Cock-Sucker: Weekend Ch. 01

I go in determinedly, holding it an angle towards me, and pause. Am I really doing this? Then my lips circle the knob-head gingerly, barely touching. The response is instantaneous, the way he slurps at me juicily is sensational. I pause with it barely in my mouth, then run up and down its length a few times, take it out and wank it some, wait a calculated pause, then lick its head, and repeat my minimal blow-job technique. Yes, I can do this. But the way his voracious mouth is going I'm not going to last long. I can hear his muffled moan, and feel the sound vibrate his palate against the head of my cock. This turns into a rhythmic grunting sound as he works my cock harder and more furiously. As though he's willing me to come.

The energy is building in my scrotum, I circle his glans with my lips just as I feel muscles deep inside me contracting, forcing semen on its way up my cock, as I begin erupting spunk, far from retreating he nuzzles in deeper, sucking lustily and lapping with his tongue, my gasping reaction to the shock of his first heart-stirring swallow so intense that almost accidentally his cock slips deeper into my mouth and I gulp at it. As the tremors recede he just keeps on sucking, I release his cock and wank it. It's obvious he's on the brink. His thigh muscles trembling at my touch. I've never been up close and personal to an ejaculation. His balls expand and contract, his shaft pulses, the eye opens – I turn it away so that the first white spurt sprays up his gut, and I hold the throbbing shaft as it keeps shooting, until it subsides. Watching each stage curiously. I lie back. Close my eyes. My head swimming in an immense lake of calm. Until sleep overtakes me...

Then it's morning, some time about whenever. I'm lying on the crumpled bed, feeling grimy and dishevelled. The dawn-light slanting in through the blinds is pleasantly warming. As I slump up I become of aware of the shower hissing. I sit nursing my aching head. At length the shower-stall glass opens and he steps out, making no attempt to cover his nakedness. He smiles in a disconcertingly intimate way. I look away. I've seen more than enough of his dangly-bits to last me, thank you. But I can't help but notice he's using small nail-scissors to trim his pubic-hair, and that he takes an enema in further preparation for the movie. Manicured pubic hair I can accept, but hey, no-one's coming anywhere near my butt-hole!

I shower, making careful use of a towel around my waist, as he makes breakfast. Munching croissant I look warily out through his casements. No sign of the bad guys, the Gun-sharks, bullet-monkeys, hit-men from the dark-side of Uranus. Staying over with Paul has effectively evaded Mack the Knife. When you owe money you don't have, there's only one thing to do. Run! Avoid my own 'Last Tango In Paris'. A few days out of the city on this stupid exploit will allow things to cool off. A step-by-step adventure to the next kick. Yeh, I fly by the skin of my teeth, pretty much always. I'm a delinquent misfit living a footloose hit-&-run hipster lifestyle. I've got this urgency inside me, and it's burning hot all the time. Some of us like it hot. But it makes sense to maintain a low profile, for a while.

We step outside. There's a morning chill. The faint ghost of a mist that gives the immense sad melancholy Paris morning its unique flavour, all the ancient dust of its history, the generations of lives paced out here in fear and fleeting joy. They had their lives, now it's my turn. This is my moment. And I'm grabbing every part of it. We wend our way down through the scruffy elegance of small shaded squares and tree-lined cobbled inclines where a liquid golden light spills and drowns the valley of alleys so we swim in luminous guilt, to emerge onto the appointed rendezvous spot.

The van is already there. A guy who styles himself the director – François, wears Jean-Luc Godard dark-shades, and although his hair is thinning, it's scraped back into a pathetic ponytail over the nape of his neck. Some 45-years old, he obviously fancies himself as a real director. He's glancing impatiently at his big heavy watch, although we are not late. Paul's in conversation with the director. Seems he was expecting someone else. An experienced regular called Jean-Claude who is out of sorts. I'm the stand-in, the last-minute replacement. François is not happy. I take a last hasty suspicious glance around to make sure I'm not being followed, take a deep breath, and climb in beside the film-crew and other 'performers'.

As the vehicle pulls away and merges into the traffic-flow, oddly I feel a sense of relief. I'm safe here, no matter what happens. Paul is already getting affectionate with one of the guys. Jacque D'Or has a prominent Gérard Depardieu nose, and – as I was soon to discover, there's truth in the saying that big-nose equals big 'talent' in other anatomical respects! I feel a little self-conscious. Never realised Paul was such a raging faggot. But then again, I'd never really known him all that well. It's just weird circumstances that have thrown us together on this strange adventure. I can deal with it. Whatever happens is bound to be less painful than whatever punishment the Bad Guys would hand out if I stay in Paris.

Some considerable time later, way outside the Paris limits, we draw in sharply to a lay-by on the edge of a deep tree-filled valley.

"You know, we aren't too sure of your suitability for this movie. I think it's time we saw you in the state of nature." François, the director.

I turn to face him and give him the smile his suggestion is worth, which isn't much. "But I was checked out in Paris. They passed me OK."

He barks, it couldn't really be described as a laugh. "They might have done, but they're not doing this movie. Paul stays with the car, we go down where I look you over. You no like, you get the hell out now, goodbye."

I look at Paul, he shrugs. "Do what he says, what have you got to lose?"

I have no choice. We climb out the car and set off down the slope, all my glands charged up with expectations. Once out of sight of the highway and François indicates I should stop, while the other two, Jacque & Pierre go on down the track until I can no longer see them. I breathe a sigh of relief. Perhaps it won't be too bad if only François gets to see me.

"Right, let's see you Dear, hurry."

What...? Surely he must have seen the photos Mr Jules took? If not, what was the point? Unless Mr Jules is just another devious old perv, and he wanted them for his own personal gay-stash? What the hell, I struggle out of my T-shirt, kick my sandals off, and after only a moment's hesitation, slide my pants down and off, facing him naked, nervously inhaling so my belly is flat, can't allow any suggestion of bulging gut. He studies me appraisingly, his attention fixed unswervingly on my cock.

"Shit" he spits derisively, with what sounds to be all the sneer he can get into his tone. "How the hell do they expect me to work with material like this? Make it stiff please."

Here we go again, another pervy old guy after cheap thrills. We just passed through a village. There could be someone out jogging, or walking their dog around here. This is nervy. I begin to massage it, the scary images conjured up in my head while I'm doing it are of Paul crouching down there with it in his mouth, even more disturbingly the sexy image soon produces the desired effect. I turn for him to look me over critically, he beckons and more warily, almost timidly I approach him so he can seize me, measuring my penis-length with his cool fingers, squeezing and weighing each testicle in turn, stroking the curve of my buttocks until I relax a little and even find the intimate attention not unpleasant.

"Don't get me wrong" he concedes. "It's a perfectly acceptable cock, I'm sure your boyfriends..."

"Girlfriends" I correct him.

"Whatever, I'm sure they're quite overjoyed with it, and derive much pleasure from it. But the good folk who pay hard cash for my films, they wanna see big, something extra, special, you understand? They expect... I was expecting Jean-Claude, you understand? Me, I've got aspirations, you see. Together we are taking Gay porn to new heights. No, not even Gay porn – I'm not restricting myself, but erotica itself to new heights. The trouble is" he goes on, fondling my cock and balls affectionately, "you have a pretty little cock."

I squirm as he squeezes.

"Personally, I think it's a perfectly reasonable little cock. And I know there are lots of guys out there who enjoy pretty little cocks like yours. I guess fucking a guy with a pretty like cock like yours is like fucking a very boyish guy – what do you think? Is that true?"

Holding my shaft with one hand he runs his fingers lightly across the tip in a way that has me biting my lip with sensations.

"The trouble is, on-screen, my clients want size. It may be superficial and shallow, but they want to see big cocks. They want to see cute boys gratefully sucking big cocks, so jaw-breakingly big that their lips strain to get around them. They want to see big cocks going up bottoms, so tight that the boy on the receiving end of them squirms and groans with tension and delight. So you see my problem, don't you?"

He moves down to squeeze my balls. "And your problem, stick this dear little thing up a boy's derriere and he'd barely notice, stick it in his mouth and he'd have ample space for another. Insofar as it is a problem, you do want to earn money...?"

I nod hastily as he begins wanking up and down.

"You want to earn money by being in my film?"

Again I nod, more eagerly now so he won't stop.

"So you have to be the receiver of cock, not the giver. Your cock is onscreen, of course it is, and it will be hard – like it is now, but they'll see it as you kneel down to suck a guy's big dong. A really big cock – you understand? We got the best, the biggest stunt-cocks in the business. Or they see it as you spread your legs to take a guy's big cock up your rectum... right? All the way up that tight little anal hole of yours."

I grunt incoherently. Thinking that, yes, I'm average-size, surely he's overdoing the 'small', it's not that bad, it's never let me down. Hell, it's even reacting beyond expectation now.

"I take it you've sucked cock onscreen before? You've been fucked in a movie?"

I blush as his fingers circle my cock and squeeze until the knob stands out purple, and I suspect his close scrutiny of my gonads is not entirely down to business.

"No, er yes." I'm confused, getting giddy, light-headed, his intimate ministrations having an inevitable effect.

"No? – but you do suck cock?"

Again I colour as he resumes wanking slowly and lasciviously. I nod quickly. I nod furiously, biting my lip.

"Good, nothing worse than a cock-virgin who doesn't know what he's doing. I suppose you have a spunky little boyfriend and you can't wait to get into his pants, and you get naked together, and suck each other dry. I bet you can't get enough of his cock. Do you only do it with friends – or in the line of business?"

"Both." This time I can't even be bothered to protest, and I lie.

"And you enjoy it?"

"Love it."

"You eat spunk of course? You take it up the ass?"

Again I nod. "But I prefer oral."

"Big ones?"

I close my eyes and nod. "Whenever I can."

"You'll do doubles too. You understand that? One guy so far down your throat he's saying hello to your tonsils, another simultaneously ramming up your arse. You'll take both." He runs the hand that's not holding my balls over the curve of my bare bottom. "So, as delectable as your perky appendage is, this is not up to being the focus of the action. You're gonna be relegated to supporting cast, if you get my drift. Know what I mean?"

Then, to my horror, he unzips himself and hooks his stiff cock out.

"Let's see what you look like with this in your mouth."

"But...."

"Look, in the movie you suck what you're told to suck, I have to know how you do it, your expression, your technique. Understand?" He squeezes and releases my cock so it sways and bounces wildly. "Come on, this cock isn't going to suck itself. You do this, or you're off the movie."

I look at it. Don't panic. You can do this. Didn't even Marilyn Monroe give casting-couch blow-jobs to make sure she got roles in movies? I can do this like I did Paul, so it doesn't even touch the sides. I approach it warily. With all sense of right and wrong, and all sense of consequences deliberately temporarily suspended. Squatting down, reaching it to take it in my hand low down on the shaft, near the balls, and lower my head onto it. The cock is thick and warm in my mouth as I suck it tentatively once or twice, just for realism's sake. He grunts impatiently, and waits.

"This is terrible" he groans. "This is the worst blow-job I've ever had in my life. It's just no good. It's useless. I can't use you. It's over. Thanks, but it's time we split and you went back to Paris."

That's what I do not want. That's the last thing I want. Maybe I can do this? After all, you expect girls to do this to you, so why ask them to do something you wouldn't do yourself? Isn't that a bit too genderist? So I crouch there, nude and red-faced with the disgusting fat cock in my slimy fist.

"No, let me try it again" I whisper stupidly. "I'll do it better this time you'll see. I'll take it any way you want."

I reach out and lick its smooth purple head, with a lustily forced expression of delight, lapping up a glistening bead of pre-come from its single eye like it's some rare and exotic delicacy. 'Mmm, look at me sucking it this time.' I slide the entire round bulbous head into my mouth and suck heartily like a man dying of thirst. My cheeks inverting from the effort of the sucking, which makes a loud and wet squelching noise. As though I'm telling him 'I really (gulp) lurve doing this (slobber) a lot, watch me (slurp), I can take more.' I'm unable to speak anyway as for a long deep-throated moment I sink it into my mouth near down to the balls. Then I'm slobbering, licking and sucking, in and out, up and down, 'Oooo, I love it so much I can't help jacking myself off, it gets me so horny.'

"Good boy, good boy" he says. "I think we understand each other, yes?"

François groans in a way that suggested the exercise, for him, isn't entirely academic. "Ah, ooh, that's... quite good, a little more tongue on the underside of the glans, that's right, let's see a little more movement of the head, up slightly, now down, no, further down, ooh, that's good... no, little further down, a bit more in, now suck hard so's I can see how your cheeks pulse."

It's only some time later, as I raise my head that I realise we have an audience.

"What's he like?" Jacque is standing behind us in his y-fronts.

I pull back, red-faced, saliva drooling down my chin. François tucks his angry slimy erection back into his fly. "He shows promise, yes, he might be alright."

"I found a spot, little way down, by the stream."

I try to hide my hard-on rather inadequately with my hand, but feel stupid and try to edge towards my clothes.

"It's alright" says François, moving my neat pile of clothes out of reach. "Follow us down there, you won't need clothes. I just wanna try out a few ideas for the movie."

I feel uncomfortable and confused, a little exploited – as though I'm being used above and beyond the call of what I could have expected, but I do as he says, walking a little way down the sloping forest path nude, embarrassingly aware of the conspicuous sway of my cock. It's unreasonable to expect this, there could be broken glass or dog-crap on this path. Instead, we arrive at a small glade beside the stream, a secluded place where flower-dotted sward shelves down thick with fern and delicate moss, onto a soft-grass clearing edging into the nodding green spears of water-reeds.

Pierre stands waiting – also down to his y-fronts. We join him. Jacque & Pierre are standing close, watching developments with close interest.

"Whaddya think of him boys?" says François.

They both stare critically at my groin. "I've seen better. What's he suck like?"

"Does it adequately with me" admits François. "With a little persuasion, once he gets used to the idea, in a one-to-one situation, without an audience."

He looks thoughtful for a moment, then turns to me. "Get down there with Jacque and Pierre and we'll run through a scene from the movie."

"Good" says Jacque as I pace the few steps down to face him.

"What's the story-line?" I venture.

François laughs as Jacque skins his y-fronts down. "The plot is, you get your mouth fucked, dear."

I gulp. I've already sucked François – surely he doesn't expect more? But obediently I slouch down into a crouch. Jacque is naked from the toes up, nothing but a big twelve-tooth grin and evidence that my earlier suspicion was correct. Big nose, big cock. My heart sinks. It's big. Bigger than François. Even soft, even not telescoped to its full height, it's much bigger than his is at max. My eyes fixate on that heavy club of flesh, laced with veins, sinuous and thick curving from his hips hovering obscenely in the air, a big lazy arc of fat dick hanging in my face. The foreskin tight and pulled back to show a little circle of dark skin at the head. I see dribbling pre-cum. He's not even fully aroused, what will that feel like inside me when it is? The thought nearly makes me faint. Am I expected to perform sex acts on THAT...? He must be joking...!

A bead of sweat oozes its way down my thighs, coursing its way through the hairs on my legs. I glance at François, he nods at me, and it is an instruction. I have no choice, I can smell it's stale sex-scent, but to refuse will be to be kicked off the movie, and I can't do that. He stands over me, arrogant in his muscle-corded confidence. An exhibitionist tendency. Proud. So I open my mouth and hood the disgusting object, a quick suck or two and the ordeal will be over. I suck the hard shaft and feel it begin to swell and pulse up against the roof of my mouth.

"No, no, no" from François.

I release it so it springs up wetly, fully erect now.

"Is THIS how you suck off your favourite boyfriend? Is that how you suck Paul's cute cock? This is a MOVIE, you have to do it visual. Look at that cock – see how big and juicy it is, there's nothing in the world you want more than to suck it, right? You can't wait to get it into your greedy little sewer of a gob. I was led to believe you were good at fellatio, obviously I was misinformed. I guess we'll have to call the whole thing off."

I've come too far, done too much to back down now. I steel myself. He's standing over me. It's hung an inch from my face. I glance at François. Glance up at Jacque. Swallow hard and focus my attention on it. Follow your instinct. Move your head forward and down onto it, lick around the head, pull the foreskin back over the slimy head with one hand. Grip his big balls with the other hand. Now, open your mouth, take the head fully in between your lips again. Swallow as much of it as you can. Start wanking him with your mouth as you feel it rapidly pumping to its fullest state of erection.

"Now, I wanna see you twisting your head around so I can see that cock bulging the side of your cheek out of shape. Yes, that's much better, dear."

It must look as though I've got a bad case of the mumps. Jacque runs his fingers wonderingly over my distorted cheek, as though he can't really believe he's responsible for such a sizeable bump. I wonder if he can feel those fingers on his glans, through the stretched tissue of my face?

"Now I'd like you to try something different. Just hold your head still and allow him to fuck your face, no other contact than mouth and cock, OK? No, no, not like that Jacque, here I'll show you..."