Cock-Sucker: Ganymede Confessions

Then we are directed to suck each other, which is always a pleasure, because Bosie has a tasty coffee-coloured cock, I can feel it's every vein and ridge as it slips past my lips, running my warm, wet tongue all over it as I take it further and further down my throat. And being watched while I suck cock really brings out my slutty side. Then we lie together side-by-side on the bed between the judge's splayed legs, our bare skin touching, to suck him, cooing our feigned delight as we mock-compete to get his small penis and drooping balls in our mouths. We lick our way up the length of his cock, one on each side, until our tongues meet across the urethral opening, I slip the glans into my mouth... then tongue-push is across to Bosie who sucks it into his mouth, taking it a little deeper. Then, when it's my turn again, I take it all the way down to his balls, making the Judge squirm and shudder with pleasure. It doesn't take him long to cum. He holds us by the hair, pushing our heads in closer so his watery spunk pulses and dribbles onto our faces. We trade his oozes of sperm on our tongues, with every appearance of enthusiasm. He also wants water-play. Bosie squats in the shower-stall with the curtains thrust back so the judge can see, as I stand over him, he looks up at me appealingly as I direct a jet of yellow urine to splash over his face and shoulders. Then it's my turn to squat uncomfortably as the Judge and Bosie piss on me, 'open your mouth, boy' he commands impatiently, 'throw your head back' as the deluge of warm piss-jets rain over my upturned face and teeth, the sour taste flooding me. He seems pleased by our performance.

There was a particularly well-endowed bisexual jazz musician who would call around the club late-nights, after he'd played a session and failed to score with female company. We would compete for his attentions in the hope that he'd select us, and be so envious if he chose someone else. He was a delight who knew how to treat his cocksucker. By now I'd been sucking cock for so long I'd forgotten what it was like to be a cock-virgin...! I couldn't do without getting regularly face-fucked by a dominant big-cocked gentleman who knows exactly how to treat a younger cum-slut, and makes sure I deep-throat to complete and utter satisfaction. One who makes me crouch on my knees and suck him, then drapes me over the bed and force-fucks my throat, then shoots all that spurting spunk into my grateful mouth and watches me blissfully swallow it down, lavishing wet sloppy adoring kisses, licks and sucks all over his saliva-messy cock, my eyes glazed with sated infatuation. A man who knows how to get me weak at the knees and slavishly devoted to his cock. A man who totally owns me, for an hour at least....

It's so good to be used anonymously by a demanding guy with a big cock. Just to be mouth-fucked to completion like a cheap whore. Sometimes those swift brutal face-fucks are the best, when I'm on my knees just being used as a total cum-slut, I love that, when he's in a hurry to get back for a business engagement, or an appointment to meet his wife, and he just uses the Ganymede to get his rocks off and spunk-off into any warm available hole. He hasn't got time for the nicities and just shoves his big stiff cock into my mouth and fucks my throat until he cums, then leaves me drooling... Sometimes it's nice though, when I'm down there on my knees with a big hard cock rammed down my throat, when he looks down at me with a dirty leer and says sweet encouraging endearments such as 'filthy cum-slut'. I do so love that.

Once the day is done and the last guest has left we shower, sniggering and bantering. Sebastiane is a wonderful mimic, and has us in fits of laughter as he describes a clumsy fumbling man who simply took forever to cum while fucking him, acting out his movements and facial expressions with comical exaggerations. While sweet little Bambi is newly dancing on air, making naked pirouettes, enamoured by what he describes as a dreamboat gentleman, and how he was totally besotted by sucking his wonderful cock and tasting the nectar of his cum, will he return for more? Bambi hopes against hope the tall dishy guy will come back and select him again, over and over.

Even my dreams take on an erotic nature. I'm being pursued through a dark forest, I'm naked so that my cock lollops from side to side, slapping up against my thighs as I run through entanglements of sharp foliage and briar. Each scratch and stigmata pinprick causes a bright bead of blood to glisten on my bare skin. I emerge onto the stony strand of a lakeshore, an unnaturally huge yellow moon fills the sky. I can run no further. There is no escape. I turn as a naked man shoves his way onto the beach behind me. He wears only a helmet decorated by branching ritual antlers. His pagan cock is fiercely erect, as though carved from stone. The very sight of it is both terrifying, yet there are waves of uncontrollable pleasure surging up from my own groin.

I sob and fall into a crouch, 'please, I'll suck your cock, I'll do anything you want, but keep me safe from the others.'

He takes a step towards me, that hypnotic monster cock swaying menacingly. 'That's not the way we work.' His voice is an empty echo. 'It's one for all, and all for one.'

I groan as other naked men take their place behind him, and I accept what is about to happen... I open my mouth... then wake up, to find I'm in bed entangled with Bosie and that he's gently sucking my cock.

He looks up at me, smiles and licks his lips lasciviously, 'I'm sorry, I just couldn't wait for you to wake up. I just had to suck you.'

I lie back, close my eyes and allow him to do what he will.

There are playful competitions staged for the floor-show entertainment of members, two boys placed side-by-side in stocks and then mouth-fucked by a volunteer line-up of guests, the boy who induces most oral orgasms within a specified time-period is declared winner. The same competitive motivation is applied when two boys are placed side-by-side for an anal-sex endurance test. In the archives I discover a record set by a boy in 1926 of swallowing fifty-two cum-loads. Bambi determines to beat the record, but fails when no further men are available to participate after he's taken forty-six mouthfuls, although some have come around for a second turn, and we've sent out an appeal for more sperm-donors, recruiting members of staff, but he still falls sort of the required total. Naturally disappointed, he pledges to try again when more men are available.

In one neglected storage room I discover three large brightly-painted Victorian rocking horses, each one has a shaped phallus of some resinous material protruding from the saddle, so -- once suitably lubricated, the 'rider' is anally penetrated by the dildo, his own genitals flipping and bouncing while he's being gently sodomised as he rides the rocking horse back and forth. I have the horses brought downstairs and organise an amusing race with three boy-riders competing against each other, to the delight and cheered encouragement of the audience, to be the first to orgasm simply from the repeated rectal stimulation. Intrigued by the spectacle, members of the audience volunteer to try out the novelty themselves afterwards.

At other times we indulge in wild skinny-dipping parties in the pool, with group-sex configurations involving all twelve boys and numerous clients simultaneously, with a line-up of boys crouching to suck-off a line-up of men who methodically move along the row of open mouths from left to right, then the same row of boys crouching to be fucked doggy-style by a line-up of men who move down the row from anus to anus fucking each in turn. And on other occasions I'm masked and strapped into one of the bondage devices and fucked anonymously, repeatedly orally and anally for hours on end, leaving me quivering and numb, with semen oozing from my rectum and spattered across my face. In a world so filled with doubts, questions and uncertainty, there's something so single-mindedly intense about an erection, which knows nothing but desire, and will not be denied. A hard-on tells no lies. And if it's unnatural, as some puritans claim, why does it fit so well into each orifice, and feel so exquisitely good? If a cock in your mouth is not natural, why does it fit so perfectly? If a cock in your mouth is not morally right, why does it feel so good? I wonder, should this be filmed or photographed for posterity like that archive of vintage erotica? Yet we have a commitment to consider the anonymity of our members. That interest is always paramount.

I can't help but observe that Phillis seems increasingly nervous and fretful about carrying out the sexual duties required of him, I become concerned that he's having problems adjusting to life at the Club. At one point I notice that a regular client with sadistic tendencies, a Mr Morris, is holding Phillis by the cock, and using it to pull the reluctant boy towards one of the side-rooms. Phillis is laughing nervously, in a high almost hysterical way. I move swiftly to interpose myself between Mr Morris and the room.

'Why not use me, sir?' I simper in my most seductive voice, 'My bum-hole is very much in need to your brand of tough love.'

He glances from one of us to the other, in obvious indecision. So I reach down and prise his fingers off Phillis' pretty cock, and wrap them firmly around my own.

'Run along, Girl' I say, patting Phillis on the perky bare bottom, 'I will take care of this gentleman's needs.'

Without a moment's hesitation or a backward glance Phillis slips away, as Mr Morris tugs me impatiently into the side-room, barely bothering to close the door before he hauls me bent-double over the table. He holds me down, although that is unnecessary, as I'm entirely compliant. It's just part of his dominant behaviour pattern. He smacks the rounded cheeks of my raised arse, and uses a small riding crop to beat me until my buttocks are stinging and blush-red. My gasps and whimpers only excite him more. By now he's already hard, he parts my legs further and rams a finger up my arse, wriggling it around in a way that makes me wince, then he slides his cock all the way up my rectum in a single savage thrust that makes me groan, then, as he pounds me hard he reaches around to seize my testicles and squeeze them to the point of pain, laughing cruelly as I squirm and sob. My discomfort increases his pleasure.

I'd done this primarily to rescue Phillis from just such an ordeal, but there's an undeniable excitement in being taken rough and raw. This man fucking me makes everything clear. No questions any more. Sex is a compulsion that yields neither to logic nor reason. The body, the senses, the very molecules that make up our being, have their own agenda. And these moments of raw mindless sex cleanse all those doubts and fears. A simple connection that travels back down the genetic-DNA spiral to the primitive core of instinct. He pushes his cock so deep into me that I can't help but squirm, he pauses holding himself inside, securing me firmly in place beneath him, the curved talons of his fingers digging cruelly into the already tender cheeks of my abused bum, then he begins a new assault that has me groaning, gasping as I feel the pulse deep inside my gut. The only sound is the messy, slippery slurp of the lubricant as he fucks in and out of my anal hole, and the obscene way he grunts. Until his crude expletive at the instant he unleashes his cum deep inside me, leaving me trembling in the awed aftershock, bathed in that warm afterglow wash of contentment.

'Thank you, sir' I whisper throatily as I bend to lick and suck Mr Morris' spent cock clean, 'that was simply divine.'

Later, when it's our turn to sleep together, I don't pressure Phillis to have sex, instead I simply hold his slender almost hairless body protectively tight to mine, he curls in close to me as he quietly sobs. I make a special representation to Mr Ponsonby on his behalf, and he agrees that Phillis does not have the correct temperament required for life at the club. Instead, he tasks me with chaperoning the youth to a secluded rehab rest-home on the Norfolk coast, for the sake of his mental health. We travel by train from Kings Cross.

It's the first time I've been outside and fully dressed in months, the feel of clothes against my skin seems strange. I sit reassuringly close to him. He smiles up at me apologetically. When we arrive, the calm seems to relax Phillis. We stroll along the cliff-top path looking out over the endless sea. We hold hands. He smiles up at me. I find myself wondering about the strange dream I had, about the mysterious pursuer with the antlered helmet. What did that mean? What deep buried psychological truths did it conceal? Is there something within me that rejects the choices I've made? That objects to the procession of men using my orifices for their brute gratification. There are still other options I can take. The stillness is soothing, yet I feel the irrational urge to return to the intoxicating urgency of the Ganymede. It's been several days since I had sex, and that is unnatural. The craving is almost a physical thing, like a gnawing addiction. It tells me, no, it's too late for other futures. My decisions have been made.

I stay long enough to ensure that Phillis finds a new, less sexually-demanding, position as a live-in maid to an elderly gay gentleman. And he does look simply adorable as he poses for me in his frilly French Maid outfit! When it comes to the final parting we kiss, and he reaches down to fondle my cock.

'You don't need to' I whisper.

'I want to' he whispers huskily, 'it's only right. You've been so kind.'

He eases me back onto the bed, extracts my cock, running his slim fingers up and down its length as he smiles at me, then he lowers his head and begins to suck, just the flared head first, then inching down, taking a little more of the shaft. His mouth is the touch of an angel's wing, so perfect it makes me gasp and my toes curl with pleasure. I run my fingers through his tousled hair as he gazes up at me, sucking both skilfully and gently. He takes me deeper, and sucks so tenderly, his eyes on mine brightly shining for long moments when the only sound to disturb the stillness is our breathing and the moist sound of his sucking, until he detects the warning swelling of my sperm-duct, and he holds me so deep, using his tongue exquisitely on my glans as I ejaculate spasms of cum into his mouth. Some considerable time later, when he finally releases my spent cock from the moist warm clasp of his mouth, when I raise his face to mine, kiss the moist tears from the corner of his eyes and kiss his lips, I taste my own spunk on his tongue. When I must make haste to return to London it leaves a great empty yearning in the pit of my soul, as though I've lost something of inestimable value.

Having proved my loyalty, I'm loaned out to particular Club members on rare trust-assignments to attend their own private orgy or group-sex party at their stately homes scattered around the country. In this way I have illicit sex with a Member of Parliament in Westminster, I suck off an astronomer as he observes the phases of Mars through his telescope, I have anal sex with a bishop in his cathedral, and I get repeatedly spit-roasted while cruising on an expensive yacht in the Mediterranean. Some of the bondage sex is extreme, leaving me sore and aching. One politician has a cock so large I have to strive hard to get it fully into my mouth, but afterwards, as I wipe traces of his spunk from my lips, he says how delighted he is, because few other sexual partners have been able to accommodate him. I smile submissively, thank him for his kindness, and suck him off again.

When a new boy is recruited six months later, a dark-haired and very intense Gitón, I assume the duty of training and discipling him. At first he seems sullen and resentful, as though he's been through abusive relationships with men in the past, and has grown a defensive shell. But I sense something within him, a quality I feel is worth cultivating. He takes cock well as I'm fucking him and as I guide him through the various deep-throat and face-fucking activities he'll be expected to perform. Just as I had been processed when I began. And as Mr Ponsonby had been before me. I explain the secret to giving a wonderful blowjob is that there is no one secret, it is to adapt the cocksucking to the mood of the moment, which is different every time, sometimes hard and fast, at other times long and self-indulgent. The skill lies is matching the sucking to the need... and he responds with commendable eagerness.

Once he's accepted into the warm mutual-support system of the other boys he blossoms, opening up and easing into his new role quite naturally, just as I hoped he would. He sucks me off regularly and quite beautifully, gazing up adoringly into my eyes as I pump my spunk into his mouth, then swallowing it slowly, as if anxious to savour the taste of each droplet. He even collaborates with me in collating, scanning and retouching the neglected archive of antique photos and artwork crated in the club's backroom, to produce a glossy limited-edition art-porn book for collectors, that rapidly sells out and goes into a second and third print-run. There will be further reproduction volumes to add value to the Ganymede brand. I identify Gitón as my protégé, and ultimately -- perhaps, even my successor.

There are other changes as years slip by. Sebastiane moves into the catering side of the establishment. Bela and Bambi strike out alone by launching their own Gay Escort agency. My close friend Rosie marries one of the gentlemen members and leaves the club to live with him. On his last night at the Ganymede -- his hen night, he celebrates by wearing subtle make-up, blusher and eyeshadow, wearing a ripped white wedding dress -- but no underwear, and he bends over passively and provocatively to be fucked by each boy in turn. He then greedily sucks and licks each cock clean, with a grateful poignant smile. One phase of his life is ending. A new phase about to begin. Now, when he's in the capital, he visits as a guest, and I enjoy sucking him off as he sits in a comfortable leather armchair reading a newspaper in a cosy alcove. We chuckle to each other over the way our lives have separately evolved. He is content with his life. I am content with mine.

I increasingly assume the everyday operation of the club as an aging Mr Ponsonby withdraws, I interview new boy applicants, watching them standing naked and nervous awaiting my appraisal, just as I had on that memorable first day, while navigating and ruthlessly conforming to the employment and age-of-consent laws, until I'm familiar with every aspect of running the club. I watch each new boy attentively during his induction period to monitor his suitability, watching as he sucks off members, watching as he surrenders his tight little bum-hole with his own erection jiggling and bobbing in response to each anal thrust.

Then I ruffle his hair as he submissively sucks my own cock, gently urging him to take it a little deeper, then deeper still. Testing out his limits, his gag-reflex. Feeling my cock begin to twitch as the familiar but always-new tingly sensation floods upwards from the shaft to the head. His eyes involuntarily close as he becomes aware of my balls tensing up. Until the first spurts of cum shoot out and the walls of his mouth snugly grip the shaft. He holds my cum in his mouth for a long moment, before swallowing. Each boy must be willing and emotionally well-balanced, as well as physically fit and genitally well-endowed. Nothing else will do. In moments of affectionate nostalgia I look back over the years to when I'd started out, facing being thrown out of my tiny room for non-payment of back-rent, and realise just how fortunate I've been. Soon, Mr Ponsonby will retire and I will become manager on behalf of the board of trustees. I mutter a silent prayer of thanks to the gods of gay sex.