Cock-Sucker: Weekend Ch. 01

And François crosses the copse lowering his pants as he does so. Jacque extracts juicily from my mouth and François takes his place.

"Don't move" he tells me. "Let me do the work this time."

He levels his stiff cock and slides it into my mouth. Then he stands with his hands on his hips and begins to fuck in and out.

"Mmm, that's nice, isn't it? looks good onscreen too... ah, now you try that Jacque."

Again the switch, and Jacque is back in my mouth, his lower jaw thrust out in concentration, his thick lips slightly parted, greedy and sensual, his eyes hard and selfish. He fucks in and out, in and out with a ludicrous grin on his face, and his big heavy balls swaying like a pendulum banging rhythmically on my spit-messy chin. It's going 'schlock-schlock-squelchity-schlock' as I brace myself to receive each thrust, my lips gripping on tight to its sleek pistoning shaft.

"Good Jacque, now slower, slowly slide it in as far as you can."

He goes in deep, then deeper and nearly chokes me. I gag and draw back coughing as the cock wetly dangles on my nose.

"Not so good was it? You're going to have to work on learning to take it deep. People wanna see it going in deep. You must TRY."

"I'm sorry" I manage, wiping hair and saliva from my face.

"Sorry's not alright, nowhere near alright, I know it's difficult at first. You need practice. Now I want to see how you handle two cocks. Pierre, can we use you – and naked please?"

I breathe more easily, more grateful for the respite than afraid or reluctant to participate further. Pierre and Jacque are both nude, both heavily erect, François indicating they should stand either side of me. The director toys abstractly with his own erection through his open fly as he does so.

While still maintaining that both Paul and I are respectably-hung, I begin to appreciate François' point about respective penis-dimensions, by comparison, these guys are intimidatingly freakishly huge. Like they're deformed. Surely their abnormal anatomical proportions determines there can be no other career open to them than Porn? Both cocks are now scarily leveling my face and it occurs to me that I'm now expected to suck Pierre too. I shrug inwardly, I've sucked two of them, one more hardly makes a difference.

"Now, I'd like you to take one in each hand, hold them in close to your face... closer, closer, so they almost touch, that's it. Now give Pierre a quick suck, no no no no, a little more enthusiasm! Do it PROPERLY for fuck's sake. Suck that fucking dick like you mean it. Better. Now switch and suck Jacques – THAT'S better. You like Jacque don't you, you greedy little fucker? You love that big throbbing shaft in your gob, don't you? But let's not show favouritism, do it to Pierre now, the same way, deep and luscious, lots of slippery tongue action, lots of suction, THAT'S IT, play with his gonads like you can't wait for the cream, like you wanna squeeze all that lovely spunk up out of them and into your throat. Suck, suck that big fat cock."

A pause as I suck.

"Now Jacque again – no, quicker, you've no time to breathe between cocks, just stuff 'em in. Part your legs now so we can see how stiff your pretty little cock is, so we can see your balls move, and your arse, that's it. C'mon, suck Pierre now, you shouldn't need telling goddamit. Hold both knobs together so you can lick and slobber them both together. Can you get your lips around both knobs at one? Sure you can, sure you can, force them in, stretch that mouth, C'mon – you're not trying. Jacque, Pierre, help the little cock-sucker, hold his head, HARD, now force 'em in. Stop wriggling you bastard. There, that's great, that's beautiful – real gobful of cocks, a little more? That's it, you have a real talent for this, don't you. Right, let him get used to it lads, let him get a good dirty-taste, make him suck on 'em for a while, enjoy it."

François is leaping around, here and there, coming in so close I feel his breath on my bare skin, making a little square frame viewfinder by lacing his fingers together and squinting through them at the point the cocks enter my mouth, lining up imaginary shots. I can't move my head because my mouth is impaled, but I glimpse him from the corner of my eye.

"Believe me, mes enfants. This is not what I was intended for. I have the blood of Jean Cocteau, Luis Buñuel and Georges Méliès in my veins – metaphorically speaking. I'm going to do great things. Some use cheap digital. I've got proper up-market kit, a gaffer, post-production editing software. But I need financial backing, so first I make my mark doing this. This is what gets me noticed – so it's gotta be good! Right – now for spunk-shots. Sucking cocks is one thing, but eating spunk's another. You like the taste, eh? The more the better. I know your type, can't get enough, a real jism-guzzler I'll be bound – but we must make certain."

"Why don't we just let nature take its course?" suggests Jacque. "The way my cock's squeezed in here I'm gonna shoot off any moment anyway, and together we'll drown the little fucker in spunk."

He nudges his hips forward, fucking my mouth with a moist squelching sound. "Feel that boy? It's all for you."

But Pierre is already pulling free. "No, we have to make sure he takes it up the ass too, don't we?"

"Good point" concedes François thoughtfully.

I pull back in fear. "No, sorry, I don't do anal. I've NEVER done anal." I feel so naked, vulnerable and humiliated already. Surely they don't expect me to do that too!

In a moment François is on his feet and there, and he HITS me sharply across the face with the back of his hand.

"You fucking little queer, you've been nothing but trouble from the start. You want to do this fucking movie? You want to earn this money?"

I was confused and afraid, my face stinging where he'd hit me. My mouth foul with the taste of cock. I was cold. Jacque stands a little way off, angling his still-stiff cock downwards, grinning broadly as he pisses a stream of thick yellow urine onto the moist grass.

"We don't use a stunt-man for the movie you know? For a suck scene you suck cock. For a come-shot you EAT spunk. For an ass-fuck you get REAL HARD cock up your tight little bottom, like it or not, and it goes all the way in until you squeal. You want this job? OK? – let me think, for this scene I see Jacque lying on his back, you crouch on all fours and gorge your pretty mouth on his cock until he comes while Pierre fucks your precious pretty little butt. You don't want to do this job? OK – we call it all off. Now, we go. You do what you fuckin' want to. Starve or eat shit for all I care."

Jacque shakes droplets from his cock ostentatiously and lies on the grass on his back. Miserably I go down on him. A droplet of urine glistens on his purple glans. I'm past caring. I suck it all deep. Me – usually so in control in sexual situations, and I'm being used and abused like some dumbly unresisting sex-object. Why? I've become so numbed and fuzzy-brained it's like my obedience to his dirty-talk has become almost a conditioned response. My continued and increasing arousal showing undeniable evidence of physical responses. They are laughing. There are hands on my hips, positioning me, bottom raised, legs slightly parted so my genitals dangle and sway. I close my eyes and concentrate on sucking Jacque. Despite my earlier protestations to Paul, I don't resist, I just wait.

There's intimate pressure at my rectum, slight pain. A voice says "C'mon, loosen up, your ass is so tight it's vacuum sealed."

I force myself to do as he says, there's a grunting, an odd slithering sensation and heat forcing my bottom open. I groan around the cock in my mouth. A bizarre unreal sensation as I'm penetrated inch by inch. It triggers an uncontrollable orgasm. My cock begins to lurch. When I come its as forceful as a kick in the balls, almost painful in its intensity, I jet it out in three long spurts as though I'm pissing it, shooting long gooey strands across my stomach, after which it just keeps dribbling out. If I'd not been supported, spindled on two cocks, I'd have fallen in a quivering heap on the grass.

"Think you've found his prostate g-spot in there" chortles François enthusiastically. "Nice, nice. Now make like you're enjoying it."

I'd never felt so totally helpless in my life, so utterly at the mercy of other men, penetrated as I am from both ends, my legs splayed so my own fiercely aroused genitals sway exposed and trembling at each indignity, messy and dripping emission. I suck and slobber, holding onto Jacque's cock by its saliva-slimed base so I don't lose oral grip on it, while Pierre begins his fucking motion, sliding in and out. I can feel his balls slapping up against me at his deepest thrust, and my own free-dangling cock is bobbing lewdly, bouncing and slapping up against my gut at the force of his rhythmic impact on my bottom.

Then, before I know what's happening my mouth is full of spunk, awash with it and I'm near-gagging as more hot jets of it hit the back of my throat. Jacque is grunting and laughing at the same time as he pumps semen into my mouth, and I'm taking it so sweet and docile.

"No, no" from François. "I know you young queers can't get enough of gobbling that white joy-juice stuff, I understand that, but visual, make it visual. The spunk goes on your face – get it? And once it's there, you don't wipe it. Let the lens linger. Let the voyeuristic hoohads enjoy their jack-off looking."

My head is spinning with disgust, confusion and – yes, excitement too. Pierre pulls free from my bottom, and the sudden force of it wrenching out sets my own cock bobbing. Jacque pulls my head up off him and together they manipulate me around onto my back, I'm still dribbling from my own emissions as Pierre kneels over my face and begins rubbing his fat cock around my already-spermy lips and cheeks. By now I know what's expected of me, and I'm too broken-in to care, my tongue is out lapping at it, it slides into my mouth, then out around my nose and eyes then back in deep, then out to hang one inch from my nose. I lift my head to lick at its underside and he's on the brink of coming.

It's as though time slows to a crawl, and freezes. In a silent void I can see every detail in slow-mo as it happens. It's like a living thing. The way it trembles, lifts slightly, seems to swell, the bulging piss-hole opening like an eager mouth, almost as though it winks knowingly at me, arrogant, like an obese eel flexing, poised, on the brink, a slight moist dribbling ooze that precedes what is to come, long seconds of eternity tick by, then the first gushing rain of spunk erupts across my face. White fluid that spins and arcs onto me, my nose, across my parted lips, my teeth and tongue. A second jet closes my right eye, gumming it shut, slithering wetly down my cheek. A third jet directly into my mouth. Then more.

When he's finished he slides it slowly back into my mouth, and with passive acceptance I suck at the spermy penis until it's clean. Its cloying taste clogging up my mouth. Eventually, after what seems like a very long time, he withdraws and both men stand up, glancing across at François for his approval. My mouth is awash with semen. I swallow. My face is swimming with it, dribbling and oozing over me. I press my finger against the side of my nose, and snort. A blob of spunk spurts from my blocked left nostril. My stomach and genitals are crawling with the cooling of my own sperm, more of it trickling down my leg. My ordeal is over. I feel strangely calm. I lie still on the damp grass. Waiting. Almost beyond caring.

The three men are talking in a tight group, dressing and laughing, turning every now and then to point at me.

"There's something special about shagging in the open air" opines François. "We should do it more. The whole primal back-to-nature thing. Today, you were like two Satyrs taking a fawn, like in the old mythologies, you know?"

"I don't care where we shag" says Pierre. "Just so long as we shag." He rubs his crotch grotesquely and they laugh.

Eventually François crosses to me. "Get up Dear."

I rise slowly, as though I can't trust my legs, wiping my face with the back of my hand.

"You've done the screen-test, and you did fine. I was dubious, I'll level with you. Jean-Claude is better-hung and his fellatio is to die for, believe me, I know. And I had my doubts about you. But you'll be OK when we do it for real. You enjoyed it, didn't you? The penis is a strange animal. Some things you can't fake, like that hard-on as you got yourself fucked – you liked that, I can tell. And coming off like that was a nice touch."

He reaches down to fondle my softening cock. Stupidly I feel embarrassed, even after what's just happened to me.

"Y'know what makes me crazy, what gets me every time? Watching porn-clips where the guy can't even be arsed to get a real hard-on, where it's dangling uselessly half-hung semi-limp while they pretend that oo-ah, it's SO Hard stuff. It's fake, a turn-off for the voyeur watching, and his lack of arousal is a total insult to the best endeavors of his co-performers. It's inept and sad. The very least you can do is compliment your co-star with a good stiff hard-on to show you're turned on. In my films you will never see a limp cock. You weren't faking. You were into it. I like that. I can use that." He begins tugging me by my cock, and I can do nothing else but follow.

"Wait, my clothes François, let me get my clothes."

"Leave them, Pierre will carry them for you. You don't need clothes for what you're gonna be doing."

Followed by Pierre and Jacque, and towing me reluctantly by his firm grip, François leads the way up out of the dell. I try to resist, mumbling 'no, no, no' beneath my breath, holding back as long as I can until the discomfort becomes painful and I have to stumble up the slope.

The road is ahead. "No, François, please." I try co cover my red and inflamed genitals with my hands.

François turns on me, holding me tight by the cock, his expression stern.

"Look, this is for your benefit, you must learn to obey directions without question. You must do as you're told without argument or shyness – OK? And you must learn to regard your body as a sex object. You've got a decent cock and an accommodating little bottom, men like those cute-as-a-button things, you must get used to being looked at and desired. You just need intensive one-to-one tuition, I'll help you with that. No need to say 'thank you' now. In the meantime, be proud of your sexuality, flaunt it. Do that, and we've got ourselves a movie. Now, I want you to walk to the car and get in as you are without any more stupidity."

I swallow hard. "Yes François."

He releases me so my cock quivers and sways, a little more than half-erect. He leads the way, and this time I follow without protest, resigned to what I must do. I emerge through the low scrub just as a Citroen hurtles past. I feel the wind of its passing on my bare skin. Our car is where we'd left it on the verge. The carriageway is otherwise clear. I pace across the stretch of grass, forcing myself to do it as slowly as I dare. François watches my progress with a smile, his arms folded. I reach the car. Pierre and Jacque are already inside. They gesture me to circle the vehicle and enter from the far side. I can see Paul inside, he smiles encouragingly. I shrug and do as they want, stepping out into the road, bare feet slapping on the tarmac, dangling balls knock-knocking up against my inside leg, until I can climb in beside Paul who immediately puts his arm around me, holding me to him supportively.

"What did they do to you?" he hisses.

François slings himself in behind the wheel. "Tell him, in detail."

A look of furtive shame. A hangdog expression of shifty denial. "I sucked their cocks" I confess.

He grins delightedly. "All three of them?"

"All three" I reply.

He looks pointedly down at my groin. "Looks like you enjoyed it too."

I colour slightly. "Well, I came off too, if that's what you mean." I look up, meet his eyes, and suddenly we're both laughing uncontrollably. He drapes a coat around my shoulders as the car pulls out and gains speed down the winding road.

My body still trembles with after-shocks, but my mind is clearing. I start rationalizing it through. What does this crazy scene make me? Hey – I'm a free spirit, an adventurer, a ducker and diver. I'm the fly-guy, aren't I, living on the edge of wisdom and foolishness, belief and incredulity, the best and worst? That gives me license to transgress further. To try out the dark side, to taste from the forbidden devil's cup. Or something very like that. So, put this incident down to experience, to expanding the horizons of the possible, opening up the range of human responses. A new drug. A new game. Open your mind. Feed your head. If I'm slightly messed up, out of my comfort zone, that's OK too, it'll pass. Otherwise, how can you condemn what you've never tried. Well – I've tried it. Boy, have I tried it. As the aching pulse deep in my bottom keeps reminding me.

(There's more to come in 'Weekend: Part Two')

By Tristan Trotsky