Cock-Sucker: Around the World Ch. 03

One of them, in only a shirt open down the front, approaches me, a huge uncircumcised cock swaying before him.

"On your knees, boy, say your prayers" he grunts. "I've fucked you once already, now I'm going to place my seed in a different hole."

My eyes transfix with fear on his cock as I back away. It's huge. His companions laugh. As I begin edging away around the snooker-table they pursue me with jeering taunts, I sob and make a break for the door, staggering out onto the deck where I break into a frantic run, and the chase continues. I can see there are other ships out there across the bay. Can I shout out to them? No, in my dream-state unreality my throat is so dry I can barely croak out a word. Can they see me? Are they amused by the spectacle of a naked youth being pursued by sex-hungry sailors? Perhaps they're training binoculars on me at this very moment to see more clearly the way my cock flips and my balls bounce as I dart from cover to cover, jumping hawsers and bollards.

Despite the humid heat, I'm shivering, but there's nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, at last - whooping like it's some kind of game, they corner me, two of them grab me, forcing me down onto my knees. I'm breathing heavy with the unaccustomed exertion. One of them seizes me by the hair, forcing my head back, as my tormentor comes at me again, his shirt flapping loosely around his bare thighs, huge cock swaying inches from my nose. I can smell its sour musk.

"Open up, you'll get to enjoy it after a while."

The men holding me laugh as the cockhead nudges my nose, smearing slime, the testicles dangling fat and round between his legs. No, it's too big, I can't take it! Terrified, I part my lips, as he edges his prick towards my mouth.

"Good boy" he says soothingly. "Take your medicine like a good boy."

"No" I plead. "You don't understand, I'm not Gay, I'm not Gay, I'm not (gurgle)..."

My protests slur, dissolving into slurpy throaty noises as he plays it slowly between my lips, its size forcing my jaws apart, its hot fleshy taste filling my mouth. I blink tears from my eyes and moan. Then it touches the back of my throat and I retch, seeing inches of solid blood-veined cock still protruding from my straining saliva-dribbling distended lips, the hairy stomach above it heaving. He applies pressure, another inch slides in, my eyes bugging out of my head. And it keeps slithering impossibly in, it must be halfway down my windpipe by now. Gradually the two men release me, but I stay where I am, resigned. I suck at it submissively in bleak resignation... when I wake my mouth tastes like rats have nested in it. As though what happened was real...?

"That's right, Dorothy, it was all a dream!"

I lie gasping, in a state of shock. The intensity of it all was so overwhelming.

Yet despite the subconscious doubts and misgivings that the dreams betray, there's never any real sense of sexual threat from the rest of the crew, apart from playful bantering about me being 'Ivan's latest girlfriend'. They even call me 'Gloria'. Of course, I act truculent, but beneath it there's a warm response suspiciously like approval. I'd always thought of myself as dull, nerdish, uninteresting, the kind of guy no-one notices, yet here I am transformed into this exotic creature desired and lusted after by this powerful respected man. How strange is that?

I tell Ivan the details of my nightmares.

He says "It was a bad dream, I wouldn't worry about it none though, them old dreams are only in your head." He's quoting Bob Dylan's "Talking World War III Blues".

He's right, of course. But that doesn't mean that what the dream is telling me isn't also true. Almost without realising it, I've changed. I no longer identify myself with any rigid sexual identity, I've become a fluid thing, a creature of endless erotic possibilities...

The Erotic Voyage Will Continue In 'Literotica'...

by Tristan Trotsky