Cock-Sucker: The Rake's Progress 02

'I always wanted to do this' he breathes.

I try to smile appreciatively as it drips and slithers across me, closing my right eye. That's what I'm here to do, fulfill his dirtiest dreams. Some say a facial is about humiliation or domination, to me it's just another sex-game. He finishes by sticking his cock back into my mouth for me to finish taking his final drops, nursing again at the cock-head as it continues feeding me his life-giving juice. Taking every drop as it pulses its sticky load deep into my receptive throat. Unable to express how much I'm loving it, I just purr my pleasure around it, and don't let go. But always careful to politely say 'merci, monsieur' afterwards.

He tells me 'you do that thing a damn sight better than my frigid bitch of a wife ever did. And I guess you get more pleasure out of doing it than she ever did.'

I smile in shy acknowledgement, and tell him 'oui', in a flirty way.

He says I have 'a mouth made for sex', he probably means it as a joke, but I take it as a compliment, and take every opportunity to prove just how talented my mouth can be. No money changes hands. It isn't that kind of arrangement, I'm merely his kept-boy for the duration. I'm just some dumb-ass tongue-tied kid. I don't deserve his patronage. I was lucky he even glanced twice at me. I was fortunate, no, privileged to be even there with him. As the week draws to a close I thank him profusely, feeling the arrangement has favoured me far more than it has him, and I return home regretfully, feeling well pleased with myself, and eager for more of the same.

I take stock. I don't need Luis. He's not my friend. Never has been. He's my pimp. Nothing more. The line between consent and exploitation is not easy to draw. There's nothing I did because of Luis that I wouldn't have done without him, and no situation he set up for me that -- arguably, I'd not have got myself into otherwise. There was no coercion. He never held a gun to my head. It's just the sneaking suspicion that I was getting ripped off, cheated out of the true benefits of my erotic efforts. And that's exploitation.

When I tell him I want out, he's not best pleased, 'hey, don't get your panties in a twist.'

My intention was to quit immediately, but he holds me to fulfil dates he's already lined up for me, so I reluctantly agree to staying another week. He works me hard. Getting his money's worth out of me, and -- maybe, something of a revenge on me for quitting too. He takes me to an out-of-town truck-stop where three greasy truckers wait in the yard between two high-sided trucks, within view of the traffic hurtling by.

'Where are we gonna do it?' I ask nervously.

'Right here boy' says the first trucker, shoving me roughly in between the trucks and hauling his pants down to knee-level. He's got an ugly foreskin like a hose. Not a proposition I particularly care for. But as his two companions wait in line he pushes me down onto my knees on the dirty tarmac with the stink of sump-oil and grease, and I get into sucking him. I'm half aware of Luis watching it all with a leery smile, taking snaps with his phone. Midway, the second guy gets impatient, reaches round to unbuckle my belt and pulls my pants down. Naturally, I'm already -- and now visibly erect. After a hurried conversation they re-arrange our positions. The guy I'm sucking sits up on the running-board of the truck so I have to stand, then I lean over to get his stiff cock back in my mouth, my legs apart, so the second guy can slide up my arse, inch by inch, all the way.

Every anal thrust propels my head further and deeper into a groin sour with sweat, both suffocating me and forcing me to throat more of it than is comfortable, making me drool and retch. I try to relax my throat to keep from choking, but it's obvious he doesn't care. My mouth is just a hole for him to use. While the other one is pounding and pumping my bottom vigorously from behind, making my own free-dangling cock jerk and slap up against my stomach, wet and dribbling strands of pre-come, going slap-slap-slappity-slap, rhythmically. Until the building sensations causes me to spurt off in long strands across the tarmac. The double fucking goes on some time until my mouth is swimming-full with speeding ejaculate, and seconds later the other guy geysers off into me too.

At last I rear up, my brain a marshmallow, seizing huge gulps of air, gasping for breath. The convulsions racking my chest make my protruding cock jerk, tremble and flip-flop as I turn to meet the third guy, who's glugging direct from the neck of a wine-bottle. I get his fat vein-marked cock out and suck that too. From the corner of my eye I can see Luis, and a couple of passers-by, a man walking a dog and two giggling teenage girls who pause to watch. Spooked, I concentrate on what I'm doing, although it smells of stale sweat. When he comes in my mouth, spattering its salty-rich excess down my face, his entire body jerks as though electrocuted by some massive voltage. He pauses for a moment with it resting on my lower lip, still dribbling milky fluid.

Then he offers me the wine bottle, 'here, wash away that spunk-taste with this.'

I'm actually more dubious of drinking from the bottle-neck his mouth's been slobbering over than I was sucking his cock. When it comes to hygiene, I guess I'm quirky that way.

Later Luis gets the idea of taking me to the 'Green Carnation', a small Gay club we'd frequented before. I'd rendezvoused with clients there. His new scam is to set up a lottery for my favours. In the intimate half-light, past a gaggle of sneery drag-queens and effete poseurs in discrete make-up sipping what is supposed to be absinthe, there's a tiny corner stage where I sit on a high bar-stool. Low music plays around me, Jacques Brel and Parisian Chanson. But when take-up is slow Luis pulls me aside and, despite my reservations, I get naked -- he massages me briskly erect, then I return and sit on the high stool, jittery, hands clasped loosely behind my back, legs apart as instructed, with the full package hanging out for their appraisal, and interest grows.

I must look impossible delectable. Don't let the nerves show. I was concerned, was I contravening some indecency by-laws, some public nudity legislation? Whatever, I'm a dirty feast for their eyes, and they're gluttons, there's not one guy in the audience whose not lusting to give me a good seeing-to. The sensation of lecherous eyes crawling all over my exposed body is faintly repellent, amplified by knowing that whoever 'wins' me can do whatever he wanted to do to me. Yet at the same time, the silent breath-catching awareness that they all desire me is unmistakably exciting.

Two guys come up from the floor and, at Luis' invitation, feel me up. I inhale sharply and squirm appreciatively, forcing a coy smile. I get the impression that my humiliated embarrassment is part of Luis' intention. He's enjoying it. Some contribute business-cards, others write assumed names designed to disguise their identities. Finally Luis draws the winning card, a 'Mr Undershaft'. Rather than getting him up to claim his 'prize', oh no, Luis leads me by the hand deliberately down through the audience. I have to endure slow-pacing a gauntlet of impudent obscene probing hands as we wend our way between tables and clientele, offering the opportunity for questing fingers to reach out to brush and squeeze my genitals, fumble and grope my cock, and stroke the smooth round curves of my bottom. Even as I twist my hips away to avoid their prying reach the movement causes my genitals to sway setting up yet more prurient attention.

One gentleman, much to the amusement of his companions, and probably a little inebriated, reaches out at snake-speed to trap my shaft in his fist and the more I pull to free myself the tighter he grips. My cock-head bulges red in his fist. The uneven -- and uncomfortable, tug-of-war causes my balls to dance and jiggle until, when I finally free my reddened member a ragged round of applause ripples around me. Some boys might enjoy this, being the centre of such ribald attention. I just burn self-consciously. Fearing for a moment there'll be a total loss of control, and they'll simply up-end me across the nearest table and take me there and then, one after another. When situations get out of control they get scary. Until Luis hands me over to the winner.

'I wish I'd thought of this scam before' Luis chortles gleefully as he counts the takings, and the leering slob of a guy takes me backstage to get his reward.

He's not disappointed. He takes some time exploring me, squeezing my balls as though he's weighing and measuring them up, his sweaty fist pumping my tenderised cock up and down as though he's never done it to anyone before. He even bends down -- glances up at me as though waiting for permission, and takes my hard-on clumsily in his mouth, plainly inexperienced he rasps his teeth across my sensitive glans causing me to wince.

Mistaking the reaction for pleasure he says 'you like that, don't you, dirty boy?' And I have to pretend I do. I get the impression he's more used to solitary wanking in front of a porn website than having sex with a real-life partner. Me, I admit I've done some bad things in my life, but at least I'm not repressed and frustrated as he obviously is. Encouraged, he takes it deeper and I feel the serious sharpness of his dental hardware biting midpoint down the shaft as he makes a curious humming noise that might be concentration or enjoyment. And when he starts sucking it's as though the nozzle of a vacuum cleaner has been attached to me, like he's trying to suck my balls up through my shaft, almost tearing it loose and devouring it.

Mercifully he soon loses interest and says 'your turn now.' Relieved, I gratefully crouch down. My poor member is swollen and redly inflamed with the rough treatment it's endured, and I've been perspiring, making the backs of my legs uncomfortably moist as I squat to extract his stubbily unimpressive cock. It's flaked with dried sperm -- which I carefully brush away while lying and telling him 'you've got a nice suckable cock', and show him what a real blow-job is all about. I could have easily taken it all down at once, but inch gradually down its length, sucking and tonguing all the way to gradually ease him in. All too soon he gets excited and wants anal.

I turn around and spread, but as he slips the bulb of his cock into my rectum he starts moaning 'no, oh no,' he quietens, tenses, quivers ever so slightly, and starts prematurely coming. 'Damn, Damn, Damn' he wails, 'I've blown it.'

'Don't worry' I say, 'it happens to everyone.'

'Even to you?' he says, standing there stupidly with his drooping cock dribbling come.

'Sure, it happens to me all the time.' Which is true, it happens every time some guy fucks me or slides a cock into my throat. It just does. I'm born that way. Only I didn't tell him that my prematures are usually irrelevant anyway, they seldom matter, because my ejaculation is an incidental part of their pleasure. Nothing more. I compensate him by bending down and licking the white sperm-strands off his cock as he watches in stupified amazement. As though he's witnessing an explicit clip from one of the websites he wacks-off to.

I mean, I'd agreed with Luis to fulfil existing 'dates' -- yes, but how could either of those have been set up earlier? I doubt it. I suspect he's just maximising his profit out of me. But I don't argue back. He says he has two other boys I've never met. A massively-endowed Moroccan who is popular with submissive clients, with those who like to take it, rather than give it. And another who -- although of age, looks younger, and appeals to those who like to debauch and corrupt innocent cute Twinks.

I ask Luis what is my specialty.

He looks dubious, 'you don't have one. You're just two fuckable holes,' after a moment he grudgingly adds 'you give an OK blow-job. Trouble is, you enjoy it too much yourself to make a good whore.'

I'm a little offended at first, but concede there might be truth in what he says. With the 'lottery-winning' creep in the back-room of the Gay club, I'd have waited for him to recover until he was able to do to me what he wanted to do. It seems only fair. But Luis was impatient to whisk me off to the next paying client. It's the cash, not the customer-satisfaction that's important to him.

The third date is a repeat session with Hans, the unpleasant Belgian. Back in town he'd apparently called up Luis and asked specifically for the 'dirty submissive boy'. The instruction is I present myself, already in the state of undress, at the door of the hotel suite. So I strip off rather nervously in the corridor, Luis gives me the fondle that is all that's necessary to get me hard, then he disappears with my clothes. Leaving me there, nude. I knock.

While I await a response a hotel-maid goes by, pushing her utensil-trolley. She sees me. I try to conceal my groin, but my hands are inadequate for the task. Her expression of absolute disdain tells me what she thinks. She knows exactly what I'm doing. She knows that, although she has a low-paid low-esteem job, at least she's not hawking her ass around to strangers. I see myself, as she sees me. And it's not good.

Then she's moved on past, the door opens, and I deliver the line I've been told to deliver, the line I've been rehearsing in my head in case I get it wrong -- 'you ordered a cum-slut, sir? Please may I offer my own unworthy body in that capacity?'

Hans seizes me roughly by the penis and uses it to draw me into his hotel room where I'm disturbed and a little unhappy to discover he's there with three friends, they're sitting there fully dressed, appraising my nudity, obviously intent on group-partying. They've clearly been drinking, and maybe doing some white-powers too. There's a big home-cinema hook-up, they might've been watching some porn to get in the right mood.

'I've fucked this bitch before' Hans announces casually, 'he's very very naughty. Isn't that right slut?'

I force myself to smile and nod.

'Tell them, tell them what you told me.'

So I repeat the 'you ordered a cum-slut, sir' line, hesitantly and stuttering a little, distracted by the way he's squeezing and manipulating my balls.

They laugh as I fumble my line. 'Sure hope it's better at sucking cock than talking about it.'

'We'll sure as hell find out tonight.' They're getting up to surround me, unfastening their pants.

'Look at the state of its whang, I've never seen a whore so eager to get its dirty little mouth fucked.'

'Young and dumb, and full of come, you know what these little queers are like, insatiable.'

'Yeh, but some more than others.' From behind me Hans put his arm around my throat, almost choking me, forcing my hips forward while squeezing my balls, 'tonight, your testicles and penis, your mouth, throat, tongue, and anus are our personal property, right?'

I gasp and strain to say 'yes, sir' as I'm pressured down into a crouching position, unresisting, faced by a circle of four very angry, very determined cocks, resigned to the fact that the only way I'm going to get out of this alive is to do what they want, do everything exactly as they say. Does Luis know what I was getting into? Was he setting me up? I've a suspicion he does, this is another part of his reprisal for my leaving him.

'To start off, by way of warm-up, I suggest we do it democratically, yes? The kid sucks each cock in round-robin rotation, thirty-seconds each, round and round, I'll time it. First one to cream his tonsils gets to suggest the next event, OK?'

So it begins. I crawl from one to the other, sucking each cock in turn. They seem as fascinated watching each other's cocks slithering into my mouth, as when it's their own turn, and I'm devouring them.

'He likes you. You can tell the way he's gorging himself on that thing.'

Second event is deep-throat, the guy who penetrates deepest gets to suggest the following event. And so on.

'You like this, don't you slut?' he demands.

I mumble my response around a throatful of cock.

'Tell us how much you love it, do as you're told.'

I'm crouching now, sperm and saliva on my face, 'I love sucking your cocks' I force myself to say.

'Next' says a voice, 'c'mon, the whore wants more.' At one point one of them unthreads his leather belt from his discarded pants, and while I'm down on all fours sucking-off one seated guy, he uses it to flick at my raised bare arse with loud slaps leaving red marks.

'This must be the most compliant fuck-toy you've ever brought us, Hans' he says approvingly, over my head.

Then I'm laid on my back over the coffee-table, head hung over the edge so another one can throat me so deep that when he comes I don't even taste it. And the guy loops his belt around my penis and scrotum, so when he feels I'm not performing with sufficient enthusiasm he amuses himself by pulling it tighter so it extrudes my balls, making me writhe and squirm in discomfort, groaning as best I can around the choking cock, to their immense enjoyment. The attention forces my cock prominently up red and straining, weeping silvery goo.

'Let it breathe' warns one voice.

'Who cares if it can fucking breathe' says another, 'it's an animal, just fuck its throat.'

I scarcely know which cock is which anymore, except Hans who seems to delight in causing me most discomfort. My body is on fire. I'm literally seeing stars from near-asphyxiation, and in the retinal swirling galaxies and exploding nebulae I see that cleaner's accusing expression. Her face, watching me. And I swear this will be the last time I do this. The next time will be on my own terms.

But first, they ensure they get good value from my body, leaving no aperture repeatedly unfucked. My own highly visible state of arousal, and three messy ejaculations across the course of the evening, are seen as evidence of my being complicit. Watching my face and stomach spattered with pools of gooey white ejaculate just excites them more. Normally, once a guy has shot his load he loses interest. Not these. Maybe pharmaceutically-enhanced, they go on and on. Do they never go limp?

Some hours later I come away with my lips numb, my jaw aching, my bottom sore, and my cock-&-balls sensitive from their rough man-handling. At the week's end Luis comes around and counts out what I'm due, deducting his percentage and expenses. It's far less than I was expecting.

As I turn to go he says 'oh, just one more thing' and he drops his pants, smirking at me.

I glance down at his stiff cock, and I'm tempted, but for the very first time I refuse to give oral.

'No Luis, I don't have to do that any more, get Jean or Willie to suck you off instead.' And, haughtily, I walk out on him for the last time. Perhaps I shouldn't have done that, it's always advisable to part on good terms. And what's another blow-job? After all, I'm a lover not a fighter. But I feel vindicated by my refusal...

This might be the end of one phase of my erotic career, but sure as hell it's going to be the start of another. This time, on my own terms.