Summer of Sex with Cowboy

MY SUMMER OF SEX WITH COWBOY

Chapter 14

by Donny Mumford

My two-week inspection by Richard went very badly. It's called a two-week, fourteen-day inspection, although I'd only been in the program ten days. Yes, Bruce worked in the mentor's manual requirements for fourteen days. Maybe that's what pissed Richard off because, from the moment he walked into the office, it didn't feel he had any intention of giving me a passing grade, or whatever they call it. And, why the hell am I even in the program for day ten? Initially, I was intrigued, so I'd give it two or three days, not ten.

Every-fucking-thing in Richard's mentoring manual is absurd, so it's dumb of me to still be doing this. Yes, a normal person's perspective would be; it's absurd! However, this isn't intended for anyone normal. It's intended for lost young gay guys. Gay guys who are tired of floundering directionless in this fast-paced world. Disillusioned gay guys who are susceptible to cult-like brainwashing. Guys who haven't had any success coping with the real world, so why not give this pussy boy world a try. And, why give up their ass for free when they get paid for it and give the finger to the straight world simultaneously?

Be a pussy boy prostitute, um, male escort, and get rich like Richard promises. Do it for a couple of years and save your money to buy a book store, or a bar, or whatever your dream is. Those are some of the bullshit reasons someone might buy into Richard's initial persuasive charm. I don't fit into any of those traps, ones that susceptible young recruits buy into and then get stuck in Richard's spider web, but yet I'm stuck just the same.

Okay, yeah, I was bored, and in a rut, I decided to play along for a few days. Richard is a very intriguing, extremely handsome Japanese young man with truckloads of confidence. Hell, he quickly got me to be his bottom when I hadn't done that in over four years. I loved it!

Yes, I was thrilled that Richard broke down some kind of mental block I had about being a bottom during anal sex, and it didn't take him long to do that. Five minutes, maybe. There was never a question who was going to fuck who five minutes after we met at the boardwalk's railing. I was enthralled by Richard that first hypnotic night.

Then, I wanted to see if I was still enthralled, so I saw Richard again, and that's when I met Bruce. I wasn't enthralled by Richard anymore; Bruce enthralled me, so two days became three, then four, then ten, and then the disastrous two-week inspection.

It couldn't have gone much more wrong than it did for me, and yet, I'm still contemplating going on. I've become impossibly intrigued with Bruce, so I continue. And, of course, I admit being intrigued by nineteen-year-old Bruce is a pathetic reason for putting up with the humiliation I experience from doing the stupid mentoring manual idiocy. Still, here I am about to do it onward.

All the above is going around in my head, making little sense at the moment. Nothing is making much sense as I'm trying to recover from that painful paddling. It was only the first one of three paddlings per day, for a seven-day total of twenty-one paddling sessions. My crime... I talked back to Richard.

The paddle used is a serious punisher. Bruce swings it from behind him, his arm coming around in a fast sweeping arc that connects with my buttocks, flattening them and making a wood-against-flesh sickening "WHACK!" sound. My buttocks are left quivering with hot pain, and I scream. No, not some woman's scream when she sees a mouse or something, but an "OOOWWW!" scream that didn't sound like that coming out because of the ball gag in my mouth. My humiliation scream sounded like a garbled gagging noise for the video recording and not very loud at all.

My ill-advised talking back to Richard has caused a lot of trouble for Bruce too. He's on mentoring probation now, and Richard's given Bruce one week to straighten me out, humble me, and get me to know my place. I feel terrible for letting Bruce down, which is why I cooperate in getting us both back in Richard's good graces. At least, that's my best guess as to why I'm still doing this. As I said, I'm confused and not sure of anything right now.

The pain is insistent until Bruce sprays pain reduction spray on my ass; then, the pain reduces to a lingering stinging/burning sensation that feels like the paddling peeled off the skin. And as I find out, that continues for an hour or two, which leads to the time for my next discipline paddling, so... not great.

We're doing all this late Saturday afternoon, about the time Bruce would normally be dismissing me for the day. Instead, we're just beginning a full training schedule. I hate when my routine is fucked, but we were at the meeting until about four-thirty. I fucked up with Richard, was put in the corner for ten-or-twelve-minutes, then we came right back to Bruce's apartment to do the paddling, so now it's five o'clock and, as I said, beginning a regular day of mentoring training, without dinner. Part of the punishment, I suppose.

After recovering from the discipline, I get into my jockstrap, and Bruce puts on my dog collar, and we do the sex exercise. As I said, I hate when my routine is messed with, but once I start rimming Bruce's asshole and get into sucking and licking his balls, things fall into place. It becomes just a normal training/mentoring day with my raging boner tightly squished in my jockstrap cup. I have my first orgasm of the day shooting off into the cup while sucking Bruce's cock, then he shoots his down my throat, and we're off to the races, so to speak.

We do the humiliating doggy run with Bruce yanking on the leash to my dog collar, making me run around on my hands and knees, barking. Eventually, that gets my dog collar slipping onto my Adam's apple, and Bruce needs to stop to push the dog collar down. God forbid if I had a larger Adam's apple! Bruce frequently spanks me with his hand on the back of my leg, leaving my already tortured buttocks to heal a bit before my next paddling. The smacks are intended to correct the way I'm holding my head, which I was doing wrong, and that got the dog collar sliding on my Adam's apple.

We practice that until I'm horse from barking. Bruce lets me get a bottle of water. As I drink from the bottle, gulping it actually, Bruce tells me that the manual calls for water in a doggie bowl during this exercise. The manual expects this type of exercise to lower my self-esteem and break me down to eventually realize I'm lucky my mentor still wants me hooking for him.

Then, Bruce leads me outside by the leash to do the doggy runaround exercise in public. He walks me on all fours, on the grass next to the sidewalk. When we get to the beach, I perform until Bruce gets bored. Walking back to the apartment, I'm exhausted, my cock and balls raw from rubbing against the jockstrap cup, and I've got sand burns on my knees.

Halfway back to the apartment, Bruce takes pity on me and lets me walk on two feet, although he holds the leash attached to the dog collar, telling me, "I simply hate doing this, but I need to get tough with you, Zach. If I don't, we won't be working together next week. You'll probably be Richard's recruit."

That's never happening, but Bruce doesn't know that. I mumble, "Whatever you need, Bruce. I brought this trouble on us, so I will do whatever you say." He snorts and says, "I know you will; that goes without saying! It'll get harder on you too, so I just wanted you to know that. For example, we'll be doing all the doggy run exercises outdoors from now on, and the manual warns that it can attract a crowd, which you need to ignore and stay in your role of a doggie on a leash." I go, "No problem. Hell, I don't know these people." Thank God we're a mile from where Cowboy and Lee hang out on the beach.

Week-three instructions include teaching me to deep throat, and since even Bruce has a limit as to how long he can maintain boners, he uses dildos. After twisting in my regular butt plug, which is no bargain either, but better than the monster-sized one earlier. I get on my knees, he stands in front of me to slowly push a dildo in my mouth, saying, "I'm using the same dildos I fucked you with yesterday, but I washed it off. I only have three dildos, small, medium, and large. This is the small one." Huh, it looks like my boner, and I do not have a small boner.

It hits the back of my throat, and I start gagging like mad, so after a few seconds, he takes it out and tries it again. After fifteen minutes, Bruce says, "I'm patient with you, Zack, but you're not trying! Listen to me; you'll need to be able to deep throat big fat cocks from all kinds of johns. Um, mail carriers or pipefitter, or whoever. You'll need to deep throat those who want it; that's if you ever expect a tip on top of the fifty-dollar blowjobs in New York City. So, I'll tell you for the tenth time, relax your throat muscles," and he pushes the dildo in my mouth all the way to the back of my throat again, and, again, and again.

Frustrated, Bruce stumps around in a circle, then goes, "Try harder, Goddammit," and we start over. After half an hour, I'm still unable to control my gag reflex reaction. Frustrated, Bruce throws the dildo and walks out to the balcony, leaving me on my knees, wondering what I should do now.

At the balcony's railing, he looks out at nothing and then turns his head to yell at me, "Get off your knees, bring my cigarettes and lighter out here. And, on second thought, bring the dildo too. I'm not done with that yet."

I get right up and hurry to do what I'm told. On the balcony, the wet dildo in one hand, I hold out the box of Marlboro and the lighter in the other. They're both mine, the cigarette and lighter, or at least I paid for them, but who cares about that...

Bruce mutters, "Light one for me, and you can have one too." I do that and give the lighted cigarette to him. Bruce sighs, and then we both take huge drags off the cigarettes, the ash end glowing brightly. Yeah, I'm smoking the way Bruce does, all the time now.

Exhaling, Bruce says, "It hurts me to be this hard on you, Zach. And, yeah, I know that it hurts you a hundred times worse, and I know that because I've been there. I like you too much, and that's a problem. It kills me seeing you doing these humiliating exercises, humiliating to you, but I need to gain Richard's confidence back. I'm on mentoring probation, and if I don't, if we both don't convince Richard you've finally learned your place as a humble recruit, inferior to Richard and I, you'll be reassigned to Richard or someone as bad, and I won't get another recruit for months."

Inhaling another drag the way Bruce does it, I talk while exhaling just like he does, saying, "It's okay, Bruce. I don't mind the humiliation, um, too much. You're only doing what you have to, and, um, I'm okay." Shaking his head, murmuring to himself, he goes, "Why couldn't I have gotten some dumb shit eighteen-year-old as my recruit?" I say, "I'm sorry, Bruce, but I'm glad you got me. You're a great mentor." He shrugs and mumbles, "Smoke your cigarette. The one I'm not supposed to let you have."

He looks at the dildo I'm still holding in my hand and says, "The hell with the deep throating exercise, for now, I mean. We'll move on to do the rimming, cock sucking, and ball lapping exercise until we both blow our second loads. We're in a week-three mode, which means at least three climaxes for you each six-hour training session, ideally from me fucking you. It complicates matters that you shoot off while sucking me off, but I'm checking off blocks on your report vaguely as if the orgasms could be from you getting fucked."

So, it is a hard couple of days, not only me getting paddled three times a day, but Bruce's cock finally gets too sore from fucking me twice a day, but mostly from my energetic cock sucking. He resorts to using dildos for both my deep-throating cock sucking lesson and my ass fucking to replace normal fucking when he can't do the job himself. There's lots of improvisation going on with his reporting, although I couldn't care less how the forms get filled out.

Then, over and over, Bruce has me watching a video about how to suck cock in different ways. It's a video that's normally shown to recruits in week four, except Bruce, trying to impress Richard, has me so far ahead of the manual's timetable it's sick. Watching the forty-five-minute video gives both Bruce and me a rest period, so that's an added benefit.

After the video, Bruce has me sucking on dildos in various ways for an hour, and then he fucks me with the same dildo for fifteen minutes. That's how long it takes me to climax with a dildo. With Bruce's cock I climax in two or three minutes, but, as I said, his cock is too sore to use every time it's called for in the manual. There is a humongous difference between a dildo and my mentor's cock. Bruce, his arm getting sore thrusting the dildo, angrily tells me I need to embrace the dildo as if it is his penis. I can't do that yet.

So, yeah, everything's changed for the worse for both me and Bruce. He hates being harder on me doing the more painful and humiliating things in the manual, but it's necessary if he hopes to continue mentoring me. As I said, I caused this disaster and want to help restore Bruce's position as one of the top mentors. Saturday and Sunday are both painful days, for me, but for Bruce too. It isn't in him to be sadistic, although I've put him in a spot where being sadistic is his and my only way out.

Sure, we could say Richard put us in this predicament, but it was me mouthing off at him that gave him the opening, the one Bruce thinks Richard was looking for to put Bruce and me in the untenable situation we now find ourselves in. He doesn't know why, but Bruce is sure Richard wants me as his recruit. It scares me what he would do with me if he had the control over me that Bruce has. I totally trust Bruce, but not Richard.

What is nagging at the back of my mind is my lack of threatening thoughts of what I could do physically to Richard if I did end up back as his recruit. I hate to think I'd accept it docilely, helpless to do anything about it?. My response in my head should be, 'that won't happen in a million years!' It's like, I don't know if by now I've been mentored into a position that I'd go along with it as if I have no choice? Am I brainwashed enough to accept Richard as my mentor?

I can't think about that too much because I'm totally occupied just getting through the past two days of tough mentoring exercises, plus the super-painful paddling three times a day. As the paddling goes on, I'm having more and more trouble convincing myself that I have no future here. It is starting to enter my mind that I'm doing this to have a future with the pussy boy program, and that's insane! That's not supposed even to be a consideration. I'm hung up on Bruce, and I want him to come out of this all right, but it's as though my brain is accepting that I want to be back in Richard's good graces so I can continue with the program with Bruce and become his first boy on the street. So, yeah, I'm getting confused as to why I'm doing this. It's like maybe I could be Bruce's first male escort prostitute. Not forever, but for a while. It's there in my brain somehow. More brainwashing?

Driving home Sunday after my training, I think about my responsibility for Cowboy, too; how could both scenarios work? Luckily for me, he's busy with Lee all day. Then, at dinner, Cowboy is apologetic for not spending more time with me. That's the kind of sweet kid he is. Naturally, I reassured him it was perfectly alright and, in fact, healthy for him to be with a buddy his age, and blah, blah, blah. Actually, I'd be screwed if Cowboy hadn't hooked up with Lee.

After dinner, I made up an excuse to Cowboy about why we're not having our normal before bed and morning wake-up sex blaming it on a thrush yeast infection that causes a burning sensation when urinating. I was treating it with a home remedy of apple cider vinegar. He made a joke about how horny I'll be by the time the apple cider works. I couldn't even think of fucking after all day getting fucked by Bruce or a dildo. Anyway, Cowboy and I are good.

Ringing Bruce's bell Monday morning, knowing what to expect in the first couple of minutes, my balls shrivel up. Bruce buzzes me in, and, as I always do, I hurry up the steps to be at his door exactly at ten o'clock. My hand is trembling a little because I dread my morning paddling. It's worse than the two that come later in the day. It's like my ass has had eighteen hours or so to heal, and that paddle is a brutal instrument when connecting with a fresh set of buttocks, especially the way Bruce swings it.

I understand; it's for the video that Bruce needs to wield that paddle so forcefully, causing me great pain and suffering, causing me to scream at each whack. As I said, not screaming like a woman seeing a mouse, though. It's a scream, "OOOWWW!" scream that gets garbled by the ball gag.

Later, the other two paddlings are horrible too, but by then, I'm already beaten up from Bruce's insanely tough training sessions. It's the opposite of the first ten days when Bruce was doing everything below manual requirements. He was looking out for me then, but the last two days, he's been doing more than required and reporting it all to Richard, looking out for himself a little bit there. I don't blame him.

I am getting the shit beat out of me but, looking at the glass as half full, Bruce is toughening me up. It's a bizarrely different training method than used by the Seals, but I'm getting back into Navy Seal shape. I hadn't done a lot to stay in shape since I checked out of the Navy and was beginning to feel soft, plus I put on a few pounds from drinking too much. Bruce changed all that, especially the last two days.

Anyway, at ten o'clock on the dot, I knock on my mentor's door, and Bruce yells, "Come in, Zach, the door's unlocked." I go inside, seeing Bruce in the kitchen spreading the towel on the kitchen table, saying, "C'mon, let's get your discipline paddling out of the way quickly."

Kicking off my sandals, I'm stripping off my few clothes, thinking, 'Bruce isn't nearly as sympathetic as he was when my unfair paddling began.' That's not fair, though. He's still looking out for me the best he can under the circumstances I caused us to be in.

Placing my shirt, boxer shorts, and cargo shorts on a chair, I take off my jockstrap, pull on my cock and balls a little, then lean over the table. Bruce is setting up his phone for video usage, saying, "Put your ball gag on." I pick it up from the table, and when I've got the ball gag strap fastened behind my head, Bruce checks to make sure I did it tight enough, then he hands me his phone, saying, "Push the button when I say to start the video." I take it, and he mutters, "Hold it steady this time." I say my rote response, "Yes, Bruce." He moves my hand, "Hold it just like that, and steady! Richard was bitching to me in an email that Saturday's video was too jerky." "Yes, Bruce."

He picks up the paddle, asking, "You Ready?" I nod, and he says, "Turn it on." I hit the phone's play button; then, for Richard's benefit, Bruce yells, "Get your pussy ass up further!" and he swings the paddle starting behind his back, and here it comes fast and furious. It connects with my buttocks, making a loud "WHACK! Sound. I scream into the ball gag. It's not a fake scream; it was a real scream of pain. Then it's, "WHACK!" scream, "Whack!" scream, "Whack," and then me whimpering, "No, more, please, Bruce..." That's what Bruce instructed me to say. It's different for each disciplining session and intended to convince Richard that Bruce is vicious with my discipline.

Like Saturday's and Sunday's paddling, I'm quivering now from the shock. Shaking for a minute or so and Bruce videos that as well, then hits 'end' and emails it to Richard. Bruce bought a brand-new can of sunburn pain spray to use on my buttocks. I shudder at that pain too when it hits my ass, but only for ten seconds or so, and then the spray does its job, and the pain calms down a lot, but my butt cheeks are still burning hot.

Bruce pats my shoulder, mumbling, "Just lie there a few minutes," and he gets a tea kettle going for another mug of tea. Waiting for it to boil, he says, "Zach, I've been thinking, um, I don't trust that prick Richard to keep his word about tomorrow being the last day of discipline week. He said maybe he'd shorten the discipline paddling orders from seven to four days if I did it correctly, but I think he'll want to go at least the entire seven days." I whine, "Don't tell me that, Bruce. I'm counting on tomorrow being the last day. It was Saturday, Sunday, today, and Tuesday is the fourth day. Man, I don't think..." and he interrupts, "Dammit, you know I've forbidden you to whine! Go ahead and say what you want, but stop the baby-ass whining. God, that whining gets on my nerves!"

I mumble, "I'm sorry, Bruce," but now I don't want to say what I was going to say because it was more whining, but, dammit, I depended on tomorrow being the last discipline day! Bruce, using a nicer voice, goes, "Um, anyway, I have an idea. It'll be totally up to you, though. I don't want to influence you, but, um. I thought if we were to up the number to six whacks each of the last two discipline sessions today and all three tomorrow, Richard is much more likely to say we can stop. That is the exact kind of thing that impresses him."

Holy fuck, two more slaps of that evil paddle each discipline session? Fuck! When I don't say anything, I just continue lying here; he touches my shoulder, my ass still burning hot, as he asks, "What do you think, Zach? It will increase our chances of ending this tomorrow. Impressing Richard in the process."

For some inexplicable reason, Bruce asking me instead of telling me brings confusion, followed by a submissive sense. And submissiveness has become more familiar to me than anything else I can think of. It makes me speak in a timid voice. I go, "What should I do, Bruce?" He goes, "Well, it's totally up to you, but since you asked, you should take the extra paddling in hopes it'll be enough to satisfy Richard, and he'll let us off the hook with this."

I lift my head off the table to nod, then say, "I'll do that, Bruce. I want two extra whacks added to the normal paddlings." He goes, "Good, that's what we'll do the last two sessions today and all three tomorrow. Six whacks each session." I shudder and mumble, "Uh-huh, but, um, maybe doing five would be enough to impress him. Ya know, instead of six." Bruce says, "Don't vacillate, Zack! You already decided on six, and I'll stick with that." I go, "Yes, Bruce," and he says, "Okay, then, that's settled. Let's start your training now."

"Put your jockstrap back on, then your dog collar." Oh man, I'm hoping he stops there, but he doesn't, adding, "And attach the leash." I do that, making sure the collar is tight enough around my neck. After hooking up the leash, I bend over, hands on my knees, and Bruce screws in my butt plug. I use all my willpower not to grunt and groan at the last three or four twists. Bruce mutters, "Your buttocks are totally black and blue, Zack, with some green and yellow coloring as well. Hell, the extra two paddles each discipline session won't even be noticed as far as that goes."

He grabs his laptop to check off in a few blocks as I stuff my cock and balls in the jockstrap cup, then asks, "Should I put my shorts and t-shirt back on?" I'm hoping he says 'no' because that would mean we're doing the doggy runaround training inside. Bruce told me the training is intended to humiliate me into thinking I'm not worthy of being anything but a prostitute.

Bruce looks up from his laptop and says, "Of course, put on your shorts and t-shirt. Or, do you want to run around outside in just your jockstrap?" I mumble, No, Bruce," and get dressed. Done with his laptop, Bruce says, "Come over here and let me check you out. He checks that I've got everything on tight enough, then looks at my feet, "Fuck, your toenails are worn down to the quick from dragging them when you're running around on all fours. That fucking beach sand is like, well, sandpaper. Get the ballet slippers. You can wear them today, and knee pads too. Your knees look raw."

Thank God for small favors. Normally, I wear the ballet slippers when we go out to lunch as another form of humiliation, but I'm glad to have them on when running around on my hands and knees. And, yes, of course, at night before sleeping, I can't believe I'm actually doing all this shit. Then, the next day I come back for more. I tell myself it's to help Bruce, but I'm not sure it's not because I've been brainwashed into doing it. Maybe I no longer have a choice.

I think the people on the beach where we do the doggy runaround exercise look forward to it. Bruce told any who asked that I lost a bet; that's why I'm doing this. He makes a joke of it, and a few people join in, running along beside me, barking back at my barking. It's as though I don't even care anymore.

During the day, Bruce fucks me twice with his dick and once with the medium-sized dildo. I do lots of sucking cock and licking balls, twice on Richard's cock and balls and once on a set of rubber cock and balls. The rimming, of course, is always done on a live person. Bruce, of course. How else could I do it? Then there's the video about how to suck a guy off in fifteen different ways to watch, and, of course, the two more discipline paddling with six whacks instead of four... and those extra two are killers.

There are other things too, but I'm so numb by two o'clock I don't even know what I'm doing. After being dismissed a little after four o'clock, my butt cheeks kill me driving to the hotel, then I get lots of ice from the ice machine on our floor and sit in ice water in the tub for an hour. After that, I rub disinfected creme on my buttocks and drink beer, wishing I had a cigarette and not thinking about too much other than what's Cowboy doing... and Bruce is always on my mind, too, of course.

Actually, I know where Cowboy is. Lee's parents are away for a week at a summer rental in Maine with neighbors every year. Lee isn't going, and because he's nineteen, they don't make him go with them this year. Since Cowboy is staying with Lee at his house the rest of the week, I don't need to make up any additional excuses why I can't have sex with him.

It's troubling that I'm not missing Cowboy's sex because I was getting to really enjoy our buddy sex together. It's a temporary situation, though, as the paddling will be finished after tomorrow, or I'll be done with the pussy boys. That's what I tell myself, and I hope I follow through on that. I think I will, but Bruce has my mind twisted so much that I can't be positive about anything anymore.

So, Tuesday is another day, and I do what I'm told, but I've never dreaded anything like I dread the padding. After saying that, I nonetheless docilely lie my chest on the table and push my ass out. Bruce has become used to paddling me, so; I don't think he gives it a second thought. Now for the last one, ever. Bruce is annoyed by my squirming and screaming. He goes, "Christ, Zach, you should be used to this by now. Stop shaking, and let me do this." I can't help it; I'm quivering with fear as he tells me, "Turn the video on," then he lets me have it,

"WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!" and I lose count after three, always hoping the next one will be the last.

So, after the sixth whacking, I'm lying like a rag on the table, groaning in pain as Bruce mutters, "Stop it! I've turned the video off." He puts the paddle down, emails the video, saying, "Okay, let's see what Richard thinks." After like two minutes of fiery pain, I'm like, "The spay, Bruce. Please, use the spray, mentor." He waves his hand, mumbling, "In a minute," and stares at his cell phone. I hear a ping from his phone, meaning a text message just came through. Holding my breath, I wait for the verdict.

Bruce yells, "Yes! I was right," then he holds the phone down so I can read the text. It's not from Bruce though, it's from his flunky recruit, saying that Richard's been in New York since Sunday but left a message that we could discontinue the discipline paddling after Tuesday.

I'm frowning at Bruce, asking, "Is he saying Richard didn't see the videos the last three days? He left that instruction with his flunky before leaving for New York." Bruce is frowning now, too. The can of pain relief spray in his hand. He mumbles, "Huh. That's odd. Well, whatever, we're done with the paddling now." I'm like, "Please, mentor, spay the pain relief spray." He goes, "Oh, yeah," and sprays a little, then stops, mumbling, "It was still a good idea; the extra whacks on your ass will impress Richard when he does see the videos.".

I can hardly believe Bruce is so callous about this. We did six paddlings with two extra whacks each, six whacks each time, and Richard wasn't even looking at the videos." I go, "But, um, didn't you send the videos to Richard's cell phone?"

He says, "Well, no, not exactly. Richard only told me to email the first one to his private cell phone. The rest he said to email to his office computer. Um, it has a large screen." I whine, "More spay, please, Bruce." He goes, "Oh, yeah," and as he resprays my butt cheeks, the sunburn pain relief spray begins working, and the relief makes my eyes water. Sounding sincere, Bruce says, "I'm really sorry, but it's water under the bridge now and, it can still help us pass Saturday's inspection."

Resigned, I'm doing my normal nodding, muttering, "Yes, Bruce, I hope so." Huh, I wonder if I would really have quit if we had the other outcome? I'll never know now. Bruce smiles, saying, "Let me help you up, Zach," and he gets me to a sitting position at the edge of the table, and I hop off because my buttocks are not fit to sit. Bruce hugs me with both arms, murmuring, "I'm very proud of the way you handled yourself through those discipline sessions." I'm like, "Really? You were yelling at me all the time about my whining, so..."

He goes, "Shh, that was to help toughen you up. Don't you feel tougher now?" After that paddling, I've never felt less tough, but I say, "Yes, Bruce." I can't help myself anymore. Bruce has me programmed and, um, and I think I like it. I can't stop liking him; I know that much. As he's always doing, he rubs my head and goes, "Ya know what? To make it up to you, tomorrow we're taking half a day off from training, and I'm introducing you to my druggie buddy Bret Devers, who you can buy some weed from. Okay?"

Ooh, an apology and a generous favor! That shit goes a long way with me, so I'm like, "Bruce, I love you, my mentor. That's fantastic! Thank you so much." He says, "You're welcome. See, better days again just like I said there'd be. We'll forget all about these past horrible four days and go on as we did before you..." and I go, "Before I caused us all this trouble." Bruce says, "Well, yes, you did, but no matter, it's over now. Put your jockstrap on, and we'll do the last exercise of the day. I know Goddamn well you love that."

Yeah, he knows I get off on rimming him, licking his balls, and sucking his seven-inch dick. Sometimes he'll fuck me, too, although he's already done it the normal three times that's required for week three. Next week it'll be four times a day, probably half and half. Half with his cock and the other half with dildos. For now, though, I follow him into the living room and wait to see if he wants to do it all on the couch or standing, and if standing, where he decides to stand.

Man, twenty minutes ago, I was as low as I've ever been, and now I'm revved up again. I should never have doubted Bruce, and I feel guilty that I did there for a while. On the other hand, I was also thinking of changes I can expect in week four, so, in my mind, I'd already committed myself to the fourth week. I'm smiling again, and Bruce goes, "Good to see you bouncing back. Now, come over here and give your mentor the best rimming yet."

He's looking out the sliding glass door to the balcony, taking his pants off. I get on my knees behind him and give each of his butt cheeks a serious ten-second kiss with a long lick after each kiss. Spreading his butt cheeks, I do a long lick from behind his scrotum, over his asshole, pressing on it, and back up the hill of ass crack. Already my cock is a boner pushing at the side of the cup. Pushing my face between his butt cheeks, I lick and suck on his asshole, Bruce quietly going, "Mmm, mmm, ahh," as he's bending forward as much as he can. When my tongue is inside his rectum an inch, I feel my orgasm approaching and pull my tongue out, hold my breath and fire a stream of cum, totally saturating my jockstrap's cup.

Shuddering and shaking at the sensations zipping around my cock and balls as I make gasping sounds. Bruce, of course, knows from the familiar reaction I just blew my load and goes, "Yeah, you like rimming your mentor's asshole, don't you, recruit? Do some more." Ooh, that climax was such a relief. It felt terrific again, different than the ones I had in between getting paddled. This last one was easily the best climax I've had since the paddling started. My entire groin area is throbbing with pleasure, and I'm officially back. Sure, it's quickly becoming uncomfortable in the jockstrap cut as my cum cools, and now it's just plain wet for my cock and balls.

But, I've got a job to do as Bruce's recruit, so I fuck Bruce's ass with my tongue until I hear him go, "Ahhh!" hump his hips and shoot off a long stream of cum. He stumbles forward, stroking his seven-inch cock, going, "Ooh, ooh, ooh."

Man, we're both back to being like we were before I cause us the problems. Bruce doesn't dismiss me, though. I still need to lick his balls and suck his cock, but we need some recovery time. Bruce sends me to the bathroom to wipe out the jock's cup and line it with toilet paper. After doing that, I go back to stand in front of Bruce, automatically leaning over with my hands on my knees. He twists in my butt plug, getting it snugly back in because that way, he can justify checking a box on my report. He mumbles, "Uh-huh. This can go on the report as extra credit mentoring training." Then he sends me to the kitchen for Cokes. I walk bowlegged to the kitchen for the soda, the butt plug grinding into me. We drink them on the balcony while smoking, taking deep drags that light up the ends of the cigarettes with a bright red burning ash.

I'm in a deck chair that wobbles, smoking and glancing every couple of seconds at Bruce, who is on the chaise lounge. He sees me glancing at him, smirks, then says, "I know what you want. C'mon, you can sit next to me." I snicker, muttering, "it's about time you thought of this." He says, "Don't talk fresh to me, Zach!" Then, in a friendly gesture, he lifts his arm so I can get right next to him, murmuring, "I'm sorry, mentor," and he drops his arm around my shoulders, squeezing me against his side.

After all our familiarization exercises, I now fit against him like a piece of a puzzle. He goes, "You missed doing this exercise the past four days, huh?" I nod my head and say my rote, "Yes, Bruce." As I said that, I felt a comforting, friendly form of submissiveness flow over me. This is what it's all about.

Bruce talks quietly, saying, "We're not out of the woods yet. Saturday, you need to show deep remorse for what you did and show it with sincere humbleness. Not an acting humbleness; Richard will see right through that. You need a sincere humbleness, and that's what we'll concentrate on tomorrow and Friday." I mumble, "Don't you think I'm humble to you?" He goes, "Oh, Christ, you've been humbled to me for over a week. See, you didn't even know you were that way 'cause it was earned humbleness. I earned it through mentoring you into a humble frame of mind. So, you know why you're humble to me, and you don't mind it, you don't begrudge me my due. You've become dependent on me to guide you into a productive male escort life, and you're halfway in love with me as well. The thing is, though, you don't like Richard even a little bit, and that comes through in your eyes. He's a magician at picking up on things like that."

Nodding my head against Bruce's shoulder, I'm like, "You're right about everything you said, but how can you help me to be humble to him?" He sighs, shakes his head, mumbling, "I'm not sure, but if you're not, I'm screwed too. I need to get you generally humble, feeling so low you feel inferior to everybody." Oh balls, I know how he can do that. I'm don't want to, but I know I'm going to say it. Scrunching my face trying not to say it, then I do. "Bruce, I felt that kind of humbleness after the long paddling for when I didn't wear my jockstrap a week or so ago."

He turns his head and sees my eyes looking up at him, my head resting on his shoulder. He goes, "You mean..." and I nod my head, "Yep, a twelve whack paddling before we go to the meeting Saturday would make me feel humble to a homeless stumblebum begging for a dollar to buy a bottle of cheap wine."

It would be nice if Bruce would try talking me out of it, a little bit at least. Instead, he goes, "Perfect. That's exactly what we'll do. And, hell, it's not like you'll never be paddled again. You know, we've got three weeks of training left for you to screw up and forget something, forget yourself and talk back to me, or something. As your mentor, I have the right to paddle you whenever I feel you need it."

I'm making a face, like 'what the fuck?' He goes, "You're missing what I'm saying. It's like if you do anything the last three weeks that deserve a paddling, I deduct it from the twelve you've volunteered getting on Saturday." I go, "Oh, I see, but I'm going to try not to do anything that needs paddling." He shrugs, "So, once you're qualified, you'll have forgotten the twelve-whack extra-paddling anyway. You'll be my first pussy boy, and we'll head for New York City the next day, where you can make your mentor some money finally. You know, you can start paying me back after all I've done for you."

I don't want to think about how I'll get out of that. I'm enjoying this time with Bruce too much. I have been thinking about it, though, and I'm pretty sure I'll go to New York with him, and he'll make money but not because I blow a stranger in his car. I have a plan, but for now, I've got to pass Richard's inspection on Saturday, or it'll have all be for naught.

We smoke two cigarettes each, finish our sodas, and then continue to sort of cuddle like this. I'm only wearing my jockstrap and butt plug. Bruce never put his pants back on, so he has only a polo-type pullover shirt on, his long-flaccid cock lying there touching my leg as I'm partially leaning on him.

After a half-hour or so, Bruce gives me the second kiss he's ever given me, this one on the side of my forehead, like the first one, then he says, "Recruit, lick my balls and suck my cock right here."

Nobody can see us, as I've noted before, so I slide my head off his shoulder and slide it down his chest and stomach to kiss his cock. Bruce goes, "C'mon, Zach, do it properly. Get on your knees between my legs and stop messing around." "Yes, Bruce."

That stern command from Bruce got a deeper submissive thing going for me. It increases my enthusiasm for licking his balls and eventually sucking his cock until his hips hump, and he shoots one of his smaller cum loads in my mouth. Then I take five minutes to clean his cock with my tongue, licking little licks like a kitten licking at a bowl of milk. This last hour makes up for a lot.

Dismissed, I'm feeling high on my way back to the hotel. Yeah, my buttocks are very sore, but nothing compared to how sore they'll be Saturday. That will be the last paddling I ever expect to have in my life, and it will get me humble enough even for Richard.

I shower, wash my jock, dry it, and put it on after dusting it with Gold Bond body powder. Then, drinking a beer, I text Cowboy, missing him, and invite him and Lee to dinner. They couldn't respond fast enough, 'Sure, Zach, thanks, bro. We're sick of pizza dinners.'

We eat at the hotel restaurant because it's convenient and we had good meals here last time. They do not mention the sex they're having, and they would have if they'd made progress, so I'm assuming it's status quo, still just the blowjobs. And I'm not knocking blowjobs. That's real sex, gay sex. They'll get to anal sex and then put blowjobs on the back burner. Frankly, I don't know how my oversexed buddy, Cowboy, is getting by since I haven't been coming through for him recently.

And, during dinner, I need to force myself to stop staring at Cowboy because he's reminding me of Bruce so much. Their identical blond hair is cut very much alike, plus their body type is... stop it!

Then it hit me, not about Cowboy but his brother Ronny. Ever since Bruce started getting in my head, it's been him, Bruce, I've thought about all the time. That's exactly how it was with Ronny except for the humorous difference that it wasn't sexual at all with Ronny, and it very much is with Bruce. Sure, I've had passing thoughts of Ronny these past twelve days, but it's been primarily Bruce, Bruce, and more Bruce I've been thinking about. I don't know what it means, if anything, but there it is.

The boys are grateful for dinner, and outside the restaurant, Cowboy goes, "That was awesome, Zach. Um, could I borrow another couple of hundred dollars, um..." I wave my hand, "Say no more, Cowboy," and I give him my last three hundred dollar bills. I paid cash for something spending the other one I won that night playing blackjack. The boys head for the boardwalk, and I go to my car to get some money from the trunk, then give a thought to trying my luck at the casino, but my buttocks are very sore after sitting for over an hour at the restaurant.

I stay in all night drinking beers and wanting a cigarette, mostly standing on the balcony or lying on my side on the balcony's chaise lounge that's ten times better than Bruce's. Yeah, I think of all things Bruce-related, especially forming my plan for how I'm going to handle going to New York City as Bruce's boy, making money doing blowjob in cars, or getting fucked in the backseat. I'm forming a pretty good plan, plus an exit plan that won't get Bruce in trouble. The big problem will be working up the willpower to leave him. That's the bitch part.

Then, during Wednesday's training, everything is back to normal, and it's like we both let a long sigh out. "Ahhh.' It was great. The morning rimming, cock sucking, and ball washing go perfectly, and we both have giant orgasms. The atmosphere is relaxed without the paddling hanging over our heads like a gorilla in the room. It's just so different.

After Bruce gives me a Fleet enema and we do the indoor doggie humiliation, he screws in my butt plug, and when he's done, we have a smoke on the balcony, and I just wrap my arms around him and hug him and kiss the side of his face. Bruce is stiff as a board, saying, "No touching your mentor unless I say to."

I mumble, "Yes, Bruce, I'm sorry," and he rubs the back of my head, saying, "It was a rough four days, I know. It's okay. Shh," and I realize I'm silently shedding a few tears of relief. Fuck, I'm so used to humiliations; crying on my nineteen-year-old mentor's shoulder barely registers as humiliating. He leads me out to the balcony, and we say no more about that little meltdown.

As I'm inhaling off my cigarette the way Bruce does, it hits me that Bruce didn't get pissed at my rules violation about touching mentors without permission. I just realized why, too; he saw it as a humiliating experience for me, which adds to all others. Plus, he noticed I absorbed the humiliation as of it was nothing. This is what he's working toward... me being immune to being humiliated and just shrugging it off as nothing important.

Huh, he knows he has me just where he wants me, meaning completely dependent on him and under his control. That's an obvious objective of this mentoring process, and Bruce doesn't seem the least bit surprised by either of those positive results from his mentoring. He saw it coming for days now, whereas I didn't. It just happened spontaneously from my point of view, but Bruce knows he made it happen step by step by his mentoring techniques, concentrating on what Richard picked up from me during his almost hypnotic grilling of me that first night.

As I'm coming to these conclusions without being concerned about them, Bruce is texting on his phone. I stare at him, thinking he's an excellent leader for me. He's hard on me but kind at times too. I'm glad he's making this happen, and then I wonder how can I possibly leave him? I have to; though, I'm responsible for Cowboy.

As usual, I end up so confused I stop thinking and wait for Bruce to tell me what to do next. I hear a ping on his cell phone. He reads the text and goes, "Yes! Okay, I've got my buddy Eli, Eli Barnes, to come over tomorrow. He's a mentor with two of his boys on the street and one doing online sessions. He agrees you can blow him and so forth, then he'll fuck you so I can add to my report that you're already into the fourth-week activities."

I must have a startled expression on my face because Bruce goes, "What? You can't be shocked by this! I've read you the manual instructions for next week. They state that pussy boys I approve will help me with the four times a day you'll be fucked. Mentors help each other out when one of us gets to weeks four, five, and six. None of us can fuck four times in six hours, never mind five or six times, but our recruits need to experience that for when they're working. It's for the recruits; we do it."

I didn't listen when he read those instructions because I'd just been paddled, and I was thinking about my buttocks. I nod my head as though I remember, and he goes on. "Eli and I became friends during a week when Richard was in New York, and he got Eli to mentor me while he was away. You'll like him, Zach, although his dick is like five inches. Don't, whatever you do, mention that to him, though. He gives a good fuck with that five inches, and I know because he and I fuck each other when we get the itch. You never lose the itch once you've got it from getting fucked regularly on the job."

I should have listened when Bruce read the instructions, but what would be different if I had listened? I'm nodding my head as I do all the fucking time when Bruce is telling me something. He says, "This is one more thing that will impress Richard, so we'll have that going for us too. That and you were being extremely humble and ready to do whatever the program calls for during week four." Nodding my head again, Bruce laughs, saying, "This is going to be so awesome. Beating Richard gives me a hard-on." Then he gets serious, adding, "I feel bad you need to take the twelve-whack paddling, but it'll be worth it, won't it, Zach?"

I nod some more, saying, "Yes, Richard." He goes, "Fuck, I'll probably be jealous seeing my good biddy, Eli, fucking you instead of me." He's in a great mood, and he says, "Okay, let's go see my druggie friend. Whaddaya say?" I nod my head, "Yes, Bruce, thank you."

I'm driving, following Bruce's directions. He made me wear the jockstrap and dog collar, plus he twisted in a medium-sized butt plug. The butt plug is giving me problems sitting and driving. Bruce wanted me with a butt plug because he wants to check this off as a training road trip. He's quiet, thinking about something, and then it's like he feels he needs to explain about getting his friend Eli to fuck me.

He goes, "Um, yeah, you might remember me saying nobody, including Richard, was going to be fucking you except me. Not until I put you on the streets, but I should have added nobody unless I approved them. I can't be expected to fuck you the required four times in the coming week. It's my responsibility to be sure you're prepared for multiple fucks when you're out there working; plus, it's required in the manual. So I pick good guys to help me out. Hell, doing you three times a day, I needed to use dildos, but they have a much different feel than a hot guy's boner. That's where the extra mentors come in. I help them out too. It's routine and nothing out of the ordinary. Zach."

I stop at a red light, mumbling, "Yes, Bruce," and he goes, "Come on, don't act like I didn't tell you about this." I nod, "Yes, Bruce, I know," and he says, "Then stop acting like you never heard it before." I say, "I'm on board with anything you want me to do, Bruce." He says, "Yea, I know you are. Hell, I think you're the best recruit ever. Jesus, I wanted a young recruit, but it's helped tremendously that you're older and more mature and an ex-Navy Seal. You know how to deal with pressure and discomfort. Have I thanked you for being such a fabulous recruit?" I look at him and say, "Bruce, it's me who needs to thank you."

He nods his head, "You're right; we should thank each other. I've made it as easy on you as I dared. You've been excellent more times than not, and we're a great team now, but nothing like we'll be when you're qualified and out there breaking records." It's a twenty-minute drive, and then Bruce says, "There, the apartment building on the right. Find a parking spot."

There is no parking for three blocks until I spot one. I can back into one, just barely big enough for my BMW. On the way back to the apartment, I'm walking like I've got a load in my pants, subtly adjusting my dog collar as Bruce, unconcerned about my discomfort, says, "You're the oldest recruit I know of since I've been in this pussy boy business. He made an exception for you because you're a fucking hunk, plus ridiculously good-looking. And, you could pass for twenty-two, easily. You'll be my star money earning! I'm so psyched to get you and me to New York City."

When he talks about that, as he's been doing a lot lately, I feel that friendly submissiveness toward him slide down over me, and I wish I were someone who could do that for him. He's in his goofy mood telling me things that Richard would have a shit fit if he knew. Bruce is saying, "It pisses me off that Richard filled the Philly spot I wanted for you and me. I have friends here, not that New York City is that far. Anyway, it'll be New York for us. And, as my only boy so far, I'll be with you looking out for you. You know, I'll be in the vicinity, you might say. Then, in a couple of months, maybe three or four, we'll see how well you do; and as soon as I can, I'll get you off the street and put you online. I'll still be watching out for you, approving your in-person dates, but only for a month or two. Then I'll be back here mentoring another recruit, but Mitch will oversee your dates and report to me. He's a bit stern, but know your place and do what you're told, and you won't get on his bad side. I'll always be involved, so don't worry about that."

None of that will ever take place, but Bruce is high as a kite dreaming about it. I'll make him look good in New York and then disappear. Not his fault if I'm kidnapped or whatever. I'm still working out the details in my head.

In the apartment building, Bruce says, "Press the button for 600," and when I do, we hear, "I don't want any! Take a fucking hike," and Bruce goes, "It's me, Bruce, ya dumb shit. I've got a sucker who wants to purchase some, um, product." The voice says, "Bruce, buddy! Where the fuck you been hiding, dawg? C'mon up." The buzzing at the door clicks it open, and in we go. At the elevator, Bruce says, "Hit the 'up' button." I give him a sideways 'look,' like, no shit, and hit the button, and the doors open.

As we're going up, he says, "Bret doesn't know shit about what I'm doing, so don't mention you're my recruit. You're just someone I met at the bar, and we hit it off, ya know?" I nod my head, "Yes, Bruce." At apartment 600, Bruce tells me, "Two knocks," so I knock twice, and the door opens. This extremely skinny guy wearing expensive-looking slacks and silk very cool short sleeve shirt smiles, saying, "You motherfucker, why don't you come over and see me anymore," then he and Bruce hug with both arms around each other, then kiss on the mouth. Then, the skinny guy asks Bruce, "Who's your friend?" Bruce says, "Ya dumb shit, invites us in."

We go inside as skinny chuckles, mumbling, "Oh, yeah, inside is better." The young guy, about Bruce's age, maybe a year or two older, has a ring nose, those hideous extenders in both earlobes, and tattoos up and down both arms and on his neck. Bruce introduces me as Zach McMann, surprising me that he remembered my last name. He says, "Zach, this is my old schoolmate, Bret Devers." Bret hugs me and kisses my cheek, saying, "Great to meet you, dude." Then, "Let's go to the kitchen; I got some Johnnie Walker Blue Label you need to try." He gets the bottle out, saying, "It's like $275 a bottle. Some asshole gave it to me for some candy, ya know?"

He pours three shot glasses to the rim, and I look at Bruce who, mumbles, "You can have it." We pick up the shot glasses, tap them, spilling some of the booze, then flash them down. I've had Blue Label maybe twenty times, and it's a smooth drink. Bruce coughs and sputters as Bret looks at me, nodding his head at Bruce, and shrugs with a smirk on his face. I grin at him. He is not good-looking, though. Bret has a scraggily droopy mustache and long hair that's scraggily too. He looks a little sickly, although he has a good smile, which he shows a lot, that's almost as good as Cowboy's smile.

He's an amiable guy, patting my shoulders, asking, "Shall we have another shot, Zach? I think one was enough for our buddy here." Without consciously thinking about it, I look to Bruce for his approval. His eyes are watering as he nods his head that it's okay for me to have another, then he says, "That horse piss cost $275?" Bret roars with laughter, calling Bruce a cunt, and pours him and me a second shot. I flash it down and feel it a little but in a good way.

We sit at a bar in the kitchen in this is a very nice apartment. It's also huge with a twenty-foot balcony and a great ocean view in the distance. They reminisce about going to grade and middle school together. Bret dropped out of high school sophomore year to deal drugs in his stepdad's gang. They laugh about how his stepdad mysteriously vanished, and Bret took his place at age seventeen. I get the distinct impression Bret had a lot to do with his stepdad vanishing, although it's innuendo between them that gives me that impression.

It's two hours and two beer apiece later that Bret asks, "So, Zach, what are you looking for?" I say, "Just weed, nothing major." He goes, "You're in luck. Last week I scored premium Irish Creme. I don't get much of it, and I wouldn't even mention it if you weren't with Bruce. That may sound like a sales pitch, but it's not. I don't need a sales pitch for Irish cream weed. Have you heard of it?"

I shake my head, and he goes, "This shit is selectively bred to contain only female genetics, which produces buds with really high THC content. It's a crossbreed of Real Mc Coy and Cookies and Cream. Super high quality with an average THC of 27%. Not THE highest THC as there's shit out there with 34% THC, but this is a better smoke. The initial high is basically cerebral, but it cruises into a happy/sociable high. Nice! Basic taste of fresh herbs and pine."

Bruce says, "I don't smoke much grass, but if I did, I'd want that." Bret's like, "It's hard to get," then to me. "Zach, go online and check me out. See if what I said isn't true blue as my scotch here." I don't know shit about any of that. All I want is some pot to smoke with Cowboy. I look at Bruce, and he says, "Do you want some of that shit?" I nod, and he goes, "Well, tell Bret, not me." Christ, I've gotten so dependent on Bruce, I can't make up my own mind.

Taking a deep breath, I say, "I'd really appreciate it if you'd sell me some." He holds up a finger, like, wait right here, and he leaves the room. Bruce whispers, "Stand up straight. He'll think you're a geek standing like that." I mutter, "Yes, Richard," and grimace as the butt plus digs into my rectum when I stand tall.

Bret's back with a wooden cigar humidifier box. He opens it, and there are a lot of joints rolled perfectly. He goes, "Believe it or not, these were rolled by hand. I keep them in this humidifier. I can let you have twenty. I can't let more go, sorry." I'm like, "Twenty is fabulous. I've never seen better-looking joints." He counts out twenty, puts them in a baggie with a ziplock, and says, "For a friend of Bruce's, $300." What the fuck?

Bruce goes, "Holy fuck, Bret, $300? Zach doesn't have that kind of money. He's applying for a job. Ya got any dollar or dollar fifty joints?" Bret says to me, "Oh man, dude, I didn't mean to embarrass you. Fuck, I'm sorry. I can tell you've got some medical problems there, and you probably need the weed for pain relief. Honest to God, though, I hardly deal with pot sales at all. Just the highest-end premium shit, ya know?" Then he looks at Bruce, saying, "You know I don't deal that weak shit pot. I'm into money sales. Damn, Bruce, you made me embarrass Zach."

I go, "I'm not embarrassed. I'm appreciative, dude. I'll take the twenty joints and wish I could buy more from you." I pull three hundred dollar bills out and lay them next to the Ziplock bag of joints. Bret looks at Bruce, then grins, saying, "Ah, you're busting my balls again, Bruce! You fucker you." He pockets the three bills saying to me, "Sorry, I can't sell you more 'cause I mostly use premium shit like these joints as rewards for my guys who pedal the most of another of my merchandise on the street." Bruce gives me a 'look,' then says, "How about another beer, Bret?"

They talk for another half hours, asking each other who they've seen from the old neighborhood, and they seem like legitimate friends. The two shots and three beers provided me with a nice buzz, and as we leave, with me being conscious of Bruce wanting me to walk as normal as I can, I'm glad for the booze buzz 'cause it's helping with the pain of that fucking butt plug. Mostly, I. thinking how happy Cowboy will be that I finally scored some marijuana for him. I've already forgotten Bret's description of this marijuana, but it wouldn't impress Cowboy anyway.

Walking back to the car, I thank Bruce for bringing me pretty much the way Lee thanks me for treating him to dinner. In other words, by overdoing it. Bruce, however, seems to be eating it up, so that's good too.

I go to his apartment, where Bruce twists out my butt plug, then takes off my dog collar. He reminds me his mentor buddy, Eli Barnes, will be joining us. He goes, "First thing you'll be doing is sucking his dick, showing what you learned from the video about sucking cock, and then he'll fuck you. If we're lucky, he'll stick around to have lunch with us and maybe fuck you again before he leaves. That's what I'm hoping for. It'll look awesome in the report. Friday you and will have a light day and then Saturday, well, you know what's coming. Get here an hour and a half before we need to leave. You'll need the time to get yourself together after the twelve-whack paddling. Then we fool Richard, and we're home free.

The way he said all that, so, um, so matter of factly as if it was no big deal, makes me think he's slightly drunk. I nodded my head and paid attention to everything he was telling me, the same way I do it when he's sober. He did me a big favor today. Then, as I'm just about to leave, so glad the butt plug is out, Bruce goes, "Wait a second, Zach. Um, don't take offense, but as your mentor, I have a right to know how you can afford three hundred dollars for a few joints." I say, "Yes, Bruce. Um, I have money saved from my Navy pay. That's how I'm paying for my hotel and how I bought that awesome car. I have enough scratch left to last another two months." He goes, "Of course. Jesus, I forgot that you got out of the Navy a couple of months ago. See ya tomorrow ten o'clock sharp."

Going down the steps, I'm shocked at how hard I found it to lie to him. I almost couldn't do it. What's up with that? I've never had a problem lying before, but now I feel guilty and need to fight off the urge to go back and tell him the truth that I'm not rich but well off. That would be really stupid, though. He'd start questioning why a financially well-off guy needed to be a male escort prostitute. No one in their right mind would do all the shit I need to do just as a lark. And, hell, I can't explain why I'm doing it, except I guess I'm hooked on Bruce. I know there were early semi-logical reasons I returned after day one, then day two, but tomorrow is day eighteen, and that I can't explain that. I can't seem to stop going back, which isn't really an answer.

Shaking my head, not wanting to think about that anymore. Instead, while driving to the hotel, I'm grinning because Cowboy is in for a big surprise. I'm pretty sure that Bret was telling it straight about the high quality of this grass. It sounded too complicated to be bullshit. Ha, I had no idea marijuana had names for the different percentages of THC content. To be honest, I have no idea what THC means.

Not that I need to know as long as Cowboy and I get a nice high out of it. Lee, too in the unlikely event he smokes pot. After showering, cleaning, and drying my jockstrap, I put it on and walk around feeling good. Maybe I'll always wear a too-small-cup jockstrap, and Bruce and I will be starring in New York City. Hmm, you know what I should do? I should stop fantasying about Bruce and me because no real scenario is possible. I'm, maybe, going to come up with a believable fake one.

Coming to my senses, I text Cowboy telling him. "Hey, Cowboy, you and Lee need to have dinner with me tonight. I'm missing you guys, plus I have a surprise for you." Cowboy texts right back, "Yep, Zach, we'd love to. What's the surprise?' Obviously, I text that it won't be a surprise if I tell him, and we arrange to meet at that Italian restaurant we ate at before.

I'm feeling really, really good that the daily paddling is over, but I tremble when thinking about the paddling I'm going to get before Richard's inspection on Saturday. On the positive side, the glass half full side, Saturday's paddling will be the last one I get for the rest of my life and, as a bonus, it will get Bruce and me out of the dog house, and we can cruise easily through the last three weeks without Richard looking over our shoulders.

Thursday, tomorrow, should be interesting. Bruce's friend, Eli-something, is helping out by giving Bruce's penis a brief rest. I'll be doing the ball-licking and cock sucking for Eli instead of Bruce. Then I get to feel Eli's cock in my ass, and I've always liked variety when I was topping. That's been true not only for these last four years but from my first sexual experience. I feel the same now that I'm mostly a bottom. I say 'mostly,' but in New York, I'll be exclusively a bottom. I mean, Christ, no, I'm not doing the escort, prostitute, shit, but I'd be exclusively a bottom if I did. It's easy to get that mixed up being around Bruce. He talks all the time about me working the streets for him as if it's a foregone conclusion. And why wouldn't he? I'm deceiving him into thinking that.

Oh, fuck, I need to stop thinking about Bruce and get dressed to meet the boys. Putting on the first pair of shorts and shirt, I pick up from the clothes just back from the laundry but don't bother with boxer shorts because they are redundant with the jockstrap. I step into sandals, and I'm ready to go. Oops, not quite ready; I need to bring some recently acquired joints, some cash, my AMEX card, cell phone, and a lighter.

As I'm getting in my car, it occurs to me that smoking a joint is, um, smoking. I'm not allowed to smoke, yet Bruce was with me when I bought the pot, and he didn't say anything about me not smoking it. Hmm, am I going to assume from that it's okay for me to smoke a joint? Sitting in my idling car, I need to be sure it's alright. I call my mentor, and Bruce answers after one ring and says, "Hello, recruit. I'll bet I know why you're calling." His voice brings on a submissive curtain that drapes over me. An enjoyable one, and I shiver as my dick twitches in the jockstrap cut.

I need to take a deep breath before saying, "Hello, mentor, um, Bruce. I, ah, um, I need your permission about something." He goes, "You did the right thing here, Zach. I knew you would, and yes, you're allowed to smoke that pot you bought today, but no cigarettes. Saturday, after beating Richard at his own game, you and I will smoke a couple of joints together if you're willing to share. I hardly ever smoke pot, but I will if we pull the wool over Richard's eyes."

I can't ever recall feeling euphoria like I'm feeling right now, and I know it's pretty stupid. It's just that, one, I did the right thing calling Bruce, and two, he's totally awesome to allow this exception, and three, he's so confident we'll win on Saturday he's planning a celebration with him and me smoking pot together. Somewhere in my brain, I'm aware my reaction is lunacy, that I'm way too deep into Bruce's rabbit hole, but I don't care 'cause I love this weird incoherent adventure I initiated, and I've let it go where it will go.

That was an instantaneous reaction of one second, then I say, "Yes, boss, I'd be privileged to share my pot with you, and thank you for allowing me to smoke one of these joints." He chuckles, mumbling, "Sure. I'll see you at ten o'clock sharp tomorrow," and clicks off. The last time I can think of feeling this good about getting permission to do something was my old man saying I could go to Ocean City, Maryland, for a weekend with Ronny... I was fourteen. Two fourteen-year-old boys off for the weekend by themselves... elation!

Driving away, I know my reaction to Bruce permitting me to smoke pot was ludicrously inappropriate and indefensibly over-the-top, but I'm brainwashed, so what do I expect. And, who cares anyway since I got what I wanted.

That last part is ludicrous too, but I still don't care. I feel great, optimistic even, although petrified about Saturday too. Wow, talk about conflicting emotions! For now, though, I'm looking forward to the marijuana taking me away from the petrified aspect of Saturday's paddling. Plus, I'm psyched about seeing Cowboy and Lee.

As I drive up to the Italian restaurant, I see Lee's motorbike coming down the street from the other direction with Cowboy driving, Lee with his arms around Cowboy, both guys grinning and looking happy. That makes me feel happy too, but I wish Lee were driving. Cowboy's never driven a motorbike before he drove Lee's the other night. Christ, I just turned twenty-eight, not forty-eight, which is what I sound like when Cowboy's involved.

Yes, I'm twenty-eight hanging around with nineteen-year-old boys; all of them are nineteen. I wish I were nineteen too. I'd try doing that age better than I did it the first time. I should probably wonder why the three nineteen-year-olds seem to relate to me okay. Maybe because I'm acting more like nineteen than twenty-eight. I am so fucked up lately. I never was when I was with Ronny. Why was it that? Maybe because I did what he did, and Ronny never acted younger than he was. He lived in the moment. What moment am I living in, I wonder? Whose moment, maybe it's not even my own.

Oh, fuck, there I go again; my brain is twisted in a knot again. I'm getting out of the car as Cowboy parks the bike. Lee says, "Hi, Zack. Carson rides my bike better than me." Cowboy has his incredible big smile working as he goes, "Yeah, I do. Hey, Zach, how ya doing?" We do guy hugs and, because we're queer, we kiss too. Quick kisses on the lips.

I need to make up bullshit during dinner, answering Cowboy's questions about what my new buddy, Bruce, and I have been doing. Mostly I tell him we've been drinking, gambling, watching the hot guys on the boardwalk, and doing sexy stuff. Cowboy's stuffing his face with pasta, asking, "Like what?" I laugh, saying, "Like none of your business." He says that he and Lee may have broken a record last night in bed, blowing each other two times before going to sleep. I tell him that's not even close to a record because Jimmy Haraway and I blew each other four times in a sleeping bag once at summer camp when I was fifteen, and blah, blah, blah, we laughed and lied with Lee giggling the way he does.

It was fun. Cowboy and I split two pitchers of beer which was cool. After dinner, we drove to the beach, Lee driving the slightly drunk Cowboy on his motorbike and me driving my car. I showed Cowboy the joints in the restaurant, and he said the same thing to me that I said to Bret, that he's never seen joints so perfectly packed with such neat twists on each end. Cowboy shows Lee a joint, saying, "I'll bet you've never smoked a joint before," and Lee said, "Only about twenty of them, my handsome cock sucking boyfriend." The three of us laughed at that because it came from Lee's mouth. It's something Cowboy would say. Jesus, those two are so fucking sweet together. I could eat them both up.

On the beach, we're passing the first joint three ways carrying our sandals. For the first couple of drags, we're all exclaiming this the best grass we've ever smoked, then after that, we just walk and smoke getting too high for conversations other than those we have in our heads. Cowboy burns his lips, sucking on the roach as I light the second of the perfect joints ever put together. I'm not a pot expert, but I've smoked enough to know this shit isn't laced with anything; it pure cannabis doing its psychoactive druggie best to make it, in my opinion, worth the outrageously overpriced amount that smooth-talking drug dealer, Bret, charged me.

None of us says a word smoking the second joint. When I flicked the roach, the ocean breeze took it, and we all watched, "Ooh, look at that," as if it was something we never expected could happen. We lie on the sand looking at the stars for, who knows how long, before I hear voices and sit up, sand sticking to my shirt in back, and gawk at a guy and girl walking toward us with their arms around each other's waist. It makes me wonder what it would be like to be straight. After two minutes of wondering that, I realize I can't even imagine it. Huh.

Lee rolls in the sand onto his stomach to get right next to Cowboy; he lifts his head and says to me, "That's good shit, Zach," and we both start laughing our nuts off at that with Cowboy laughing now too, although I don't think he knows what he's laughing at. Lee crawls on top of Cowboy, and they get into a mad make-out as I stare at them with a vision of Bruce in my head, wanting more than anything I've ever wanted to be doing that with him. My cock bends in my jockstrap cup as I imagine Bruce and me making out like that while at the same time I know it'll never happen.

Later, we're walking off our high with Lee asking, "Did anyone bring my sandals?" Cowboy says, "You're wearing them," and Lee takes them off, hopping on one foot, then the other, yelling, "Wait up, Carson." I ask, Cowboy, "How'd you get into, um, letting Ricky, um, dominate you? I mean, how'd it start? You'd never done the sub/dom thing before, right?" Cowboy goes, "No, I never messed with it, but it's not like I agreed to do that with Ricky. It's more like I had no choice. I mean, he had a fascinating arrogance about him and a way to draw me in that made my dick tingle and, I guess he made me want to please him, do what he wanted. I can't explain it, but it was a fun experience."

Lee's staring at Cowboy, absorbing every word, and Cowboy gives Lee a big smile putting his arm around Lee's neck pulling his head over face to face with his, murmuring, "Not as much fun as I'm having with this cute motherfucker, though," and they kiss. It was easy for Cowboy to get his arm around Lee's neck because Lee is never more than a foot away from him.

Huh, so Cowboy went from being extremely submissive to Ricky to now dominating Lee. Wanting more insight, I go, "Yeah, but Ricky making up your face with women's make-up and pig tailing your hair, then cutting your bangs. That took time to do with you sitting still, letting him do all that over and over." Cowboy leaves his arm around Lee, shrugging and saying, "Yeah, he told me to sit! He'd spank my ass when I'd get antsy and move a little. I felt so, um, so wanted, and so important to Ricky. It was an exciting experience, and, except for those fucking bangs in the haircut he did to me, it was all totally temporary and, basically, harmless. I felt lucky to experience it, although I was always aware it was a temporary situation because I knew we were moving on."

Not willing to let it go, I'm like, "Yeah, but weren't you humiliated?" He snorts out a chuckle, "Well, yeah, duh, that was the gist of it, and, as I said, I liked it. I don't know why, but I did. And, don't forget, Ricky was sexy hot." I'm like, "No, he wasn't," and as I said it, I knew it's all in the eye of the beholder who's hot and who's not.

Feeling if I continue asking questions, Cowboy will soon want to know why, so I stop. But, yeah, some of what he said is very much like my situation, except mine is extreme way beyond Cowboys' couple of days being dominated by Ricky. I think the level of dominance was similar to what I feel from Bruce, but I'm much deeper into it than Cowboy ever was. I learned a little something, though, not that it changes anything.

We smoked the third joint, passing it around walking on the beach. Then I wouldn't let them leave until we spent an hour on the boardwalk walking off our high completely. I kissed them both goodnight and then watched as Lee drove them away on his cool motorbike. Sighing, I go up to the suite and have a beer, thinking about smoking a joint by myself, but reject the idea and think about Bruce instead.

In bed by midnight, I decided I'm kind of looking forward to being fucked by Eli tomorrow. Not instead of Bruce, of course, Bruce always, but Eli for variety. Bruce's mission to get me ready for multiple fucks of my ass, I'd say, is successful thus far. I think everything he's trying to accomplish is probably right on schedule, if not ahead of schedule. Then it's lights out as I enter a state of mind as close to death as we get without going the whole way.

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

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