Cock-Sucker - Contract Cocksucker

A contract with the Syndicate

allows no escape clause,

even for a Contract Cocksucker...

I recognize the way his cock expands, pulses hard up against the roof of my mouth. And the familiar way he grunts with animal satisfaction the moment before he cums. I nuzzle in closer, taking that fatness comfortably tight into my mouth as the tremors begin, the explosions that shock upwards from his balls, along the sperm-duct connecting us, deluging tides of semen into my receptive mouth. He's breathing hard so way above me. I'm gulping, always ready, always prepared, sometimes a little overwhelmed by the sheer amount of his emission. Alternating a hard aggressive sucking, with a gentler coaxing pace, draining the last oozes, until he relaxes back into the chair, spent. I tighten my lips around the base of his cock, and draw my mouth slowly up the full length, ensuring that the last few drops of semen are eased clear, so there's absolutely no chance of spillage staining his perfectly-pressed suit. But I keep his cock in my mouth, using my tongue in soft stimulations around its head.

'You see' says Correleonè, 'this boy knows how to suck cock. He has a mouth made for pleasure. And you can see how much he enjoys doing it.'

I'm the only one naked in the room. So the others, the three enforcers, the accountant, the two girls, can all see my embarrassing erection. I have no control. Can't help it. It's natural. Some of the girls here, I know, would love to be in my position, with his cock in their mouths. You can tell the way they glance across with those pouting, inviting expressions. They're probably working girls from his various cat-houses, and like me they've likely done porn shoots for him. They know that to get in close with him would help boost their careers and open up luring opportunities. But he chooses me for his morning blowjob. Every morning. Without fail.

'You know?' he addresses me directly, looking down, meeting my eyes. 'You've always been straight with me. Well... maybe straight is not the right word, no. But you know what I mean.' Then he turns to address the others. 'I'm not Gay, you all know that. But there's an honesty about this boy that I can trust. He's not after favour. He's not seeking gain. He wants nothing of me.'

He looks down at me. 'I think there's something you should know. I think it's about time you were made aware of certain aspects of your life. You've been honest with me. We should be honest with you. It's time for some unpleasant truths.'

He clicks his fingers, and Enforcer Mario jumps to do his bidding, bringing the iPad across so we can both see its screen. He scrolls through a few sites. I'm confused. Not sure how to react.

At the Don's bidding I raise my head warily out of his groin, allowing the softening cock to slip out from between my lips, leaving only a few parting fish-pout kisses on its still impressive glans. My head is giddy with blood-rush, as I try hard to concentrate on what he's showing me. It's a clip that looks to be CCTV footage. I glance this way and that. Correleonè stabs his finger at the screen, so I focus my attention on what I'm seeing.

It shows a corridor, as in some low-rent hotel. At first it's empty, then there's a man with his arms around two younger men, staggering and lurching. My heart skips a breathless beat. It's Philip. The lover I'm doing all this for. But what is he doing with those two younger guys? Instantly the perspective switches. They're inside one of the rooms. There are cheap half-drawn curtains through which you can see the city skyline. And a wall-mirror that reflects everything. I've known all along that the syndicate bugs these rooms for blackmail and coercion purposes. Incriminating film can be a useful tool to manipulate judges, ensure the loyalty of lawyers and guarantee police compliance. But why show me this now?

Wait... they're naked on the bed. One of the punks is sitting on the edge of the bed to suck Philip's magnificent cock. The cock that I loved to suck! The other younger guy is crouched on all fours, the round cheeks of his bare ass presented, his legs slightly apart. Philip transfers the saliva-glistening arrow of his cock up out of the boy's mouth and targets it between the other boy's ass-cheeks. The young guy winces visibly as Philip forces the head of his cock in through the slight tightness, then slides it in all the way. And begins to fuck. The boy's dangling cock bobbing energetically in rhythm to each thrust. I know exactly what he's feeling. I know how wonderful it feels to host that beautiful cock. I'm burning with a mix of heartache and envy. Midway Philip pauses, slides back out, and shoves his cock back into the other boy's mouth again. The boy begins to suck enthusiastically, as the other boy squirms his way around to sit beside him. Both their perky cocks are visibly hard, obviously they're two street rent-boys he'd picked up. Philip transfers his cock from one mouth to the other, as the first boy writhes around to take up the crouching position, ass raised ready, for the next permutation. In the wall-mirror behind them I see each movement reflected in obscene detail.

My skin crawls with weird erotic revulsion, my gut cants unpleasantly. This wasn't supposed to be happening. There's a stinging very like tears in the corner of my eye. I rip my attention determinedly away and look questioningly at the Don. He smiles indulgently as my eyes are inexorably drawn back to what I'm seeing on the screen Mario is holding. Both of the boys crouch, mouths open, as Philip ejaculates copiously across their upturned faces...

'I'm sorry to break it to you this way' mouths Don Correleonè, as though he's doing some Marlon Brando imitation. 'But I feel it's only fair to let you know what he's been doing. You've been betrayed. He's played you for a fool. The debt you've been working so hard to repay has long since been settled. Only he chose not to let you know. He's now raking in a tidy revenue-stream from your exploitation. That's the kind of guy he really is...'

I remember how we were sitting on the kerb of a deserted strip in the heat of the Las Vegas sun, taking a break between shooting Porn. Marlon sits a little way from me, looking up and down the shadowless asphalt. 'There are different routes to fighting your way out of the ghetto, but I can't Rap, I'm not a Soul Singer and as sure as hell I'm a useless Boxer' he says in a quiet conversational manner. 'All I've got is this big trouser-snake. So I might as well take advantage of it. Nothing personal to you, you're a good kid, but there's a kind of vestigial racism about white boys being fucked by black cock. There's a persistent myth about the big black cock that we might as well turn to our advantage, because the kinky pervs who watch this kind of thing get off on it in a big way.' He flicks a pebble so that it bounced across the emptiness. Maybe he's waiting for a response from me. Maybe not. 'That's what I'm doing here anyway. Why are you here, doing this?'

'My... friend, is in trouble with the syndicate' I respond. 'He owes them money in a big way.'

'Your friend? Wow!' He whistles through his teeth. 'And you're doing this for him? He sure is a lucky guy.'

'No' I say, so softly it's almost a whisper. 'It's me that's lucky. He is everything to me. This is just a way I can prove myself to him.'

He shakes his head and rolls his eyes in incomprehension. We sit in silence for long moments. He glances down at his watch and laughs low. 'Break's over. Time we got back, I reckon. And I get to ram my cock all the way down your throat again.'

I nod, and follow him in a totally acquiescent shuffle, proving just how sexually broken I've become. This is my life now.

There was no real discussion. No dialogue about doing it. We were together, Philip and I. My first real live-in lover, and I was totally besotted with him. Older than me by a decade, more worldly and sophisticated. I often felt out of my depth in the face of his wisdom and experience. I could scarce believe that I deserved his time or indulgence. I'm an ingénue, hypnotized, fascinated, mesmerized in the way that only first-infatuation can be. I would, and did, whatever he wanted of me. I knew he loved the casino almost as much as he loved sex. But I never suspected he was in trouble. Until it was too late. He told me he was way in over his head. That he owed to the syndicate. The Sicilian Family who went big during the Prohibition era, then moved into prostitution and money-laundering in the years after. And you don't mess with those guys. Philip told me that the only way we can extricate ourselves from serious trouble is for me to work off that debt. There was never any discussion about whether I was willing to do it or not. There's simply no other alternative. There's just acceptance that this is the only way out for 'us'. I was scared. Reluctant. But I was going to do it for him. To prove myself to him. To prove my worthiness. This was a sacrifice I had to make. I was emotionally compromised.

'The Other' is a boho East Village coffee house run by the syndicate, a Gay hang-out with a small erotic library, 'Stonewall' posters on the wall and poetry nights. Three of us younger guys wait table, serving cappuccino or latte. Three young attractive guys of legal age. And every now and then, when the clients request, we go upstairs with them to give a blowjob or to get fucked. A service that is simply added to their bill as they leave. I, naturally, see nothing of the profits. Inoffensive Glenn had been regularly sexually abused by his older brother, and every time he goes upstairs with a new client is his way of dealing with those experiences and working his way through them. Ray was a student topping up his income, tall, a good-looking young-Adonis with a slender uncut cock, clients are frequently content merely to feel him up, fondle him, and jack him off. For my first few times the idea of anonymous sex with strangers is scary, I'm shy and bashful, but my own sensuality compromises me, my body decides otherwise, and I get a fierce erection. At first the pace is leisurely. An apologetic middle-aged man who barely gets hard, despite my most earnest oral ministrations - then one or two other guys, but I'm good at all aspects of the tasks demanded, and as word gets around the local community that there's a new guy - a good cocksucker, a tight receptive ass, I'm soon in demand.

Correleonè takes note of the sales spike, and I come to his attention. I'm moved to the 'Molly House' which is essentially a Gay brothel in a dignified old brownstone in an up-market district of the city, where there are more horny guys. It's a gradual escalation. Having accepted the necessity of the situation, and working the café, this is simply one step further. It's what I must do. We are Bum-boys, hookers, cum-dumps, catamites, property to be used and bartered. There are executives and info-com techies who come around, there are bi-guys on a tourist trip to the city fulfilling their curiosity this one time, never again to confide this deviation to anyone. When there's a trade convention in from the Gulf in town there are customers aplenty, leaving my bottom aching and my throat so raw-hoarse I can barely speak. They all have burning erotic needs to be met, for a price. Cocks to be sucked. The Don's trusted lieutenants and enforcers visit the 'Molly House' to enjoy freebies, and I suck them off a half-dozen times. That twitchy little accountant enjoys being fucked in the ass until he's reduced to a sobbing emotional mess. Probably it's a guilt-expiation thing.

There are fully-equipped dungeon-rooms in the basement, with restraints and implements that scare the hell out of me. I know that if I don't perform adequately and enthusiastically up here, I'll be sent down there to entertain the clients who get off on inflicting that kind of thing. So I make sure I perform well.

From there I'm moved out to Las Vegas to feature in a series of short Gay Porn films distributed by the Syndicate. Sex with Marlon... repeatedly deep-throating that huge black cock, and others. Poolside nudity with two unpleasantly arrogant Hispanics who jack each other off into my open mouth, leaving my face streaked with blobby strands of cum. Group sex with other well-hung young videogenic guys. I never question what I'm doing. I'm way beyond that now. I am unthinkingly docile. It is the only way to deal with the situation, and survive. This is how I prove myself to Philip.

Back in the city I finally get called to suck off Correleonè himself, and his morning blow-job settles into a regular routine. The tip of my cock tingles warmly in edgy pleasure as I suck him, little trembling pulses causing my erection to stir, my balls itch in crawling anticipation, close to cumming spontaneously myself, hands-free, as I had while Marlon was fucking and deep-throating me over and over again, the film-crew had loved that, focusing in on my kicking jerking cock as it geysers white jets of spunk up across my stomach, wracked with uncontrollable waves of orgasm. Perhaps I'm keyed that way? My body addictively responds despite logic or reason. Once the body becomes programmed to the signature pleasure-chemicals released into the bloodstream during a particular sex-act. There's obviously no hope for me.

Until now...

I bow my head, stifling the heartbreak tears. A sense of desolation so intense it rips me open. I've been played the fool, ruthlessly and clinically. I'm the stupid fall guy.

Correleonè leans over me and strokes my hair. 'Your obligation is discharged. It's only right that you're made aware of this, you understand? We have no claim on you any more. You are free to do whatever you want to do, go wherever you wish.'

Mario flicks the iPad off. I stare dumbly at the blank screen. Shaken to the core. My whole world collapsed in ruins around me. What now...? Standing naked there in the centre of the room, as they watch and await my reactions. I sit down. Bury my face in my hands and sob.

'You can go. You've earned that' says Correleonè with a trace of affectionate kindness in his voice. 'Your future is wide open. Go where you want to go. Do what you want to do. But of course, if you wish to make a new contract with us, on your own terms, that's an option too. You have only to ask.'

I look up at him warily.

'I'm still going to need my morning blow-job. And no-one does it quite as well as you do.'

I smile. The rich taste of his cum still swimming in my mouth. A warm feeling of new resolve bubbling up inside of me. Yes. 'Where do I sign...?'

By TRISTAN TROTSKY