by Marco Vassi
Another mouth covered my cock and began sucking, pulling, lapping. I was spent with spasms of ecstasy. All the sensations merged, and suddenly I flashed a high stone altar at noon under a scorching sun. Aztec priests chanted over the sacrifice; their great gold mantles shone like fire. Below, ten thousand people roared, and that roar blended with the pounding in my ears. I was the sacrifice; I was the body being offered, the flesh which was being torn and eaten. I was smothered with bodies and breath and movement. I laughed in triumph. Willingly I gave myself. Let the stone knife penetrate my bowels. I heard myself moaning, "Give it to me, do it, do it, fuck me, kill me, eat me, give it to me, yes, yes . . ."
Then everyone suddenly pulled back and stood again by the side of the bed, coldly, quietly. It was as though they had thrown cold water on me. I opened my eyes, unbelieving. I felt like a lunatic being objectively observed by psychiatrists. Immediately, I felt my nakedness, my physical nakedness, my psychological exposure. I was ashamed, and from the shame grew anger. And then I felt sick to my stomach. I began to get off the bed when Tocco put a restraining hand on my shoulder.
"Now, remember what you are here for."
"I don't know what I'm here for!" I screamed. "I wanted to find out more about sex, and I heard about this underground society. But now I'm locked in with a bunch of sadists, and being humiliated, and . . ." But I heard the sound of my voice, and I admitted to myself, much to my chagrin, that it was no different from that of a whining child. I subsided, and the feelings must have shown on my face, for Tocco said, "Yes, I'm glad you saw it yourself. Of course you are to be humiliated. That is not the least of what will happen to you here. Do you think we have time to waste in simple orgies? It is the shock which teaches. And the shock does no good if you are expecting it, or are able to take it in stride. But we will save the theoretical discussion for later. For now, I want you to observe what a will-less puppet you are."
With that the black man came up onto the bed and pushed me back down. He knelt with his knees at my ears. He had an enormous cock, even limp, and it hung over my face like a curved banana. The others watched. Inside me my emotions and the speed churned, and I was in no mood for sex. But he leaned forward and just barely touched the edges of my lips with the head of his cock. Immediately upon contact I succumbed. Desire grabbed me like a balled fist. I felt myself go soft, and then moved my head from side to side so my mouth would just touch the very sensitive opening in the tip of the prick, giving him the most exquisite of light sensations. The pressure in my chest increased.
I felt my face change. I attempted to contact the inner feelings, and realized that I was suddenly sixteen, and a girl. I had become a skittish young virgin, much like the kind that I used to date, the kind whose defenses provided their greatest source of eroticism. I realized that I was reliving a projection, and now I was to learn first-hand about those defenses. But I would also have control. I was the dispenser of pleasure, and I could play with him as delicately as I wanted. Revelations surged through me as I put my tongue out ever so slightly and inserted it into the opening of his cock. I could hear him pull in his breath quickly. I moved down and put my tongue at the crack where thighs and balls meet, the most sensitive part.
Then I heard a snap, and the sweet smell of amyl nitrate filled the room. An inhalator was put into my nose, and as I breathed deeply, a voice said, "Go down on him, baby, go all the way down. Lick him good."
The drug unstrung me. Rush after rush of longing left me totally open. I clamped my mouth around his asshole and sucked for all I was worth. Every fold of skin, every hair bristle, was a sharp sensation. Part of me saw the picture of myself lying with a man grinding his ass into my face, and myself loving it, wanting more, probing deeper. Decadence and liberty raced neck and neck. He reached back and spread his cheeks, and the hole pushed forward, as though he were going to shit in my mouth. But I was beyond caring. I was where it felt right doing what felt good. What did it matter what the forms were? I dug deep into his asshole with my tongue and then licked him all over, up and down the crack and over every inch of the glistening cheeks. The deep musky smell made me drunk. I gasped and sucked pleasure from the opening.
Another realization struck. I was sucking pleasure! Yet just a moment ago it was to have been I who gave pleasure. The image of a wizened succubus went through my mind. Whose pleasure was this? Was I the timid teen-age girl allowing herself to be degraded, or was I an ancient parasite leeching sensation from the flesh of another? I began to get lost down the corridors of thought when I felt a sudden jolt. The giant above me had sensed my distraction and seemed angered. He now had a full, throbbing erection which he sank into my mouth. "Suck this, you little bitch," he said.
I was shocked. I felt a real blow to my sensitivity. I actually suffered indignation. This brute merely wanted satisfaction. He cared nothing for the niceties of the situation. And with these feelings another surge of lust ran through me. A deeper layer of fantasy-reality. I was actually being used. I was really being abused. I began to moan, and another popper went into my nostrils. Too much. I just opened my mouth and let him do what he wanted. He leaned forward and pinned my wrists to the mattress. And then he prodded the velvet head into every part of my mouth, up and down, sideways, around, poking at the very opening to the throat. I was able to take it partway, but the size of his cock staggered me. It must have been three inches wide. It seemed impossible to swallow such a thing.
Still he insisted, and soon I felt my throat gradually begin to open to him. A rush of drowsy agony filled all space. And at that moment I felt my legs being parted, and the great bulk of Tocco leaning on the bed. With no ceremony vaseline was slapped between my cheeks, and another cock thrust into my ass. The pain was excruciating, for the move was sudden. I pulled my mouth back and whispered, "Please, slowly!" He only shoved it in more quickly and rasped, "Just spread your legs, whore!"
I fought for one final moment, and then succumbed. The cocks seemed to work in unison. My attention went from my ass to my mouth until I was nothing but the channel which connected these two sources of sensation. Images raced like fan blades through my mind, too fast to see clearly, but when even glimpsed, overpowering in their beauty. I was out into reality, fully, and my mind was reaping a harvest of conceptual flowers, so fragile that they might only be sniffed once and never known again.
Then sensation blotted everything out. As the cock penetrated deep into my throat, I gagged, and the gagging opened me clear down to the base of my spine, where Tocco was ramming in his prick with savage thrusts. For an eternity the three of us rode this blind wave of being, roaring separately in our lusts, and together forming a single organism performing its occult dance upon the bed.
And then the bubble burst. I could sustain the line no longer. I just wanted it to end. But they continued, and my self fell out while my body continued as a vehicle for their movement. I saw the entire scene as from afar, and watched myself with pity. Who was I? At that moment I was a body shot full of speed, high on poppers, lying in a strange room, having the tender tissues of my mouth and anus torn by two seemingly savage strangers, and enjoying it!
I began to feel dislocated and mad when, from a distance, I heard the voice of Tocco say, ". . . fantasy tension again . . . lost in rumination . . . give him another popper . . ." And the inhalator was thrust into my nose. Within seconds the magic happened again, and I relaxed. What did I care who I was, or what it meant, or who these people were? I was being fucked, I had a great prick in my mouth, and my body was aswarm with prickles of pleasure and pain. I was intensely alive. I opened wide to take it all in, gloriously, and immediately I remembered Susan in exactly the same position the day before. I was living out Susan's experience. The line, "monkey see, monkey do" began running through my head, an inane singsong.
I was her. She was me. There was no difference between us. And then I got the first glimmering of the lesson Tocco was to teach me that day. Realization and sensation merged, and now I let it all
hang out. I let all the last remnants of fear vanish, and offered my entire mouth and throat to the cock above me. And as soon as I did, the cock no longer seemed hard, but I could feel the softness of the skin and the texture of the serrations along the rim and the lean ripple of muscle inside. I grabbed my ankles so I could be fucked more fully. And the two of them, now moving as one, pumped their hot pricks and balls into my waiting sucking body, and as the throb of ejaculation sped into my ass and up into my stomach, the cock in my mouth let loose a tongueful of acrid, pungent, delicious sperm, which I swallowed and swallowed and swallowed until there was nothing left and I was gulping air.
After a while, the two of them disengaged and got off the bed. I lay there, utterly spent, stunned, spinning, rapturous. The doctor looked down at me for a long while. "Very beautiful, Michael," he said. "You learned a good deal today, but just as important, you showed that you know how to fuck, really fuck. Not a mean achievement in these grey days of shallow accomplishments. Yet you are still a novice, and the early stages of learning are the most strenuous. We'll talk soon to integrate some of your experiences, but I think you deserve a treat right now." He turned to Susan and the other man and said, "Can the two of you do something nice for Michael?"
And as I lay there, the slim, very pretty young man licked gently and methodically on my cock, while Susan lifted her nurse's skirt and sat on my face, spreading her cunt lips with her fingers. She rubbed my mouth and tongue with her cunt by moving her pelvis around and down into me, and while I felt my cock begin to climb toward climax, Susan spent herself and filled my mouth with warm, spunky, white, viscous secretions.
Afterwards I immediately fell asleep, and I awoke happy and refreshed. I took a shower, dressed, and, feeling ravenously hungry, went out to see if I could find the communal dining room.
FOUR
THERE WERE EIGHT people at table when I got there: Tocco, Susan, and the two men who had been in my room—whose names turned out to be Alan and Parker —I knew already. Then there were two middle-aged women who looked not unlike schoolteachers, with two little girls about six years old. The room was rich with the smell of bacon and coffee and frying eggs. Everyone seemed in fine good humor and Doctor Tocco looked up as I entered.
"Ah, my dear Michael," he said, "I hope you are refreshed from your shower. This is all self-service, so you can go into the kitchen and prepare whatever you'd like."
The difference between the several Toccos I had already seen was beginning to fascinate me. There was the dedicated researcher, and the insane man who sacrificed his own daughter to his work, and the sexual genius, and now a jovial pater families. It was too soon to draw conclusions, but this was clearly one of the most complex and developed human beings I had ever run into.
I went into the next room, scrambled some eggs and cheese, and put it together with a few pieces of Italian pastry that were in the refrigerator. I wolfed breakfast down, hardly, even noticing the conversation in the dining room, and only after my second cup of coffee did I light a cigarette and ease myself into the social ambience. As I looked around, everyone became silent, and there was an uneasy lull.
Tocco cleared his throat. "I really dislike formal welcoming speeches, but I do want to let you know that we consider you one of us. You will meet each of the others in time, so I won't bother with names at this point. But allow me to tell you a little about our society.
"As you probably know, any area of study can be a yoga. There is the yoga of physical exercise, the yoga of devotion, the yoga of diet, and even the yoga of drugs. The only requirement is the single-minded involvement in study of the self via that avenue of choice. And there is a strand of Tibetan Buddhism known as Tantric Yoga, which uses sex as its vehicle.
"But each age must formulate its problem in light of its own historical understanding. This is not a philosophic point, but a truism. We can't know more than our present condition allows. Ultimately, of course, we are faced with mystery, and in that sense no epoch understands life any better than any other epoch. But within the area of the known, techniques and world views change. So, while the Tantric texts have much that is valuable, their knowledge is couched in religious and mystical terms which are quite tedious for the man of today. What we are doing, then, is picking up on a thread of ancient study, but within the parameters of our time!"
This much was clear. I had heard of such a group some time ago, but without specifics as to its whereabouts or organization. The information had come from a revisionist Gurdjieffite who claimed to be in contact with the ghost of Madame Blavatsky. I now pressed for further details about Tocco's method.
"I dislike that word," he said. "Life is too flowing, too changeable to be understood in terms of any method. There is method in my madness, that is true, but it is only an afterthought, a rationalization. It is the madness, the passion for living which is primary.
"In our society, everything is a lie. You walk down the street and look at the joggling breasts and tight-skirted asses and in five minutes there are a dozen woman you want to fuck and who would like nothing better than to be fucked. But you are not allowed to do it. Moreover, you are not even allowed to think it. You censor yourself. The women are brainwashed to believe that they can't just drop their panties and enjoy a thick cock without protestations of affection and security. So we have these millions of cocks and cunts and asses and nipples and mouths and hands, all useless, all involved in inane activities like shuffling paper or counting money or shooting guns. No wonder we get to go around like zombies. Everyone is afraid, everyone lies.
"And in an attempt to cover up our emptiness, our inability to drink deeply from life, we invent myths about the family and fidelity and chastity. We wallow in jealousy and possessiveness, and dare to call that love. And so the hypnosis permeates to our very marrow. In this atmosphere those fools, those so-called scientists, want to discover what sex is about. They print up questionnaires and take photos of color changes in rectal tissue. Of course a woman's asshole turns purple when she comes, everyone knows that! This idiotic research is like trying to understand breathing in a room filled with carbon monoxide.
"What we do here at ISM is very simple. We drop all sham. Immediately. We realize that we are all animals. That we all want to fuck, and suck, and eat shit, and kill, and love, and come, and lick, and touch, all the time, with everyone, it doesn't matter who, so long as certain functional requirements are met. We are working on analyzing out these very functions. And the first thing we throw out, like a piece of filthy garbage, is this precious notion of individual personality.
"This gets to the core of metatheatre. For every facet of our beloved personality, every thought, every mood, every attitude, every value, every conviction, is nothing but the flimsiest stage trapping, and if a human being is to have true inner dignity, he or she must be able to put on and take off these psychological costumes with the 'ease of changing a hat or a pair of gloves."
His voice had risen to a high pitch and his face was flushed. He began to cough, and took a long slow sip of water to help it subside. "I'm sorry, Michael," he said, "but it is a topic I still grow passionate about. Human stupidity makes me apoplectic. But let's return to you. Have you formulated your sexual interests in any specific form?"
After his polemic, my problem seemed somewhat petty, and I had difficulty in beginning. "I am involved with what I have come to call an imageorgasm," I began. "It is possible for me to have full simultaneous physical orgasm with someone, but it is not really satisfying unless our minds somehow are in harmony. I don't quite know what I mean by that, except that on rare occasions I have fucked with someone where my head felt as delicious and warm and soft as my cock did afterwards. And I wonder if there isn't a way to tune in with someone so that we share the same fantasy, and walk together in our minds the way we do in our bodies. If, for example, during sex I turn into an Egyptian god, how do I know that my partner is responding to that element as well as the purely physical manifestations?
; "Otherwise, there is a feeling of solitude which is sublime when I am alone, but too weighty to bear when I am lodged deep in a woman's cunt."
Tocco looked thoughtful. "It is, to be frank, a more simple problem than you probably think. But that does not mean that solving it will be easy. There is no way to attack it directly, as you have found out, I am sure. But there are certain exercises and activities which arouse certain faculties in you. These will also, by the way, be helping myself and others in dealing with their own special areas of research. But for now, just let me plant an idea in your mind: think not so much of content as you do of capacity."
"I'm not quite sure I understand," I said.
"That's all right," Tocco replied. "The words will work their own magic inside you." He paused and looked around the table. Everyone was listening to our words with rapt attention. He continued, "But talk has a way of clouding as many issues as it resolves. It would be much better if we provided you with some actual activity." He smiled his most devastating smile and asked, "Have you ever ravished a child, Michael?"
I must have blanched, for he turned to the group and said, "Yet another prejudice in our stalwart scholar of sex." Then he faced me again and said, "Let's adjourn to the next room."
We rose, and I followed him through a door into a large room which was decorated with leather couches and a grab-bag of odd pieces. He paused and called to the two little girls, "Come on, children."
A Mozart quintet was playing, and sunlight came in through one of the windows. I noticed that behind the windows were a set of iron bars. Tocco went to one of the shelves and returned with a cardboard box with the title, "Hospital, A Medical Game For Children."
"Have you ever played doctor, Michael?" Tocco asked. My throat was dry. "No . . . it's one of the ..." I stopped. "See here, Tocco ..." I began again.