Cock-Sucker: Around the World Ch. 04

"Hey Kurt, it's alright, let me try this thing." The words escape me almost without thought. What I've seen has me undeniably aroused. Kurt has fucked me before. What have I to lose if he fucks me again, even locked into this contraption?

"You serious? You really want to do this?"

"Why not," I shrug.

"So get naked."

I do as he says. I can hear the music continuing from the main club room. Hear the muted conversation and movement. It makes it all seem more of a forbidden adventure. I pull my shirt up and off. Nkomo watches my every move. I shrug my pants down and off. I'm hardly as physically impressive as he is, but naked I feel his eyes on me. I move in to straddle the device. Irritably, impatiently, Kurt nudges me into the correct position. I'm essentially crouching down with a contoured Perspex shape supporting my chest and upper torso. My head is affixed by a kind of stocks that closes down across my neck, with my hands also locked in to left and right. My knees are forced as far apart as is humanly possibly and locked down with clamps, while my bare bottom is elevated in such a way that it's higher than my head, splayed apart to present my anus. My own genitals dangle freely.

It's a curious sensation. The kind of bondage sex-torture scenario I've seen on internet sites, but never thought I'd be a part of. I feel exposed, vulnerable, full of crawly trepidations that maybe this isn't such a good idea. A quiet ache of nausea rising in that no-man's land of emotion between throat and stomach. It had been Kurt's intention that we share Nkomo. Perhaps I shouldn't have felt sorry for Nkomo, after all, he's paid to do this sort of stuff. It's what he's here to do. The fact that he's probably compelled by economic necessity is not actually my concern... is it? But here I am.

At Kurt's instigation Nkomo retrieves a lubricant-tube from the unit, squeezes it between my buttocks, and gently massages it around my anus. His touch is so sensitive as his fingers circle the orifice, then he's smoothing the cool cream in, bit by bit, his finger - first one, then two, probing deeper in a way that has me squirming as best I can against my restraint, my bare toes clenching, my anal muscles tightening around his penetration. Kurt is undressing as this goes on. At his instigation Nkomo moves around to smooth cream onto Kurt's cock, around the glans, then taking long indulgent slides to massage it up and down its length.

Kurt positions himself behind me, and Nkomo guides his erection in, seeking out the puckered orifice, lodging it there. I feel a momentary flutter of dismay as Kurt slides in. But the lubrication is so perfect it slides in all the way effortlessly, causing me to exhale sharply. Impatiently Kurt fucks back and forth a few times, then indicates for Nkomo to circle around the device, to where my head protrudes. I wasn't expecting this. It becomes all too obvious what Kurt intends. Nkomo targets his erection at my mouth. I part my lips to accept it, and he slides it in over my teeth, inch by inch, forcing my mouth open to its limits.

Kurt is laughing unkindly as I'm penetrated from both ends. Nkomo pauses while it's still comfortably in my mouth, but Kurt waves him on. So he brings his hands in from either side, to hold my head firmly in place, then he forces more in until its blunt tip reaches my retch-point. I gurgle around it, my eyes filling with helpless tears. His heavy balls are swaying at my chin.

There are movie-cameras taking it all in. The device's transparency leaves nothing unseen. Other people in other rooms are watching my debauchment. Getting off on it... At that moment there's a sound from behind us. The curtain swishing aside. I can't see from the position I'm forced to assume, but someone else has entered.

"Is this a private party, or can anyone join?" enquires a male voice.

"Be my guest" says Kurt.

Maybe this was what causes Nkomo's fear? That once secured in the device, events can get out of hand, and you're unable to stop them. I flinch warily. Sense the new presence. What a sight he must see. Me with Nkomo's stiff cock lodged deep in my throat, and Kurt thrusting deeper into my tight rectum. The newcomer squats beside me. I catch a sideways glance of him. Older than we are. Well-dressed, cultured. I feel his hand cool on my body, smoothing its way across my bare back, then questing around and down to trace the contours of my stomach.

Inevitably it works its way further down. His hand traps my hanging ball-bag and squeezes it gently, firmly, once, twice, over and over, forcing the testicles to stand out redly from his fist. The sensation, combined with my double-penetration, is excruciating. But I'm unable to escape his attentions. He shifts to my cock, squeezes and manipulates it this way and that, pulling and tugging, forcing it back as far as it will go, then releasing it so it sways and quivers. Grabbing it again.

He sets his empty wine-glass on the floor, enabling him to use both hands on me, wanking me continuously two-handed in a milking flow. I'm moaning now, it's almost impossibly strange and overwhelming. I'm enduring this to save Nkomo the indignity... aren't I? But something deep within me is responding to the humiliation. Answering a need. I can't control myself. I'm totally a creature under their domination. My cock is on fire. At bursting point. He senses my condition, and holds the wine-glass ready. A second later my helpless orgasm erupts and I'm pumping out hot bursts of spunk. He's laughing at my ecstatic twitching jerking climax. He's catching most of it in the wine-glass. Just as Honeysuckle and the 'girls' had done.

My eyes are closed. I'm feeling multiply used, wracked with uncontrollable surges of emotion. Nkomo's cock is swelling up against the palette of my mouth. I have most of it inside me. There's about an inch of it still outside the reach of my lips. The newcomer is circling around us. I only catch fleeting glimpses of his movements.

He holds the glass which contains my spermy-emission. He holds it out, between us, and slowly, carefully angles it over. I can see the cloudy spunk washing around inside the glass. He holds it just above the exposed inch of Nkomo's cock, and trickles it down in gloopy strands so that it pools on his shaft and trickles down towards me, towards my straining lips. It touches me, I can taste it, it slithers in almost without my conscious will so that it's oozing into my mouth. I swallow my own spunk.

The newcomer is chuckling as he shakes the glass until it is empty. He sets the glass down again, and transfers his creepy fingery attentions to Nkomo's balls. Feeling them up, squeezing and coddling them. I feel the reaction as his cock stiffens and twitches at the back of my throat. I gurgle in response. I know that Nkomo can't hold on much longer. This intervention is pushing him over the edge.

His head goes back. His hips thrust forward near-choking me. And my mouth is full of his gushing spunk. I'm drowning in it, I'd never imagined so much spunk could cum from one cock. He's whimpering and moaning as spasm after spasm pours into me. As though picking up on the collective throb Kurt thrusts yet deeper into my arse, holds my hips as tight as he can, and I feel him exploding his cum into my gut. I'm quivering and helpless between them. I'd fall to the ground if it was possible, but I'm held in place, trapped. Waves of raw passion are flooding me, back and forth, up and down, mouth, arse, cock and balls. I'm trembling in shockwaves wrenching me mindless, pliable, an animal thing without thought or conscience.

Eventually it recedes. My eyes are teary-moist and closed. I'm shivering with trembling aftershocks. My mouth is empty. Nkomo has withdrawn in long spermy-saliva strands that leave messy trails down my chin. Kurt extracts, slops loose, and leaves my bum sore and tender. I'm breathless. I stay suspended, fixed in the contraption. Until I become aware of fingers releasing me. Nkomo's hands are easing me down more comfortably, across into the deep upholstery of a nearby chair.

Kurt and the other guy - the newcomer, are momentarily nowhere to be seen.

"I'm sorry" says the black youth simply. "Thank you, I know you did that to save me from it."

I try to smile. We are both still naked. He uses a moist cloth to clean my face. I'm shockingly aware of his close proximity. The softness of his smooth skin, the gentleness of his touch, the slow languorous sway of his genitals as he moves, the still-clear memory of that beautiful cock lodged in my mouth. This is becoming habit-forming. I'd first come away with Kurt to save the naked sleeping boy in 'The Blue Dahlia' toilets from further humiliating degradation, now I've done the same for Nkomo.

"That Kurt, he is not a good man. It's not my place to say such a thing. But I know it to be true. You are a good man. You are better than him." He's wiping traces of semen off my groin now, his touch triggering off little tremors of pleasure as he circles the glans of my penis.

"I'm here on a ship" I manage at length. "We leave port tomorrow. I don't know anyone else here, but Kurt."

He kisses my nipple. The touch of his lips is arousing. "We know each other. I am in your debt. We can be together. If it pleases you."

I smile into his radiant face. "It pleases me very much."

He finishes his spell of duty in little over an hour. I retreat to the main club-room where I get a drink and sit in one of the alcoves recovering my composure, breathing a little more easily. Letting it all wash out of me. At one point I look up and see Kurt. He's obviously looking for me. Making enquiries that yield only disinterested shrugs. Eventually he seems to reach a decision and makes off towards somewhere deeper within the building. Perhaps he's meeting someone? Perhaps he's set up some new sex-action involving the guy who'd tossed me off in the harness. I no longer care. I want nothing more of Kurt. He's history.

I meet Nkomo. He's dressed casually in 'T'-shirt and faded jeans. His hair in neat braids, he seems almost shy in an attractive way. We walk together out of the club-house, down the drive, and down a stretch of side-street to the bus-stop. We're both tongue-tied, although he keeps glancing bashfully at me, smiling, and looking away with mischievous delight when our eyes meet. The coach is crowded and raucous with women in bright robes and squalling children. We sit together. His fingers brush mine, and intertwine. We hold hands.

"Why do you work at that place?" I whisper to him.

"I must work. My family needs the money. Can you really see me working down the mine? Can you imagine that?" his expression is delightfully flirtatious. "No. Most of the men are not so bad. Not bad like Mr Kurt. Some give me money, a tip, if I do dirty stuff with them. A toss-off or a blow-job. But none of them are as nice to me as you."

"I've got no money. I can't give you money."

"I don't need money from you. I don't want it. For you I do it because I want to. OK?" There's soul in his eyes.

The coach drops us off at what is little more than a shanty town. He leads the way down an alley of lean-to's to his home. A surprisingly spacious well-lit wooden shack alive with energy and colour. His mother is a big welcoming woman who hugs me to her then seats me at the kitchen table and we eat. His father, old and broken, but with a lively wit, sits smoking something dubious and regaling me with exaggerated stories of his no-doubt eventful life. The sun goes down. It seems to be taken for granted that me and Nkomo will share his bedroom. It's just accepted. I get the impression that, although it's not exceptional for him to have boyfriends staying over, it's something that's far from regular.

"My family love me" he says simply. "It's not easy to be girly-girly in this town. Some families disown their boys if their turn out that way. But the fact that I'm a batty-bwoy makes no difference to them." I'm thinking, yes, and the fact that the money you get from working the club is the only thing that keeps this family solvent. But no, that's unfair. They're obviously good people.

Eventually, we retire to bed. A mattress covered by a single sheet, which is soon a crumpled thing discarded on the floor. As we undress I'm speechless with desire. And the sex is of a passionate intensity I've scarcely experienced before. A beautiful fusion of bodies rolling together, interlocked, with no limits or restraint. At first his touch is delicate, the analogue of a whisper. With our rearing cocks crushed up together. I reach down and circle both, squeezing them together, black and white, as they should be. It feels so good. It's a sticky-hot night and our naked bodies glisten with sweat, slithering like fish into and around each other. His radiant body-heat raw on mine. Mine on his. In equal loving sensitivity, ravenous for each other. Kissing and sucking lips, nipples, cocks and balls. Penetrating and being penetrated, taking each other inside, mouth and bum. My spunk spattered white across the dark skin of his stomach. His rich spunk in the back of my throat.

"Does your cock never go down?" he teases.

"Not when it's faced by such sweet stimulation" I tease back.

In the friendly shadows of that African night I do things I've never done before, or ever wanted to do, not even with Ivan. Licking my way carefully across the smooth curve of his raised bottom, thirstily tasting his sweat, my tongue lapping over into the crease of his buttocks, insinuating its way between, following it down, seeking out the puckered orifice there as his legs part to gift me access. Later, his eyes gleaming bright as I go down on him yet again. Then kissing with mouths full of each others copious seed and saliva.

Midpoint, bladders bursting, we hurry to the toilet together. I hold his cock as he takes a piss, heavy in my hand, guiding his urine-stream in swirling patterns. When he's done I wipe the last golden piss-drop from his urethral-eye with my index finger, then lift and taste it curiously, sipping it from my finger. When I've done he bends down and kisses the urine-dribble from my glans, then very gently absorbs my cockhead between his lips, sucking it clean. Looking down, it looks amazing. How many times did we cum? I forget. Lying back sleepily spent, only to feel his insatiable mouth on my balls, teasing and sucking one then the other, stirring me to a new erection. Finding new relentless reserves of fuck-energies.

"You boys have a good night?" asks his mother as she serves us breakfast, with just a cheeky hint of humour. "Not much sleeping, perhaps?"

We smile at each other in secret shared intimacy. He travels with me down to the harbour the next morning. "Don't forget me" he whispers softly.

Forget him? I can think of little else. Kurt might have the flash car and the big house. But Nkomo reached out to me in a human way, and touched my heart. It's him I miss. Him I yearn for. I'm caught up in fantasies of regret. I should have jumped ship, stayed with him. I could have worked the club with him. Would they want a white boy? I could have served them drinks wearing nothing but tight panties, I could have gone back to private rooms with old gentlemen to suck cock, or take it up the butt. I'm no stranger to that now. We could have been together. But it's too late.

Ruefully I note how far my journey has brought me. From the tight-arsed innocent I'd started out on this voyage, to seriously considering taking up a position as a male fuck-toy for dirty old pervs. That thought alone is sobering.

Initially Ivan is angry. I had been part of his devious plans at 'The Blue Dahlia'. He wanted to watch me having sex with Honeysuckle, Lucy and Lola. That had been his entire idea. That they would feminise me, and then they'd fuck my mouth and bum. All I have to show for those plans is the chipped nail-varnish. I've never seen him so angry with me before. I cringe away from him unhappily. But later that night Ivan catches me with a regretful tear welling from the corner of my eye, thinking of Nkomo. And when we have sex, I do things to him that I've never done before, or ever wanted to do. In memory of my African night...

*****

There will be more sexual adventures to cum as the voyage around the world continues. Check 'Literotica' for new naughty episodes...!

by Tristan Trotsky