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Anal

Things in the House of Shame get stranger and more extreme.

But there’s change here, as well as continuity. My first terror came when – after three months, Dean was paroled, and I was suddenly alone. There was no warning, no advance intimation, I just entered the dorm, and his bed was stripped, his things were gone, the sheets neatly folded and placed on the foot of the mattress. His bed remained unoccupied. The bed in which we’d done so much stuff, it now stayed empty. Hooch left around the same time. His place taken by Ben, an inarticulate youngster who had an arson problem. Troubled, and seriously disturbed, he cries himself to sleep most nights. Turned on more by the prospect of igniting fires than he is by blow-jobs, we share little common interest, and we scarcely communicate. He was more in need of a protector than I was. It was my worst nightmare.

It wasn’t that I missed Dean. Not in any real sense. It’s not as though we’d ever shared any kind of relationship. Throughout the months we’d not exchanged more than half a dozen words. The only way we ever communicated was around the magic wand six inches below his navel. But by now I was totally conditioned to being ‘owned’. That shifty-looking creep on the stair had said ‘hey, leave him alone. He belongs to Dean.’ And I did. With Dean, I was property. And – as property, well – guys usually have a vested interest in keeping their possessions safe. If what they’ve got is useful to them, they make sure it stays undamaged. Without Dean I lack that assurance, I feel scared, vulnerable, exposed. My recently acquired self-assurance evaporates like morning mist.

What if I get stopped by those three yobs on the stairs now, by those three aggressive retards in an arrogant mood and this time they know I have no protector? What about the victim guy in the showers… will that be me tomorrow, or the day after? In this overheated sexually-repressed confinement there’s always the threat of being abused at best, gang-raped at worst. While I lie awake at night turning over in my head the prospect of being taken by four guys, it might seem quite tantalising and even arousing. But in the hard light of day I realise no, I need protection.

The answer is obvious. Staring me in the face. The best way to get over somebody, is to get underneath someone new. I need a replacement for Dean. I need a new protector. It’s a matter of some urgency to me. I give the matter considerable feverish thought – who would want me? What do I have to offer? I spend some time eyeing up possible contenders, appraising their strengths and availability. Then, in a kind of desperation I make myself available to three guys in the space of a single day, in the hope of bonding. It was difficult for me to open up in this way. But I felt I had no alternative, and they were happy to have me ‘audition’ on a one-off basis, and I was pathetically desperate to please them. Plucking up courage, I approach the first one in the bathroom, operating what Ian had confided to me as the ‘code’.

“I’m alone” I mumble, my guts all a mess. “Will you be my friend?”

“What do I get from this?” he grins.

“Whatever you’ve got in mind” I trace my lower lip with my finger in what’s intended to be suggestive invitation.

“Show me” he leers. “Don’t worry, the pleasure’s all mine.”

And we pad back to his dorm. Nervous, but reconciled to what I must do. Fortunately there’s no-one there, he sits on the edge of the bed, unzips and pulls it out. Flexing it proudly, brandishing it for my appraisal. Not that he has much to brag about. It’s disappointingly smaller than I’ve grown used to – hell, I’m getting to be a size-snob already! Before I have chance to back out I go down on him, crouching between his knees on the floor to mouth it, but after what I’ve done with Dean, it presents me with little challenge. Most of it fits snugly into my mouth without causing any hint of gag-reaction. I almost feel more sorry for him than for me. It’s oddly unexciting, I suck and suck, but it doesn’t even take much mouth-action to bring him off. All too soon he’s tensing, gives a little whimper, and I taste the first spurt of his spunk. Once he’s come I wait patiently for the spasms to finish, with it resting in my mouth as it pulses to a slow ooze, waiting for his breathing to return to normal. When all signs of ejaculation have ceased I retain it for long enough to satisfy the demands of politeness and etiquette before unmouthing it. Then draw back, looking up at him.

He sniffs. Says “Sorry, but actually, I already have a ‘friend’ who does that for me. But if ever that doesn’t work out, I’ll bear you in mind.”

Sulkily I wonder why he couldn’t have said that before I blew him. But then again, I was relieved in a sense, I couldn’t have gone with him regularly, his cock was too small, it’s necessary to respect, even be a little in awe of your ‘protector’. If you’re with a guy, you should be just a little scared of his cock, scared – but in a good way, scared, but in that white-knuckle thrill kind casino oyna of scared that gets you all psyched up, as it had been with Dean. When I’d been mouth-fucked by Dean, there was no mistaking that I knew I’d been had. And that – undeniably, involves size, which this guy just didn’t have.

In all the Gay-porn I’ve read, and I’ve read a lot, it always amuses me the way they always quote the exact penis-dimensions of every sex-encounter clear down to the eighth-of-an-inch. In reality, while it’s happening, you’re too caught up in it to measure. You’re aware this cock is bigger than that one, this one is thicker than that one. But the only one I’ve ever actually measured is my own. And Ian’s. We’ve done that quite a lot.

Later I was delegated to help work in the vegetable garden again, where there’s a tall Trustee in charge. As a Trustee he has his own room. I eye him up. Yes, he might fit the bill. Dark in an aloof attractive kind of way. Once I’d whispered my availability and willingness, he consents to take me across the grounds and into the potting shed. Into the musky aroma of moist soil, growing things, and fibrous compost. He acts off-hand, almost irritable, as though he’s inconveniencing himself by doing me a favour. He watches impatiently as I strip – it was chilly and I’d purposefully not worn underwear in preparation for this. Soon I’m standing naked and smiling before him, eyes big with a ‘please don’t hurt me’ pleading expression. His detached manner is disturbing, but if I’m wary and uncertain, my cock certainly isn’t, it protrudes proudly erect. Let him look, I’m gullibly proud to prove my state of anticipatory arousal is genuine, let him see what’s on offer. He nonchalantly drops his own pants, generously gifting me the opportunity of demonstrating my oral expertise.

“There, and watch what you’re doing with your teeth, if you know what’s good for you.”

Although it’s limp, he’s obviously well-hung, that already impresses me. Wide-eyed, my heart turning somersaults in my throat at the prospect of sucking it, at the enormity of what I have to do, I kneel before him, so it’s erecting less than an inch from my nose. Close my eyes in not-so fake-bliss, and take it in my mouth, devouring it greedily. Make approving appreciative noises as I suck him, slobbering greedily to show how much I’m getting off on doing it, how much I’d like to do it again, how well I’ll do it anytime he wants, if only he’ll let me…please? Since going with Ian I’d become increasingly intrigued by foreskins, and this one would provide me with ample opportunity for experiment… if only he’ll like me.

My own cock is bobbing and tingling enthusiastically as I work on his big hard-on, my balls squirming between my legs in a pleasurable way. It’s obvious I’m not going to last out. I can feel it building. I give it to my sensations, nuzzling deep into his cock and moaning as I begin pumping spunk out into a white fountain across the floor. Yet he keeps glancing guiltily towards the doors, as though expecting at any moment someone else to blunder in and catch us at it.

“Hurry up. I haven’t got long. I’ve got to get back.” His voice, from somewhere above me.

“I’m sorry, I’m doing my best” I mumble.

Using every trick I know to work him until he erupts in long gooey white jets. The disgustingly strangulated noises he’s making as he orgasms into my mouth seem to indicate I’ve performed well. I gulp and swallow, draw back, then tongue his moist shaft clean of every trace, up around the rim of the glans, holding it this way and that, carefully licking an ooze of his spunk that dribbles from my lower lip afterwards as though savouring the taste of each pearly sperm-drop, smiling up at him, seeking signs of favour. There’s dirt on my bare knees where I’d crouched, and glistening spurt-pools of semen where I’ve also cum onto the floor. I wait meekly for his verdict, I’ve done the best I can, I can do no more.

“Was that alright?” I venture at last. “Did you like it?”

“Certainly seems as though you liked it” he retorts.

How do I respond to that? ‘Yes sir, thank you sir’?

But before I can speak, as he readjusts his pants he simply points to my ejaculate. “Clean up your mess.”

Then he brusquely instructs me to return to the garden-work. No comment about the intimacy, no hint of a repeat-bout. I can’t understand why he’s rejecting me, or what I’ve done wrong. Perhaps I’d been a little too demonstrative for his taste, too much of a gobble-slut? With low expectations and a bleak sense of fatalism, the third guy I approach with the ‘code’ merely hustles me into the nearest toilet cubicle. I sit on the pedestal as he stands over me, leering critically down at me as I unzip his pants, pull it out and begin sucking him off. This is the third cock I’ve had in my mouth today, that’s a scary thought. Already I’m feeling spunk-drunk.

“Nothing too fancy, none of that in-and-out stuff, and get ready, I get the feeling I’m not going to last long.” He laughs tauntingly at my cramped canlı casino discomfort.

But – judging by the explicit graffiti I can see out of the corner of my eye, and the crude illustrations on the wall, I’m far from the only boy to find myself squatting in this position, with the strong whiff of disinfectant, the drip-drip-drip of cisterns, and a cigarette-butt floating in the toilet-bowl. I sense from the start it’s not going to work out, but by then his big wedge-shaped bell-end is already nudging its insistent way past my epiglottis, and it’s too late to stop, stopping is no longer an option. So I simply continue working him until he cums, hoping against hope my diligent efforts will be rewarded.

As he wipes my saliva off his dangling cock with sheets of toilet-paper he looks me straight in the eyes and sneers “Naw” with mocking derision.

My eyes fall, shame-faced, humiliated and depressed by my failure. Despite my best efforts, none of the three were prepared to make it a regular thing. Until Ian intervenes. Since Hooch left he’s now with a guy called Bryan. A Trustee with his own room and a highly suckable cock. He’s doing fine. Naturally, I confide in Ian. I tell him everything. Of my fears that the bad guys might be out there now, already targeting me. Ian reluctantly admits he knows of this guy called ‘Wolfie’ who might be interested in using me. He’s not sure if he’s right for me, but he can arrange it… if I’m up for it? I am up for it. Tell me more! Wolfie is in another dorm but that doesn’t matter. At night – so Ian insists, there’s already a great deal of furtive movement going on between rooms.

So at lights-out I go slinking nude down the corridor to find his bed. It’s the hardest walk I ever take. I can scarcely believe what’s happening, I’m feeling buzzed-up, light-headed, as though high on something, as though I’ve inhaled some exotic narcotic, my throat dry with disturbing anticipations. Is this what I’ve become? Is this the level I’ve sunk to? A pre-owned cock-sucker, well-used, high sperm-consumption, seeking new position? But what viable alternative is open to me, one that doesn’t involve swallowing a stranger’s semen? In a word – none, not one that I can think of.

Ian, of course, was perfectly correct, there is a traffic of enticing sleepwalking nudes in the night. I pass two other naked youths stealthily scurrying towards secret sexual assignations, one smiles self-consciously, the other appraising my body with undisguised interest – as though he’d like to tarry and indulge in some mutual fondling, as we pass each other through the ribbons of moonlight cast by the window, and yes, I could be tempted, I couldn’t help but notice the sway of his cute cock, and I could easily be induced to entertain it. But time is tight.

I walk, my jiggling balls tap-tapping on my inside leg in a not unpleasing way. Entering the dorm there’s a creepy feeling of trespassing into foreign territory. A floorboard creaks beneath the tread of my bare feet. In the first bed I mistakenly approach, two sleeping boys are contentedly entwined, as though they’ve tired each other sixty-nining. Glancing reluctantly away, there’s movement at the next bed, someone furtively sliding away, and I can see the guy left in the bed, with a tousled basin-cut fringe, and he’s holding the covers back in impatient invitation.

Nervously I approach him. “Wolfie, will you be my friend…?” I begin the code.

“Ian told me you were coming” he cuts me off crudely. “He said you’d give me good head. He says you’re a natural cock-sucker, so don’t just stand there with it all hung out, shut up, get in here, fill your face with dick, before the night’s through, I’m gonna do plenty bad things to you.”

My throat is dry. This is a mistake. Get the hell out of here while there’s still chance. He’s a scary looking guy, as though he’s quite capable of taking care of himself. I’m as nervously paralysed as I was my first time approaching Dean, but steel myself as I had then. I gaze at his groin in an agony of anticipation, and feel my resistance melting. Although it’s bunched in his fist, the better to aim it up at me, a good half of his cock-length still protrudes from his grip. It’s big, the staff of life, a thing so ugly, yet so mesmerising. A brutal thing that’s not quite human, which has more right to belong on some bestial animal, something altogether more primitive, more base, more primal by far.

The air is chill, but I’m perspiring. The situation is so blatant, so raw. This is what I must do, or back out… now, retreat. So do it. Don’t hesitate. Do it! I’m already exhaling in awe, unconsciously opening my mouth into a wide preparatory ‘O’ of rehearsal, my salivatory glands working overtime. I’m drawn towards it like a doomed meteorite is drawn down to the Earth, drawn as if by a fish-hook embedded in my mind. Whatever my earlier reservations, I’m unable to help myself. My legs have turned water-weak, all strength in them has dissolved, and they’re no longer capable of supporting me. kaçak casino My own cock twitches like an antennae, guiding me.

I sink down into his bed, and my head goes down willingly onto his big cockhead, straining my lips around its blood-swollen helmet, slurping my way down its length until he releases it and allows me my way, the heat of it burning up through the roof of my mouth. The light is low, it’s an alien and unreal atmosphere, are there other eyes in the night-dorm watching? Are they making judgements? Do they despise me? Despise what I’m doing? What the hell. Sod them all, I gorge myself shamelessly, a rich toxic slurping sound escaping as I do so. Once begun, it’s impossible to stop. He grunts, moves his hips in reaction to the power of my slavish gobbling, and splays his legs a little more to grant me greater access, then – I swear, he chuckles low in mocking appreciation of my complete subservience.

I crouch between his legs, and suck, up and down, up and down, deeper, harder, sucking the heat of the slimy monster for what seems like forever. By then I’m more than ready for whatever he’s got to give me, feeling his fat balls in their protective sac, estimating the volume of rich masculine juice they’re about to empty into me. Urging it on. It’s intoxicating. The more I suck it, the more I want to suck it. I want more, purring and mewling around my thick gag. And all too soon I get it, it kicks and jerks, then floods me as I moan helplessly, gulp and swallow, then gulp and swallow again, my cheeks filling out as I try to keep up with the relentless flow. Coddling his balls, milking them. Sucking slower as it subsides, and keep sucking as though unable to break free. As though I’m afraid to let it go.

He looks down at me and scoffs, “You filthy slut.” Which I take to mean his approval.

Once I’ve swallowed his sperm there’s nothing left to lose, nothing to hide, no pride, no pretence, it’s as though all restraint has gone. By then I’ve totally lost it. What else can he do? We both understand the situation, we both accept my complete submission. So it stays in my mouth, I expect it to soften, and – although it loses some of its rigidity, after a short while it flexes and refirms. He indicates for me to lie on my back, which I’m a little self-conscious of doing as it lays bare my own state of drooling arousal. Not that he notices. Instead he straddles me, sits on my chest and casually sticks his cock back in my mouth, after a leisurely suck he pulls it out and rubs it messily along my nose leaving a slime trail, presses the wet glans into each eye-socket, then slaps it across my face, smears it across my forehead and then plops it down back into my receptive mouth.

This time he shoves his hips forward so it slides deep into my throat causing me to retch, he laughs at my discomfort. At the same moment my thighs writhe in reaction and I cum in spurts up my stomach. Although I’m moaning and breathing more heavily around the cock filling my mouth, he hardly seems to notice to my own ejaculation. Instead, he plays around some more, in, out, back and forth, his swaying balls surging with fresh loads of semen, until after a while he begins to fuck my face more intensely, his hands coming down to grip my head inescapably. When he ejaculates this time half of it hits my mouth, other jets shoot across my face, nose and up into my hair. Gasping breathlessly I resist the urge to wipe. He wants it on my face, it stays of my face until he decides otherwise. It’s his decision, not mine. I’m here to be used. I concentrate on sucking the spunk-messy cock.

Once in his bed I’m not allowed to leave. After a while we must have drifted off into a kind of sated sleep. I have a series of disturbingly erotic dreams. A line of nude guys – Dean, Ian, the trustee from the potting shed, the other two ‘auditions’, others I don’t remember, all the cocks I’ve ever sucked in my life, here in the Big House, and the years before. Is it really so many? And I must work my way along the row of very stiff erections towards Wolfie, who waits like some kind of prize or reward at the end of the line. They’re all big and hard, masturbating in their impatience for me to reach them. At first it seems we’re on a beach. I can feel the sun and the warm breeze on my bare body and hear the low murmur of waves. But then, as I draw back from Dean’s pulsing ejaculating cock gushing sperm as rich and creamy as a full milkshake, struggling to gulp it all as it slops from my mouth and down my chin, I realise no, we’re on-stage in a plush Parisian or maybe New Orleans cat-house. My cock-sucking marathon is the evening’s entertainment.

But as I crawl towards the next cock my own genitals are shrinking, I’m losing my body hair, reverting to what I’d resembled as a kid, regressing. There’s an audience watching us, pointing, mocking and jeering at my cock, which is now so small I’m ashamed. But I can’t hide, they can all see my humiliation. The other stiff drooling cocks awaiting my attention are all so much bigger and more challenging, and getting bigger as I struggle to mouth them, working my way along the row one by one. But with a sense of increasing urgency I know it’s vitally important that I suck them all off and reach Wolfie.

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