesn't.

I'm plumping down onto the bed, my head resting on his thigh now, up against his cock, so close I sense its funky musk. It stands almost the full length of my face. It can be angry and demanding. Now it's just nesting warm against me in the comforting dark, and almost absently I hook around and begin gently sucking it. Slowly, reflectively, contemplatively, at my own pace, taking a little more, then a little more, taking it only as deep as is comfortable - then a little more, just for me. 'Chuckler' Phil was correct, I must be a cock-pig. Other guys get a horn-on and they privately pull themselves off, me, I get the same kick from sucking someone else off, not for their benefit, but my own. I'm enjoying this.

But how strange it must be to run naked through the night like that. Is it some kind of test? Would he be stopped by his tormentors at various points in his circuit to perform an action, or have an action performed upon him? I suck thoughtfully in a leisurely self-indulgent fashion, as his cock engorges, and as it swells I can feel the blood pulsing within it. Although he continues sleeping, I wonder what effect my attentions are triggering in his dreams? It must be wild inside his head right now.

While my first instinct about Phil is that I wish I'd known. I'd have liked the chance to run beside him. To experience that freedom. The more I suck the more the idea seems inviting. My sucking grows correspondingly more intense, drowning out all other brain-function, the cock-heat raises my body temperature by degrees, this is what I need, I can feel the sperm rising, until it's only Wolfie's explosive ejaculation that wakes him. He looks down at me blearily, eyes focusing in the faint light. I look up, self-consciously coaxing the last beads of sperm from its wet head with my lapping tongue.

"I'm sorry" I whisper. "It looked so inviting I couldn't help myself."

He just snorts "Slut", and goes back to sleep as I think pensively of us, me and 'Chuckler' Phil, running naked through the night-dark trees together, watching the muscles move beneath his skin. Cocks and balls bouncing free. Briars reaching out to sway at us, boughs that whip and sting at us as we run. With only the owls and the bats to see us. Wild things. We are children of the night.

Another weird character is 'Creepy George', who should never have been in the Big House at all. A blow-job short of an orgy, he was what they call 'challenged', and should really have been placed in a facility equipped to cater to his special needs. Not that he was unhappy. Far from it, in fact his status seemed to endow him with privileges enforced by his own self-appointed minders. They protect his interests and ensure no-one interferes with his pleasure. I suspect they're naturally inclined to mete out punishment, and use Creepy George as an excuse. There's no evidence he was 'earning' his protection from them in any way. But even being the 'property' of as powerful a figure as Wolfie guarantees no immunity from his attentions.

He shuffles along the corridors with a wide vacant grin, selecting whoever takes his fancy, with his choice enforced by his attentive minders. I could not avoid him. We pass in the corridor. I hold my breath, but it's too late. His hand reaches out to trap my cock through the material of my pants. I freeze. But daren't resist. He squeezes and fondles. There are three guys standing behind him, watching me for any signs of refusal. I daren't object, I stand and let him fondle. This is what he does. If he doesn't like what he finds he'll leave you alone and move on to someone else. With a bit of luck. But stupidly, against my will, my body is responding to his intimate caress. It's impossible not to.

I concentrate, trying to stop my erection happening, but it just firms and grows in response to his touch. He grins. Oh shit, he likes what he's found. He begins to unfasten my pants. Runs the zip down. Shrugs my pants roughly down to my knees, my stupid eager cock bobbing free. He looks directly at it, then glances back at his entourage with a cheeky smile. He reaches down, his thumb braced against his forefinger, and he flicks me sharply on the glans, so that I gasp as it quivers redly, and he laughs.

Then, my natural reaction is to duck my hips back, pull away from his grubby probing fingers, but I control the impulse as I'm enclosed by his fist. I feel like an idiot, in a self-conscious agony of self-exposure. In the corridor, his three minders forming a protective shield around us as others walk past. They're all dressed, I'm stood there with my stiff cock out for all to see.

George looks at me with a curious expression, and says "Riddle me this, Adam & Steve & Tossmeoff went into the sea to bathe, Adam & Steve were drowned, who was there left to save...?"

My throat is dry. I gulp. One of his minders nudges me. "Come on, answer his riddle."

I whisper "Toss-me-off," and he begins to wank me, my balls swaying and dancing up against my legs. His minders sneer, enjoying my discomfort. Creepy George licks his lips and works me. This is what he does. Don't fight it. In fact, his gentle attentions are far from unpleasant, and few attempt to deny him. He likes cocks big. And he likes lots of what he calls 'milk'. It's advisable not to disappoint him. I've met his first expectations. I'm big enough. But what next? I ejaculated last night while I was sucking Wolfie. I had good sex with Ian yesterday too, sixty-nining to its full natural mutually-satisfying climax. How much more spunk can I manage?

I bite my lip as he eases his fingers up and down my shaft. Beyond the protective circle others walk past, I hear their mocking laughter. It's impossible to quench the sensations. My head goes back as I feel the tremors begin. He squeezes. The shock hits me. I spurt across his fingers, once, twice, three times. I must have hidden reserves, it keeps coming. His minders laugh.

Creepy George grins, lifts his spermy hand, looks at it, and says "Milk."

He says it seriously. He approves. I stand there, my cock still drooling, but scared to conceal it. I just stand there. Creepy George looks at me, says "Milk" again, and then moves off.

It's over. His minders follow. I hastily pull my pants up before any other curious observers can see. Although they know what's going on. They all know about Creepy George. Everyone does. I breathe a sigh of relief. My clothes uncomfortably moist. It's not the last time I'm the subject of his attentions. It's one of the hazards of the 'Big House'. It happens on two more separate occasions, with exactly the same results.

More scarily, I notice he has a wart on the thumb of the hand he wanks me with. Does that mean it will transfer from his thumb to infect my cock, and I'll find a nasty fungal-infection wart growing on the shaft of my cock? I check nervously for days after, but it seems that my dread has no medical foundation. No wart appears.

The more the weeks drag into months the more I settle into the dull routine of the Big House, the less threatening it seems, the more I become conscious of the tedium, the boredom and the dullness of the place. Perhaps my initial fears were unfounded? Perhaps it's not so dangerous, so terrible? I saw few examples of direct intimidation. No bullying to speak of, other than whatever is happening with 'Chuckler' Phil. Most of the inmates are no more than amiable buffoons, hopeless inadequates, more a danger to themselves than anyone else. Although there are a couple I'd prefer to keep at a safe distance, and they barely notice me.

I begin to wonder if I'd over-reacted out of unreasoned fear. As if even that one scene I'd witnessed between the three guys in the shower had been staged for my benefit, a conspiracy designed to scare me into compliance. Until the day I entered the shower-room again. As I undress I was aware of the sound of chanting and clapping. I pace through towards the shower-stalls with my towel casually thrown over my shoulder, only to be brought-up uncertainly by what I saw there.