Summer of Sex with Cowboy

MY SUMMER OF SEX WITH COWBOY

Chapter 12

by Donny Mumford

I'm on the balcony pulling at my washed and still wet jockstrap. No-no. I don't dare not wearing it because Bruce doesn't put up with excuses like, 'but Bruce, I'd just washed it and blah, blah, blah. He told me to wear it except when I wash it, period.

I'm probably going to get a rash on my nuts, not that Bruce will... Wait for a second! Swallowing some cold Rolling Rock beer, I get a brainstorm. There are hotel hairdryers in both bathrooms. Needless to say, Cowboy and I have no use for them, but I can sure as shit use to dry my jockstrap. Woohoo!

Yep, the hairdryer is noisily drying this piece of shit jockstrap as I'm trying to come up with a lie to tell Cowboy about wearing a jockstrap. It takes ten minutes to dry this nasty thing, but it's cleaner, and dry too. Putting it on, I'm not saying it feels good because it's stiff with dried, um, stuff, but it certainly feels a lot better than wearing it wet.

After pulling on a pair of shorts, I'm back out on the balcony thinking how perfectly a cigarette goes with an alcoholic beverage. No-no, though, my mentor said no smoking unless he gives me a cigarette, so I'm not buying any. Hmm, but when he dismissed me from my first full day of mentoring, only one cigarette was left in the pack he took from me last night. It'll be interesting to see if he has a full pack of cigarettes tomorrow, or if I'm supposed to buy a pack for him as one of my recruit responsibilities.

Changing directions, I'm remembering how nice it was lying on the chaise lounge with him. We sort of shared two cigarettes, then took a nap with me partially on top of Bruce, the way Cowboy lies on me. Yeah, it was extremely awkward at first, but Bruce was able to get me docile. Then his body felt good as I sort of oozed into it. He's not muscular at all, but to me, his slim body is hot. My leather dog collar has that leather smell that's nice, and Bruce smells good too. Oh man, thinking back on it, that was a pretty fucking good hour or so with Bruce and me seriously bonding... I think we were bonding. I shouldn't assume we were bonding because I never know what these recruiters or mentors are doing. They have tricks they use to play with my mind.

Yeah, but lying with Bruce was good, but that wasn't the only good time I had with him today. Not at all. Sighing, I think back to rimming Bruce's asshole. I've always thought I'd hate doing that, that I'd never do it in a million years. Then, doing it when Bruce told me to, after a hesitant start, it turned out to be easy. He's so clean, and his skin has a pleasant natural scent. After I discovered rimming Bruce's ass was no big deal, I got to suck his cock again, which I'd done earlier in the day. Yeah, I really like doing that. And, then, of course, Bruce fucked me into almost a frenzy. I hardly knew where I was, in ecstasy probably, wherever that is.

That fuck was just before I was dismissed, and it was all off the charts hot, sexy, and really, really good. I've known Bruce for less than a day, and already I like him a lot. Maybe his mentoring involves a secret persuasive way to make me like him, or if it's simply a natural attraction I have for him. It's a real attraction, though, not like the fleeting attraction I had for dick-head, Richard. Bruce is basically a nice kid, whereas Richard is the opposite.

I'm enjoying daydreaming about Bruce until Cowboy puts an end to it, yelling, "Zach, where are you," with all the exuberance of the young. I yell back, "On the balcony, grab us a couple of beers and join me out here. It's beautiful." A minute later, Cowboy walks out, still wearing his bathing suit. He brings two beers and his fabulous smile with him. Handing me a beer, he asks, "What's that budge in your boxer shorts all about, big guy? Are you that happy to see me? Haha."

Glancing at my crotch, I see my musings about Bruce caused a boner Ito pop up in the jockstrap cup, pushing out my boxers. It's not as obvious when I have shorts on, but with just flimsy boxer trunk underwear, well...

Well, I'll need to tell Cowboy about the jock sooner or later. Ignoring my boner, I explain about the jockstrap by telling a lie I thought of earlier. I go, "Yeah, believe it or not, I've got a jockstrap on under the boxer shorts. It's stupid, but my new fuck buddy and I have this silly hundred-dollar bet about who can wear a jock longest. We talked about our prep school athletics accomplishment and made a drunken bet about, um, as I just said, wearing jockstraps. I'm a competitive motherfucker, so I'm determined to win the bet."

He drinks some beer and mumbles, "How old did you say you were?" I snicker, "Yeah, I know it's stupid, but there it is." Obviously, Cowboy's not all that interested, as he asks, "Um, so, what's this guy like?" Shrugging, I mutter, "Just a guy. He's fun and, um, different from my usual pick-up in that, as I told you already, he's young, and he's not a one-and-done pick-up. We like each other, sort of. So, ya know, as long as you and I stay here, I have a fuck buddy to hang out with."

Nodding his head, I can tell he'd lost interest in this topic two minutes ago, as he goes, "Uh-huh, that's cool. Gee, though, Zack, what should I do? I mean, I'm sort of falling for Lee. I hate to think of moving on, ya know?" The young think mainly about themselves.

I pat his shoulder, "Well then, don't think about it, buddy. We'll play it by ear and, anyway, we're paid up for a month. A lot can happen in a month." He nods his head again, then says, "Are you up for a little sex before dinner?" I'm so sexually satisfied I need to lie again, saying, "I'm always up for some sexy play with you, Cowboy, but you've got sand on you, and you smell like the beach, so why don't you think about taking a shower?"

He says, "You're right. Plus, I'll have our sexy play to look forward to before we go to bed tonight." He is as oversexed as I am, and that works out well for both of us. Christ, though, I think Bruce puts Cowboy and me in the rearview mirror when it comes to the matter of who is more oversexed than who. He wins, hands down.

Suddenly, that makes me wonder how in the hell did I suppress my sexual appetite to bottom all those years in the Seals? Begrudgingly, I need to thank Richard for reactivating my devotion to bottoming. He's responsible for that, and I've had more sex recently than I had in a year as a Navy Seal. It's what you set your mind to, I suppose. Strange how that works, though.

Going down to dinner, Lee looks very spiffy waiting for us outside the restaurant for dinner. He's so squeaky clean, he shines, and he's dressed to go to church wearing khakis with a sharp crease in the legs and a button-down long-sleeve starched shirt and polished loafers on his feet. Cowboy hugs Lee, saying, "Are you getting married or something?" Cowboy and I have baggy shorts with polo-type shirts untucked and sandals--clean clothes, but ultra-casual.

Lee blushes, mumbling, "I didn't know what to wear. This is another fancy restaurant you're taking me to, and I thought I was sloppy the last dinner. Zach took us to dinner." When Ronny and I were Cowboy's age, if someone we knew showed up overdressed for something, Ronny would have broken his balls all night. Cowboy is too nice to do that to Lee, though, and so was I, actually. Anyway, Instead of breaking Lee's balls, Cowboy says, "You look nice, dude." That's sweet. I go up to the front desk, and we get seated.

I order a Jack on the rocks for my before-dinner drink, and Cowboy gets carded ordering a beer, then Lee asks for an iced tea. I don't have a lot to say during dinner, which is good because Cowboy and Lee have a lot to say to one another. The age gap between us is obvious, but I'm very relaxed with the boys just the same. I often think of the uncomfortable jockstrap I'm wearing, so that's what mostly is occupying my mind anyway.

I encouraged Lee to get an appetizer and soup before his entree or veal Marsala. I don't need to encourage Cowboy as he orders two appetizers. He's an enthusiastic eater while never putting on weight.

Then, after a pretty good dinner, the boys have dessert while I have a stinger and coffee. I smile while listening to Lee say thank you for dinner twenty times, then we walk on the boardwalk for an hour, and I watch them go on a few rides at an amusement area, but mostly they want to play a video game they're competing at. I give Cowboy a fifty-dollar bill and then head for a casino to see if my luck has changed, telling Cowboy I'll see him back at the hotel.

I'm still in this excellent mood, my mind often drifting back to Bruce every time the jockstrap gets my attention, which is often. I was intrigued when we were walking the boards that, in certain lighting, the back of Cowboy reminded me very much of Bruce. Their bodies are similar, and, of course, both their hair is an identical shade of blond and cut in the same crewcut style. So, yeah, Bruce has been on my mind all night, in a good way.

I win for a while at the casino, then lose for a while, then win again, coming out sixty dollars ahead after playing roulette for an hour. Bored with that, I sit at the casino's bar nursing a Jack on the rocks, thinking about deceiving Bruce. Ya know, I've no intention of completing his six-week program. It's so wrong of me to let him think he has a chance to mentor me into a useful pussy boy.

This bar I'm in is five blocks from the one I met Richard at, so I'm not worried about running into him. Plus, Bruce doesn't strike me as a guy who drinks every night, although he did have a martini the night I met him. Obviously, he has a fake ID, so it's not out of the question he could be a regular booze drinker, but the chance he'd be in this bar is remote. And, so what if he is here? He didn't say I couldn't go to bars, and I'm wearing my jockstrap.

Yeah, actually, it'd be cool if Bruce did walk in here. What isn't cool is I just took a look around the bar and attracted the attention of a fellow sitting alone at the end of the bar. He's now staring at me. Christ, I only had a quick look at him. Okay, maybe I hesitated a fraction of a second too long in his direction because he has a cute face. That's all that registered, a cute guy from a swift glance.

I don't dare look back because I don't need this now, and I don't want it, period. Christ, after Bruce fucked my brains out today, using his dick and dildos, and I still want to be able to do Cowboy. We almost always have sex before bed. There is no way I can handle a pick-up-for-sex stranger. Gulping the rest of my drink, I get off the barstool and feel a tap on my shoulder. Balls!

Turning around, and I see the cute face guy, all five-foot-three inches of him. He says, "Whoa, you're a big one, huh?" Rubbing my face, I ask, "Can I help you with something?" He smirks, "Yeah, I'm almost positive you can. Let me buy you a drink." Well, there's no reason for me to dump on this midget, so I say nicely, "Sorry, you have me confused with someone else," and brush by him on my way out the door, then quickly get lost in the crowd on the boardwalk.

Earlier, when I walked with Cowboy and Lee, we came quite a way up the boardwalk, but it's a nice night, and then walk back to the hotel will do me good. Again I deal with my guilty conscience for deceiving Bruce but can't think of a way out of it without losing him. The only thing I can come up with is a bogus rationalization. It's this, how do I know he won't be successful at turning me into a useful pussy boy? I can't be one-hundred percent positive he won't, right?

Hmm, that's a wild stretch of rationalizing because there is no way in hell I'll be doing online dates or in-person dates with men for money. First, I don't need the fucking money, and second I'm particular about pick-up guys, and the thought of having no say in the matter is a preposterous impossibility.

I'm back at the hotel a little after eleven, hoping. Cowboy isn't too late because today's activities are catching up with me, and I'm tired. I sit out on the balcony contemplating the stars, anxious to give my contemplation of Bruce a rest.

Ten minutes later, Cowboy comes romping out on the balcony to hug my shoulders, saying excitedly, "Lee, let me suck his dick tonight. Progress, although I want him sucking my dick, ya know, so he'll get some experience before going to college." I try to be excited for him, saying, "Wow! That's great!" He sits and says, "Yeah, and his cum tasted kind of like, um, something sweet. I can't put my finger on it, but it was sweet tasting. Yum." He's such a good kid. I ask, "So, little buddy, you up for some screwing around?" He's always up for it, and we go right inside, dropping our clothes as we go. Without thinking, I drop my jockstrap along with my boxer shorts.

Not waiting for Cowboy to give me his foreplay choices, I get him in my arms for some making-out foreplay. Yeah, I'm aware that maybe I'm projecting Bruce onto Cowboy because I quickly get into some seriously hot and heavy kissing and groping, then rolling around on the bed naked. He's a superb make-out buddy, although most sex-buddies do not normally do a lot of making out with one another. Fuck that, though. Cowboy and I are into a special kind of buddy sex.

The first weeks we were together, I couldn't make myself fully commit to make-out foreplay with Cowboy because he's Ronny's little brother. That was in my head, but that barrier has faded, and I recently have admitted to myself that Cowboy is rather irresistible. We started making outstanding in the bedroom, our arms around each other stumbling as our mouths locked together, our tongues sliding together, and our cocks getting hard.

Then Cowboy tripped over my feet, which is why I went over backward onto the bed, and the rolling around started. Cowboy was on top of me and then me on top of him, our kissing and grinding hips creating pre-cum drooling that spreading on both our bodies.

The intense make-out went on long enough to feel I was going to climax before getting my boner in Cowboy's rectum. Then that changed when he felt the head of my boner poking at his asshole. He stopped wrestling around and raised both legs, moaning, "Do me, Zach. Do me hard; I need it so bad."

Omigod, there's no lubricant, so when I force my hard cock in past his sphincter muscles, it probably hurt my dick as much as his asshole. We both grunted out a muffled scream, not that it slowed me down any. I shoved my cock in all the way and, while pre-cum helped a little, his rectum didn't help at all. Then, after thrusting a bit, his anal mucus helped me get into a rhythm, and from then on, it was, "Slap, slap, slap," sounds as I was doing thrust, thrust, thrust. Cowboy moans, wrapping his legs around my waist, his head back, him moaning at the pleasure, "Ooh, ooh, ooh, Zach, fuck me harder..."

I can't recall ever fucking him harder than this, and when he cried out, "Ahhh!" his climax burst out in a mad fury shooting straight to my chest all warm and creamy, then dripping down onto Cowboy. A mind-blowing climax, and then my climax exploded, filling his bowels with cum. Then I'm doing my normal shuddering and shaking, shivers of sexual pleasure spreading out all over me--unbelievably good climax, especially when considering the four climaxes of varying degrees I've already had today.

After we burst our climaxes, we both sort of freeze, not moving, just breathing deeply for a minute with my cock still halfway inside Cowboy. Then, he goes, "Holy fuck, that rocked my world, Zachery." Nodding my head and grinning down at him, I mumble, "Good, mine too," and I pull out my dick to lie over on my back next to him. He turns his head to look at me and says, "This new fuck buddy of yours, um, is he teaching you new make-out techniques? That make-out tonight was really fucking hot, bro. I was afraid I'd blow my wad before you put your dick in me."

I'm thinking again that maybe Bruce was the reason I went off on Cowboy as I did. I mean, they're similar in a few very noticeable ways, as I've mentioned before, so perhaps I was projecting Bruce onto Cowboy a little. Maybe, subconsciously, wanting Cowboy to be Bruce. Jesus, just how hot am I for Bruce anyway?

Cowboy's conversational manner asking his question is typical of us after sex. We're very fond of one another, but, as I've stated before, we're doing buddy sex without a love component, so when we're through the sex act, we're on to other topics.

I tell Cowboy, "No, the guy hasn't taught me shit about making out because we haven't made out. It's been strictly sex." He's pulling his pud, mumbling, "Oh, yeah? What's his name?" I say, "Bruce," and realize I'd forgotten his last name. He goes, "Bruce who?" I go up on my elbow, grinning at him, mumbling, "I forget, okay? I forget his last name. He and I aren't getting married, you know. We fuck around, have a few drinks, and then fuck too. That's all."

Rolling off the side of the bed, Cowboy heads for the bathroom, mumbling, "Oh, that's cool. I wish I could say that about Lee." I follow him into the bathroom so I can wash his cum off of my chest. After that, I wash my face and hands, saying, "You're still my hottest sex buddy, Cowboy." He's taking a piss, mumbling, "You too, bro." We brush our teeth and then go to bed in the other bedroom, thinking that the bed we fucked in probably has some wet spots. And, yes, I'll be sure to leave a twenty on the pillow for the maid service.

In bed, Cowboy is partially on me as he murmurs, "G'night, Zach," and as he is strangely able to do, he's sleeping a minute later. Me? I'm wondering if Bruce was part of that wild make. I'm attracted to Cowboy, of course, who wouldn't be, but Bruce was on my mind too. I don't want to start falling all over myself, trying to ingratiate myself to Bruce, making a fool of myself in the process. But, damn, I have a quickly growing infatuation with him. Is it because he's gotten into my head somehow? Is he using a mentoring manual method that I'm not picking up on?

I fall asleep without deciding anything and thinking I've forgotten something. In the morning, I remember what it was I'd forgotten. I never put my jock back on. As I'm putting it on, another more important concern occurs to me. It's like until I met asshole Richard and then the much more likable Bruce, I haven't had unprotected sex with anyone going way back to my freshman year of college. That's until the last few nights.

And, in the heat of arousal, I' fucked Cowboy last night without a condom. We've done it bareback a few times before, but that's when I knew I was safe. Now I don't know I'm safe, and although Bruce and Richard probably aren't infected with anything, 'probably isn't good enough. It's not good enough where my responsibility for Cowboy is concerned, so I'm going to get tested.

Wearing only the nasty jockstrap, sitting in a chair, I Google HIV testing facilities in Atlantic City. There aren't any, but there's one in Brigantine, which is only five miles from here. It's a walk-in clinic opening at eight o'clock, meaning it's open right now. I'll bring Cowboy because I don't believe tricky-Ricky is the conscientious type about safe sex. The chance he screwed Cowboy without protection is, um, highly likely. Also, I want to show Cowboy how simple and private being tested is. Maybe there will be an occasion in the future when, if he's in doubt, he'll more likely get tested because we did it today.

I hear, "Come back to bed, Zack." He's awake, and I know what he means by coming back to bed. I'm like, "Sorry, not this morning, Cowboy. We'll need to skip our wake-up sex because..." and I explain the situation, blaming it all on me being irresponsible and not even mentioning Ricky. Cowboy doesn't dump on the idea as being foolish and a waste of time to his credit. I'm pretty sure it will be a waste of time but, I'm pretty sure it isn't the same as positive.

Giving him props for being adult about this, we get dressed, have a quick breakfast in the hotel's cafe, and then drive to Brigantine. The facility's waiting room is a bit shabby. Then, after a ten-minute wait, we go back to the testing area, and everything looks sterile and all that. They take blood, and we listen to a blah, blah, blah lecture, and they'll notify us of the results by text message.

Driving back to the hotel, I do not feel the need to reinforce anything the technician said because she lectured us more than enough during the blah, blah, blah portion of the experience. Instead, Cowboy feels he should reassure me he never has sex without protection, and that includes all the sex he had with tricky Ricky a while back. I listen, then tell him how glad I am to hear that, and I'm sorry for putting him in the position where testing is necessary. I don't believe him, but we're good.

As for me, I'm totally infatuated by Bruce and don't even bother pretending I'm going to stop allowing Bruce to fuck me bareback. He can fuck me without protection to his heart's content. As long as that's happening, though, I'm never having unprotected sex with Cowboy... period.

We're back in the suite at nine-forty-five, so I need to get moving. Conveniently, Cowboy is meeting Lee again this morning at ten, so I thank him again for keeping me company getting tested, grab my swimsuit, kiss him on the cheek, mumbling, "I'll see you on the beach this afternoon," and head out to meet my favorite mentor, Bruce.

I'm parking up the street from Bruce's apartment building, feeling a return of the excitement I felt last night about today with Bruce. I stuff my bathing suit partially in the pocket of my cargo shorts so as not to forget to bring it up with me. As I get out of the car, a shiver of anticipation makes me shudder; I'm back in a Bruce frame, my dick moving in the jockstrap's cup. I've still got eight minutes, and right next to the car is a convenience store. I hustle in there and buy Bruce a pack of Marlboro cigarettes.

I'm nervous that he'll look me in the eyes and ask if I kept my jockstrap on all night, which I did not, so I'm hoping the cigarettes distract him. Waiting in the foyer until two minutes often, then I ring his bell before ringing his bell and, without asking who it is over the scratchy intercom, Bruce buzzes me in. According to my cell phone, I do the first knock on his door at exactly ten o'clock. I don't need to do a second knock because Bruce opens the door immediately. "Good morning, Zachery. See, I remembered to say that today. Get your ass in here and take everything off except the jock." I smile, "Good morning, mentor." And away we go...

Bruce is looking good, and I flashback to last night's make-out with Cowboy and get an insane desire to kiss Bruce on the lips. I'm not that crazy, so I fight that off and put my swimsuit on a chair; I'm undressed in fifteen seconds, standing at attention. Bruce's mug of tea is on the coffee table, steam whiffs rising from it. He's wearing only underpants, girl's underpants--pale green and silky-looking. I'll bet his junk is feeling good in that silky material, whereas my junk is stuffed into a too-small jockstrap cup. Yes, the cup is less scratchy since I washed and dried it, but it's not a silky feeling, not even close.

Bruce's completely hairless body looks eatable. Smooth, lightly tanned tight skin from head to toes, all the parts proportionately perfect. Not a bodybuilder's body, but it's a natural nice-looking body compliment of the right genes handed down to him. I like looking at him.

Standing at attention, I'm holding the Marlboro box in my hand, which Bruce sees and smirks cutely at me, then asks, "Is that for me?" I say, "Yes, Bruce." He holds out his hand, and I give the red box of Marlboros to him. Opening the box, he mutters, "Mentors are not permitted to accept bribes from recruits."

Since that wasn't a question, I say nothing. He says, "I forget what the command-thingie is I say to get you to, um, not stand at attention." I mumble, "It's, 'at ease'," and he goes, "Yeah, at ease, so you get my lighter. It's on the kitchen table."

I do that hoping I'll get to have a smoke too. Handing him the lighter, he mumbles, "Attention," and I stand at attention, my dick needing a scratch, but I don't dare scratch it. Bruce lights a cigarette, clamping the filter between his teeth. Then, he takes care of the itch on my dick by grabbing the cup of my jockstrap and squeezing hard. I go, "Ahh, ow," going up on my toes, my hand coming out to grab Bruce's shoulder for balance.

He looks me in the eyes, his left eye partially closed against the smoke drifting up near it, and asks, "Did you wear this jockstrap continuously since I dismissed you yesterday?" That's the question I didn't want to hear. Hearing it asked in Bruce's stern voice, though, causes timid submissiveness to drop down on me, and, in my fucked-up timid voice, I mumble, "No, I didn't. I'm sorry, Bruce." Damn, my timid voice took over a mere three minutes into the second day of Bruce's mentoring.

He lets go of the jockstrap cup, and, leaving me standing at attention, he goes over to sit on the couch. Picking up the mug of tea, he swallows some, then yells, "Fuck, that's too hot," then, "That 'at ease' thing again and, um, get my ashtray from the kitchen table. You should have thought to bring it when you got the lighter."

He's unpredictable. When I've fetched the ashtray and put it on the coffee table, I stand at attention again. Bruce blows a series of smoke rings, which only an experienced smoker can do, then says, "Tell me about it." What else could he mean except tell him why I didn't wear the jockstrap all night? His casualness the past couple of minutes allowed the submissive sense to dissipated quickly, so I'm more or less myself again, and say, "Well, I parked right next to the convenience store, and I know you were down to your last cigarette, so I bought you a pack at the spur of the moment kind of thingie."

He laughs out loud, and that turns into a coughing fit because he'd just taken a drag off the cigarette. With tears in his eyes, he goes, "Don't do that. Fuck though, you know how to make me lose my shit. You did it yesterday, or was it the night before." He takes a deep breath, then, wiping his eyes, he goes, "Stop fucking around. You know Goddamn well I was referring to why you didn't wear the fucking jock as you were told."

Since I told him the truth about the important part, the I didn't wear t part, I can lie a little bit about the why part. So, I explain that I washed the jockstrap and, here's the lie part, I put it out on the balcony to dry and, um, since wearing it is so new to me, I forgot all about it until this morning.

He's nodding his head, then he says, "Huh, yeah, it was your first night with it. I can believe you might forget about it; it is out of sight and all." Then he frowns, noticing the Bandaid on my arm. He points at it as he's taking one of his deep drags off the cigarette, the ash glowing dark red; then, as he exhales through his nose and mouth, he asks, " What's with the Band-aid?" I say, "I had an HIV test this morning."

Stubbing out the cigarette in the ashtray, he mumbles, "Where'd you go, Brigantine?" I go, "Yes," and, getting up, Bruce mumbles, "Pussy boys get tested regularly, every week if you're in the pussy boy penthouse sucking dick and getting fucked ten or twelve times a day. It's free though because Richard has a discounted deal or something, and he pays for all pussy boys' testing."

I just stand here as Bruce picks up my dog collar and puts it tightly around my neck. Like yesterday, I gulp and gasp, trying to swallow. He mumbles, "Stop it. It's the same tightness as yesterday." Now I'm back to concentrating on swallowing, although I know from yesterday that I'll pretty quickly get used to the dog collar. Still, it has the intended effect of making me feel submissive to my mentor, and my body seems to slump a little. That's what it feels like, anyway.

Bruce goes on in his conversational, everyday voice, "Okay, your collar's in place. Now, I'm sorry to say, as easy on you as I am, I can't let the jockstrap infraction go unpunished, so bend over and grab your ankles." Concentrating on not letting the dog collar touch my Adam's apple, I bend over and put my hands on my knees. Bruce yawns, then says, "Are you deaf? Grab your ankles, not your knees. If you can't reach your ankles, grab as far down your legs as you can reach."

In the Seals, I used to be able to bend over with my hands flat on the ground, but since I stopped doing the agility exercises a couple of months ago, I can't do that anymore. I can almost reach my angles, though, so I do that expecting a spanking; what else, ya know?

Bruce smacks my ass with his hand, says, "Stay," and goes over to a closet to get something. He comes back with an eighteen-inch-long, two-inch-wide paddle, and right away, he uses it "Whack!" and I go, "OW! No, Bruce, I'm sorry..." Bruce mutters, "Stop it! You probably get very used to being disciplined since you insist on being a bad recruit." "Whack! Whack! Whack!" Four whacks and I'm begging in my timid-girlie voice, "Please, please, I won't forget again..." Six whacks in all, the first three across both buttocks, then the other three across the back of my legs. They're the ones that hurt the worst.

Leaving me bent over, Bruce sanders back to the closet and puts the paddle away. He comes back and mumbles, "Attention." Tears on my face because my eyes watered, I'm trembling as I stand, my whole body is trembling. He says, "Take your smacked ass and stand in the corner. You know which one. You'll become very familiar with it over the next six weeks. I go right over to the corner and put my nose touching it, as he says, "You're not injured, you're hurt, and you'll get over it ten minutes. Mentors do not injure recruits."

I mumble, "Yes, Bruce," as submissive as a ten-year-old, adding, "I'll be good." That was nothing like getting spanked with the human hand. That was serious pain.

I don't know how long; maybe it was only ten minutes when the pain faded to just a stinging and burning annoyance. During those ten minutes, all I could think about was the throbbing pain and the humiliation of begging him to stop. Yes, the pain fades as he said it would, but I'm still a grown man standing in the corner feeling sorry for myself. Fuck that, though, and I get royally pissed and decide I'm positively quitting this shit, and everyone associated with pussy boys can go fuck themselves.

The next period of time, however long it was, I spent wondering why, if I'm going to quit this shit, am I'm still standing here in the corner? Then, I wonder why I haven't once considered kicking Bruce's ass. Then I go back to the familiar, often repeated rationalization that's kept me going this far, meaning... I've already put up with so much, do I want to throw it all away because of this ten minutes of pain.

The other thing is, I brought this on myself by screwing up... again. I don't want to throw everything away and miss out on the good parts, meaning awesome sex with Bruce and finding out what the ultimate outcome is? And, I'd want to qualify if for no other reason than to tell them... 'Stick your pussy boys nonsense up your ass, Richard! I'm not interested, and, oh yeah, go fuck yourself too. Then, I'm the winner, not Richard.

Oh yeah, I'm psyching myself up now! Then, when I feel Bruce's hand grab the back of my neck and pull me from the corner, I forget all my gung-ho bullshit and want Bruce to hug me and say he's sorry. Instead, he says, "Now we can begin our regular day-two activities."

All my bravado seems to have left me, replaced by the now-familiar submissive sense to my dominant mentor, Bruce. I humbly mumble, "Yes, Bruce," feeling so submissive I might pee myself in the jockstrap's cup. I lean against him and blame everything on the cup, not Bruce. It's that dirty scratchy cup that made me forget to wear the jockstrap and cause me all that pain and humiliation.

Bruce's voice is normal as he pushes me off him, mumbling, "Get with it, recruit. Straighten up. Jesus, you think you're the only recruit to be paddled? I know how it feels; believe me, I do. I wasn't some sniveling wimp about, though. And, I'll be using that paddle a lot if you're going to insist on doing things your way. My way is the only way!" I immediately stand up straight, afraid of that fucking paddle, and say, "Yes, Bruce."

Still using a normal conversational voice, as if nothing unusual happened, he grips the back of my neck again and pushes me to the bathroom, explaining, "Richard wrote special instructions for recruit Zachery. They read... three days a week recruit Zachery needs to be cleaned out to keep his rectum decently clean for his mentor's usage. In other words, no more of your feces on condoms or, God forbid, my dick."

Lifting the toilet seat lid, he says, "You'll want to get on the toilet fast when I tell you to, so the lid should always be open during this procedure. Now, get down on your hands and knees in front of the toilet." As obedient as a small child, I do that, and he mutters, "Not facing the toilet! Your ass-end facing the toilet." Turning around on all fours, I mumble, "I'm sorry." He says, "Drop your forehead onto the back of your hands and push your asshole up high. "That's a good boy. Hold your pussy asshole up just like that."

He takes a Fleet enema from the cabinet under the sink, saying, "The manual calls for a water bottle type enema, but they're too harsh, so I ignore that instruction and use this milder and smaller Fleet enema. Do not tell Richard, although he'll probably never ask. But, if he does, tell him you get full water bottle soapy enemas. Got it?" I say, "Yes, Bruce." He makes me repeat what he just said. He goes, "Don't forget it," and I again say, "Yes, Bruce."

He chuckles, mumbling, "I'm finally used to hearing you say, 'Yes, Bruce.' That's so cool. I get off on how submissive I make you be, submissive to me. No offense, I mean, I really like you, but it's cool to be on the other side of things finally. And, I can tell you like it too. That's perfect because, believe me, after six weeks, you'll always have a submissive sense around me, but we'll be sort of partners at the same time. I'll be your boss when I put you on the streets and later. Well, I'm getting way ahead of myself."

He got excited about that, but he's back to using a monotone voice, saying, "Business first. Um, after your paddling, your buttocks already look fine. I told you you'd get over it in ten-fucking-minutes, so try being a big boy next time I paddle you, okay?" I say, "Yes, Bruce."

As he's talking, he's coating the Fleet enema's pointy end with KY lube, and then he casually and unceremoniously sticks it in my asshole and squeezes the bottle. The enema goes just like the one I got a few days ago, which is to say, it's not a pleasant experience, but when I'm sitting on the toilet at the end, it's a great feeling evacuating all that shit.

After some time on the toilet, with Bruce absent, sensibly staying out of the bathroom until the smell dissipates. When it does, he comes back in, saying, "Use the wet wipes in the package on the toilet tank to wipe yourself clean. Push the wipe with your finger into your asshole." He watches me make sure I do it properly, then mumbles, "Do it again."

Satisfied, he pushes me out of the bathroom with a grip behind my neck, saying, "I've gotta use the neck grip with you again, Zach, because you violated my trust when you lazily forgot about wearing your jockstrap."

It's hard for me to tell at times, but I think I'm still in a deep submissive frame of mind. Yeah, I am. I'm as docile for Bruce as it's possible to be. That paddling and standing in the corner were very effective. I thought I'd outsmart him by knowing his trick of putting me in a corner to make me submissive, but knowing it doesn't change anything. It's still humiliating, and I get submissive to him because I did it. If I refused and smacked him around, I wouldn't feel submissive then, would I? He's on top of me somehow, though, and I do what he tells me to do.

For the next two hours, my submissive state of mind remains steady as Bruce puts me through a series of exercises that would be child's play for me if it weren't for the dog collar restricting my swallowing. He attaches a leash to the dog collar and has me running on my hands and knees around the room or wherever he wants as he pulls on the leash. Bruce doesn't snicker or laugh the way I would if our positions were reversed. He seems neutral about this humiliation, just following the instructions. Well, not exactly following them perfectly, as this is supposed to be an exercise done outside in public.

I'm sweating and gasping as he takes the leash off, and then I stand at attention in front of the coffee table. Using his laptop, he reads the instructions for day-two recruit training. Bruce sits on the couch sipping another mug of tea, telling me, "Day two starts with the crotch smelling exercise, but you and I agree that's stupid, so we'll be skipping that from now on. The second thing is your enema, and the third is what's called humiliation exercises, which we just finished. The fourth thing..."

He goes on reading from the mentor's instructions manual, then stops to say, "Mentors are forbidden from revealing these instructions to recruits to keep them guessing. I don't care because I want you to know what I'm supposed to be doing, so you'll understand I'm doing the minimum requirements. Now listen up, Zach. You'll never qualify. plus, I'll be fired if you ever tell anyone the way I'm mentoring you."Yes, Bruce. I'll never tell anyone."

He reads on and from the manual, which claims only sixty percent of first-day recruits return for day two, so mentors shouldn't feel they've failed if their recruit is in that loser group; weeding out the weak or overly troublesome recruits is the whole point of this, and blah, blah, blah...

I actually try paying attention, but my mind wanders, and I miss most of the other instructions. Still, I nod my head when Bruce looks at me. Finally done with that, Bruce reiterates, "So, they're my instructions, and you can see how much easier I am on you compared to what Richard wants. Now, I'll read what I'm supposed to read to you. The theory behind recruit training."

Oh, good, I'll learn what I already know. Bruce told me the gist of it yesterday when we were on the beach. He reads, "As you recruits already know, this is a sex-oriented club called pussy boys club. Recruits are applying for a job, or more accurately, attempting to qualify so you can apply for a job. As with all jobs, there are requirements and skills, and knowledge employers are looking for in the applicants. For us, the requirements are very different from most organizations."

He reads on, but there's nothing relating to a dope like me who didn't realize I was applying for a job! I initially thought it was some kind of social sex club, not a job as a male prostitute. Bruce's experiences, as related to me yesterday, cleared that up. Recruits are trying to be part of a sex business as the 'product' the business sells. Richard did a bad job of making that clear the first night, or I was too lame to pick up on it.

Bruce goes on reading the reason for the mentoring, blah, blah, blah. It's basic training with a two-fold purpose. The overall premise being; basically, ideal recruits need to know their place. So, the most important objective is to weed out recruits who think they're above it all, too good to put up with all this bullshit. Bruce reads many carefully worded reasons, but it boils down to Richard only wanting pussy boys who will do what they're told, ones who can be broken down to accept the role as male prostitutes. The second part teaches recruits how to suck cock properly, take mild abuse that some clients get off on, and how to bottom submissively. That's what all the sex we do is about.

So, yeah, it's similar to military basic training, except the military is interested in team players who do what they're told while building up their bodies and learning skills. Hence, they're able to endure warfare, be tougher than their enemies. Pussy boys are all about breaking down recruits to be submissive sex participants. While the military doesn't care what their recruits look like, pussy boys need to be attractive in various ways. Different types appeal to clients' different tastes, who pay for the right to ogle sexy guys and/or have sex with them.

Bruce reads the entire lecture included all the double-talk rationalizing the harsh treatment recruit can expect, but the gist of it is what I just summarized in my head. Nothing about that prostitution thing appeals to me, and that is a world-class understatement!

When he finished, Bruce says, "Okay, that was boring, but I try to follow most of the instructions, so there it is. Now, Zack, lube yourself in the bathroom, then rim me better than you did yesterday, lick my balls and suck my cock better than you did yesterday, then I'll probably fuck you better than I did yesterday."

He only alluded to the paddling discipline once, quickly moving on to something else, almost as if it never happened. Well, he was right, saying I wasn't injured and right that the pain and burning would fade in ten minutes. Even so, the spanking and the hour standing in the corner had a profound effect on me, and I'm still acting extremely submissive to Bruce.

Submissiveness still has its grip on me and, while I didn't pay attention to a lot of the bullshit mentor's manual, I did stare at Bruce the whole time he was reading. And, the whole time, I was thinking how cool Bruce looked and how authoritative he was. He reeks authority that has to be extremely unusual, coming from a nineteen-year-old who looks closer to sixteen. I watched his sex lips moving and got a buzzing sensation coming from my jockstrap-cup-crunched penis. I was more or less transfixed by him, submissively transfixed.

Plus, his skin is so smooth, and his pale complexion is evenly lightly tanned, looking good with his big brown shiny eyes and his slim eyebrows and cute nose. I liked watching him read from his laptop and when his eyes left the screen to look up at me to see if I agreed. That's when I timidly said, 'Yes, Bruce.' I said it about twenty times, and I saw how he held back a grin every time I said it. Through the discipline, the enema, the dog collar, and on-all-four exercises, my jockstrap remain in place. It still is, but now I have a painful erection, the head of it trying to squeeze past the waistband around my belly.

Thinking those thoughts, I have half a smile on my face in the bathroom doing what I was told, lubing my asshole. I hear, "Hurry up in there, Zach!" I hurry up alright, jogging out to Bruce with my asshole packed with KY Jelly. His finger points down, and I get on my knees in front of him. He says, "Go ahead, recruit, you know what to do by now." Nodding and saying, "Yes, Bruce," I gently pull his girl's underpants down to his ankles. He steps out of them, saying, "Today, so you'll learn how to do it, rim me while I stand here."

Well, if he isn't going to bend over, yeah, that is a different challenge. On my knees, I walk around behind him and kiss both his butt cheeks, kiss them like I really want to, sloppy five-second kisses. Yeah, he has a cute ass. After that show of submissiveness, it's the same basic rimming procedure, but harder than when he's bending over. Spreading his butt cheeks, I need to bend my head back to get to his anus as it is that's straight down between his legs when he's standing.

With my face squeezed between his legs, my head back, my nosed pressed near the top of his ass crack, I get my tongue right on his asshole and press on it with all the strength I have in my tongue, which is disappointedly not much, but I get the lips pf his asshole to quivers. Shit, that gets my cock hard again in the jockstrap cup, and now my dog collar is strangling me a little. I inhale through my mouth, my chin pushing his scrotum forward, and then lap at Bruce's asshole like a dog lapping his empty doggie dish. Lap, lap, lap. Quick laps, twelve of them before I need to pull my face away and take some deep breaths. Bruce smells outstanding this morning, a pleasant clean boyish scent. And, this hairless thing helps me do this a lot.

My face is again squeezed between his legs, and this time Bruce spreads his legs and hunches down slightly. Now I really can more easily lick, lick, lick over and around his anus, getting it twitching again. My cock is painfully throbbing in its tight cup, causing me to gulp, scared my dog collar is caught on my Adam's apple. Oh man, thank God it's a false alarm, and I finally can get the tip of my tongue inside Bruce's rectum. I push, push, push. Working up a sweat, straining my head back, and eventually work my tongue up almost an inch. I leave it there but stop pushing because I think I'm going to cum.

Holding my breath for a few seconds, willing the climax to back off, and it does, but not a whole lot. Jesus, I've lost track of how much time my face has been against Bruce's ass. He's aroused, I know that because I know Bruce, but I can't hear if he's moaning because his thighs are against my ears. Then he takes a step forwarding, and I can now yea him. Bruce says, "Good job, now my balls."

Mumbling, "Yes, Bruce," I'm quickly walking on my knees to get in front of him. Planning ahead, I push down my dog collar getting it away from my rather insignificant Adam's apple, getting the dog collar down an inch. Then my head goes back so I can start my tongue laying on his now wet asshole. Leaving it on his anus a second, I then drag my tongue in a long lick from his asshole up and over his scrotum, pressing on his balls, passing when by them, and then licking up and over his scrotum to the root of his awesome penis, which I'd moved to the side with my fingers. After doing that same licking seven or eight times, his ball sack is literally dripping with my saliva with me again right at the tipping point of blowing my load into my jockstrap.

Bruce saves me again, saying, "Take a few deep breaths. Calm yourself down. I know how aroused you get from doing this for me, but I need you to suck my cock now and suck it as you love it." I do love it. "Yes, Bruce."

I gasp then as I squeeze the jockstrap cup, trying to move my boner upward. One second later, I'm sucking and licking his cock like a crazy person, and a minute later, after moaning almost as much as I do it, Bruce blows a huge load of cum into my mouth, all of it eventually going down my throat. Panting and wanting more, I suck on the head, getting some drops of cum out. I swallow the last of Bruce's cum, and then lick his softening cock clean of any cum remnants.

Somewhere between licking and sucking his cock, and swallowing the last of his cum, I had a forceful climax that filled my jockstrap cup. I only stopped activities for a second or two, gasping and shaking before going back at it to please my dominant mentor.

Finished licking his soft penis clean, I sit back on my heels, breathing deeply. Bruce rubs my head, saying, "That was excellent, Zack. Get yourself cleaned up in the bathroom. Wipe out your jockstrap cup and get moving. Fuck, Zach, your cum is leaking on the floor. Hurry up! Get moving." As I'm running to the bathroom, Bruce yells after me, "When you're done doing that, I'll twist in your butt plug, and then we'll take a break on the beach."

Running into the bathroom, I'm pissed because 'He didn't fuck me. As he said, he would' Oh man, how pathetic is that of me? I'm seriously wondering if this deep submissiveness will permanently be a part of me moving onward.

Wiping out the jockstrap cup, then putting toilet paper in it to partially keep my junk dry. I clean my cock and balls with wet paper towels, dry them and hurry back out to the living room. Bruce has my butt plugin in hand, the same one from yesterday, so I immediately bend over, and he screws it in. It hurts, but not much, and I manage to keep quiet except at the end when most of the opening of my anus takes place. Then I groan, "Bruce, no, not another twist..." He does two final twists, muttering, "For Christ's sake, will you stop it!"

I'm pissed off at myself for wimping out there and disappointing Bruce. I know that now it's in my ass; it'll be an hour or so before I get used to the plug again. It hurts me as I move my legs, putting on my swimsuit. Bruce rolls his eyes at my grimaces, making me feel like a pussy, but it hurts! When I've got my swimsuit on, pouting a little, Bruce nods emphatically at the fresh beach towels and a new bottle of sunblock. I pick them up along with his sunglasses, cigarettes, and lighter. Juggling everything, I timidly ask, "Um, Bruce, do you want to wear your sunglasses?" He goes, "Oh, yeah, thanks."

Handing him the sunglasses, he says, "Put your t-shirt on." Fuck, I put everything down and pull on my T-shirt. Picking up everything, he leads us out, without his usual grip at the back of my neck. That's a good sign, I hope. Outside, without talking, we walk to the beach, me walking bowlegged and hunched over a little, carrying everything. The dog collar is almost forgotten by now with all the other things I'm dealing with.

While I have good feelings for Bruce, I miss the more personal side he showed yesterday. I fucked up by not wearing my jockstrap last night, and Bruce hated that I caused him to discipline me with the paddle, so that's why he's not his usual talkative goofy self. It's my fault, so, in my submissive state of mind, at the beach, I mumble, "I'm really sorry for screwing up so badly, Bruce." He says, "So am I, Zach," and then nothing else.

That's a start to getting back the way we were, anyway. I carefully spread the oversized beach towels, and when Bruce lies down, I do too, getting right next to him, our sides touching. He quietly says, "Lift your head," and when I do, he puts his arm over so my neck can rest on it. He's finally softening up. Seriously, I don't care; he's only nineteen; I think he's the hottest, coolest guy ever. I sort of lie against and a little bit up on his side the way Cowboy does with me, and Bruce murmurs, "Be cool, Zach, Don't overdo it," and I think it's awesome he's calling me Zach instead of the formal Zachery.

I keep a running count in my head, so I know about when thirty minutes is up, then say, "It's about a half-hour, Bruce. Should we turn over?" He goes, "Yep," and we do with his arm now casually lying across my shoulder blades as if we're boyfriends. Christ, I wish he'd fuck me right here on the beach. I wouldn't care if that was way, way overly demonstrative, fuck demonstrative.

Keeping time in my head, I remind Bruce it's time to put sunblock on. Still, we do that without talking much, and I think it's fucking sexy as hell feeling his hands all over me. Then, later he wants to go for a swim. I don't, but that doesn't matter, and my jock is immediately saturated with salty ocean water. I don't even think of complaining about it or even mentioning it.

After lunch on the boardwalk, the afternoon goes by exactly as it did yesterday, ending the same way. He unscrews my butt plug, and I go at it, rimming and licking and sucking parts of Bruce's nineteen-year-old body, and finally, Bruce fucks me as well as anyone has ever fucked me before in my life.

After we both get our breathing under control, I get dismissed and sent on my way. The dismissal was an hour later than yesterday because we got started an hour late. The paddle-spanking and the hour I stood in the corner was only mentioned one time all day, but that is, of course, why we got started late. On my way out, Bruce alludes to it, saying, "Except for that, you had a perfect day today, Zach. I'm proud of you." I mumble again, "I'm really sorry, Bruce. It will never happen again." He nods and says, "Tomorrow, ten o'clock sharp," and pats my back, sort of giving me a little push encouraging me to leave. I think he recognized I was reluctant to leave him.

So, Bruce seeming mature beyond his age, ended the most unusual seven hours of my life. I only notice my submissive sense fading when I start the car. Thinking about it, I realized it was actually fading all day slowly and being replaced by a growing emotional feeling of attachment for Bruce. I also realized I never directed blame to him, just to myself.

At the suite, I shower and wash my jockstrap, then dry it with the hairdryer. As I'm doing that, I'm also planning on how I'll have sex with Cowboy while wearing my jock. First, I plan to tell him an elaborate story about my new sex buddy, and I have a bet on who can put up with a jock twenty-four hours a day the longest. Then, I'll stretch the cup down below my balls as Bruce did with the cup yesterday when fucking Cowboy. It's not a great plan, but it's the bet I got.

Huh, did Bruce pull my jockstrap cup under my nuts to demonstrate how I should do it if I want to fuck someone? He probably knows about Cowboy because I told Richard everything that night, and he told Bruce. Nah, I think Bruce is awesome, but that's giving him too much credit.

Satisfied with my overall plan about Cowboy and me having our buddy-sex, I walk to the beach to hook up with the boys. They're cool, and we joke around, but I do not go in for a swim, and I don't go on the run I did yesterday. Cowboy, at one point, asked me if I was okay because I wasn't doing my usual ballbusting. I told him I was feeling super fine, just feeling extra mellow today. Actually, that's the truth too, but I didn't realize it myself until I told Cowboy.

The boys are going to the movies to see some superhero flick tonight, having a pizza for dinner. Before they go. I stay in the suite and have a room service meal of two ham and cheese sandwiches around nine o'clock. Most of the time, I attempted to analyze what happened today and talked myself in circles. It amazed me how mature Bruce seemed today, and I'll bet it's the way he's is whenever Richard's around. Sometimes he's clueless and goofy, and other times stern and clueless, and then very mature acting as he was today. How the hell am I going to figure a guy like that out?

What's also giving me fits is trying to rationalize why I'm still doing this. The reason I've told myself before is, it's my first, um, adventure on my own. Something new and different, and maybe I hate admitting it's a failure, so I keep plowing ahead. It's like, none of the adventures Ronny got us into ever seemed like failures. Then there's my disjointed reasoning that I continue because I've already done this or that, and why waste that effort? Just do the one more thing that turns into one more and one more.

Of course, sex with Bruce is a major reason I've stuck it out this long. Discovering again how much I like bottoming is another factor confusing the issue. Still, it's hard to accept my submissive behavior. That's a problem after the fact. While I'm super submissive to Bruce, it's awesome. But, submissive? Fuck, I've considered myself elite during four years of doing things few others could. I was a macho man, certainly not submissive! I was one tough motherfucker who you do not want to fuck with, and yet nineteen-year-old Bruce has me groveling to please him.

None of it computes. It's not rational. And then there are the things Richard told Bruce about me. Things that Richard got me to tell him about myself. And, oh fuck, I told him every 'effing personal thing in my life. He had me so flustered that first night I confessed my life to him, and now I can't stand the bastard.

He told Bruce I was looking for a new leader to follow. What bullshit! And, I'm supposedly missing the structure of the military life, of being told what to do. In other words, I'm the perfect candidate to be programmed into their cult, which basically it is. A pussy boy cult. Yes, I told Richard everything about myself, so he must know money isn't an incentive, but he apparently didn't tell Bruce that part. He advised Bruce to concentrate on my loss of Ronny, my leader, and that I desire structure, which he and Bruce thinks his pussy boy club will provide. Hmm, Bruce is doing good at exploiting those needs I supposedly am looking for.

I'm twisting my brain into a pretzel, trying to come to grips with all of these factors, not wanting to believe I want structure, and I'm looking for a leader in my life. If Richard's right that I'm looking for those things, I'm not consciously aware of it. Maybe they're subconscious, and, what the hell, maybe because of Richard's education about physiological matters, and he sees those needs in me. Anything's possible, I suppose.

Complicating everything is I do like Bruce. It's too early in the game, but maybe I even have a growing affection for him romantically, and possibly I'm confusing that with my affection for Cowboy, who so is somehow mixed in with my affection for Bruce. And the number one complication is there isn't any way I'm not going to be a pussy boy so that Bruce will fail with his first recruit. Basically, I'm deceiving him, and it's all a pile of bad.

In the end, I don't know what the fuck to do.

Cowboy comes here at twelve o'clock. He's full of pep telling me how he sucked Lee off again tonight and that Lee says he'll try sucking Cowboy's dick maybe tomorrow. I tell him the lie about my jock on, and Cowboy laughs and then rustles through the two satchels he carries his stuff in and comes up with the jock. The one he needed to wear for the gym at prep school. So we both wore jocks having sex, with the jock's cups under our balls. We're giggling until I got my condom-covered boner up his ass. Then it was moaning and grunting for six or eight minutes until we both blew our loads.

The next four days went pretty much like today, minus the discipline. Each day Bruce becoming more like he was during day one. By Friday, day eight of my affiliation with pussy boy personnel, Bruce is noticeably affable to the extent I felt a real camaraderie between us. After my enema and then rimming, licking, and sucking parts of Bruce's delicious body, he said I deserved a reward for being the near-perfect recruit, one who in just six days of mentoring was as qualified to be a pussy boy as most guys are after three weeks. That implies Bruce is a brilliant mentor, but he gives me credit too.

That's swell, except six weeks are required no matter if Bruce thinks I don't need that long or not. I don't care one way or the other because I'm not going to be a pussy boy in either case. However, what does matter is I do want to maintain this relationship with Bruce as long as I can. In that regard, I've selfishly decided to deceive Bruce for at least another week, and probably longer than that. That's not fair to Bruce at all, but there it is...

Anyway, the reward Bruce spoke of is him spreading the MAN hair dissolving creme on me, and then I do it for him. And, like spreading the sunblock, this involves lots of touching, which I really like doing and receiving. He says we'll take a shower together, have lunch, run an errand and spend time on the beach before doing our normal heavy sex things before he dismisses me.

Sounds great! After the MAN creme, we showered together, bathing one another, both of us with hard boners. Bruce, who is as oversexed as me and my ward, Cowboy, did his usual gasping and deep breathing until he reached out of the shower for a glob of KY lube, lubed my just-cleaned ass, and then fucked me in the shower. It was marvelous with us standing, Bruce's arms tightly around my waist and his hips driving his awesome seven-inch boner back and forth in my rectum. Yeah, there was pain at first, but as Cowboy did years ago, I'm dealing with the pain much better. And, yeah, even liking it a little. As for Bruce and my climaxes, holy shit, unbelievably great climaxes for both of us.

So, yeah, it sure seems as though Bruce has similar feelings for me that I have for him. Feelings of a liking-and-maybe-sort-of-romantic-feeling as well. Neither of us mentioning that possibility in words, just our eyes and deeds. Afterward, Bruce probably felt he exposed his feelings too far and said, "I need to type a report on my laptop, so you stand in the corner while I do it."

He let me take off my jock during the shower, and he hasn't put in my butt plug yet, so I stand in the corner without my dog collar or the other teaching devices, naked but clean and awesomely fucked too. Still, I didn't do anything to deserve standing in the corner, so that's a downer. Obviously, Bruce has authority over me, and so he can do what he wants, and, by now, he has no doubt I'll do what I'm told. Bottom line, I'm feeling wicked submission to him again.

Standing here, my nose touching the corner of the two walls, I'm thinking I probably was acting too familiar. It's my fault Bruce put me in this corner again. I need instead to remember I'm only a recruit and should be more humble to my mentor. I overdid something that made Bruce realize he needs to put me in my place again. He can be so nice, though, and I drop my guard and act almost like his equal, which I'm not in this pussy boy world.

Standing in the corner for a half hour seems like two days, so it's a relief feeling Bruce grip the back of my neck, pulling me away from the corner, mumbling, "Sorry 'bout that, Zach, but you forgot your place. I'm partially to blame for being too lacks with you, but I'm not going to put myself in the corner, right?" My voice seems to come from far away as I say, "Yes, Bruce."

When I'm in the corner, I try fighting off the deep submissiveness that I know is why Bruce puts me here. And, this time, I'm positive I've done that but feeling Bruce's hand gripping the back of my neck, I realize I'm still in a fairly deep submissive state of mind, exactly as he intended.

My mind is sort of numb, and instead of being royally pissed at Bruce, I want to hug and kiss him for rescuing me from the corner.

I'm easy for Bruce to handle; I'm as docile to him as a kitten. He, of course, recognizes the stages recruits go through because he went through the same things himself. He knows I'm in a dizzy submissiveness frame of mind, and I'd do just about anything for him. Some mentors undoubtedly take advantage of recruits in this state, but Bruce doesn't. Oh yeah, he grins knowingly and then rubs the head of his kitty cat, smiling and saying, "Let's have a pizza for lunch."

Then, bending me over, Bruce mutters, "Stay," and I'm as obedient as a loyal dog to my owner. Bruce has a lubricated butt plug in his hand. With one hand on my back, he twists in my butt plug with the other, saying, "Listen up, Zach, there's some of my cum still inside you, so when the plug is out before I dismiss you, you need to use a plain water Fleet enema to flush out the cum remnants. It's simple hygiene, and you're to do it every day from now on." From somewhere, I hear, "Yes, Bruce," and a sizzling shiver goes through me, feeling sexy.

The finally three twists getting the butt plug-in stretches my asshole the most and hurt a lot. I grimace, groaning, "Ow, no Bruce...". He smacks my bare ass, muttering, "Oh, stop it, please..."

I'm still bent over making a 'face' at the pain coming from my ass. Bruce sternly says, "Stand up and put your jockstrap back on." Standing, I'm making about grimace, and a quietly muttered, "Yes, Bruce."

I put my jockstrap on, carefully moving my legs, but not careful enough because the butt plug rubs my prostate, and I smother a gasp, then lift my other leg getting the other strap on, and pull the jockstrap up, but it's crooked. Bruce goes, "C'mon, get it on correctly," and he rearranges the straps, pulling them up tightly; I go, "Ah!" then try fitting my cock and balls in the too-small cup as Bruce give me another smack on my ass, saying, "Get dressed, Zach. We'll have a cigarette on the balcony, then go to lunch."

He's been letting me smoke a cigarette when he has one the past four days. I bought him another pack yesterday. I take a few steps, walking bowlegged just to see that I can. Bruce is rolling his eyes, muttering, "Drama queen." I fetch the cigarettes, lighter, and ashtray, then carry them to the balcony. Oh man, after standing in a corner, it's weirdly wonderful seeing the panoramic view of wide-open spaces out here.

Bruce is on the rickety chaise lounge motioning with his finger, saying, "Sit next to me." I look dazed, and he goes, "Snap out of it! I don't want to see any more dramatic butt-plug-grimaces from you. You've got four more weeks of wearing a butt plug so, get used to it." "Yes, Bruce." He murmurs, "You're doing so well with most exercises; I don't understand why you have so much trouble with the butt plug exercise."

That wasn't a question, but I got the message and concentrate on sitting naturally, but that doesn't work. Bruce doesn't see my grimace because he's taking a cigarette from the box. I manage to sit by him on my left buttocks only. He nods at the Marlboro box, and I take a cigarette out, mumbling, "Thank you, Bruce." About fifty percent of my submissiveness has drifted away by now, and I take a deep breath, then take a drag off my smoke.

Exhaling smoke, Bruce says, "Next to the pizza parlor where we'll have lunch, there's the barbershop I always use. Tomorrow's Saturday, which means we need to show up for our two-week inspection by Richard. That's the reason I had us do the MAN creme earlier and why we'll both get our hair cut after lunch, then maybe we'll spend the rest of the day on the beach if you're good."

I say, "Yes, Bruce," trying not to grimace, but he put the fucking butt plug is two-twists tighter than usual. It's too tight, and that's not my only problem either. Somehow, half the head of my dick is caught at the edge of the cup. I want to spend this afternoon on the beach, so I'm going to 'good,' meaning I don't dare try adjusting my dick in the cup. That will annoy Bruce.

We're smoking as I resist squirming to adjust the cup's position, maybe. Then Bruce gets up and goes to the railing, saying, "Come over here with me, recruit," I take this golden opportunity to adjust my cup's position, and spread my legs apart wider to relieve the butt plug pressure a little. When I'm close to him, my side against his, Bruce, unconcerned with my discomfort, Says, "We've had the best weather for like two weeks in a row now, huh?" I nod, "Yes, Bruce."

He chuckles and rubs my head again, murmuring, "How many times do I need to tell that you're allowed to talk when we're on break?" He adds, "And, it's a damn good thing I decided you'll get a haircut. I just rub your hair, and it felt soft and a little bit fluffy. Your hair grows fast." I say, "Um, I didn't notice," and he's like, "Howling ago was it that Richard made you get it cut? It was only nine or ten days ago, right?" I go, Uh-huh," and he says, "Okay, I'm putting you on a ten-days haircutting schedule. You keep track of it, and don't screw that up." "Yes, Bruce," He mutters, "That fuck, Richard, wants our recruit's hair bristly, not girlie fluffy like yours," and he gives my head another rub.'' My hair is only a half-inch; what the fuck?

So what? I shrug because haircuts are no big deal. When we weren't on a mission, we'd get haircuts almost weekly as Navy Seals. He has us sitting together again, telling me, "Relax a little, Zach, we're good. I've forgiven you all your previous screw-ups." I nod and force a chuckle, muttering, "Thanks, um, oh no, I almost said thanks, Bruce, again."

Finished our cigarettes, Bruce lies back on the chaise lounge, mumbling, "We might as well do the familiarity exercise so that I can check off that block on your recruit reporting form." I try not to smile as I'm squeezing in next to him. Hell, yeah, I like the so-called familiarity exercise. It's another bizarre idea of Richard's, but one I like a lot.

Holding his arm out so I can lie the back of my neck on it, Bruce mutters, "Now relax." It was slightly awkward when he first had me do this, and I was a bit stiff, partially because I'm usually barely on the chaise lounge, and Bruce would say, "Do it properly!" Ha, nowadays, I snuggle right in almost on top of him, feeling totally comfortable and liking it a lot. Lately, I've even been putting my arm across his chest, sort of hugging him. I don't know how much more comfortable with Bruce's body I can be after two weeks of the most consistently intimate involvement I've ever had with anyone. No making-out, but other than that, the two of us constantly touch in one way or another.

He goes, "We've done this every fucking day for a week, and I can feel you're comfortable lying with me." Yeah, well, I probably shouldn't tell him I've got another boner lying with him. He casually rubs his fingers up and down the back of my head, and in fifteen seconds, I feel my cock stretching out longer, crushing itself inside my jockstrap's cup. The side of my face is on Bruce's shoulder and chest, so I'm looking down, seeing his crotch pushing up his shorts. It makes me smile and feel good that Bruce gets aroused lying with me. It's not all that surprising considering the amount of sex we've had together the past ten days and, as I said, the overall intimacy of this so-called training. I forget about my butt plug when we're doing this.

It's not unusual for one of us, or both, to take a nap during this exercise, but not today. After ten silent minutes, Bruce says, "Okay, this qualifies as a fulfilled exercise. We need to get moving if we want some beach time." and when he begins to sit up, so I do too, like I'm his shadow. I'll bet he cut this short because his boner started to throb, haha. That's cool.

On the way to my car, I ask, "Um, do you think you can make up an excuse for me to get out of that inspection with Richard tomorrow?" He snorts out a laugh, mumbling, "You can't be serious?" I whine, "He makes me nervous, and I don't want him fucking me again. You're memento, not him.

Bruce goes, "Calm the fuck down, and stop that whining! He's not going to fuck you. He was joking the last time about that. You're mine now. When I qualify you, you'll be in my stable exclusively, meaning I'm the only member of the pussy boys who can fuck you, so don't worry."

Driving us to the barbershop, I'm thinking... I'll be in his stable? God, I'm going to hate dropping the bomb on Bruce that I'm never going to be in anybody's stable.

There are three barbers in the barbershop, but Bruce waits until his favorite barber, Nick Dinero, finishes giving two ten-year-old twin boys haircuts. The boys' mother pays, and then Nick says, "Bruce, buddy, how they hanging?" Oh, how clever, I never heard that before, except ten thousand times. Bruce says, "Yo, Nick, whassup?" Then, nodding his head at me, he says, "Give my boy here the haircut I always get," and Bruce pats the back of my head to get me up. Nick, the barber, frowns when he sees me walking bowlegged, and then I'm grimacing when I sit in the chair squashing my butt plug.

The barber looks at Bruce with a questioning expression like, 'Is this guy okay?' Bruce says, "He pulled a muscle, that's all." Twenty minutes later, we're walking out of the barbershop with identical military-style short crewcuts. Going into the pizza joint next door, Bruce greets an old man behind the counter, "Hey, Tony, whassup?" Tony shrugs, asking, "Whaddaya want?"

Grumpy guy, but that doesn't bother Bruce. He goes, "Whaddaya mean, what do I want. I want the usual." The guy gets two slices of pizza from a glass case with a heating lamp thingie and puts them on a paper plate, mumbling, "Five dollars."

Bruce gets two bottles of sixteen-ounce Cokes from a cooler, saying, "I want two orders," and then he pays for the pizza and sodas. He paid for our haircuts too. People are eating at two of the four small tables in this over-heated little shop, so we take the paper plates of pizzas and our sodas outside to one of the small tables out there.

The pizza is average at best, nothing special at all, but I don't mention that. Bruce is in a perfect mood, so I take this opportunity to ask, "Doesn't Richard make you nervous?" Bruce shrugs, "Yeah, he was my mentor and a real bitch about it too. Still, I'm quite grateful to him for qualifying me as a pussy boy, then making me a mentor. I could be a millionaire in a couple of years. You'll be my first pussy boy earning money for me and, as my first, I'm gonna split what you make fifty-fifty with you. Most mentors keep eighty percent of what their boys in their stables earn."

He isn't going to earn a penny off of me, but I'm curious. "Um, how exactly am I going to earn this money. I mean, I get the idea, generally, but how will I start?" Bruce finishes his second slice of pizza and says, "I can understand why you're anxious to get to the money-earning part, and you'll learn all about that in week six. All the specifics, but generally speaking, you'll start in the street like all new recruits. Clients will drive up and nod at the guy who interests them. And, you will interest them more than most, heh heh, I have not to doubt about that."

I don't even want my second slice, so I'm like, "Do you want this, Bruce?" He takes it and bites the point of the slice as I ask, "What will I do then?" Shrugging, he goes, "That's what weeks five is all about, Zach. Don't get ahead of yourself. But, generally speaking, you'll go over to the car, ask the guy if he's a cop. If he says no, you smile your sexiest smile and ask what he'd like. Mostly it'll be blow jobs, but they're fast, and you can do five an hour at fifty bucks a pop. Two hundred fifty bucks an hour. Then it's two hundred for a regular ten-minute fuck in the back seat, or maybe standing up in an alley, whatever. It's damn good money earned quickly."

I'm rolling my eyes like, you've got to be fucking kidding me, but he misinterprets my eye-roll, chuckling and saying, "Yeah, I see you've got dollar signs dancing in your head imagining how much you'll be making a week, but that's only the first three or four months. It gets better after that breaking-in period. Then I'll get you some inside work online. Mostly showing your cock, balls, and ass to horny guys, older guys. It's a hundred-fifty dollar tagged onto their credit card; if they want to watch you jerk off for one of them online or making an in-person date, the price goes way up. That's five hundred dollars per hour, and so forth."

Unbelievable! Done with lunch, walking to the car, I ask, "And you did all this?" He nods, "Uh-huh, Richard recruited me off the boardwalk. He got me a fake ID; after qualifying me, he assigned me to his right-hand man, Dale Sinclair, to supervise my on-the-street whoring and, let me tell you, Dale was not as nice as I am. Anyway, that was over a year ago. I committed to dropping out of high school and was on the streets of New York in July, living with three other of Dale's pussy boys in a decent apartment. He was overseeing the four of us, and we were all very competitive, on the streets like twelve hours a day racking up the bucks."

Back at Bruce's apartment, my head spinning, I hardly can believe anyone would do the shit Bruce described, but what do I know? I'm feeling awful for Bruce, though. Not so much that he did what he said as he seems thrilled with it, but bad for him because I'm going to be a huge disappointment to him. I've got to tell him there isn't any chance I'd do any of that. The sooner, the better too. I can't let him go on with this ridiculous training, thinking I'm on board with any of it.

This will be so fucking hard to do, but mostly so fucking hard for him to hear. Why have I let it go on this long? Oh shit, I've answered that question to myself ten times already. It's because I'm hooked on Bruce, basically. The other reasons are just filler. Dammit!

To be continued... donnymumford@outlook.com.

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