Cock-Sucker: Green Carnation no.2

The Green Carnation no.2

by Tristan Trotsky

(All participants in this story are over-eighteen, and are termed 'boys' simply because they are Academy students)

It could be said, sir, that 'The Green Carnation' helped make me what I am today. I mean, there was certainly a tendency, on my part, that was always there, but The Green Carnation helped me, not only accept, but to celebrate that aspect of myself, which previously I'd found distasteful, and attempted to conceal, even from myself. It freed me from shame and self-consciousness.

During that long summer recess of sunshine and endless blue skies, I stayed over with my uncle at his grand country house, as was our regular arrangement. We talked of things in general, about the health of the family, and about international news, expressing his learned opinions in an informed and assured way. I politely agree as appropriate, or present a reasoned argument whenever I dare. It was always pleasant and enlightening, for he's an erudite informed man with wide interests. Later we found ourselves meandering down to the lakeside. It was simply taken for granted that we undress and skinny-dip in the chilly waters, splashing and laughing. Eventually we haul ourselves out of the water and lie side-by-side on the grass allowing the sun to dry our wet bodies.

He plucks a random daisy, raises himself on one elbow, leans over me, and runs the daisy in playful circles across my bare chest, around my nipples. It feels good, I laugh appreciatively. He runs the daisy down across my stomach, then along the length of my cock, which twitches in response.

'You've got a pretty cock' my Uncle says. It was the first time he'd made a directly sexual comment. 'Did you take notice of what I told you about the 'Green Carnation Club' at DoTheBoys Hall Academy?'

'Yes sir, I did, thank you sir.'

'So, you're getting that cock of yours regularly sucked. It's important that we find a receptive outlet for all those pent-up sexual energies that torment us. It's natural and human.' He pauses. I didn't tell him that my first year at the academy had involved me sucking cock rather than me being sucked-off, and being regularly sodomised by the older prefects.

'Maybe you've wondered why I have a predominantly male staff? It's because I enjoy continuing the traditions instilled into me by my own membership of the 'Green Carnation Club'. It changed my life forever. And do you know that there's a London Gentleman's 'Green Carnation Club' where old boys and former pupils can meet up in a convivial atmosphere to enjoy each other, and enjoy the bum-boys who are employed there for our convenience, to satisfy our tastes and predilections?'

'No sir, I didn't know that' I manage to stammer out, as my cock begins to react to the intimate touch of the daisy.

He laughs and sits back. 'Happy days, my boy. Some of the most wonderful days of my life were spent at DoTheBoys Hall Academy. It seems almost like yesterday. I envy you in so many ways.'

As we dress and return up through the gardens towards the house I notice several members of the household staff turn to greet us. It hadn't occurred to me before how many of them were comely males. Surely my uncle wasn't fucking them all? Surely they didn't suck his cock? Or maybe they did. I feel a strange stirring in my groin as the erotic images fill my imagination.

I make sure that I wear the small button-shaped 'carnation' badge on my college uniform lapel as I take the long train journey back for my second year at the academy. The second year brings certain privileges. Unlike the large dormitory I'd originally used, I now share a small dorm with Frank Nugent and Bob Cherry, and we are granted full use of the Prefects Room where previously, we'd only been taken to be fucked. Meanwhile, the imperious Harry Wharton has moved up into his own room, in what would be his final year at the academy. However, he instantly makes it clear that despite our changed circumstances, the hierarchal relationship between us is unchanged. On my first evening back at the academy he summons me to his room, which I glance around in impressed amazement. There's a bed framed by bookcases, an escritoire writing bureau, with a garret window that looks out over the mossy slate rooftiles down into the quadrangle far below, towards the big black wrought-iron gates and ivy-crawled walls that isolate us from the exterior world.

'Don't waste time admiring the view' he orders brusquely. 'Get naked and on your knees.'

I hurry to comply, crouching naked and already erect as he lowers his pants, catching the musky aroma of his lean muscular body as he nuzzles his semi-turgid cock into my mouth. 'I've missed fucking your faggot cocksucker mouth' he exhales as I submissively begin sucking him, as I've sucked him many times before. He's more aggressively verbal than before, fucking my mouth hard. But there's a strangely soothing familiarity about the way his cock firms, flexes and pulses in response to my enthusiastic sucking. And it occurs to me that he's not actually had his cock sucked since the last time I did it with him. Which makes me feel curiously special. Personally, I don't like him, I resent the power he exerts over me, but I can't deny that he has a lovely cock with such a flared bulbous head, which I enjoy sucking. My hands go around his waist, cupping his ass-cheeks, drawing him deeper into me as he begins fucking my mouth. I know what he likes. I'm proud of my cocksucking skills. It's good to be back!

I come away with the taste of his copious spunk fresh on my tongue. There was a lot, as though he's been saving it. But this time, this term, I'm determined to take advantage of my new second-year status. This academy has cultural roots that go back to monastic medieval times, and it's always specialised in students of a certain 'persuasion'. Even during times of puritan repression there's always been a vigorously homoerotic queer culture here. There's a section of the college library devoted to the homosexual writings of distinguished former alumni. I know, because my uncle informed me where to locate the books of Gay erotica. And I'd browsed there in a state of high arousal.

There are hundreds of testimonies penned by former Green Carnation members chronicling their sexual exploits in graphic detail. It sometimes seems that there was a more open and accepting attitude to sexual debauchery in those older days than there is now, with first-hand accounts of group-sex and orgies. I was particularly enthralled by a story I read there, I can't be sure if it was fiction or not, about seven naked men sitting on a roundabout, with seven crouching supplicants lustily sucking their cocks, at a signal the roundabout is revolved until they are faced with a new cock which they eagerly begin to suck, as the roundabout is ratcheted further each cocksucker has the opportunity of sucking each cock... before the circuit begins again... it might seem strange, but the more the idea tantalises my imagination, the more it is me crouching there as a succession of big cocks are cycled to the attention of my hungry mouth...

Now I stand in the foyer to watch the confused influx of nervous new boys milling around. They're scared and unsure of themselves, just as I was on my first day. I decide to intervene.

There's a small dark-haired boy wearing a 'Green Carnation' button. I pace across to him. 'You've been registered by the janitor, Mr Harold Skinner?'

'Yes sir' he says, gazing across at me with big sorrowful eyes, noticing my own Green Carnation. I smile as I imagine him standing there with his pants lowered for the be-whiskered old janitor's prurient attention. Just as it had been for me on my first arrival here. His pale cold fingers cupping, cosseting and squeezing my balls.

'What's your name?'

'Hilary, sir... yes, I know it's also a girl's name, but that's the way I was christened.'

'Follow me. You know what's expected of you as a Green Carnation member?'

He gulps audibly as he trails behind me. 'It has been explained to me, yes sir.'

'You've sucked cock?' I ask as we climb the creaking wooden stairs towards my shared room.

'Only my best friend' he mutters, as though the admission sticks in his throat like a fishbone.

'Good. You'll suck a lot of cock here.'

'Yes sir, thank you sir.'

The room is empty when we get there, neither Frank Nugent nor Bob Cherry are anywhere to be seen. I usher Hilary inside, close the door behind him, and tell him to strip naked. Remembering how it had been for me, the feeling of being vulnerably helpless. He wastes no time, embarrassingly eager to demonstrate his true servility. At first he tries to conceal his genitals with his hands, then -- as though making a conscious decision, holds his arms by his sides. He has nice tight buttocks, pleasantly rounded, and a surprisingly large cock which is already erect. As I drop my own pants, I know the feeling of power that Harry Wharton enjoys wielding over me. Without even being told to, Hilary crouches and shuffles forward without hesitation, his stiff cock bobbing and swaying like an ariel tuned into sex.

The first brush of his lips on the head of my cock makes me gasp with pleasure. If there's any reluctance on Hilary's part, he certainly hides it well, as he feeds the glans into his mouth and flicks his tongue around the sensitive frenulum. If it's true that he's only ever sucked his best friend's cock before mine, he must have put in the practise time. His mouth is warm and wet as he engulfs more of me, sucking hard. I bring my hands down onto the sides of his head, and make little fucking motions deeper into his mouth that make him gag and splutter.

I know how he feels. I remember all the times I've been in that position, crouched with Harry Wharton's fat cock throbbing in my mouth. Now it's my turn to enjoy that power. And I intend to enjoy each blowjob that Hilary is going to bestow on me. He's jacking himself as he sucks me. When I ejaculate in his mouth, I'm going to hold his head until he swallows it... except that I don't need to! When I do cum he just swallows each spurt easily, and simply keeps sucking, milking every last drop, until I lose rigidity, and I push his head away. I notice a small puddle of spunk on the canvas floor between his legs, where he's obviously cum while he was sucking me.

He seems in no hurry to get dressed. He just sits there naked, with a serene dreamy expression on his face. Even when Frank Nugent enters the room and glances across him, Hilary just sits there, as though awaiting permission for whatever else is going to happen.

I introduce him. 'Frank, this is Hilary, I've selected him as my cocksucker.'

Hilary sighs, as though he's relieved, as though he's passed the test.

'Is he good?' asks Frank.

'He'll get better the more cock he sucks' I laugh. I'm going to enjoy owning Hilary. And I do... regularly. Frank Nugent fulfils his pledge to himself, and he has three first-years sucking his cock by rote. And as we move further into the academic term, naturally we switch, and Bob Cherry uses Hilary as well as Frank's docile cocksuckers who he calls 'Eeny, Meeny and Moe'. Moe is a chubby lad with a tiny cock, and he's a little reluctant at first to take spunk into his mouth, but with encouragement he's soon swallowing as hungrily as the other two.

At any given time, among a college student population of around three-hundred, there are probably thirty Green Carnation members. No reasonable request for sex -- oral or anal, can be refused from another member. Refusal, or even reluctance can result in expulsion from Green Carnation membership and consequent withdrawal of club privileges, leaving you perilously vulnerable. Otherwise, the badge is only surrendered back to Mr Harold Skinner when you finally leave the College. I value my badge. I know that before me it had belonged to previous club members... maybe its history even goes back to my uncle's time? Perhaps he had proudly worn this very badge that I now wear?

While I'll be honest, I was never much into College Sports, the only aspect of it I really enjoy is the communal showers after the games. It provides the opportunity to check out all the other boy's cocks. Something I've become passionately intrigued by, it offers a delicious chance to observe them all in a state of nature, eyeing up those jiggling cocks and delectable balls, while they -- presumably, are checking me too. Seeing who has a big cock, who has a foreskin... those with bigger cocks than mine, and those with smaller cocks than mine. Who is well-hung, who has a dinky little girlie-cock. Who is circumcised, who is not. And -- because I'm circumcised, I'm fascinated by those with foreskins. Who has a dusting of pubic hair, others who have a rich bush. Who has a nicely rounded bottom. Who has fat low balls... I've become fascinated by fat low balls... Interesting trysts can be struck up in that way, furtive fondlings and curious caresses. You touch my cock, and I'll touch yours.

The Games Master is there to invigilate. He watches as we naked boys all go into the showers together. I'm certain he's taking notes, watching the sway of our cocks, he can scarcely help but see that we go into the showers flaccid, yet come out sporting frisky erections... I have a lingering impression that he enjoys seeing which boys emerge in a state of perky arousal, and by the sight of so many young naked boys in a state of sexual stimulation.

Naturally, there are rumours. In an enclosed community such as this, there are always gossipy stories circulating. That's only to be expected. We never know how much credence to place on these tales. But it's said that a certain Master has a harem of pretty boys. That he likes to watch as they have sex with each other in various configurations, three boys, four boys entwined together. Two boys spit-roasting a third. A daisy-chain circle of boys all sucking each other. Bob, Frank and I chuckle about the scurrilous tales. There's also the story about the non-Carnation student who uses a stolen Carnation button-badge to demand, and receive blowjobs from several gullible trusting Carnation members, until his misdemeanour is reported to Mr Harold Skinner, and he's reprimanded and punished. Well... college is a place for studying, and studying cocks is a very educational activity...

I get an erection as I fantasize about an especially fascinating cock I've glimpsed in the showers, and I take my opportunities when I can. Yet... and this confession seems rather mild compared to some of the others I've admitted to, but it has bothered me for a long time. There's a boy in my year, an auburn-haired boy, we'd never been friends, I don't think we've even spoken half-a-dozen words to each other before that moment -- and significantly, he did not wear the 'Green Carnation' badge, yet we are in the College Showers together after games, and I feel the touch of his fingers on me, he'd reached out and got hold of my cock. I look up at his face and he's smiling hopefully.

There we are, both naked in the showers, and he's holding my cock gently. Perhaps he'd glimpsed, or maybe he'd heard that I was sexually experimenting with Hilary... or about what I do with Harry Wharton? I don't know. I was not offended, just surprised. But looking down, he was holding my cock. He was smiling too. What else could I have done? I should have reached out and taken his cock into my hand, I should have gently enveloped his cock in my fingers. And there in the showers with the water streaming over our naked bodies, we could be slowly fondling and tossing each other, we could have contentedly jacked each other off. It might have led to more... to a friendship, with sexual benefits. It might have... if only he'd been Green Carnation. But he wasn't, instead I simply push his hand away. Afterwards, I regret it, but by then it's too late... Strange how vivid and tactile these memories are. They stay so powerfully fresh in our minds, as though that craziness can be set to music, with a teasing melody. Those missed opportunities, the things we wanted to do, but failed to do because of social pressures or shyness or uncertainty, they come back and haunt us.

I continue to enjoy having my cock regularly sucked by Hilary. If I don't initiate it, he asks my permission. I hear 'please, sir, may I suck your cock now,' and I sigh, smile my largesse, and permit him his pleasure. Eventually, as he crouches there, he looks up at me with his big soulful eyes, and it's him that asks me 'when are you going to fuck my bum-hole too?' He pauses to lick my cock which is glistening with his saliva, then adds 'I've washed and cleaned my hole for you, and I have Vaseline.'

'If you don't fuck him, I sure as hell will' chuckles Bob Cherry, who's watching us.

Moments later, Hilary crouches down on all fours on the bed and raises himself to accept me. Presenting the perfect teardrop shape of his bottom. I've never actually been the 'fucker' before, only the 'fucked'. So nuzzling the head of my cock into his puckered orifice, then sliding my erection into his tight little back-passage is new to me. He grunts as I penetrate his sphincter, and I wait a moment before pushing in further. He's erect too, his dangling balls swaying as he pushes back to receive me. He's contracting his anal muscles to squeeze my cock as I begin to fuck in long strokes, each thrust takes me deeper, finding my rhythm, pistoning into him. Suddenly, he ejaculates, his swaying tumescent cock spitting drooling gobs of spunk into his gut, as his anus convulses around my embedded shaft... which tips me over the brink, and I'm cumming too, flooding him with a torrent of pulsing jets of sperm. It feels so very good. At Hilary's invitation, I've learned a new way of using him! Bob Cherry is applauding.

In fact, my erotic distractions are becoming so intense that I'm neglecting my academic work, and as a consequence of not completing homework assignments on time, I'm sent to the headmaster's study for corporal punishment. There's a psychological edge to the disciplinary procedure in that I'm forced to wait outside the study for three-quarters of an hour, awaiting and in full anticipation of the pain that is going to be inflicted. There's another boy also waiting with me. He's snivelling in a heartbreaking way. I don't know what slight offence he's committed that deserves punishment. We don't talk.

Until we are finally ushered into the headmaster's study where we stand with heads bowed. There's an antique aroma of dust and faded polish. The headmaster seems incredibly aged. He wears a black cape that resembles something from Gothic horror movies, and a mortarboard hat with a faded green tassel. He squints up at us through bifocal lenses housed in a silver-rim frame. He concentrates on writing something in a thick journal with yellowed pages, pointedly ignoring us. Finally he wearily stands, without speaking. He opens a wall-cabinet beside his desk, in which we can clearly see an array of canes, ranging from ones of finger-thickness to light flexibly thin canes. He ponders, making his selection a deliberate part of our torment.

He chooses a mid-range cane, and tensions it so that we can clearly see. Then he merely gestures with his hand. We know what to do. We lower our pants, turn and bend over, presenting our bare bottoms to the headmaster. I can't help but notice that the other pupil has an attractively large penis, which is semi-erect. The headmaster takes a few practise swishes. We tense, and brace ourselves as we hear the hiss of air. Then the Headmaster moves closer. I hear the cane arcing, and the shock that stings across my lower buttocks takes my breath away, the pain is excruciating. Then there's a brief pause as he canes the other boy, before he returns for a second swipe at my upraised bottom. It leaves me gasping. The other boy gets a second lashing. Then we both get a third blow. Finally, he's done. We straighten up and pull our pants back into place... but not before I notice that the other boy now has a powerful erection! He's sobbing. I try to assume a surly insolence.

Anywhere else in the academic world this extreme kind of corporal punishment would no longer be tolerated. But here at DoTheBoys Hall, things are different. It was as though different rules apply in this separate continuum, walled off against the rest of the world. The headmaster is a bitter and vindictive man who was probably erect beneath his robes, stimulated by the sadistic pleasure of beating us, he got his sick perverted pleasure from our humiliation. He wearily replaces the cane in the cabinet, and dismisses us with a casual flick of his hand. We walk stiffly, concealing our stinging pain, glancing across at each other, and smiling in grim solidarity. I would have offered him more, but he was not Green Carnation. Membership of the club gives us a degree of mutual bonding, offering support and protection, while easing sexual need. But only to other members.

I'm still summoned to Harry Wharton's study, where I obediently crouch to suck him off. Although by now there's almost a soothing comforting quality to feeling his warm cock throbbing in my mouth. I can't help but wonder, are cocksuckers born or made? Are we genetically hardwired so we are biologically predestined, and have neither free-will nor choice? Or is there some lightning-flash orgasmic incident in our sexual development that is so life-changingly intense that we spend forever trying to recapture that moment, like a junkie ever-striving to relive the incandescence of that first high? It always seemed so obvious to me that cocks are such an amazing and intriguing part of the anatomy... why should girls get all the pleasure and enjoyment from playing with them and tasting them? Why can't boys be cocksuckers too?

Sucking is the very first independent action that humans-out-of-the-womb are capable of performing -- I'm not about to get all Freudian about this, but it is comfort, reassurance, nurture. Were all cocksuckers breastfed babies, is the pulsing throbbing cock in the mouth a surrogate nipple? Or -- simply, is getting pleasure by giving pleasure an end in itself? Perhaps some of us are born to be cocksuckers? Maybe it's in some way programmed into our DNA. For others it's just a passing fad, or the product of curiosity. Certainly for me, once I'd sucked Harry Wharton's cock for the first time, there could be no going back, no alternative way my life could have developed. That is a simple fact. If nature hadn't intended that cock to go into my mouth, how come it fits so well and feels so good...?

And then I was lying on my back on the bed, Hilary was crouching over me tonguing my cock and sucking my balls. He looks down at me with his big sad eyes and he says 'you can piss in my mouth, if you want to.' He had obviously given this suggestion some considerable thought. And he looks so appealing that I don't have the heart to deny him. He's a dirty slut, and no mistake about it. And I mean that as a compliment!

Next year I will be a prefect. Maybe I will even inherit Harry Wharton's study? While Hilary will have his pick of the nervous and confused influx of college newbie's.

It could be said that my membership of 'The Green Carnation' helped make me what I am today. At last, I fully appreciate what my uncle told me. These are life-changing days that will shape my sexual tastes for ever after.

By Tristan Trotsky