"Rules for bois" by Robert Halstead
Note to reader: All the characters in this story are over 18 years old, but the first chapter recounts childhood experiences in the life of the main character that contributed to his development as a submissive.. This is a tale of slowly-emerging bdsm relationships and attitudes. A lot of it is cerebral. There is not a lot of explicit activity described. Look elsewhere for the usual type of hot authoritarian sex.
I didn't know anything about protocols or rules until a Dom gave me the Handbook. The introduction to the book helped me understand a lot about myself. This is what it said:
Sub Protocols: Rules for bois: Some bois are born submissive; study their childhood and you'll see evidence that they've always been subs.
Oh, how I remember. We were 16 years old. We lay side by side on the deserted beach on the blanket he had brought from home. My shorts were still damp from the salt water. I don't remember what he was wearing. All I remember was his bare chest and how I kept gazing at his nipple out of the corner of my eye. I was afraid to turn my head to stare full on; I was afraid he'd catch me. Oh, how I wanted to lick the salt off that tantalizing bud and feel the four short hairs that surrounded it graze my tongue as it drew near, hungry to taste him for the first time! Just that would have been enough for me.
My desire frightened me and I hated myself for what I desired. Sure, we teased each other plenty of times, just like any sixteen-year-old best friends would do. No: let me correct that. He would tease me; I never teased him back; I didn't dare for fear of what might come out of my mind if I lost control. "You can suck my cock if you want," he'd taunt me every once in a while. I was never sure he really meant it. My head was constantly being torn apart by all the mixed messages he'd give me.
The truth was that I really didn't want to blow him. I knew he had a big cock; he bragged about all the time. I'd never seen it but the bulge was obvious when we hung out in his basement stripped to our white bvd's while watching television late at night. He never explained why he always stripped out of his jeans when we were alone. Was he trying to entice me? I could never be sure. I stripped down myself, figuring it was the rule of the house for some reason.
The truth was that big dicks turned me off. In fact, I made it a point of refusing his invitation with a stock reply I'd once heard someone say: "Any more than a mouthful is a waste!" And that was the end of the discussion, much to my relief. Every time he said it. He never gave up offering it to me for some reason. Now, when I think back, I wish I had had the guts to follow through.
I wasn't sure what I really wanted. Not yet, anyway. The only thing I was sure of was that I wanted that nipple. I was terrified he'd know I was queer. Terrified that he'd want nothing more to do with me, and he was my only friend, the first friend I ever had, the first guy I'd ever started falling in love with. God forbid he'd find out!
This probably sounds pretty pathetic, I'm sure. I was pitifully naïve. Oh sure, I was a full-blown cocksucking faggot in my mind whenever I played with myself late at night alone in my bed, but these were frustrated and fruitless fantasies I tortured myself with from the time I was thirteen years old and decided I would probably enjoy being a cocksucker even though it was probably the worst insult guys our age could ever throw at each other.
I knew a lot about dicks by then. Hard dicks. I don't remember how or why, but by the time I was ten years old I'd become the official "hand-job boy" at my summer camp, which was ironically named "Camp Rainbow." So for six weeks ever summer I spent just about every single day holding on to hard cocks and learning how to make the guys moan and groan while I toyed with them. Once the summers were over, that was the end of it. I went to an all-boys' school, but I never had the slightest interest in the boys in my class. As it was, they used to call me "faggot" all the time; I was too chicken to tell them they were right. It just wasn't safe and by the time I was eleven years old I'd already figured that out.
Camp Rainbow, though, was a pretty safe place. No one ever gave me any grief there; in fact, I was actually a celebrity, much sought after for my gradually increasing ability to give pleasure to the boys who sought me out. They used to pay me with candy bars, but I'd often just give them away to the other guys in my cabin. The "candy" I wanted was between their legs.
One of the camp counselors, his name was Billy, taught me to handle his dick. Late at night he'd come to my bunk and gently wake me up. When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was his hard dick sticking out from the fly of his jeans as he stood there waving it over me. "You know what feels good," he'd tell me. "Do all the things you do to yourself to make yourself feel good."
His "lessons" got more involved than that. He showed me things I had never discovered on my own, how to toy with just the head, how to encircle his circumcision scar and run my fingers around it, how to wipe off the moisture from his piss slit, how to play with his balls with one hand while working his boner with the other one.
When I was twelve years old he'd become one of the assistant directors of the place and had his own private quarters in the head cabin. He'd take me there, make me get completely naked myself and then kneel at the side of his bed between his legs and get to work. I liked it a lot when we were alone that way because he didn't have to hold back with his moans and groans and heavy breathing. Sometimes he'd stroke the back of my head and tell me I was a "good boy."
No one ever found out about this and that was a good thing because he probably would have been arrested if word ever got out. They'd call him a "child molester," I know, but that didn't make any sense to me. He wasn't molesting me as far as I was concerned. He was teaching me skills I'd be able to use all of my life. Like I said, he'd make me get naked for some reason. In my own mind, I started pretending I was just a naked slave boy servicing my Master. Once I almost called him that, but I stopped myself before I gave my secret away. Maybe he would have liked it; maybe he wouldn't. I'd never find out.
I learned an awful lot about dicks back then. Each one was different. Some were fat, some were slender. Some were perfectly straight, some were bent a little or even a lot. Some of them leaked a lot and I got to like that because I would use it as a lubricant. Everyone was circumcised back then except for a couple of guys who weren't born in this country and a couple guys who spoke Spanish with their friends. For some reason, I didn't like guys that still had "the skin" on their dicks. Eventually I'd refuse to touch them and that pissed them off a lot.
Billy was the first guy who ever shot cum from his dick when I played with him; the first time really grossed me out because I wasn't prepared for it and, of course, I hadn't yet been able to cum myself until I turned thirteen. Billy always had a dirty pair of his underpants handy to wipe up the mess. He was always super nice to me after it happened because he didn't want to scare me away. I love the way he'd play with my hair for a while after the big event was over, and how he'd promise me that he would always look out for me and make sure no one ever hurt me.
I also liked seeing the hair he had "down there" and run my fingers through it. I was really excited the year I started growing my own—I think I the summer after seventh grade when it started showing. Billy like to check it out the first night we were back at camp and then watch to see how much it would grow by the time the summer was over.
There were a lot of black guys at camp. I found out they always had the biggest ones. One guy was so big that I had to use two hands to "jerk him off" (he was the first to use those words), but I didn't really like that. I preferred "jerking off" the white boys who had smaller ones. Billy had the best one of all, I remember. There was one black guy named Buttons because he had big nipples. He'd take me into the woods when we were supposed to be fishing in the creek. He liked to open my pants and pull them down to my knees, then caress my bare ass while I was jerking him off. It felt so good! One day he asked me if I would "take it in the ass," but I said no and he never kept asking, although he always liked to play with my ass.
One time I asked Buttons to spank my bare ass a little when he was playing with it but he refused. I never asked again, but from that time on I started thinking about getting spanked in those scenarios I was always dreaming up when I was alone with my boner in my hands. I found out, by the way, that mine was a lot smaller than most of the guys and I tried to keep it a secret even in the showers. That was easy because we never all got hard in the showers so no one found me out except for one guy named Chris who saw me hard when I was playing with him. After that, he always called me "little boy." No one else did that, though. Too bad, because I liked it when he called me that.
Oh yeah, about being naked. I found out I liked it. I especially liked getting naked when Billy ordered me to. I never started stripping until he ordered me to, so he always made it a point to do so, sometimes even saying things like "If you're gonna put my dick in your hands you've gotta be naked." I liked being naked with Billy because he wasn't and it helped feed my fantasy that I was his slave.
That's as far as it ever went. I was fifteen the last time I went to that camp. By then I wasn't the only boy taking care of others' dicks. In fact, one guy named Brian actually started sucking dicks. I never graduated to that despite the fact that some of the guys I took care of all the time were always trying to get me to do it as well. Needless to say, Brian took over a good deal of my clientele and that was just fine with me. I wasn't ready to do anything like that yet. I must confess that once I got to taste what leaked from Billy's dick when I was playing with him. One day I was wiping off the head of his dick with my finger and he got me to put my finger in my mouth and taste it. From then on I always had to do it. I didn't mind because it didn't taste much like anything at all and by the time I was 14 it no longer seemed as gross to me as it did at first. I was growing up.
Needless to say, I wasn't getting much sleep back then because Billy kept me busy almost every night. Since he was running things a lot, he'd always let me sleep after Reveille in the morning. He told the others that I had some medical condition and I needed more sleep than everybody else.
So like I said, my last summer at Camp Rainbow was after tenth grade. I never missed camp, but I definitely missed the things I got to do there. After the camp years, all that stuff only happened in my fantasies and I was much too chicken to ever let my schoolmates know what I'd been doing all summer long. To make matters worse, one of the priests came to talk to us one day about "self-abuse." I didn't understand what he meant until after he left one of the guys told me he was referring to jerking off. He made everyone uncomfortable because he told us we would go to hell if we didn't stop doing it. And by then none of us could ever stop doing it. One I realized I was "a queer," I figured that I was doomed to hell so I might as well have as much fun as I would before I had to go there.
But sometimes hell is on earth. It definitely was when I started wanting to lick my buddy's nipple and knew I didn't dare let him know how much I wanted it. And oh yeah, his name was Billy too! Nice coincidence! Not that it did me any good. As the years have gone by, I also think about camp Billy and the things he got me to do for him. Once I finally did get to suck cock—now get this: it didn't happen until I was 20 years old!—I'd think back and wish I could have taken Billy's hard cock into my mouth and to all the hot things I was learning to do with my tongue and my mouth. I guess that if I'm honest about it, I wish I could have become Billy's naked slave for real back then. But that was all in the past.
So anyway, all through college I knew I was queer. I started hanging around a couple of the bathrooms on campus where guys were always writing on the walls of the bathroom stalls asking for blow jobs or offering to do it. I could kick my self now for all the time I wasted doing that stuff because nothing ever came of it.
One night I overheard a couple guys talking about different bars in the area. The drinking age was 18, by the way, so all college boys were well on the way to becoming alcoholics by the time they graduated college. I didn't do much drinking because it made me very horny and I was always afraid I'd slip up and give away my secret to some cute boy I saw taking a piss in the bathroom one night. Damn, how I wanted to! But I was so fucking scared of being found out. A lot of us queers were like that back then, in case you didn't realize it, especially those of us who didn't live in the big cities. They were always more advanced than us.
So back to the guys who were talking about bars. "Don't go to the Central," one of the guys said. "It's a gay bar." I went there that night, and I kid you not, I sat at the bar and ordered a beer. The bartender (about my age and real cute) handed me my beer and grabbed my hand when I reached for it. "Damn, I want to get you in bed," he said to me. "What are you doing tomorrow night? It's my night off."
SO I'M BACK WITH A NEW STORY. For those of you who missed it, I just finished posting a story called "Q sub" under the name Gregory Gordon. That's the only story I posted under that name.
I'm listed on the Nifty Prolific Authors Page. Go there to see the list of the other stories I wrote.
I love to hear from readers. Subkoadk25@gmail.com
I'm also on Telegram. Sub_kodak