Cock-Sucker: Horatio Cockblower

But first, secured by two huge mutes Cockblower silently suffers the indignity of the old man's thin bony fingers intimately examining his latest charge. Checking his teeth as though he's a newly-acquired racehorse. Handling him critically, testing the firmness of his taut buttocks, then separating them to probe between, his moist finger sliding deep into his tense rectum. Weighing his balls as though judging ripe plums in a market, masturbating him with a snort of derision as the flaccid 'John Thomas' fails to erect.

Irritably Yashim snaps his fingers and a smooth-skinned Arab youth he later learns is called Ahmed, barely Tinker's age, promptly appears, lithe and liquid-agile in his nudity, he crouches, and without being told, takes the flaccid penis in his mouth. This time Horatio can't help but respond. He braces himself, stands with fists clenched, breathing in controlled gasps as the nude youth administers an expert gamahouche, his dancing tongue flickering around the sensitive glans, his mouth gently squeezing the shaft with pure suction. The mutes relax their grip, he's no longer resisting, until at the last moment the Vizier extracts the now-jutting stiffness from between Ahmed's bright white teeth, squeezes the shaft firmly to choke the rising jism, then hoses the squirting spunk-splashes across the young face so the elder can evaluate the ejaculate, dismissively smearing seminal fluid between thumb and forefinger, tasting it warily, like a connoisseur evaluating a rich bouquet, tut-tutting as though unimpressed. Ahmed smiles shyly up at Horatio, gloopy drools of cum dangling from his nose, forehead and chin, as the shamefaced Englishman tries to avoid his eyes.

But worse is to come. As a spirit-breaking induction to his new role Yashim immediately has Horatio hooded and strapped into an ornate wooden frame, his hips raised, his legs stretched apart to their widest limit. Panicky fear sets his nerves on edge, as his puckered anus is lubricated with olive oil, terrified by his final glimpse of a line of faceless anonymous men waiting to bugger him. Lying there, he's aware of fumbling movement between his legs, and strains helplessly at the restraints as the first stiffness forces its way in through his rectal sphincter, gasping breathless - his breath heaved out of him in a single lung-emptying gasp as it slams it way in, prevented from praying or shouting out by a ball-gag.

He feels giddy as he's anally penetrated, as though he's being split apart, his mind seems about to explode as though he's going to pass out, and when the fuck-pummelling begins it's like his every nerve-ending is shrieking. Nauseated, but increasingly troubled by his own responsive arousal as his cock flips and flops helplessly across his gut with the force of the fuck. Horrified by the fact that he's becoming erect all over again. In that instant he knows sin, as his mind blanks-out with its teasing death-rattle whisper. As the first man pulls free, and the second man enters him, he ejaculates uncontrollably. By the third, wet with repeated bolts of secretions, he no longer struggles.

Once released, bathed and rested, but chastened by the resulting aching tenderness in his bottom, he's less inclined to protest. Ahmed crouches by his side supportively as he sobs softly to himself. How can an English Officer and Gentleman maintain dignity and self-respect in the face of such vile provocation? Better that he'd died when cast adrift. Better the mutineers had killed him. Rather that, than be subjected to this relentless abuse.

But when he still shows stubborn reluctance Yashim has a smelly unguent rubbed into his cock and balls and massaged up the mouth of his anus, then he administers a foul-tasting aphrodisiac based on the extract of tana-plant. The narcotic combination befuddles and enflames his mind, induces a rigid ten-hour erection with an urgent rage of fierce genital itching that can only be temporarily eased by regular orgasm. With arms crossed and secured behind his back he's shoved into a small pit enclosure with three other similarly treated members of the seraglio, where they have no choice but to work out their drugged-energies on each other.

Yashim watches critically from a golden dais as, driven crazy by their enhanced genital sensations they rub their stiff cocks up against each other's bodies, then fall together into a writhing heap, thrusting into whichever mouth or bottom is closest in their urgent need for ease. In his furious madness Horatio finds himself straddling the Italian, ramming his burning erection desperately into the struggling man's throat as the two other victims undulate in agitated soixante-neuf beside him. Then they reconfigure and he's slammed down onto the floor with a slimy cock forcing its way into his mouth. As one cock deluges the tight interior of his arse, only to be replaced by another, he welcomes the ease it brings to the terrible jangling inner itching. Eventually, drained of energies and aching from excess, the four men emerge from the weakening narcotic influence. Lying still, gasping like fish out of water, then breathing more slowly in their wretched misery.

Cockblower's defiance becomes muted, then ceases altogether. He will resist no more. He's learned to fear Yashim, he exercises absolute power over the inmates of the seraglio, the power of life and death, the power to exert whatever punishment he chooses. But then, hadn't he - Horatio Cockblower RN, been prepared to have cabin-boy Tinker flogged because of his infraction? What difference is there...?

Meanwhile, in distant England, the grandfather clock in the living room ticks away the moments. Emily is reading an erotic French novel by the Marquis De Sade which the vicar had loaned her. She shifts in the chair in an agitated way to stimulate the pleasing moistness flowing between her legs. It feels naughty. It feels nice. She glances up as Molly enters the room. Her expression is unusually serious as she passes the folded newspaper across to her mistress, indicating a passage. Annoyed at being distracted from her novel, Emily reads the paragraph. The good ship 'HMS Golden Satyr' had docked in Alexandria to report the loss of Captain Horatio Cockblower RN. A sudden squall. A highly localised storm. The Captain had acted heroically, but had been washed overboard. Despite exhaustive searches by his loyal crew they'd been unable to rescue him, or even to recover the body.

Emily cannot understand why she's not more shocked or distraught by the news. Her fiancé is gone. But her feelings have changed during the months of his absence. She's eager to get back to the scandalous incidents unfolding in the novel. She imagines herself to be Justine, the unfortunate heroine of the novel, used and abused by predatory men. And the vicar is due to arrive later for another three-in-a-bed romp. As the grandfather clock ticks away the moments, she feels the pleasing anticipatory moistness between her legs.

While for Cockblower, over the next few days the enforced naked closeness, the sensuous atmosphere of languorous eroticism means that Horatio can't help but notice that sly erections are far from uncommon, and despite sexual activity supposedly being restricted at the prerogative of Yashim on behalf of the Sultan, he sees arousals being mutually eased by hand, mouth, or bottom in secretive corners or shaded arbours or beside groves of tinkling hissing fountains. Such sights prompt a return of his disturbing adolescent dreams.

Some are selected to spend the night with the Sultan. Yashim merely prepares Horatio for such a summons. He learns a repertoire of techniques and positions, each session rehearsed on a different partner under Yashim's exacting instruction. And the Vizier has a number of inducements to enforce his will. The old man carries a leather thong which he uses to stinging effect, whipping his pupil's bare buttocks when he performs below expectations. There's also a bracelet which the mutes clamp around his scrotum, extruding the two testicle-eggs tightly, straining redly. When his cock-sucking is unsatisfactory the bracelet is tightened, inducing excruciating pangs of pain. It only has to be used to its full extent once before the lesson is learned, so that when it's locked in place he does as he's instructed. Finally there's the fear of a punishment return to the frame.

Under such coercion he's tutored and rehearsed in the subtle arts of receiving anal sex and giving oral. He squats down at the feet of the naked Frenchman, his arms crossed behind his back and secured there, with Yashim closely scrutinising his every reaction, ready with the corrective whip. Fearing reprimand, he kneels as the sneering Frenchman stands impassive, seeming to revel in that he has a captain of the Republic's great imperial rival grovelling before him. Horatio can see that the proud cock standing firm just inches from his face, the cock he must work on, has a number of spacing rings placed around its length.

He waits, then at a word, Horatio takes the bulb of the flared helmet into his mouth. The Frenchman mutters a lewd 'Viva La France' beneath his breath as he does so. As he proves capable of mouthing the cock down to the first ring without gagging, the ring is removed and he begins again, going deeper. The Frenchman nudging his hips forward in a deliberate attempt to thrust his cock into Horatio's throat, making him retch, and provoking a stinging reprimand from Yashim's whip.

Disappointed when Horatio takes it without a whimper. It goes on for an hour as he's forced to repeat the act over and over again at the old man's instigation, striving to apply himself and control his drooling, as Yashim insists 'no, no, do it again'. Until the final ring is removed, and Horatio is taking the full length into his straining throat, clear down to the tight balls, to Yashim's grudging satisfaction. Cockblower manages to subdue his urge to retch when, after this extended fellatio lesson, gushes of hot spunk floods his mouth. It tastes of garlic.

Long days pass as he's tutored in taking progressively bigger cocks step-by-step deeper until he's able to fully accommodate the largest. There's a diminishing revulsion at such 'unnatural acts', until his horror at such Biblically sinful practices, as well as his own disturbing arousals and ejaculations, are gradually replaced by numb acceptance. He has no choice but to adjust to tolerate the taste of cock and semen, the sensation of being anally penetrated, and of being sucked-off himself. As a final test Yashim teams him with Umslopogaas, a giant silent Ethiopian with a towering phallus. Horatio has always been nervously intimidated by its size and power of recovery.

Now the Vizier directs the Ethiopian to merely recline on his back on a low couch, expressionless, as immobile as a mahogany statue, but for the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, as Horatio must perform all of the work. With trembling anticipation he manipulates the giant cock with both hands, the dark near-crimson mushroom-head divided by its thick corona ridge from the hard gnarled shaft around the throbbing girth of which his fingers barely touch. He's waking the menacing monster further, feeling its hot expansion. Only Umslopogaas' tight stomach muscles undulate in response, betraying the genital attention being lavished upon him. The fat pendulous balls stirring, heavy and swollen as they hang majestically in the smooth silky bag of his scrotum.

His throat dry, his own groin crawling in fierce arousal, Horatio knows what he must do, he must use his mouth, opening it wide, straining to engulf as much of the cock as he can, blanking out all reactions other than the techniques he's employing. His lips stretch to adhere around the velvety tissue of the fat purple head until it squeezes into his straining mouth, pulling back only slightly to feel the tug of his lips tight up around the bulging corona, confirming that the enflamed head is trapped completely within his mouth, then sliding down onto as much of the rigid shaft beneath as is humanly possible, and sucking lustily. His jaws ache with effort as it goes on, with the skills he's bringing into play to achieve the desired result.

His own body is wracked with answering sensations, his sensitised erection quivering between his splayed legs. He controls his reaction as the cock-head forces its way into the back his throat, closing his eyes and working with tongue and lips, loud slurping noises escaping as he does so, until the skin of the swollen ball-sack begins crawling and retracting as throbbing intensifies in jolts of energy shocking through them both, and the Ethiopian comes, spewing gobs of slick pearly cream until it overflows his mouth, deluging in tides rippling down the ebony shaft.

Then, as it loses none of its virile iron rigidity, Horatio pulls back. It quivers wetly as it leaves the snug clasp of his mouth. Now he climbs to straddle the muscular contours of Umslopogaas' dark passive body, holding the slippery cock, targeting himself onto it, lowering himself, using spunk and saliva as lubrication, relaxing the stretched elasticity of his anal sphincter to the maximum as he's been taught, the first inch nuzzling its way tightly into his rectum, a moment's pause - no longer, as sweat breaks out across his forehead and trickles down his spine. He breathes deep, then force-slides more of it into his aching bottom, until, after the next exploratory thrust he grinds it determinedly into position all the way home. He's taken it all. He's skewered on it. He can feel every inch of that powerful phallus inside him. It pulses, and seems to swell, filling him with its urgent heat. He moves slightly up, biting his lower lip in concentration, then back down, riding it, his head thrown back it pained effort.

Yashim's beady analytical eyes are watching every detail, seeking out hesitation or pause, although Cockblower is scarcely aware of his presence any longer, concentrating only on what he must do. First he's facing away from the Ethiopian, but - without once uncoupling, he pivots slowly to face Umslopogaas, and rides the black manhood more easily now, up and down, establishing a slippery slapping rhythm which has his own erection flipping and dancing, drooling and dribbling in helpless anticipation. He feels giddy. His head raging with fever. The tingling sensation working its way in spasms from his arse to the tip of his cock, until inevitably he ejaculates himself, just as orgasm erupts deep in the depths of his rectum, much to Yashim's grudging nod of approval.

Cockblower stays impaled for a long moment, trembling with after-shock. A warm glow suffusing his thighs. Almost wary of trusting his weakened limbs he raises himself, withdrawing from it only slowly, feeling it slither free. Finally, smiling apologetically, Cockblower bends to lap the black cock clean, then lick his own white sperm-pearls from the impassive Ethiopian's stomach and chest, drawing the long strands into his mouth and swallowing. His training is complete.

Yet after each session he prays that - 'why god, why am I being tested in this way? I've always been a good and devout man. Why art thou subjecting me to these trials?' Maybe it's to teach humility, maybe to instill in me the qualities of servility? He's tempted to wonder whether god has a sense of humour. Then wonders if he's being punished as a bad sinful person for wondering whether god has a sense of humour. His shocked reaction to Tinker's sexual overture recedes to become nothing more than a quaint distant memory. How naïve he'd been, how pompous, how preposterous. He'd learned his bitter lesson. If only he'd not interfered in his crew's harmless games. If, maybe, he'd seen beyond his own priggish prejudices and allowed himself to participate in their romps instead of condemning them.

The safe ordered world of chastely virginal Emily is now a thing so distant as to seem unreal. At last his loneliness, home-sickness and isolation is finally assuaged by embracing acts that once repelled him. Horatio had observed intimate trysts in the gardens before, but lately what he'd once viewed with disgust he'd begun to envy the participants their brief closeness, his penis stirring, filling with blood, raising its head, in reaction to what he sees. So, why not, why not give in to the comfort his body is urging? At first there's a mere exchange of glances and shy smiles with Ahmed, the slim-hipped youth who had befriended him and shown kindness from the start.

Ahmed is a plaintive Arab youth with dark appealing eyes and a slim wirily-muscled athletic build. Pretty in ways that a girl is pretty. Neither of them knows the other's language, but they communicate through a limited repertoire of fairly coarse gestures. He was a dancer. He mimes the tale of how he'd first been brought to perform for the Sultan as part of a dance troupe, how his dancing drew the Sultan's prurient attention, and he was seized. As a dancer he was an elemental force with graceful skills that would have brought ecstatic acclaim at every European or Russian ballet.

The way he gyrates his pelvis and undulates his stomach muscles are as entrancing and enticing as they are explicitly inviting, his penis dancing its own hypnotic dance, he spins and walks on his hands for a considerable distance, talents he employs to startling, not to say crudely erotic effect, a repertoire of moves that instantly beguile and arouses male observers, regardless of their supposed gender orientation. Every man who sees him dance desires him. His body is virtually hairless, but for the coy pubic tuft quite inadequate to conceal the genitals, for the Arab youth's cock, decorated by an intricate swirl of blood-vessels, is attractively large, if not as intimidatingly huge as some of them are. Horatio concedes that if the male organ could ever be described as beautiful, this one was. Yet he sits cross-legged, and is flexible enough to lower his head and comfortably suck his own cock, which he does for the entertainment of the others.

Soon Ahmed and Horatio are drawn together in a shaded arbor. The air is warm and sweetly perfumed. Ahmed is flirtatious. He snaps the gaudy-mauve flowering blossom-head on a long stalk from a nearby plant, poses with it between his gleaming white teeth, then extends it, using it to trace a path across Cockblower's chest which seems deathly-pale by comparison, from nipple to nipple, leaving a trail of pollen, then down, tickling its way across to his navel, and lower, its light touch rippling teasingly slow along the length of his penis causing him to bite his lip with pleasure. They're laughing softly together, breathlessly. Sitting cross-legged facing each other. Ahmed plucks a smaller daisy-like bloom, pinches the bulb of his own penis with one hand, opening the eye, and carefully inserts its stem into the urethral opening with the other, slowly, carefully - Horatio watching fascinated, unable to look away, until the flower crowns the shaft.

Ahmed leans back, inviting appraisal. Horatio finds himself crouching, reaching forward to extract the bloom, bringing his fingers into contact with the firm arousal, brushing traces of pollen-dust from the glans, holding it, then dipping his head to take the warm solidity of the youth's cock into his mouth, sucking it clean with tears in his eyes, washed by a strange emotional mix of relief, regret, gratitude, shame, despair, misery, hopelessness and acceptance. Ahmed speaks soothingly and encouragingly in words he can't understand. He sucks greedily, thirstily at the exquisite cock, as if drawing comfort from its smoothly intoxicating warmth. But he knows what to do, after indulging himself he unmouths the glistening cock and compliantly bends over, parting his legs, as he'd watched them bending over that first day on the beach, offering himself, then feeling the insistent heat of that same eager young cock easing its way up into his gut, through his own choice, finding solace not in prayer but in the powerful erection its insertion inflames in his own groin, his toes curling with pleasure. This sex is tender, special in a way he never dreamed possible with a woman, never mind with a slender youth.