The Madison Technique

When I was in the sixth form at school, I helped out on a couple of the fourth form Biology fieldtrips with a few of my mates. We were there primarily to piss around and to try and jump into bed with any girls from other schools who might look half-decent, but officially we were "demonstrators". What we were supposed to be demonstrating, I'm not sure, but that was the title we were given.

It was on the first of these of these fieldtrips that I met Madison. That was his surname: his first name was Gavin, I think, but everyone called him Madison.

Madison was a slim, bespectacled guy from the top science set in the fourth form. He was pleasant to be around but tended to be a bit quiet. I wouldn't call him shy exactly - he was clearly very relaxed in social situations - he just seemed to prefer to keep himself to himself and to offer conversation only when there was something worth talking about. His grades were excellent, his prospects good and that, to him, seemed to be the main reason for being in school.

I guess I'd have forgotten all about Madison if I hadn't have ended up sharing a tent with him on that first fieldtrip.

We were in South Wales sampling the insect life in some of the rivers and streams. We had to spend a couple of nights at a camp site in the middle of nowhere to collect our first set of data and then move on to a different place near a mining town to do the same thing. I would imagine the purpose of it all was something to do with pollution but, as is often the case with school trips, the intended educational value of it turned out to be one of its least memorable aspects.

For some reason, no-one in Madison's year-group opted to share a tent with him. I don't mean that to sound too harsh - the lad had a fairly broad set of people he was friendly with - it was just that there were only just enough spaces in tents to go around and that, with him not being the kind of guy to push his way in, he ended up as the odd one out. Me and my mates had a similar problem - five of us; only two double tents - so I offered to bunk up with Madison.

He seemed pretty disinterested about it, and I guess I did too. It wasn't like we were going to have to spend a lot of time together. He had his friends in fourth form; I had mine in the sixth. We'd be sharing our sleeping quarters; there was little else to it than that.

Or at least that had been how it had seemed at first.

Now before we take this any further, I need to tell you that I'm not into guys. Or at least to make it clear that, if I might be just slightly into guys now, I definitely wasn't then. And definitely not guys three years younger than me.

So this isn't really a "gay" story as such: I'm not going to end up screwing the kid. It's a bit more bizarre than that.

I bunked up with Madison for two nights and, apart from odd snippets of conversation and small-talk between us, I hardly really said a word to him. On both nights, when I climbed back into the tent at one or two o'clock in the morning after arsing around and getting pissed on smuggled vodka with my mates, he was already asleep. When I got back from having a shower in the mornings, he'd already cleared out and was sitting talking to some of his in front of another tent.

So we weren't exactly in-depth conversationalists with each other.

It was while we were in the tent - while I was supposedly sleeping - that things became interesting.

Let me explain.

It started on the morning after our first night sharing the tent. I woke up to what I dimly thought, in my still half-inebriated state, was the sound of someone chewing gum. A regular, rhythmic wet-sounding munching.

I opened my eyes as far as I could in my bleary state and found that it was light. Except for the chewing sound, there was complete silence. Nothing stirred outside the tent. It seemed like it was probably six o'clock or six thirty.

I turned my head to look over at Madison. I thought he'd maybe woken up early and was lying in his sleeping bag reading and chewing gum or something. Gum chewing didn't seem like it would be his thing, but the sound was so convincing and so near that he had to be.

When I looked at him, though, I couldn't work out what he was doing. His position was so unfamiliar, his head and arms in such an unusual contortion, that it really took me ten or twenty seconds to mentally disentangle the mess of limbs and skin in front of me and piece it back together into something sensible.

His whole body was moving in time to the wet-sounding rhythm and that made it obvious that he was doing something sexual - something masturbatory - but I couldn't work out what. I wanted to look away, to leave the younger guy to have his fun unobserved, but curiosity made me stare, still bleary-eyed, until I could recognise at least the gist of what he was doing.

His back looked impossibly bent, so much so that my first thought was that maybe he was having a fit or something. He was rocking slightly, and this also made me think of convulsions.

But then I saw where his face was and that something was in his mouth. I had this crazy idea that it might be his cock - that he might actually have his own cock in his mouth - but realised how ridiculous that would be.

It must be his hand; he must be biting on his hand or something.

But it didn't look like his hand. Unless he had his whole hand in his mouth and just his wrist coming out of it. But then, why was part of it a deep purple colour? Had he cut himself?

I saw that his eyes were closed and then that he had both arms underneath his thighs pulling them up towards him. It couldn't be his hand in his mouth. They were underneath.

So it must be something else.

And then it dawned on me that it was his cock and what he was doing with it. I was watching the boy suck his own dick!

I just lay there, staring at him, watching his mouth sliding across the fat purple head of his cock. His face was red, his eyes tightly closed, as his lips gripped his cock tightly making a letter 'o' like he was sucking up spaghetti. They glided upwards and downwards along it's shiny surface, maintaining a regular, moderately fast rhythm, as the soft sounds that I'd thought were chewing gum came from them. 

I noticed he was still wearing his briefs and that he'd pulled the front of them down to free his cock and balls. He'd tucked the waistband of his briefs under his balls, making his scrotum look pink and tight with the paired mounds of his balls straining upwards inside it. They looked like a pair of bright pink birds' eggs in the brown nest of his pubic hair. If he'd have opened his eyes, he'd have stared straight at them, but he didn't: they stayed tightly closed as he concentrated on the job his mouth was doing.

His cock looked pretty impressive both in terms of its thickness and its length. The stem was probably almost as thick as his wrist and had a slight upwards curve to it. The entire length of it was probably eight inches or so - for a lad of fourteen, it was a hell of a cock. If he hadn't finished developing, then, by the time he was eighteen, it must have grown into an absolute monster!

He seemed blissfully content: gently rocking back and forth as he ran his lips back and forth over the swollen purple head of his cock. His sounds were becoming wetter and I noticed that, every twenty seconds or so, he'd swallow. I realised that his slit must be oozing a copious stream of precum and that he was happily drinking it down.

I felt my own cock lengthening inside my briefs at the sight of what he was doing. It was so arousing to think that what came out of his cock went straight back into his mouth - like he was being nourished by his own cock; his own excitement.

Then he stopped momentarily as he adjusted his arms around his thighs. He moved his hands so that they were cupped around the white material covering his buttocks and tried to push his waist upwards further towards his mouth. He also opened his legs further so that his knees were outstretched. One of them dug into me but I remained still and silent.

He bent further forwards and managed to consume about four inches of his large cock. He suckled hungrily on it, enjoying the sensation, and then abruptly winced and gasped from the strain on his back.

He grabbed his arse cheeks more firmly and tried to push his waist further up towards his face. There was the slight sound of air escaping and I realised he'd involuntarily farted.

After that, he seemed to find a more comfortable position and started running his tongue up and down the top half of his cock. He seemed to be exploring it, licking gently along the ridge at the base of the bulbous head and moving upwards to lap at the gentle ooze of liquid escaping from the slit. He kept that up for a minute or so: roaming around the landscape of his own cock with his tongue; flicking it from the smooth purple bell-end to the lightly veined skin of his stem.

His eyes remained closed but a slight smile formed on his face as he enjoyed getting intimate with the geography of his own swollen, pulsating organ. He licked as far down to the base as he could, his long dark brown fringe tickling his balls as he did so, and then swept his tongue back up to the mushroom-like head.

He even sighed a quiet, "Aaaah!"

By now, my own cock strained for release inside my briefs. It ached and throbbed, demanding relief which I didn't dare move my hand to give it. I thought, "There's time for that later... when he's finished..." The risk of disturbing him was just too great.

His tongue returned to the puckered slit in his swollen bell-end and he licked around it with the outstretched tip. He seemed to love the taste of his own precum; to relish having his cock juice oozing onto his tongue. He even managed to get a little of the elongated tip of his tongue inside his slit, pushing it as far as he could into the tube inside his cock as a butterfly would feed on a flower.

Then he moved his tongue around to the back of his cock and worked it over the tight band of skin connecting the head of his cock with the stem of it. He gasped in pleasure and a small bead of precum leaked out of the slit. He kept doing it, gasping and shuddering because of the sensitivity of that area, and the bead grew in size and started dribbling down the shiny purple head.

He was milking his own dick for precum!

When he couldn't take any more, he returned his tongue to the front of his bell-end and licked up at the precum that had drooled out of it. He drank it like a cat would drink milk from a saucer: lapping at it gently, clearing every drop.

I found myself hoping that he might turn out to be gay when he got older: he was clearly the high master of cock sucking and it would be a real waste for him not to be able to share his skills with a few other guys.

After he'd licked all the stickiness from the head of his cock, he opened his mouth widely and greedily ate three or four inches of his stem in one swoop. Then his rhythm started up again; he began rocking gently back and forth, and the gentle slurping sounds that had awoken me returned.

I heard the rasp of a zip from one of the tents outside. One of the lads - probably Adam from the voice - croakily called someone a tosser.

But Madison didn't let it break his rhythm. He must have heard the noises, been aware that the group was starting to wake up and that lads would soon be wandering past our tent on the way to the toilets and showers, but he kept his mouth working on his cock like it was irrelevant.