Cock-Sucker - Testimony Ch. 02: Ian

Sometimes, with Ian, I think he makes things up, we talk in disgusted delight about how often we've done stuff, in intimate and amplified detail about the first time we did sex, and how big the other guy's were. But then again, I start into playing the game too, we get to out-grossing each other in playful competition, about how we felt with the sensation of first getting sperm in our mouths. Then he tells me how, before he came here, he used to sell blow-jobs, pick up nervous married men in city-centre bars and suck them off in parked cars or hotel rooms. I don't know if I believe him or not.

I ask him "Why did you do that?"

He tells me "Because of the money, and because of the buzz. It's a weird buzz to live like that. After all, you were doing... what? Staying at home watching TV? I was out doing weird stuff and getting paid for it."

"So how did it end?" I'm almost scared to ask. "How did you end up in here?"

"I was living with an older guy. When he was charged with living off immoral earnings, I was deemed in need of spiritual guidance. That's why I have to endure sessions with the Priest. You should too, it's a good laugh. He has me repeating endless 'Hail Mary's' while he tosses me off into the chalice of communion wine, stirring it in with his finger..."

We laugh together at the absurdly blasphemous image. Should I believe him... or not? I'm not sure. Although I do volunteer to talk with the Priest. My interest is seen as a positive step towards my rehabilitation. I fill in a form, and I'm allocated a time-slot. Wait outside the drab interview-room as my time approaches. He ushers me in. There's a faint smell of wood-polish from the desk he sits behind. A dance of dust-motes in the dry light.

"You're not of the one true faith?"

"No, Father."

"You're not even a church-goer?"

"No, Father."

I note his white hair scraped back across his head, his air of bored detachment. He has a manilla folder of my case-notes, which he doesn't even glance at. And a black Bible with gold lettering.

"No matter, all souls are of equal value in the eyes of the Lord."

"Thank you, Father."

A pause that fills the room with infinite disinterest. The skin on the back of his hand, as he absently riffles the maroon-edged pages of the Bible, is wax-white, almost transparent, so the pale blue blood-vessels beneath the surface show through like route-maps to nowhere.

"Have you found time, during your term here, for reflection?"

"I have, Father."

"And do your regret the misdemeanours that brought you here? Do you repent your sins?"

"I do" - while thinking, 'sins? What sins? I did what I had to do out there as I do what I must in here. Moral considerations of sin and redemption don't come into it. During a distracting half-hour he sternly lectures me about the need for forgiveness, to forgive self, to fight the dark impulses and seek out the good in others, the value of repentance and salvation, to love others. Hey, isn't that what I'm already doing here? He makes no attempt to lay hands on me. Offers me no prayers and no 'Hail Marys'. I'm not sure if I'm relieved or disappointed about that. In fact he shows no sign of personal involvement whatsoever, as though he's going through a litany by rote, a routine he knows is futile, but is tasked with enduring anyway.

To him, I'm just another in a long list of failures, damaged goods, another lost soul. In his eyes I'm no different to the rest. We are all feral, already damned beyond redemption, sunk in the debased bestial sins of the flesh with no hope of salvation. And he's too tired and disillusioned to care. Should I try and shock him out of his lethargy? Tell him - in the spirit of confession, that I'm physically involved with not one, but two of the other inmates? That we take carnal knowledge of each other? Would he care? 'Forgive me Father, for I have sinned, I have sinned like crazy, and loved every moment of it...' He's too old and defeated. He feels nothing.

I swear I'll never become like that. I'll always strive to feel. Even if it's feeling bad things. Feeling pain. That's infinitely preferable to feeling nothing. If he thinks my soul is already consigned to hades, I've nothing to lose, but at least that proves I'm still alive. I might be a lot of things, but whatever I am has got to be better than what he has. In a way, it confirms to me that I'm OK as I am. I have my own life, my own form of strength. I have all I need. But the interview passes some time for us both, it wastes thirty-minutes, and that's all that matters in here. I agree to a follow-up session. And before I know it I'm standing outside the closing door, and it's over.

What should I tell Ian? Should I fabricate something? That he got me naked and jerked me off until I was jetting blobby white gunk across the black-print pages of a prayer-book? In a way, that might've even been kinda creepy. Or that I crawled beneath the desk on hands and knees, put my head up his cassock (although he wasn't actually wearing one) and sucked him off as an act of contrition, and that he said 'Bless you my child' as I re-emerge? No. I just shrug it away. Nothing happened. No-one was saved.

"What about the Medic?" I ask Ian. "What about the Doctor, can he be trusted?" We are in our private cock-pit, lying side-by-side naked.

He snorts. "He's another creep. He took a photo of you, right, on your first day here? That's no part of regulations. He just likes to collect photos of nude boys for his own use. For his dirty jack-off collection of nude boys. He's another perv."

"He's a creep too? They can't all be creeps, there must be some of them on the level!"

He considers. "Maybe. But if you start out with the assumption that they are, you won't be disappointed."

"I came here today with the intention of sucking you off. Does that make me a creep too?"

He adopts a comically pained expression. "Yes, you creep. But I'm prepared to let you have your wicked way with my body." He lies back, presenting his stiff cock to me. "Take it..."

And I do.

On another occasion, "What is it you like best about me?" Ian probes.

"I don't know." It's true that I'm determined to know every detail of his cock as well as I know my own.

"Tell me - don't be shy."

"I guess - I guess, I like your foreskin. Putting my tongue up under the skin at the end of your cock. It's unfair. I wish I had skin there."

"Prepuce" he says. "That's the proper name for foreskin."

"Pree-pyuce?" I spell it out uncertainly.

"Sure. There are roundheads, like you. And cavaliers - like me. We have no choice in the matter. But I prefer sucking roundheads. I do. They're cleaner, smoother."

"I know. I know all that. But I'd still like to have a foreskin on my cock. Do you think it'll ever grow back?"

"I've heard - I don't know."

"Heard what?"

"I'm not sure if it's true. But it's just a matter of practise, like wanking. Hold your cock - like this..." he holds the shaft of my cock tightly. "And pull the skin upwards - like this." It pulses in his fist. "Do it as often as you can, pulling the skin as you do it, and it will develop."

I look down at it protruding from his fist, and smile, "I'll do it."

"And I'll help" he says, gently biting the bulb projecting from the warm grip of his fingers, gnawing it with such gentle intensity. "Whenever you want."

"Like... now, please."

He begins to toss me off, pausing it intervals to dip his head and suck on it. I moan and arch my back appreciatively.

"Personally, I like your cock exactly the way it is" he says, subjecting it to the closest scrutiny. Then, looking me straight in the eyes he crosses himself, and murmurs grace. "For the mouthful of spunk I'm about to receive, may the Lord make me truly grateful..." A pause, "... and I am, I truly am." He sinks it deep into the back of his throat, and begins sucking hard. Each time he does it to me is a master-class tutorial. Each time I learn teasing tricks and techniques I can put into practise on Dean... Later, after he's sucked me off, his adams apple bobbing as he swallows, I'm naturally ready to return the favour.

"Time I gave you some mouth-to-cock resuscitation" I purr, twisting round to reach him.

Some time later, he smiles down at me as I gulp his load. Conceding "I've had worse orgasms. I doubt if I've bitten even halfway through my tongue."

We laugh, and lie together naked. I lie on my back, legs splayed, and begin pulling my cock as he'd indicated. He lies on his stomach between my legs, looking up to watch me in amusement.

"I knew you'd be good" says Ian.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, some guys just take to cock-fun, and some never do, no matter what. Me, I just knew from the first time I saw you that you'd be a natural. I could sense it. I could smell it on you. Once you realise you've just got to go with it, let your body be your guide. Now, if they gave out PhD's in cock-sucking, you'd pass with flying colours."

I don't know how to respond. Is that a compliment? Eventually I manage "Do you think we're cock-obsessed?", raising myself up to meet his eyes.

"No more than any other cock-obsessives in this place. Dean makes you suck him off every night. Sol does pretty much the same to me. Then I do it to you. And you do it to me. Who's to blame any of us? It only makes us more horny still..." He laughs. "We all do it. We're slaves to our hormones, we're cock-icidal maniacs driven by our needs."

"Cockoholic" I smirk, joining the game.

"Cockapathic, yes maybe. But we have choices too. I have sex with Sol because I have to. I have sex with you because I like it. And you suck Dean because you have to. But do it with me because you want to. Right?"

"Right."

All next day, as I walk, I'm furtively fumbling down through my pocket to tug and stretch my non-existent foreskin.

Sometimes you can think much more than you want to think. Things in life get too complicated by other people's expectations and your own aspirations. Why you fall short of their expectations and your aspirations, your obligations to them and to yourself, and what is it you want anyway. The conflicts of responsibility and freedom, of conformity and impulses to disobedience, your failures and inadequacies, the things that made you the way you are, and the things that keep you doing it... it all gets so messed up in your head. It's so much easier to reduce all urgencies down to just one simple focus, and ignore everything else out of existence. That's what I'm doing. My one over-riding priority makes every other conundrum irrelevant.

I think of all the heterosexual guys my age out there in the world thirsting for a sniff of cunt in the full knowledge that it will be eternally denied, or so rare and infrequent. How desperate and frustrated they must be. While I'm the same as them, yet getting all the sexual fulfilment I need. Boys lie. Boys exaggerate. They're sex-obsessed. All of them. They're made of spunk and hard-on's, it's hard-wired into their programming. They love the disgust and vileness of debauchery and abuse. They delight in whispering secret details of terrible deeds. I know. I've listened.

Ian told me of a time before I arrived here. He'd been assigned to work on the garden plots, and had gone to the potting sheds to pick up a trowel. Once inside the hazy shadows he senses movement, and going further, as his eyes adjust, he sees two boys. They are Lee and Adam. They weren't here as Young Offenders very long. They hold themselves apart from everyone else, locked into a special bond with each other. And Ian was startled to witness just how special that bond was.

Lee is standing up against the bench with his trousers around his ankles, Adam is naked, squatting down to suck him off. Ian's abrupt appearance startles them, Adam coyly covers his groin with his hands and scuttles behind the bench giving every appearance of a scared rabbit, from where he peeps with wide frightened Bambi-eyes, while Lee hauls his pants up hastily, hesitates, summons up his courage, then comes forward.

"Please, you won't tell anyone what you've seen, will you?" he pleads.

Ian shook his head. "Course not."

Lee seemed unconvinced, he retreats to where Adam is hiding and they begin to whisper together as Ian busies himself trying to find a trowel.

Then Lee came forward again. "If you promise not to tell on us, Adam says he'll do to you what he was doing to me." He forced a smile of appeal.

Well, Ian already had no intention of telling anyone, but why turn down the chance of a free blow-job? Why complicate it by telling him such activities were rife anyway, and no-one would give a damn about whatever they were doing to each other? Why spoil it? If they want secrecy, he was happy to collude with it for the price of the very attractive bribe they were offering. He nods sternly, as though grudgingly accepting the terms of the deal, and lowers his pants. Adam crawls out of hiding, sheepishly, shyly, a pretty effeminate boy with a rounded girlish bottom. He'd obviously not been sleeping well, his eyes dark-circled, this closeness with his 'friend' being his sole source of comfort. Ian never heard him utter a complete sentence of conversation, but he began fulfilling the terms of the deal without hesitation.

He may have seemed reticent and quiet, but he took that cock into his mouth and sucked it sweetly. Ian tensed up, gripping the bench hard enough to leave indentations. And although Ian was soon pistoning between his pearly-white teeth, Adam's eyes were longingly fixed on Lee's face, and his focus never wavered, as though telepathing 'look, I'm doing this foul deed for you, only for you, and for no-one else.' By drawing Ian in, by making him complicit in the sex-play, they reasoned he would be less likely to sprag. But Lee, watching what was going on intently, soon became excited by the vision of his friend so compromised, his gaze fixed on Ian's blood-gorged penis diving in and out between those full lips. He no longer seemed to care.

Emboldened, he slipped his pants aside sufficient to insert his hand and begin masturbating, moving in closer, leaning over to see better, his vigorous wrist-action soon causing his pants to fall all the way down. Adam was also erect and enthusiastically wanking a dwarfish nearly hair-free member. The collective three-way sound of laboured breathing, squelchy mouth-noises, and rhythmic rubbing goes on for some time until Ian ejaculates lustily into the hungry mouth. After a few calculated moments Adam dislodged the spent cock out of his mouth with a decisive thrust of his tongue, and leans back, insolently ejecting whiteness out between his teeth in a grimace of exaggerated distaste, allowing it to foam down his chin like toothpaste, no, like detergent froth, from where it dribbles in long strands down onto his perfectly hairless chest.

"I'm sorry" Lee apologised. "He's not used to having anyone else's spunk in his mouth. Only mine. He likes mine."

Adam nods enthusiastically, then doesn't even pause, he's barely wiped his mouth before instantly transferring his interrupted oral attentions back to his lover, re-mouthing it possessively, as though jealously intent on protectively concealing the precious erection from Ian's prying eyes. His adam's apple working as if it were a plunger on a pump. His bottom, his two perfectly rounded egg-shaped buttocks, making little fucking motions back and forth as he sucks, his little cock flipping as he did so.

"Thank you" said Lee over the crouching boy's head. "Remember your promise."

Ian nods, watches the continuing action for a moment, adjusts his clothes, picks up the trowel, and leaves them to their secret passions. He never did break the confidence by telling anyone what he'd seen, until he told me!

I listen to his tales avidly, and share such intimate confidences myself in sniggering trysts of erotic togetherness. I tell Ian eagerly in detail of one particular occasion, the time I'd been crouched on the bed between Dean's splayed legs sucking his cock. Then I notice that he's glancing across to the next bed, and - following his line of attention, I realise with a shock that we have an audience. The youth there - Hooch, is raised up on one elbow and he's watching with obscene delight, his covers thrown back, and even in the darkness I can tell that he's masturbating with his free hand. He's not only watching the activity, but he's aroused by it, and he's wanking off to what he can see. The rhythmic flap-flap-flap sound of his wrist-action carries over the silence of fitful breathing.

Dean obligingly moves his leg aside, gifting Hooch an uninterrupted view of what exactly I'm doing in his groin. I close my eyes in humiliation and concentrate on the action I'm performing. Slithering my mouth around hot cock. Why shouldn't I? I'm good at it, aren't I? Me, who'd never been much good at anything in my whole damn life, Dean had chosen me, me, because I was good. Hooch is watching, he wants me too, he longs for my lips to close over that big purple helmet of his tool too. But no, Dean has chosen me, I belong to him, I'm his own personal cock-sucker because I'm good at it. I'm the best. Dean is stiff - because of me. Now Hooch is stiff because of me too. Two erections hot for me. Such erotic thoughts mingle in with the salty taste of pre-emission oozing from the fat horny cock in my mouth, it makes me burn with a mixture of lust and torment.

My teeth hold a monster serpent only I can control, one that I have in my power, only I can steal its potency by drawing its venom into me. He's chosen me because I'm the best, I must demonstrate just how good I can be. A fire is burning in my thighs. I'll prove how good I am, to him, and to wanking stiff-cocked Hooch, I suck and moan, slurping hungrily, sliding up and down on it, making it more of a visual spectacle for Hooch's benefit. And he watches me perform with undisguised prurience. Part of my protection - of course, is the fact that others know the situation exists, hence the fact of Hooch watching me giving head works to my advantage.

But it occurred to me, what would I do if Dean - as a friendly gesture, offers me to Hooch? What would I do? I'd have no real choice. I'd have to do it. Hey, I've already had sex with two of the people in this dorm, would it really make that much difference to do it with a third? I can't believe my mind is roving in this way. In a fantasy scenario in my head Dean smiles, instructs me lazily to go and see to Hooch's needs instead. I'd release Dean's erection with a show of reluctance, kissing it affectionately and giving it a long loving last deep suck, then shyly, my own cock bobbing and swaying, I'd do as I was told. Without a word I'd go across, and obediently go down on Hooch's young and excited cock, sucking it, aware of Dean watching, and doing it visually for his benefit, delighting in taking it deep.

And when he's about to cum I'll suck it in so far my nose is buried in his pubic hair and Dean will know by Hooch's exquisite groans and gasps what is happening. I'd swallow and suck on for a few moments. Then, without a word, go back to Dean and continue where I'd left off, sucking him to slobbery climax too. The very thoughts I was thinking, the acts I was contemplating, leaves me feeling more totally debauched than I've ever felt in my life as the body-tingle tremors start and Dean begins ejaculating into my mouth. I close my eyes, deliberately allowing a milky-white blob of it to ooze from the corner of my mouth and trickle down the exposed shaft so there could be no possibility of Hooch not seeing, before delving my way down its length to hoover the escaping jism back into my mouth again.

I can be a vulgar sod when I put my mind to it. Sometimes I disgust myself. My own genitals are crawling almost painfully with arousal. I cum spontaneously and helplessly, but neither my erection nor my giddy excitement refuses to subside although my gut is damp and messy with sperm and I suck his softening cock as though I'm greedy for more. Until he shoves my head away. I was aware, from the corner of my eye, of Hooch fumbling a handkerchief over his inflamed bell-end to smother his own emission. Why doesn't he have a boy? Surely there must be some lonely, scared and confused kid who would welcome the opportunity of sharing his bed, and his protection, rather than him jacking-off watching me. It seems ridiculous, and so unnecessary. I lick my lips obscenely, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, my penis standing out firm and hard, and for the first time it makes me proud and not embarrassed. I can hardly suppress a smile. I stand there naked so both of them can see I'm still hard while they're both limp and slimy. I was still randy, in my way I've taken them on, and I've beaten both of them.