Cock-Sucker Tales: The Random Rod 02

We proudly present the second part of the first in a series of unjustly neglected underground classics of erotica, revived and reinterpreted for your entertainment and pleasure by Tristan Trotsky, a noted dilettante of decadent literature.

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The earnest literary critic can but conjecture about the state of mind of the author of the sad and perverse litany of profanity that is 'The Random Rod'. Who was the miserable pornographer masquerading behind the pseudonym 'Maximo Urge'? Did he write other forgotten works? Does it matter? Probably not.

It's notable that in this shoddy work every male character -- and there are few of any other gender, are all mightily well-hung, lusty, erect, rampant, and permanently ready for sex. Is that logical? Is that reasonable? Indeed, this fantastic tale flows with the lubrication of so much gushing sperm the reader almost expects the yellowing pages to be moistly sticky with its residue. Although there's a kind of rationalisation provided by the narrative later on, such justification is not strictly necessary. Although there are elements of Voltaire's great satirical work 'Candide' -- in which another naïve innocent endures picaresque adventures through which he is debauched and abused by a corrupt world, this is not great literature, but cheap tawdry pornography. It needs no other excuse. And, after the wild adventures that befell poor Roderick Random in the first section, it's around this mid-point that this novel takes a stranger turn. From a kind of debauched Henry Fielding, into a darker more-Gothic realm, with De Sade overtones.

The narrator addresses his audience directly, commenting 'Gentle reader, I will not profane your sensitivities over-much with too many details of the hazards and indignities of Roderick's journeyings, for they are beyond imagining. Suffice it to say that, leaving 'Swift' Nick to his fate, he eventually finds himself stranded on the road to London, with gathering storm-clouds in the darkening sky. Our unfortunate hero finds himself following a sign down a long winding tree-lined lane towards a monastery, through lengthening evening-shadows. The building silhouetted black against the sky stands like a forbidding fortress. But 'Sanctuary' he thinks, 'they'll offer me sanctuary.' In the wall there's a heavy arched wooden door. At his firm knock a panel set into the oak slides opens and a monk's head protrudes. A tonsure of hair, with gold-rim spectacles perched upon a protuberant nose mapped with blood-vessels. The wanderer requests overnight sanctuary. The main door opens.

'I am Father Benevolence' announces the monk gravely, rubbing his chin while circling the newcomer critically, 'what is your age my child?'

'I am nineteen, gentle sir, almost twenty, if it pleases you.'

'It pleases me well, for only those over eighteen are ever allowed into this sacred place. So you are welcome to share our frugal hospitality, in full, in exchange for a simple obligation. Are you willing to enter and abide by our rules without coercion and according to your own free will?'

Roderick is hungry, he imagines maybe chopping wood or carrying water as the price. Yes, he could do that. 'I am, I freely accept.'

'Then you're welcome to partake of what our community has to offer.' He's ushered in through high locked double-gates, its eaves decorated with many strange symbols, and set into thick ivy-patterned fortress walls. Then across a courtyard through a lower arch into the cloisters beyond. He's surprised and a little disturbed to see naked shackled youths tending the herb-gardens, vineyard and stables. From what he can estimate, none of them are younger than his own nineteen years, but none older than mid-twenties either. All of them are slim and fit, and obviously at perfect ease with their nudity. He's even more surprised when a group of them break off their grimy labours to form a jostling circle of sweating male bodies to watch as two of them take turns to bugger a third. Watching as the 'victim' raises his bottom readily to take them, grunting with pleasure at each anal thrust, his own bouncing arousal equally apparent. The audience crushing together show similar physical evidence of agitated excitement, with down-hung organs quivering horizontal, then perpendicular, rubbing up against each other lasciviously.

Roderick feels a little unsettled, but also undeniably aroused, an answering stirring crawling in his loins. He glances uncertainly across at Father Benevolence, who merely smiles and shrugs in a 'boys-will-be-boys' way, and leads him further. He glances back wistfully at the entwined bodies moving together in erotic choreography. Feeling intrigued, fascinated and more than a little threatened by it all. What is the secret of this strange place?, before following his host through an enchanted garden of roses and hydrangea which line the walkway, and then up beneath high spires overshadowing them pleasantly, climbing a flight of narrow twisting stairs into the monastery building itself. Each step worn concave, as if by generations of pacing feet. There's a sense of great antiquity about the stone walls, hundreds of years old, while the deeper they penetrate its echoing passages there's evidence of even greater age. As though this edifice has existed since the very dawn of time.

But entering through an ornate doorway he finds himself in a large airy furnished suite, around the walls of which are disposed high mounds of embroidered cushions in many bright colours. There are mobiles hanging from the ceiling, jingling constructs of bells affixed to silver wire, and explicitly homo-erotic scroll-paintings in the manner of stained-glass church-windows skilfully executed unfurled across the walls. There are strategically placed fresh flowers and segments of fruit laid in tiny porcelain water-pots from which delicate scents waft. A chess-set laid out on a mosaic-inlaid table lit by the flickering light of a multi-stemmed candelabra. And coloured-glass vials of amber, sapphire, violet and peach liquids. He'd assumed life within these walls would be ascetic, dedicated only to prayer and contemplation. Perhaps he was wrong?

Barely taking in his lavish surroundings he's seated at a stout wooden table. The monk claps his hands sharply for Random to be served food, and two handsome naked young men appear, bringing it to him on a tray -- their ankles, wrists and throats circled by metal bands. The newcomer feels a little embarrassed, afraid to look, but incapable of looking away. Aware of the powerful sexuality of the tousle-haired youths, the heavy weight of the thick cocks which pendulum between their legs as they move. He rouses himself with an effort, tries to force his gaze away and focus his concentration on the food they've brought him. There are fist-sized rolls of bread, each of which when broken open reveals a filling of some kind of salty mushroom heavily seasoned with herbs. All delicious, served with shimmering richly full-bodied white wine.

The monk holds a shimmering glass of the wine up to the light, 'as rare as gold' he says in a tone of respectful reverence, 'and infinitely more precious.'

Once he's ravenously eaten and drunk his fill -- the wine leaving a curiously warming bouquet after-taste, Roderick is invited to bathe and cleanse himself of the sweat and dust of his travels. There's a wetroom revealed through a half-curtained chink at the room's far side, leading into a sparse steamy annex where a large tub is already prepared for him, filled to the foamy brim with warm water. Again, the two naked well-hung youths stand ready to assist. When he's instructed 'thou shalt divest thyself of all worldly apparel,' he begins to undress, jerkin first, then shoes. The Monk and the two nude youths watching as each garments is removed. There's a moment's hesitation at the britches stage... should he proceed?

'Thou shalt carry naught of the taint of the world into these sacred walls,' and in response he doffs his final covering to stand naked. Aware of heir close appraisal as he straightens. What is there to lose? He climbs into the tub to be bathed, with the two youths in intimate attendance, as Father Benevolence watches. When the monk says 'Thou art well-formed and not unpleasing to the eye,' he's uneasily reminded of his first encounter with the predatory Squire Fleshpole, when his father showed him off in the hipbath. But surely the gentle pious monks will have no rapacious interest in his body?

'Thermal springs' says Benevolence conversationally, 'volcanic vents deep underground ensure us constant hot water, and a sub-tropical microclimate that encourages all manner of exotics to grow, as well as making nudity the choice mode of dress.'

As he talks, they shampoo, shave and soap him as he stands there, but inevitably the bizarre atmosphere has its effect upon him, especially as they devote much attention to his groin area, more than is strictly necessary for the demands of cleanliness. One sliding his foreskin carefully back so the other can drool warm soapy water over the sensitive exposed tip. One cupping and holding his balls aside so the other can sponge between his legs and up the crease dividing his full buttocks. He grits his teeth, yet it results in an unbidden erection he's unable to suppress.

Athough he's initially embarrassed, Father Benevolence merely nods to one of the attendant youths, who promptly bends over and takes the bloated cock-head into his warm mouth. Taken by surprise by the succulent-moist envelopment, Roderick simply stands stock-still, immobile with his feet in the tub, pleasantly amazed as the boy swallows his full length down his throat. Even more so as the second youth takes over and equals his companion's expertise, taking it just as deep, something even Swift Nick could never accomplish, sucking on his engorged member, slithering it all the way down until all that can be seen is his nose lost in the bush of Roderick's pubic hair. He gasps and moans as the unexpected sensations radiate from his groin. The two continue to alternate their juicy sucking, and when Roderick squirms out his ejaculation into the welcoming mouth, they carefully exchange his sperm from one mouth to the other, so he can see its milky bubbles between their teeth, and its freckles on their glistening gums as it drools from one tongue to the other, and then back, before swallowing, to the monk's evident approval.

Breathlessly, in the warm sensual after-glow, the suspicion gradually dawns on him that this is not a normal monastery. That maybe the 'simple obligation' he's so readily agreed to fulfil equates to more than merely chopping wood or carrying water. And that he will not be allowed to leave. Not until they decide. By now the two youths are smoothing an unguent he assumes to be olive oil into his tingling bare skin, massaging it into his shoulders and chest, down over his stomach and legs, down to his individual toes. Then the round hemispheres of his bottom and repeatedly down the full length of his still semi-hard penis.

Once dried, his clothes are not returned, instead gently but firmly the two youths move to bind him into a leather restraint harness. They've become visibly excited by their actions, and there's much sniggering and fumbling which reduces the threat, making it more like a game, and in the warm post-orgasmic haze, with the Monk in stern attendance, he allows it to continue without protest. Now he's naked but for a leather thong that circles his neck, runs down his back affixing his arms crossed and immobile behind him, then running further down between the crease of his rounded buttocks, between his legs to circle the base of his genitals, emphasising his penis and testicles, making them stand out defiantly.

The Father turns to him, beckoning, and submissively he follows him from the room. Despite being towelled dry, he leaves wet footprints on the tiles. Glancing back he sees the two youths caressing each other's attractive erections, and almost wishes he could stay. But the monk is leading him, pacing naked through the cold stone corridors beyond. Although self-consciously aware of his nudity at first, his genitals swaying from side to side, his cock slapping occasionally up against his stomach audibly, it seems nudity is taken for granted here, and there's a charged air of ever-present eroticism. The rich smell of fetid male arousal hanging in the shadows. He's led to the 'scriptorium' where the youth is shown the tasks the monks perform.

With only the sound of scratching pens to interrupt the reverent silence there is a row of five immense carved-oak desks where the monks toil in copying illustrated manuscripts. Benevolence speaks in hushed tones -- 'we require you in the attitude of prayer.' As Roderick goes down on his knees, the monk sits at an unoccupied desk and unfastens the sash of his habit, parting the robes so they fall open, revealing an obscenely large erection protruding lazily from a mass of pubescence nesting the big orbs of his balls.

'We offer you hospitality' he continues, the cock swaying an inch from the youth's eyes, its stale odour reaching his nostrils, its swollen gleaming head as blood-mapped as the monk's nose, oozing purple from the ragged foreskin, 'for as long as you supply the hospitality of your tight rectum and ruby lips. Now you may stuff your mouth with cock-meat,' so Roderick is instructed to give thanks to his benefactors through this act of voluntary submission. He mentally shrugs, after what has occurred he has no choice. And it's not as though he's unfamiliar with being used and abused by male lust. His mouth opens, his temples pounding, his cheeks colouring, as his lips close over the invading crimson corona of the grotesquely engorged glans, its salty taste filling his mouth. The spongy shaft-membrane stiffens and writhes against his lips, sliding forward to penetrate the soft moistness of his mouth, slipping further into him, across the roof of his palette until he's almost gagging on its length. Unable to control the depth of its forceful penetration, his arms affixed behind him, he begins to suck determinedly at the solid meat, his lips straining, saliva dribbling down his chin. He can see an inch of it -- maybe less, still outside his mouth, impaling him.

And beyond the naked hairy thighs he can see as the monk shows him extracts of the art-work they're preparing, illustrating the life of the saint the monastery is dedicated to -- Saint Phallus. Echoes of which he recognises from the scrolls decorating the walls of the room he's been brought from. The martyr was an early evangelist in the pagan days of ancient Rome who was arrested and sodomised by Roman soldiers. It was then, as the sixteenth legionary entered him, that he experienced a revelation. A spiritual vision that told him it is nobler to receive than it is to give. That instead of his humiliating ordeal being a variety of martyrdom, he could see it as a way of submission, an act of giving himself up to the needs of other man, loving his fellow man in a very literal sense. So afterwards, once he was released and resumed his missionary wanderings, he continued bringing sexual pleasure to as many men as he could, as part of his mission. Gathering a coterie of followers who shared his vision, and each other's bodies. Each phase of the story is graphically and explicitly pictured, with beautifully detailed images of fellatio and anal sex, erect penises and orgies, as Roderick is shown, with the monk's throbbing penis lodged in his throat all the while.

The combination of blasphemously erotic images and the monster in his mouth has an undeniably ecstatic effect. Other scribes and the occasional naked youth passes by, glancing with evident prurience at what he's doing. Two, then three other monks pause to watch more closely, forming a circle about them. To Roderick, it seems that their eyes are raping him, and he's powerless to avoid their demanding gaze.

This monastery, Benevolence explains, is dedicated to living according to the Saint's example. 'We devote ourselves to instructing those younger than we are, by donating the example of our precious seed to their need' breathes the monk, 'are you ready to receive my sacrament?'

Roderick nods, as best he can.

'It is (grunt) more blessed (groan) to receive than to give' he continues huskily, 'to share the (gasp) love of brother for brother and (groan), to drink the milk of human kindness... now, but do not swallow until given permission...' as the flood of semen fills his throat. A smoky pungent flavour. With his mouth filled he stands, shakily, as the monk tells him, 'I know your kind are greedy for white fluid. But sperm is alive. It swims. It is the purest essence of man. A gift from man to man to savour. Hold it in your mouth. Stir it with your tongue. Allow it to absorb up into the tissue of your palate, to permeate and burrow through the cellular structure of the roof of your mouth and up to impregnate your brain with its vital neurochemical signature and biological energies. St Phallus taught us through his sacred example that sex organs are our route to the divine. That you have been so generously favoured with so well-endowed an appendage is evidence he intends you for our special vocation. You will join us as our number four... you may swallow now.'

Two spermy gulps later, too late, Roderick realises his fate. The other monks are claustrophobically close, their questing intimate hands on his body, cupping his balls, stroking the soft curve of his bottom, tugging at his cock. He's fallen foul of a fanatical phallus-worshipping cult, sinful monks who keep runaway youths caged naked in dungeons, youths they have sexually enslaved for elaborately choreographed blasphemous orgies. He reconciles himself to playing along with their vile practices, at least until the opportunity for escape presents itself. He does not resist as he's led from the scriptorium to a workshop where the temporary leather harness is removed, to be replaced by metal circlets soldered around his ankles, wrists and neck. Exactly like those worn by the other inmates of this place. Each metal band has raised eyelets allowing shackles to be affixed.

'Sit here' says Benevolence indicating a low cushioned bench in an alcove, 'I must attend to a duty in the scriptorium.' Moments later, flexing his bonded hands, he finds himself temporarily un-chaperoned. Sitting in the alcove adjacent to the workshop he can look through the slit-window out over the enclosed gardens where youths tend the vines and herbs. He can't help his attention being drawn to their groins, screwing up his eyes in his effort to discern detail. He can also see the high imprisoning walls encircling the entire monastery grounds, and to the forest and countryside beyond which is now impossible to reach. Caught in such thoughts he quickly turns at the sound of someone approaching, and sees one of the handsome tousle-haired naked urchins who'd earlier served him food. As he makes to pass by Roderick smiles, and casually asks his name and how long he's been kept a prisoner here.

The youth immediately seems nervous and starts glancing left and right. 'I am Eli' he manages at length, 'but we must not be observed just talking. To be together we must engage in a sex act. At the very least toss each other off.' Roderick agrees. Eli is well-hung with a large uncircumcised hose, so he's quite agreeable to the suggestion. They sit together and take each other firmly in hand, Eli's long cool slim fingers wrapping around Roderick's cock so tightly it causes his balls to wobble, while Eli's cock snugly fills Roderick's fist in a satisfying way, radiating a pulsing living heat. They begin slow masturbatory strokes. A passing monk smiles at them, and watches indulgently as their mutual tempo quickens. More calmly now, but in quick excited exhalations matching the actions of Roderick's rhythmic fist, Eli explains that many of the twenty young men have been incarcerated here for years, selected from local villages ever since they came of legal age, the villagers consider it an honour for them to be chosen. Once within its fortress walls some of them have spent their entire adult lives within its strict enclosure, accepting its rules, and knowing little of the world outside. Most of them are classed as initiates -- 'sex-zombies' he calls them. Roderick, Eli, and two others, are considered 'novices'.