Cock Sucker Testimony Ch 05

Chapter 05: Bryan

'The Final Instalment Of The Legend Of The House Of Shame'

As I became more and more sexually fixated on Wolfie, Ian was worried on my behalf. I was never unduly concerned. Although some of my previous nervous symptoms returned, nail biting and stammering. And I admit, my thoughts did occasionally turn to alternatives.

I found myself thinking, with vague regret, about the Trustee I'd 'auditioned' for in the potting shed. In retrospect, the more I thought about it, the more it seemed the brief intimacy had been so good. Why hadn't it worked out? If he'd enjoyed me sucking him off, as he gave every indication of doing, why didn't he want to do it again? It made no sense. Would I give it another try -- even as a one-off? Sure I would, like a shot, without a moment's hesitation. In a more relaxed, less pressured situation, I'm sure I could make it better for him, if only he'd give me the chance.

What could I say? "Hey if you're fighting the temptations of the flesh, stop fighting, it's alright. If you're worried by guilt about exploitation, fear not, I can suck away your doubts, just let me at it."

Instead, I wrote a series of notes with the intention of slipping them to him as we passed in the hallway. Writing, then scribbling out, re-wording and re-writing. How explicit should I be without running the risk of scaring him off? Admit that I'd loved the taste of him? That I'd loved what I'd done to him in the potting shed that afternoon, and still thought of those moments crouched on my knees below him, with his hot cock pulsing in my greedy mouth. How I'd do anything he wanted me to, if only he'd grant me a second chance. I'd tell no-one, I'd keep the secret, I'd meet him wherever he wanted, at a time of his choosing, with no strings, no preconditions -- except one, that he'd get his cock out and let me do it to him again. Allow me to suck him off all the way. Any follow-up would be entirely at his discretion, I'd never bother him again afterwards, never.

I re-read what I'd written, and my courage failed me. I tear it up. Shred it. Write another, and tear that up too. Sketched an illustration of me with my mouthful of his cock -- how much more blatant an invitation can you get than that? But I lack Ian's artistic skill, and tear that up too. I fret and scheme, but it all comes to nothing. I pass him once or twice in the corridors and the Day-room, smile openly in what's intended to be an inviting way. A kind of fuck-me-in-the-mouth smile. But he blanks me. Deliberately ignores me.

I saw Stuart again on a number of occasions. The guy I'd sucked-off beneath the spreading tree, as a birthday gift from Wolfie. It was difficult not to encounter people within the enclosed confines of the institution, and he always smiled pleasantly. He seems nice. As though, through an attractive combination of shy interest and tongue-tied reticence, he might be angling for a repeat. Something I would not be entirely averse to. But I had to be careful, he was not 'Protector' material, and without Wolfie's specific instruction I was wary. My unspoken contract with Wolfie implies a level of exclusivity, and if he found out I was freelancing with other guys it made a nonsense of his claims over me (he didn't know about Ian, so that was different).

So instead I found myself thinking back, almost wistfully, to Dean. How it had begun with me scared and uncertain, growing into bleak resignation, but how it had then developed into a kind of kinky confidence and self-assurance. Remembering the feel of him, the taste of him, the way his hips undulate as he spurts cum into my mouth. Not missing him, not as a person, no, but missing it, the firm heat of it, the feeling of safe predictability. Where is he now? Out there somewhere in the real world, reconnecting with straight sex? Meeting girls? He'd never get a girl to suck his cock the way I did. Does he have a new partner? Does that new partner suck him off as well as I used to? With a guilty pride and no undue modesty, I very much doubt it. Does he still get a stir in his groin thinking of me, recalling me doing it to him, as I get the stir now, thinking of doing it to him? Does he miss the warm moist clasp of my mouth on his cock? There are layers of indeterminacy about looking back. Certainly the longer I get distanced in time from Dean, the better those incidents seem. Maybe I was lying to myself?

Then I begin to consider what Ian had confided to me about the privileges he'd received from the now-disgraced Care Worker. It sets me off wondering in new directions. For there are dark rumours now. Another mentor catering to problem youth. Another bent staff-officer.

"Have you heard those stories about Reed?" I venture to Ian hoarsely. We were lying nude together in the laundry room. My head resting on his bare stomach, my eyes fixed on his cock as I play his foreskin up and down. "Do you think they're true?"

"Of course they're true. Haven't you noticed the way that he watches boys in the shower? He's queer as fuck. He loves to watch sweet boys with no clothes on. And more than watch them too. He'd love to see us like this. He'd love to see you with my stiff cock in your fist. He'd love to see you down there sucking me off, you are going to suck it now -- aren't you...?"

"Of course I am. Just try and stop me" I say. I've sucked Ian off more times than I can remember. But every time is a joy. I lick my way down his stomach, tunnelling my tongue through his downy pubic hair, circling and nuzzling around the base of his cock, then flick-licking my way up its shaft to the glistening knob-head. It slides so easily into my mouth, so familiar, then -- for a while, I'm unable to speak.

But while my mouth is pleasantly bulging with Ian's cock, until the delicious moment the flood of his orgasm jets into me, I'm thinking. Yes, the stories have the odour of veracity. The rumours that Reed takes advantage of his position. That he takes polaroids of entwined nude boys in light bondage and blindfolds. The stories seem very likely to be true. And surely his sexual favours would be sought after because of the treats and privileges he's in a position to bestow. And the boys he selects would generally be envied -- they'd get things the rest of us don't, things we all want, and all they have to do is suck cock to qualify. Hell, I'm doing that anyway. So I watch him, yes, he swaggers up and down, arrogantly complacent in his authority. But with ludicrous round glasses that make him look like a Benny Hill comedy-lecher.

It was said he makes his selection by watching us shower, basing his choice on penis-size. He prefers large ones. And, knowing this, boys strut and parade for him provocatively, vying with each other to gain his favour, his approval, stupidly proud of the size of their erections and regarding it as some kind of good fortune to be selected by him, hoping to catch his eye. I did. When he was invigilating while I was showering I ensure I was semi-erect and with my body glistening with water, making sure he notices me, swaying my hips so my genitals move in a way I feel sure he'll like, thrusting my hips forward to emphasise it, posing, tugging its length a little, absently, as though merely washing -- then smiling up coyly at him as if to say 'no, this is for your benefit', delaying dressing for as long as I can to ensure he gets a good look -- and he looks, I know he looks me full in the groin long and lingering, but he never makes an approach.

Perhaps my cock is too small? Perhaps he prefers cavaliers? I thought back with a kind of warped amusement to when I'd first arrived here, the cursory medical, the first time I'd had to strip naked and shower as the social worker watched me, how scared and shy and vulnerable I'd felt, doing my best to conceal myself from his gaze. How much has changed in so little time. Modesty is something we can't afford here. A luxury none of us are allowed. Bodies are common property, and nudity a part of it. Nude in the showers. Nude in the dorms. Sex is commonplace, not only tolerated but -- if those tales are true, sometimes even encouraged by the institution's staff. We learn to accept that our bodies will be intimately seen and used on a daily basis without our consent or permission -- indeed, without the slightest hesitation or consideration. It's a fact of life we must adjust to, and make the best of -- largely, of course, by acquiring a 'protector' who has special rights to our bodies in exchange for their protection.

Sex is frequent, and strictly functional. The object is ejaculation. Orgasm. Shooting spunk into an accommodating mouth or arse. Nothing more. That's a basic condition of sexual servitude we accept as a simple expedient for survival. But, it seems, he's not interested in taking advantage of what I'm offering him. Pity. I may not be the most generously genitally-endowed guy here, but hey -- it's not bad, and I could have provided him with polaroids to make his hair curl.

Instead, I had an oddly pleasing encounter. I was showering. I was aware someone else was there, but wasn't fully conscious of them. It was only as I emerge and begin to move towards my clothes that I feel nervous fingers reaching out and closing around my down-hanging cock. I turn in surprise. He's a naked young-looking guy, a recent intake. He appears shy and vulnerable. I smile encouragingly, and respond by trailing my fingers down the treasure-trail of hair from his navel to enfold his own nicely proportioned cock in my hand. A perfectly shaped arrowhead tip cresting a generously sized shaft surmounting a delectable set of softly-downed testicles. His stomach muscles shrink back, flinching as my fingers close around him, wary of my intentions. That reaction seems quite endearing to me. He relaxes a little as it becomes obvious I'm only intent on feeling him up.

We stand there stupidly, wordlessly smiling at each other, gently wanking each other. The warmth of his grasp setting up its inevitable magical rousing effect. There aren't many male bodies I'd describe as beautiful, but his is.

At length he seems to pluck up courage and mumbles "I'm alone here, will you be my friend?"

With a shock of amused recognition I realise what he's doing. He's approaching me, as I had once approached others, seeking to find a protector! He sees me as a potential protector -- me! Is that really the way he sees me? Boy, was he ever wrong! I'd spent all my time here expending my energies to ensure I had protection myself. Do I really look like the kind of figure capable of extending protection to others? Nevertheless, it must have taken courage and determination for him to approach me in the way he had. A lot of nerve, and he's even using the 'code' Ian had told me about. By now we're both fully erect. He's swollen pleasingly to fill my fist.

"What's your name?" I ask him.

"Simon." There's a breathy catch in his voice, betraying his state of arousal.

We lurch into the changing room, me leading him, him seemingly reluctant to release his grip on my cock for a moment, until we sit side-by-side, still naked, still toying with each other. He seems to enjoy his warm hold on me, and I'm more than content to let him.

"Well, Simon, the situation's like this..." And I begin telling him about Wolfie, at first in only the vaguest of terms.

He gets the message, and seems crestfallen. "What is it you actually do with him?" he persists.

I begin to explain a little more explicitly, while running my fingers up and down his cock, bunching and caressing his balls, circling my thumbnail teasingly around the underside of his heart-shaped glans as he becomes visibly more agitated. He's keenly interested in what I'm saying, his eyes glowing as I tell him about the regular oral sex. His knob blushes attractively in my fist as I wank him, its eye winking open and closed as I work my hand up and down its length. The act of simple mutual masturbation is infectiously innocent. Although I'd experienced so much, he's self-evidently done less, and this intimacy is still novel and thrilling to him. Something that communicates to me.

But as he becomes more aroused, his growing excitement means he returns his attentions more erratically. His grip on my cock too tight for comfort. Jerking me sporadically as though intent on ripping it off by the root. At last he clenches his bare toes, his tight belly flexing, and he gasps sexily with little whimpering sobs, screws his eyes tight shut, his face contorting into a delightful grimace of pleasure, and he begins spunking off in my hand. Three arcing jets, each as powerful as the last, then a few smaller drools. I coax it, gently squeezing out the last few drooling drops, as he looks both shyly embarrassed and pleased. His milky sap has splashed on the tiled floor, on the bench between his legs, and onto my fingers.

"So I can't be your protector" I conclude. "But we can be friends, and I'll help you if I can, in any way I can," intending the words to have double-meaning.

Drained, he merely sits with my cock resting in his hand, although I'm mentally urging him to resume.

Instead he smiles, says "Thank you" nicely, and finally loosens his hold on my erection, without even the courtesy of bringing me off.

I watch him wipe his spermy cock and balls on one of the coarse white communal towels. Then watch him getting dressed, the curves of his pertly rounded buttocks jolting as he pulls his shorts up. He smiles across at me, maybe sexily wistful with it, and leaves me with a feeling of mild regret, as though I've passed up on an opportunity rich with potential. I massage the traces of his sperm into my hands, while reflecting ruefully that I should have put him through it. I guess I could have done to him what others had done to me. Got him in the corner and got him to suck me off, and once he's gulped down my load sneer derisively at him and say "I'll let you know if and when I ever need somebody..."

But I don't have the heart. He's as lost and confused as I'd once been. The incident just serves to emphasise to me that my role is better suited to be the used, rather than the user. Naturally, the next time I see Ian I explain what had happened. He seemed very interested, and promises to do what he can to help. I saw Simon a few times subsequently, but never alone, and never intimately. When we pass in the breakfast room or the corridor he smiles at me prettily in a way that sets up a stirring in my groin, and has me regretting I'd not exploited the situation better when I had the chance.

My imaginings become more charged the more I think of him, the more I turn the incident over in my mind. Instead of just tossing him off, as pleasant as that had been, I could have sucked him off. Perhaps we could have gone to the laundry room 'cock-pit' together and done it all, with his smooth clean new body and fresh eager cock there for me, slithering beneath me as we sixty-nine. Too late now. The moment had passed.

Some time later I raise the subject again with Ian -- had be been able to help Simon?

Sure, he said, he'd fixed him up.

"Did you -- uh, y'know, take advantage of him?" I venture.

"Naturally I allowed him to demonstrate his aptitude on me. I'd be a fool not to, how could I in all conscience recommend him without knowing how he performs? He might have been useless. He probably considered you a wuss for passing up on the opportunity. So I let him suck me off. Then, once he'd done it, and done it so nicely, I passed him on to Buzz. Buzz has had a hankering to own his own boy ever since you sucked him off so efficiently in the locker room" he explained.

So they were paired. I was horrified at the vision that it conjured up in my head. Buzz has a mighty big cock, and the thought of Simon's tightly pursed rosebud lips caressing such danger with that relentless penis sundering his mouth again and again, as it had done to mine... is an intimidating image.

"Is that wise?" I protest. "Buzz's cock's so big it'll kill him."

"You adapted to Wolfie" replies Ian with a shrug. "He'll be fine. In fact, later on, he thanked me. He was grateful to me for resolving his dilemma and also, I think, for indulging in a little harmless grubby fun. You -- your trouble is, you're way too sensitive and considerate."

Again, I'm not sure whether he's teasing me. Did all that actually happen? It's possible. It's more than feasible that it did. And indeed, whenever I encounter Simon, he seems to be perfectly grounded. People adapt. Perhaps there's no room for innocence anymore? I accept that it's way too late for me. I'm already damned. But I thought maybe Simon was different. It seems I was wrong. And everyone is corruptible. He so easily joined that furtive after lights-out traffic of bare bodies moving between dorms to erotic assignations. Simon contentedly going to Buzz's bed to obediently suck him off. Which, despite my misgivings, conjures up undeniably enticing images in my mind. Something within me yearns to be there to see it happen.

Every now and then, Ian leaks accidental update details. Simon, he says, has turned out to be a hot piece of arse, a natural slut. First-off, Buzz is amazed and delighted with the enthusiasm of his spunk-gobbling performance, and soon discovers he has problems keeping up with Simon's voracious appetite for his dick, regularly leaving it sucked raw. Then Ian tells me Simon's voluntarily drawn up and signed a binding contract 'assigning all oral, anal and genital rights of his body for the absolute and total use of Buzz whenever and wherever he so chooses', and that he's done a 'lap-of-honour', sucking his way around the dorm as evidence of his submission.

"What? A four-bed dorm?"

"No, six of them."

"Did Buzz pressure him to do it?"

"No, Simon suggested it. It was his idea. I don't know for sure, this is just what I've heard."

The images crowding my head are unbearably intense...

"My arrangement with Wolfie is pretty much like that" I argue back.

"Ah, but it's not a legal contract."

"Yes, but would it stand up in court?"

"I think it stands up pretty well anywhere by itself, until someone's finished sucking it, then it goes a bit limp."

We're both laughing and giggling now. But I'm thinking about how 'Chuckler' Phil once accused me of 'setting the bar' that others were expected to equal. Could it be that Simon is now raising the bar for me, and I'd be expected to follow...? Well, if there was a cock-sucking contract, I guess I'd sign it without a moment's hesitation.

"We have a contract' whispers Ian softly. "You and me. My cock is your cock, your cock is my cock. You know that."

Yes, I know it. And it's one of the best things that ever happened to me.

--- 0 ---

It was not until my final months in the Big House that things turn around. Wolfie dumped me. He'd been testing out my limits, until it became obvious to him that I have no limits, which means the game is no longer worth playing. He'd exhausted the ways he could use and exploit me, and so he moved on, taking a new younger inmate in my place. My replacement was a nervous, compliant kid who must in some way have resembled what I was like when I first arrived here.

As I encounter the new boy in the corridor, I smile at him encouragingly, but he turns away hurt and defensive, as I must have done during those first few days of confusion. I want to reach out, to be his friend, to help him in ways that Ian had helped me. And as we had both helped Simon. They are both fresh new young flesh. I feel like an old lag by comparison, hardened and coarsened by my experiences. With Simon, or Wolfie's new property, I might have introduced them to the other sweet things Ian had done with me. Maybe, if the signs had been right, if the opportunity had presented itself. But they don't. Nevertheless, both of them have been 'claimed', they would learn fast, as I had learned fast. Even though I've set the bar high, everything I'd done for Wolfie, the new guys will now be expected to do. The deep-throating, the anal, seeing to other guys for trade.