Cock-Sucker Tales: 'Hellfire Club'

At that very moment the Nubian groaned through his fleshy gag, his buttocks clenching and hips forcing down so his ball-bag squashes up across the youth's eyes -- one testicle per socket, the round anus winking in concentration, and the orally impaled youth beneath begins gurgling and retching in a delightfully obscene way. I can imagine those powerful jets of boy-milk spurting wild into the deepest recesses of his throat. Fearful for him, yet envying him.

She noticed where my attention lies. 'Heh. These lusty boys have big fuck-sticks, do they not? I can tell you find them attractive. Perhaps that's where your real interest lies?' She taps my chest with her opera glasses, a motion that causes her breasts to shimmer.

'Where my interest lies is no concern of yours, madam' I sniff haughtily.

She laughs a rich derisive laugh, and moves away. I breathe a sigh of relief.

Just then the Dark Master clicked his fingers again, and the Nubian began withdrawing. I -- and Lady Misrule, watch mesmerised as the full length extracts inch by inch, like an enormous plunger pistoning up from its socket, the youth's lips clinging to it, attempting to retain it, reluctant to release it, or so I imagine. It came forever, from so deep in his throat it must have lodged somewhere past his adam's apple. Rich globules of white drooling sperm come with it to slither down his cheeks and chin in moist tides. At last the fat glans swings free, although the youth's plundered head is jerked up with it, as though affixed to it by sexual magnetism, his tongue visibly discoloured with its milt as he laps vainly at it receding head.

I couldn't help but notice that -- although impressively still huge, the Nubian's penis swung horizontally now from his gut, its glistening knob even slightly down-turned, as though it had been drained of strength, while the once-fat round ball-bag hangs long and slackly distended, as though emptied of all vital fluids. The Nubian was breathing heavily, yet leering, as he lurches unsteadily away, and I'm able to feast once more on the unobstructed view of the youth's recumbent body. My eyes homing inexorably on his cock. Inflamed, still rigid, and I swear I can see traces of teeth-indentation way down its shaft, inflicted by his erstwhile partner in the throes of passionate ejaculation? My own loins stir uncomfortably at the mere thought. Then the third youth was there, flexing his wet foreskin up and down as he aims it, smearing its tip deliberately across the waiting face before socketing it deep, and they lock together. A liquid squelch as it feeds in that has my stomach queasy with sensation. His third debauched oral penetration of the evening.

My eyes flicker away momentarily at riotous noises from the table. Inevitably the Dark Master had produced the caged cockerel. Another moist finger slides up Ophelia's vagina, her fifth or perhaps sixth digital intrusion. Lady Misrule is laid dramatically across the table, her bodice gaping open to the waist now as the Master prepared to sacrifice the luckless fowl and spill its blood over her heaving waiting breasts in a kind of mock-pagan ceremony. At that moment the door behind them opens and the fawning brothel-keeper entered. The cage-door was also open and the unfortunate fowl -- as though sensing its own imminent and bloody demise, made its escape bid as attention was momentarily distracted, half-flying squawking across the table-top towards the door.

To Lady Misrule's intense annoyance all attention shifted away from her predicament to the escapee as men scrabble to cut off its intended point of exit. It fled between a wild confusion of open legs, strutting and fluttering towards the egress, across the threshold and into whatever lies beyond, with half-a-dozen whooping degenerates in hot pursuit, decadent revellers who have suddenly found an outlet more interesting than the Bishop's interminable poem, or Lady Misrule's plump breasts.

Bishop Prick miscalculated his trajectory and found himself cannoning into an adjoining door, it bursts inwards to reveal a real bishop -- naked but for his mitre, buggering a naked young man who is lying passively on his back with his legs pulled up to his chest so the fat cleric can enter him while simultaneously interfering with him genitally, which he is doing with lecherous intent, while a second youth dressed as an altar-boy, idly and disinterestedly beats the bishop's unhealthy white buttocks with a flail. Both 'Bishops' regarded each other curiously for a long moment. I smirk cruelly at their obvious embarrassment.

Simultaneously two flamboyantly dressed strumpets are emerging from a second bedroom door on the short distance towards the outer exit leading into the coaching yard beyond, pausing in the fluctuating lantern-light to embrace and kiss each other passionately. With the cockerel squawking and crowing its way towards the promised freedom of the outside world, and Lord Orchid in hot pursuit, the startled 'ladies' turn. Even as -- faced by the apparent assault of the red-faced reveller, it becomes apparent they are not trollops, but male transvestites in smudged make-up, the nearer of the two instantly assumes a pugilistic stance and delivers a precise upper-cut that fells Orchid. As he sprawled back, the cockerel achieved the freedom of the yard, and the Dark Master's manservant who had been tending the coach idling outside, sought to intervene in the increasingly chaotic mêlée. He grasped the nearest cross-dressing popinjay and they fall flailing to the floor, wrestling over and over in a flounce of petticoats and decidedly unladylike oaths, causing the Grand Horizontale to stumble over them wailing piteously. Personally I was quite relieved that the cockerel had by now made good its escape. I had no desire to witness the mess of blood, feathers and innards that would have resulted from its sacrifice.

I could sense the brothel-keeper beside me, fidgeting awkwardly.

'The youth' I demanded, 'the one underneath, I would like to purchase him.'

'A wise decision if I may say so, sir. Arse like silk. Sucks a fine gentleman like yourself divine, all the way down without a whimper. When he's finished I'll show you to a room where you can enjoy him to your complete satisfaction.'

'No, you misunderstand. I want him. To take him away from here.' I was speaking without having thought it through. What were my motivations? What was I thinking? Even now I'm unsure, a need to rescue him? Certainly that was most rationally uppermost. Empathy? I witnessed what I saw as the torment of his servitude, but his passivity too. And the evil worm of desire...? I fear against fear that that must have been there, despite myself.

'I'm sorry sir, I could never allow that. He's far too valuable a property. I couldn't afford to lose him.'

The Dark Master had overheard our conversation. 'You have other young catamites, master pimp. Where do you acquire them? Be generous, indulge my curiosity, and perhaps I will stand as my friend's guarantor.'

'We have our methods, kind sir, purely in the interests of providing fine sport for gentlemen such as yourself. I have contacts, you understand. People high up in the charitable organisations, flop houses, work-houses, debtors prisons. Times are hard, especially for bastards and wastrels. And when new young men with the kind of well-developed genital proportions you prefer are brought to my attention, upon close inspection we acquire those showing talent and promise. But that is only the beginning. They must be trained, taught in the whoring arts. It's a long process. They all don't adapt. Those without a natural aptitude are dismissed. The young man you have the discernment to select has always showed aptitude. He is a valuable talent, sir.'

'How old must they be to enter your service?'

'They can assume the pretence of whatever ago you prefer, sir.'

'You misunderstand me. Their real age?'

'We observe the laws of the land, if it please you sir. My boys must be the age of consent, or for certain the Constabulary would come a-knock-knocking on my door.'

'And is it necessary for them to be of the sodomite persuasion?'

'Not necessarily. Some are. Some become so through familiarity. And the training is rigorously enforced. They rehearse on each other, and what young man can resist having his todger sucked regularly -- regardless of the gender of whosoever is performing the suck, be it the Queen of England or the Archbishop Of York -- if you'll forgive my irreverence, sir? But you get my meaning sir, who can resist? I ask you. None. They are observed doing so. Those without aptitude will find themselves relegated to other, more demeaning servitude. My 'merchandise' are well-favoured. They live well. They value their lives here.'

'You intrigue me pimp-master. So my society will stand his fees for two full weeks during which ownership shall be transferred to my friend Thanatos.'

He fawned and rubbed his hands together in complex indecision. As the pandemonium around us continued. Across the room I observed that the youth in the uppermost position had raised himself up out of the sixty-nine to watch, with bemusement, although the fellow beneath -- the one who had aroused my desire, carried on at his task unperturbed. The cock in his mouth had lost a little of its rigidity as he sucked in rhythmic pulses so fiercely that he drew it out of shape, elongating its slimy length down into his greedy maw, the ball-sack squashed over his forehead bobbing attractively as he did so. The youth himself, inevitably, was still proudly erect.

Tearing my fevered gaze back, the Dark Master was shaking hands with the Master-pimp. 'We have reached agreement. They young man is ours. For fourteen days, not a moment longer.'

I smiled my appreciation. From that point on the evening's revels seemed to lose momentum. The altercation with the male floosies ended in veiled threats and feigned gestures as they sashayed off into the night, arm in arm, into a night where the cockerel was no doubt celebrating its freedom. The members of the 'Hellfire Club' meandered back into the banquet room a little more subdued, although banter, carousing and drinking continued for some time. Both 'Bishops' seemed sheepishly muted following their abrupt confrontation. Lord Orchid and Ophelia made their excuses and departed, probably to a find a private room for more intimate carnality.

The Grande Horizontal and Lady Misrule glared at each other across the table, competing through the exposure of their bosoms in attempts to monopolise male attention, although the wine seemed to constitute a greater attraction than either. Helena Troy passed out, and lay sprawled on the floor, with Judge Yenot raising her dress, prying beneath, and sniggering. The four performers, having exhausted the permutation of penises, departed. Although the brothel-keeper soon returned with the selected youth who had been covered in an all-enveloping cape with a genital-leash as token of his transfer of ownership. He stood silently, awaiting instruction. In fact, he seldom spoke, and never expressed an opinion throughout our association. Eventually the remaining libertines began taking their leave, until I found myself waiting in the coach while the Dark Master finalised matters of the financial kind. Until, after what seemed like an interminable period of time we found ourselves travelling back the way we'd come.

'I fancy I'll take advantage of this sweet steed you seem to have arranged for us to acquire' announced the Dark Master as the carriage passed through the Heath. The dark shapes of trees meeting way over our heads to form an enclosed tunnel. At his command it drew in to the side of the narrow track, and we dismounted. Leaving the horse pawing the ground impatiently, its breath silver in the hard clear moonlight. My heart was in my mouth, a burning dread, I feared to watch, but was incapable of looking away. The footman led the caped boy by the genital-leash up the slight grassy embankment and into a copse of trees. The grass was moist with forming dew. I follow, beside the Dark Master.

'Here, I think' he said, 'don't you agree?' Numbly, I nod. The man-servant, obviously well used to the procedure, guides the youth, bending him down from the waist, parting his legs, folding the cape up and aside, so the round bottom is presented. Its appearance is like two perfectly shaped teardrops. He moves to grip the youth's head between his knees, to hold it firmly at waist-height. Then, with the youth's head secured in this way he produced a jar of lubricant, reached over the body and used his finger to smooth it into the anal crease, a greased finger sliding into the posed orifice, working in and out to fully lubricate it.

The Grand Master advanced casually, smoothing the curved hemispheres approvingly, while unbuttoning his trousers. The penis that swayed into view from the opened flies is large and erect. He directs it down, assisted by the attentive manservant who nudges it into alignment, anoints its inflamed tip a moment before it plunges from view, then it slides easily forward, the footman bracing the youth to receive the penetration.

'I fear I must inform you he's far from un-used' he comments, easing in and out with some expression of satisfaction. 'Yet he's nicely tight, and takes it well.'

By now he was fucking rhythmically, and I could catch quick glimpses of the youth's erection jerking and nodding prettily in response to each anal thrust, its enticing motion emphasised by the genital-leash attached around it. I watch in a storm of sensation.

'He has another, unoccupied aperture for you to possess should you so wish. Feel free to slake yourself there. We would form a pretty threesome, don't you think? And our seed would mingle so well in his gut.'

I swallow, my throat dry. All of us are breathing deeper and faster than normal. Yet I make no move. He slows his fuck, pauses, accelerates, slows again, teasing and extending his copulation. I could not take my eyes from the bobbing of the young man's exposed penis, the pretty sway of his balls. Despite everything he has endured... everything I had watched him participating in, he was still aroused, even as I observe. My mind crawling with tortured images, jealousy and desire, of those who had already used him. Of the man abusing him now.

I fight to repress my more debased instincts, the dark side of me that is always there, eating into my blood like fire. I begin reciting astronomical data as a distraction strategy. The moon, eternally watching, held by tides of gravitational attraction, yet separate for millions of years, close -- yet never drawn close enough to touch. A situation exactly matching my own. Venus, the planet of love. All kinds of love. Surely, in its pale light, even those desires that society shuns must be acceptable? But the word-derivation is associated with veneria, venereus, and hence venereal, the dark side of copulation. Mars, the warrior world of hard male bodies, austere comradeship and military discipline. Reciting the names of stars that form Orion, counting the constellation's belt, but also tempted to unfasten that belt and steal a glance at the weapon hung beneath it.

Until my attention is wrenched back, rewarded by the sudden uncontrollable spurt of the young man's semen which jerk-sprays in white fountains into the air. For one moment of insanity I feel myself simultaneously to be that youth bending over to receive erotic impalement, and also the abuser impaling him -- although in life, I'd been neither. Too repressed. Too frightened. Yet now compelled to join them, to scoop the drooling white strands of ejaculate onto my fingers as he passively bends there to endure each invasive thrust. The moment passed, I retain self-control, while realising even more than before that my decision had been the correct one. This youth is inexhaustible. I was drawn to him, and also desirous of rescuing him from his intolerable enslavement.

My ordeal seems to extend interminably as the Dark Master jockeys and toys inside him until at last he tenses. I can see the quivers running along the muscles of his legs as he throws his head back and announces calmly, 'this is it' -- looking me directly in the eyes as his face spasms once, twice, three times, and I can imagine the white-hot jets of jism spouting into his receptive anus. The Dark Master is enjoying my discomfort, my agony. He stays deep inside for a long while, motionless, breathing heavily. Withdrawing only slowly. The man-servant loosed the youth who remained where he stood, still in the stooped posture, while the penis slips free, and the attentive servant produces a kerchief to efficiently wipe his master's drooping organ clean.

He rejoined me, buttoning as he does so. 'I congratulate you on the excellence of your choice. You may enjoy this young man to the full, for a fortnight, and not a moment more...'

Later, so much later it seemed. I lay in my bed reading, when my housekeeper Mrs Bridges brought him to me. She had bathed the young man -- my purchased guest, and fed him, groomed him. Now she led him nude and glistening into my presence. He was breathtaking. His smooth nakedness a perfection to gaze upon, his stomach, his penis, his testicles, so divine, so beautiful.

'A fine up-standing young man, sir, if you catch my drift' she chortled, wiping her hands on her apron. 'Very lusty sir, especially as I bathed him, lawks-a-mercy, sir. He simply stood there, and -- if you take my meaning, all of him stood there, so persistently. I had to take him in hand myself, but even de-spunked that part of him refused to conform to the laws of gravity, as you would say it.'

She turned him around for my inspection. He moves obediently. The rounded curves of his bottom, the cleft between which, as I found myself visualising, had so recently played host to the Dark Master. Perhaps traces of his assault still linger within? He turned to face me again, his cock swaying lazily with the motion. My throat constricts breathlessly. How can so desirable and aesthetically pleasing an appendage to the human form be the cause of such acute anguish and inner turmoil?

'Thank you. Very good Mrs Bridges. Now you will show him to the guest room. He is under no obligation.'

'He so wanted to see you though, sir, to express his gratitude.' She bustled across to the bed-side, and drew the coverlets back, exposing my lower body. I was taken unawares, and unable to react as she further reached down to raise the hem of my nightshirt, drawing it up to my chest, unveiling my groin. He approaches the foot of the bed, his stomach undulating as he breathes, his penis swaying as his body lowers.

'No, please, you must do nothing you do not wish to do...' My words dragged from my throat as his cool lips close around the glans of my penis and begin their slow inexorable crawl down the length of my shaft. The sensations more exquisite than I'd ever dreamed possible. His suction pulsing at my nerve-ends in tremors of ecstasy. My head goes back and my body tenses in a rage of sensation.

'That's right, sir, allow him his pleasure. Tish, you deserve it. You know that I'd be only too happy to get my old gob around your todger, as I was happy to do for your brother. Every gentleman deserves a damn good cock-sucking sir, if you don't mind my saying so. It's only natural. And it's every maiden's pleasure, and every maid's duty to see that they be so serviced, regularly and to complete satisfaction. Many's the happy hour I've spent on my knees, sir, when I was younger, and me bubbies were firm and lusted after. I'd be only too happy to siphon your semen, but knowing your inclinations, I'm sure you prefer this fine young gentleman, is that not so?'

I merely groan with the effort of breathing as my aching glans disappears down his throat and his lips reach my scrotum. His tongue playing intimate games, his saliva slicking my pubic hair.