Cock-Sucker: Around the World Ch. 04

"No, not that way." He gets up now. Indicates for me to bend over. So, he wants it that way. I should have guessed from his earlier assertions. So be it. I turn around, crouching up on the lounger, presenting myself for him, reaching back to part my buttocks, allowing him access, inviting him. I feel him positioning himself. His hands on my hips, the heat of his cock-head seeking out the anus opening. Then the pressure.

He's not using lubrication, apart from the moist pool-water on our bodies. There's a strain of sharp pain as it forces its way in. But each wince and whimper I make seems to excite him more. He's laughing as I brace myself to receive his forceful penetration. Biting my lip. He draws back until only the knob-head is inside me, and pauses for a moment, allowing me to catch my breath, then forces back in further. I cry out. He stops, withdraws a little way, less this time, then shoves more into me. I can't tell properly, but I think I've taken it all. I was wrong. He begins a leisurely fuck, each thrust taking it just a little further in.

It's less than a pleasurable experience for me. But I'm learning another aspect of sex. Giving myself to the needs of a dominant man. And despite myself my own flipping bouncing cock is hard, although he ignores my state. He's concerned only with own pleasure. It goes on for some time, pausing then resuming, slowing then speeding up. I'm sweating in flushing waves of heat that surge up and down my body, radiating out from my burning straining anus. I close my eyes as it goes on. He slows, pauses, allowing his sensations to quieten, before resuming, enjoying my discomfort.

Eventually, after what seems like forever he grunts low in his throat and slams forward so deep I cry out. And I feel his orgasm jerking inside my gut. It kicks off my own ejaculation which starts spurting uncontrollably as I squirm and move as best I can around my impalement. He leaves it in me until the last tremors recede. It feels easier now. The burning recedes to a warm glow that is undeniably pleasant. My own jism, spattered across my stomach is cooling and congealing.

He pulls out, and slaps me painfully across the bare bum. Of course, the entire episode has been more a dominance thing than it has been a sex thing. By the time I warily straighten up, unwilling to trust my legs, he's already back in the pool. I sit on the lounger, gathering my thoughts. Then join him, laughing together. Soon we resume our positions, side-by-side on the loungers. I glance across at him. His eyes are closed. His arms folded behind his head. I glance down, drawn to the instrument that's already ravaged me. I can still feel its effect tingling in my bowels.

This time, when I go down to kiss it, he does not push me away. Encouraged, I run my tongue up its full length, and it squirms in response. I suck its head into my mouth, only the head at first, and explore it with my tongue. It's fucked me already, but I've not really had chance to get to know it up close. I take full advantage now. My eyes luxuriating in taking in its every hairless detail. A beautiful cock, tall and white. So pale I can trace the tiny blue pattern of blood-vessels mapping its terrain. The smooth foreskin hood around the rubbery glans. The raised sperm-duct running along the underside. The perfect fit for my mouth, as though designed by nature for that one singular purpose.

Looking up, I catch him watching me. The situation is obvious. He's generously allowing me to use his body for my pleasure. I feed more of his cock in. Because it's only semi-erect I can take pretty-much all of it, loving swirling it around my mouth, loving the sensation, feeling it stiffen, hardening up against the tight clasp of my lips. I begin sucking in earnest. Fearing censure, but bringing my hands to play with his fat balls. He lies back and lets me have my way. I alternate sucking hard, with a slow relaxed sucking, so that I hold it in my mouth, never releasing it, while caressing it with my tongue.

As it goes on I'm forced to reach down and take my own cock in hand. He's not touched me once. He's not concerned with my pleasure or sexual fulfilment, only his own. So I began to leisurely wank my aching stiffness as I oralise him. I can hear the warm breeze stirring the foliage above us, hear the birds angry cry. The warmth of the sun tenderly drying the moisture off our interconnected bodies. It is idyllic. It's a perfect moment. I suck him as deep as I can, as if to show my appreciation. It swells and throbs against the restriction of my throat as I bring him towards climax. At the same time I'm approaching my own, wanking more furiously now so that my balls are jiggling with the excited action.

I begin cumming too soon, erupting up over my stomach. Forcing the distracting rage away as it storms my head, to concentrate on him. With my other hand I'm smoothing his balls. Feeling them retract with the build-up.

Then, impassive, with barely a trace of expression above the waist, it spews rich fluid into my mouth, I feel the first spurts flooding me. I make a gaggling gurgling sound, only half-faked to better communicate what I'm doing to him, what he's doing to me, closing my eyes to concentrate on taking his orgasm, the white cloying gusher, licking and squeezing with my lips to amplify the sensation for him, milking the tide of spunk into my mouth, gently squeezing his balls upwards and working the cum up the length of his shaft, from base to head, into my greedy maw. It feels amazing. I keep his cock in my mouth as it loses something of its rigidity, loath to release it, swishing it around in a bath of saliva and semen. Come on, react you arrogant bastard!

"You sluts can't think straight unless you've got a cock in your mouth." His voice is infuriatingly calm, despite what I've just done to him, and continue doing. "Did you enjoy that?"

I relinquish it only long enough to tell him, "Yes, very much so, thank you sir."

"You think you can use my body for your own pleasure? You've got to pay for your spermy treat."

I lift my head from his sloppy cock, unsure of what's about to happen.

"Stand up, touch your toes." I do as he says, feeling stupidly vulnerable. He begins to smack my bare bottom in a rhythm of sharp precise blows concentrating systematically on each buttock, until I'm stinging. The detonations of each fleshy slap clear and distinct. Then he reaches between my splayed legs to seize and squeeze my balls so tightly that I wince.

"Now, run three times around the pool." He's got to be kidding, right? This is silly. He can't be serious, surely? But if this is what gets him off, if this dominance thing turns him on, why not? It's a game, isn't it? It's erotic play-acting. Why not. So I do as he says, loping easily around the pool, hoping he's watching the way my genitals move as I do so, swaying from side to side, jiggling this way and that. Hopefully he likes what he sees. But I don't think he's even taking notice. At length I flop down onto the lounger beside him, breathing heavily, looking towards him for some sign of approval. But his eyes are closed. Excluding me. Not asleep, but he might as well be. I lie back and allow the silence to consume me as the bizarreness I've just been subjected to replays in my head.

In the evening we sit on the veranda beneath the bright African stars, as a black woman serves us a meal. The white wine sings on my palette. Later I check out his selection of DVD's, most of them S&M, dominance and submission, genital torture. It makes me nervous. What exactly am I getting myself into? Turning my confused ideas about Kurt over in my head. Then I think of Ivan back at the 'The Blue Dahlia'. Is he missing me, does he wonder where I am? He had plans for the evening, involving us and the three 'girls'. I feel guilty about letting him down.

When we go to bed Kurt uses lubrication to fuck me, which makes it easier. As though the first time was to make a point, I was there for him to use, at his discretion. This time it's better, although again he ignores my own arousal. I lie on my back as he enters me. I try to hold his eyes as I reach down to stimulate myself as he thrusts into my ass. I wriggle my hips forward, onto him, using my sphincter-muscles to clasp and draw him in, trying to provoke a response, showing my enthusiasm for him. Both of us breathing heavy.

As my climax approaches I gaze up into his face. "Oh fuck me, Kurt, your cock feels so good" I moan, then, as my orgasm hits me, I begin shooting long white strands that surely he must see. But it's as though he's not even noticed. I lie back as it cools and dribbles across me, as he continues fucking deeper into me, again and again. I hear him breathing. It's his only response. It's cold and impersonal. A clinical fucking machine that explodes in my rectum with tides of hot jism.

But it's only on the genital level we're communicating. And that, only one way. His way. I'm being used. It's scary, unsettling. But if that's part of sex, it's a part of sex that's worth knowing. Once it's over he turns away and falls promptly asleep. I lie there in his bed, feeling only the pulse of my heart, the swell of my breath. It's uncomfortable warm, despite the endlessly-circling crick-crick-crick of the fan, but I feel a chill.

The next morning I awake to find the maid already in the room. She smiles indulgently at my evident distressed embarrassment at her seeing me nude. She's obviously well-used to finding strange naked young men in her employer's bed. After we breakfast Kurt takes me driving again. I sit beside him a little awkwardly, obedient, compliant, saying little. Uncertain about the events of the previous day. Unsure of my feelings for him.

His attraction is all to do with his arrogance, his dominance. Nothing to do with affection or sensitivity. It's a mysterious relationship. If you could even dignify it as such. Every relationship has complexities that go beyond where you think they will. That's how we find out about ourselves. But what's going on inside his headspace? He's a perfect physical specimen in every way, but with the emotion-chip missing. He barely speaks as we speed through suburbs towards the promise of open countryside. I wonder what he has in mind.

Eventually we skirt the encircling shanties around the rim of the city to pull in through high metal gates set in encircling walls. Two security guards step forward as Kurt flashes his ID, they nod him through, sparing only a curious side-glance at me. There are shading trees lining the drive up to what was once obviously a colonial mansion. As he slows to a halt a uniformed black youth rushes to open the door. As he climbs out Kurt tosses him the keys. Obviously old apartheid attitudes still prevail here as well. The youth is there to park the car, as we saunter across into the entrance foyer.

Inside, the house is a warren. Kurt seems familiar with its lay-out. He's been here before. He leads the way through a reception hall hung with glittering chandelier. I'm immediately startled as we approach an inner door, it opens and we stand aside as a middle-aged portly man emerges, leading a youth on a leash, the submissive is probably my ago, he's naked but for a few leather straps and a fetishistic hood, and he's crawling on all fours, like a dog! I watch in fascinated revulsion, noting his smooth hairless skin, the rounded curves of his undulating girlish bottom, the way his tight balls and small cock jiggle as he shuffles long behind his dominant master.

Kurt shows no reaction, just leads us into a large lounge beyond. It's obviously an exclusive 'Gentleman's Establishment', catering to those of a certain disposition. A 'club-room', for members only. Predominantly male. Females not required. Like a bigger more sophisticated version of 'The Blue Dahlia' the lights are tastefully dimmed, allowing all manner of deviance to flourish with some degree of discretion, although those in dresses and evening gowns are decidedly suspect.

I notice prints and expensive artworks on the wall, portraying naked youths in shackles being abused in various situations by cruel masters. Or entwined male lovers coupling in erotic embrace in flowery bowers, or elaborate pedaristic orgies staged in neo-classical settings. This place obviously has a long history, extending back into the Boer era. The upper floors, it seems, have been subdivided down into specialist suites for client use, fitted out and equipped with a variety of sexual devices and toys.

The guests, myself included, sit in plush upholstery drawn up into intimate circles. There are also alcoves for those who appreciate a greater degree of privacy, some with the screens of homo-erotic DVDs running. There's a subtle Afro-jazz soundtrack playing in the background. I feel more than a little uncomfortable, as two black youths, Nkomo and Makumbe serve us drinks on trays, their smooth ebony skin moving gracefully in their bulging-tight brief panties. Kurt keeps me plied with sophisticated conversation and ensures my glass is never empty.

"These guys..." I indicate the servants, "aren't they being exploited? Is being gay an essential prerequisite of their job?"

"You can no more make a straight kid gay than you can make a gay kid straight. It's either there, or it isn't, if it's not there already you can't put it there," he suggests.

"No, but you can set up problematic confusion in his mind."

"Only if he likes it. If he has sex with another guy and feels only revulsion and disgust, chances are he won't do it again. If he has sex with another guy and enjoys it... maybe. But why should pleasure be a problem? Orgasm is always pleasurable, no matter how it is induced. What kid dislikes orgasms? It's only social pressures that force orgasms into separate boxes ticked 'gay' and 'straight'."

"But he has to live in, and make sense of that society. You can't argue it away as easily as that."

"Right. But great literature, Folk song, Romantic Poetry is all about virtuous maidens seduced and abandoned by heartless fickle lovers. It's part of the great game of the sexes. There are always lecherous roués planning the corruption and debauchment of virgins on a wager. Why should it be different for emotionally vulnerable gay guys? We live and learn. It's what they used to call the 'sentimental education' in the facts of life."

We are sitting in an alcove, divided off from the main floor by draped curtaining, but there are several other clients sitting in adjacent circles of couches. Glancing across I can clearly see two elderly gentlemen sitting together sipping cocktails, while two youths crouch between their splayed legs, their heads nodding up and down in their groins, obviously sucking them off. Even as I watch, one of the gentlemen clicks his fingers imperiously and the crouching boys obediently change positions, shuffling around, resuming their sucking at the other cock. My throat is dry with crawling sensations at the beguiling perversity I'm witnessing.

Meanwhile, sensing some loss of conversational momentum, Kurt decides on a little floorshow by way of practical demonstration. "Nkomo."

"Yes'm master?"

"I feel that Makumbe would be more comfortable working without the encumbrance of so much clothing, don't you? Beneath those fancy knickers I swear there's a pair of fancy knackers. Perhaps you'd be an angel and help him undress?"

"If you say so, sir."

"I do say so, Nkomo, I do."

Makumbe looks decidedly embarrassed, standing there with a tray of drinks in the centre of a circle of sudden interest. Reluctantly Nkomo crosses to his side and goes down on one knee, his slim black fingers hooking the silky material of the briefs and pulling them down. There's audible silence as the elastic crawls across the cheek of one smooth round buttock, the first strands of pubic hair whispering free at the front. Then the slight resistance is gone and as the curves of his bottom are bared, a ferocious nest of black wiry hair bushing up beneath his undulating stomach. Both boys are nervous. Then the flimsy briefs drop to his ankles and a pendulous circumcised penis sways languorously into view over a pair of fat and swollen testicles.

"There Makumbe, isn't that better?"

"Yes suh, it sure is" he replies uncertainly.

"And you, Nkomo, just feast your eyes on that big meaty hunk of black cock, don't it look good to you?"

"I guess so, sir. Can I get up now please?"

"Can you get up Nkomo? All that fat dick hung in your dirty little face. I know you filthy whore, you're longing to get it down your fucking throat and suck it dry, aren't you, admit it?"

"Guess so, sir," he moans miserably.

"So get your dirty lips wrapped around it, don't be shy."

Nkomo reaches out, his finger brushing the penis-tip, then drawing it up, levelling it, at the last moment he glances around at the circle of watching faces with an expression of desperation and abject humiliation, his large white eyes rolling, his lips part. He swallows audibly and rests the rubbery cockhead on his lower lip, his mouth now a wide 'O', and he hoods it. Makumbe closes his eyes, his stomach caving. There is a slurping sucking sound.

"C'mon Nkomo, you're not trying, you can take more than that in" urges Kurt.

The kneeling youth screws his eyes shut and slides his lips inexorably down the stem of the cock, his cheeks inflating. Makumbe groans loudly - 'oh ooooh oh' while Nkomo seems to be losing any pretence of reluctance by the moment, his sucking becoming more intense and ferocious as the cock swells and erects majestically, visibly expanding in his mouth forcing his limpet-lips further apart. Matting the pubic hair and drooling his chin with saliva. His hands slide smoothly around his friend's black thighs to cup and caress the firm plump buttocks, squeezing rhythmically and drawing the hips in at his face - either that or Makumbe, visibly now biting his lower lip in ecstasy, has begun to rock his hips, fucking on the sucking mouth uncontrollably, his fat bollocks swaying. There's a tense silence in the room but for the sound of heavy breathing and the associated moist luscious slurp from somewhere deep within Nkomo's throat.

Almost without me realising it Kurt has moved to sit closer by my side. "I can tell you're enjoying our little exhibition."

My throat is dry. I manage to nod.

He chuckles low. "I'm trying to estimate which aspect you find most appealing. Are you the guy standing there being sucked, or on your knees doing the sucking...?"

"Maybe both" I say in an attempt to appear light and flirtatious.

He laughs unkindly. "Come, follow me. You too Nkomo."

The black youth seems a little confused. He unmouths the cock and stands up uncertainly. Kurt is leading us off between the sprays of potted plants as Makumbe quickly replaces his briefs, struggling to conceal his moist erection in its flimsy confines. Parting another wall of curtains, behind a partition there's a device which Kurt indicates with a flourish. It is surrounded by a network of small camera lenses. I suspect that what occurs here is recorded for the later delectation of club visitors, and maybe even close-circuited so that others can watch simultaneously. It is largely transparent Perspex and is designed to secure a male submissive in a way he can be sexually accessed, while unable to move or resist.

Nkomo seems visibly perturbed. Perhaps he's had bad experiences here before? He seems scared, his eyes darting left and right as if he's seeking to escape. He's the obvious intended victim of the device. And he dreads what is to come.

Kurt turns to the youth. "C'mon, you know what to do."

With obvious reluctance Nkomo reaches down to his flimsy panties and tugs them down. I've already seen Makumbe. This is even more breathtaking. It's big, I'd have been disappointed if it wasn't, but not scary-big. A superb perfectly-sculpted cock already semi-erect from the sexual activity he's been interrupted in the act of performing. He's breathing heavy. He's visibly perspiring, shrinking away from what he knows is to come. I can't help but feel his pain.