MY SUMMER OF SEX WITH COWBOY
Chapter 20
By Donny Mumford
At eleven o'clock on the dot, there's a light knock on my hotel suite's door. Christ, I got ahead of myself making a date at this odd time. I don't feel like doing this, and when I open the door, I'm not going to do this. Standing there is a pudgy five foot seven much older Carlos Santana than his picture on the pussy boy site. His skin tone is a pretty shade of tan, but his appeal ends there. He's standing, looking smug, a hand on his hip, acting very gay as he asks, "Are you Tom Jones, and are you affiliated in any way with law enforcement?" I go, "Yes, and no. Hey, how many years ago was your website picture taken?"
He walks past me into the suite, giggling, saying, "Did we get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?" I go, "That's false advertising." He cocks his head like a limp-wristed parody of a very gay person on a TV si-com and lisps, "Oh, that darn picture was taken eight years ago, or is it nine years ago now? I've told Bobby to put a more recent one of me online, but he likes that one."
I go, "Yeah, sure, whatever. Unfortunately, I just took a business call, and I don't have time for this." He goes, "Oh, honey, time is on your dime. You can do with it what you will. I'm here as your gay escort to pleasure-town."
He has a badly receding hairline, so his pussy boy haircut is hardly noticeable. He's wearing the uniform of white polo shirt and tan cargo shorts, but they look like he slept in them last night. Also, his belly is hanging over the waistline a little.
He looks around and goes, "Oh my, this is nice--first time for me in the Waldorf. Oh, and, by the by, my main man, Bobby, told me you were a little snippy with him during the routine filtering process, and you're to be polite next time. Okay, dear?" I go, "No, it's not okay. Your main man can go fuck himself. He misrepresented you with that picture, plus pretending you're in demand and only available eleven o'clock in the morning or the same time at night, which is obviously tall piles of bullshit."
He shrugs, giggling again, and then says, "Lighten up honey, you'll burst a blood vessel. None of those trivial matters are important now. So, tell me what I, as your escort, can do for you." I say, "You can get the hell out of here. That's what." He says, "What? Get out? The nerve of some people!" I go, "You heard me, and tell Bobby I'm gonna stop by one day and stick that phony picture of you up his ass," Waving a hand, he shrugs, mumbling, "There are no refunds, dear. Did you know that?" I point at the door, "GO!" and he says, "No tip?" and giggles but leaves with a smile.
What the fuck was that? Then, I snort out a laugh shaking my head and saying out loud, "That's five hundred dollars down the drain; that's what that was. Jesus!"
Hmm, what do I do now? It's five minutes after eleven, and my rental car won't be ready until noon. Sitting in an armchair shaking my head again, I snort out another laugh. I should feel sorry for Carlos, except he seemed to be having a good time ripping me off, him and Bobby. Holy shit that sucked!
Maybe I lucked out with Gregory and Jimmy because there could be many pussy boys like Carlos. Gawd, he was cute nine years ago, though. Since then, he put on sixty pounds, and, from a picture, there's no way to tell he has every gay affectation there is. I can easily overlook extreme in-your-face gay affectations, but not from a balding, overweight guy a year or two older than me. I'm into young guys!
Anxious to start searching Brooklyn for the pussy boy club, I go down to the lobby and check if the car arrived yet. It hasn't, so I go outside and pace up and down the block while smoking a cigarette. Hmm, I'm trying to break my habit of doing deep inhales the way Bruce smokes. Wearing my usual summer outfit of shorts, a short-sleeve shirt, and sneakers, I stop pacing to look in the window of the hotel's cafe and see my reflection. Huh, I do look as if I could be twenty-three. How old I look never occurred to me before the last few weeks. Looking younger, though, works in my favor dating younger guys. Of course, if I can talk Bruce into traveling with me for a while, I won't be dating anyone but him.
Looking up, if I look hard I can see it's a sunny day, but it's not obvious because of the skyscrapers blocking most of the sky. I've never been a fan of this city. Making my way through the foot traffic, I fantasize about Bruce and I being boyfriends or maybe lovers like Gregory and Jimmy. It'd be so cool holding hands doing normal shit like going to Coney Island or seeing a Broadway show, maybe spending all day at the Met.
After three cigarettes, I'm back at the Waldorf's checking front desk, and, yes, the car is here. I get in it and drive around the block. Then, I doubled park to put a random Brooklyn address in the GPS, and off I go to Brooklyn in heavy traffic.
After a hundred drivers blow their horns at me, the GPS tells me I've reached my destination. It's a random Brooklyn bakery's address I got online. Obviously, I don't give a shit about the bakery; I simply want to know I'm in Brooklyn. My weak-ass plan is to drive up this street until it ends or exits Brooklyn, and then go over a block and go down the next street until it ends, then up the next one, etc.
That sounds easy, except this traffic blows so much I have a screaming headache after an hour of driving in it. How in the hell do taxi drivers do this all day, every day? Breaking the monotony, every so often, I snort out a laugh thinking about my morning pussy boy date with Carlos. I mean, he didn't seem to give a shit that I told him to get out. It was so bizarre, and he goes, 'no tip?' What balls! No way did I want to have sex with him, and it was like he was making sure I didn't want to.
The next hour I continue going up and down streets, but the streets now have houses on both sides, not businesses. Row after row of attached townhouses that I think are called Brownstones. There are different styles, and most appear to be in good condition although they look old. Of course, I'm only covering a fraction of the twenty-six square miles that is Brooklyn, so, yes, this is a fool's errand I'm on, but I need to convince myself I tried.
Finally, I'm back in more of a business district and, after a half-hour, I see a rare open parking spot that I immediately back into as polite Brooklynites blow their horns at me and give me the finger. And, I only held them up for five seconds. Assholes!
My headache pounds at my temples as I get out. Cars try to run me over, but I make it to the sidewalk. Uh-huh, nice friendly neighborhood. All the stores have what appears to be two-floor apartments over them, and there's a lot of foot traffic on the sidewalks, just like in Manhattan. Looking both ways up and down the block, I see a CVS up ahead. I need to buy Tylenol and bottled water, so I walk that way, passing a butcher shop, dry cleaners, sub shop, and then the CVS, which is the last store on this block.
After buying a small bottle of Tylenol and a sixteen-ounce bottle of water, I'm outside swallowing three Tylenol while, at the same time, avoiding being stepped on by the aggressive individuals in a hurry to get somewhere. Huh, there's a narrower cross street that's not busy, so I walk around the corner of the CVS building to escape the foot traffic. Leaning against the sidewall of CVS, which goes down half a block, I close my eyes, willing the Tylenol to work.
In a few minutes, the drug starts helping. Good! I drink most of the water as I'm wandering further down this side street. At the end of the block, I look down the next street and see lots of traffic again, but not as bad as the traffic on the street CVS faces. I've been driving for a few futile hours, so I feel like walking a little and continue on this new block.
At the end of this street, there's a warehouse, and looking down the side of the warehouse, incongruously, I see, sticking out from the side of the building, a classy-looking vinal overhead canopy. It's a little wider than the door and extends to the curb. Canopies like that one are usually leading to a restaurant or maybe a private club. Hmm, yeah, I know, It's a wild longshot, but...
I walk down and see the canopy extends from over an ornate big black highly polished door with a large brass knocker in the middle. The door is recessed six feet from the sidewalk. Curious that a bald man about fifty years old is sitting on a chair in the recessed area next to that big black door. He's a large man with big arms wearing tan cargo shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt, his body stretching the t-shirt significantly. He couldn't be a bouncer, could he?
There's no signage to indicate what's behind the big black door, but a private club in this rather obscure location wouldn't need or want signage, would it? At the end of the building, just around the corner, there's a parking lot that could probably accommodate thirty cars, although there are only six cars parked there now. It's a little after four in the afternoon so that people wouldn't be going to their private club at this time; I shouldn't think.
What business needs a bouncer at the door? Well, a club or bar might. Of course, that bald guy could be the building's janitor goofy off. And, even if this is a club or restaurant, that doesn't mean it's the pussy boy private club. It is curious, though.
I continue walking, and all of a sudden realizing I might be lost. I stop and go over in my head the blocks I walked and when and how often I turned up a new block. Fuck! I better try retracing my steps before going any further. I'm thinking I'll drive the car closer to the warehouse and stake the place out for a couple of hours. See what's up with that black door, ya know?
Retracing my steps, I'm approaching the parking lot again, and I stop cold. Omigod! There are two pussy boys, young-looking ones, smoking against the back wall of the parking lot next to a door. Holy shit! I can't believe this, but there they are.
My heart pounds thump thump thump. What to do? Well, they're just gay guys, right? I cross the street and walk through the car-size opening in the old brick wall at the front of the parking lot, lighting a cigarette as I go. Both guys look at me, smoke drifting from their mouths. Both of them are sharp-looking with fresh haircuts, fresh and bright white polo shirts with creased tan khaki shorts, and black sneakers. One has brown hair and one black; both look pale as though they haven't been getting enough sun lately. I don't know why, but I'm assuming they'll be a bit timid. I mean, they're in a punishment program, and they can't be sure I'm not a member, so...
They aren't timid, though. The shorter black hair guy says, "Where in the hell do you think you're going? This is private property. Didn't you see the fucking sign?" I walk up to him, probably standing too close, and say, "Could you dial it back a little? You're scaring me, making it difficult for me to swallow." This little fuck is like five foot eight and weighs about one hundred and twenty pounds. I could wrap him up in a ball and put him in that backpack he has hanging from one shoulder strap.
The other guy, the one with light brown hair, what's left of it, puts his hand on the little guy's arm, saying, "Hey, hey, Dickie. What the fuck, bro? No need to be antagonistic." I go, "Yeah, I only want to ask you something." Dickie points at me, saying, "There's security inside," and he holds up a cell phone, adding, "I push one button, and our security people come out and kick your ass." I mumble, "If they can," and the light brown hair guy says, "What the fuck is wrong with you, Dickie? This guy didn't do anything."
Dickie snickers, saying, "I'm just fucking with him. Don't get your girlie panties all twisted around your little balls, Matt." Matt frowns, then looks at me, asking, "Well, what can we help you with? Or, are you a member of the club? We don't know everyone."
Ya know, some guys are obviously nice no matter what, and right away, I recognize Matt as one of the nice ones. Something about his eyes and body language. I will need allies if I hope to get in the club, so I need to be nicer myself. On the other hand, I don't want to make my intentions obvious, so I say, "Nah, I'm not a member. Um, I was in pussy boy training, and now I'm not.... um, it's complicated. It's like my mentor got a raw deal and was sent, I think, here. So, what I'm asking is this, is this a pussy boy punishment club?"
They look at each other, then the little shit, Dickie, says, "Dude, what's your game? You were a pussy boy? That's very difficult to believe." Getting frustrated with this little nincompoop, I can't help myself. I go, "You're obviously slow, Dickie, and I don't want to offend you or tie your dick in a knot or anything, so could you please shut the fuck up and let me and Matt have a conversation for one minute?"
He goes, "You don't intimidate me with your size and obnoxious muscles. I'm trained in aikido, a martial art you've probably never heard of." I nod, "You're right, I've never heard of it, but please shut up for one minute, okay?" Matt says, "Dickie's normally not this aggressive, but we're on edge waiting to hear if we've qualified to get out of here. We'll find out sometime today." Dickie says, "But we still don't know what you're up to, pal. You're too much of a hot stud to need to try out to be a pussy boy. Why would you do all the shit we need to do?"
I say, "Maybe you're not slow after all, Dickie, because you're right. I don't need this, but as I said, it's complicated. And, what I'm up to is simple. I would like to know if my ex-mentor is in this building. His name is Bruce Dunlop, and he has blond hair, brown eyes, and he's like six feet tall. He would have gotten here a few days ago." Matt says, "Sorry, we wouldn't know because new guys start upstairs in the funhouse. Dickie and I have been working in the first-floor bar as pole dancers, plus waiting on tables for the past three months."
"Funhouse, what's that?" Dickie says, "It's where members can be animals doing whatever they want with us, and we need to please them so they'll give us a good rating. That's how Matt and I qualified to work on the first floor. Eventually, maybe as soon as today, we'll get sent back to our man."
I go, "Then your man puts you right back on the street?" He goes, "What the fuck? Are you writing a book or something? Are you a reporter for some rag of a newspaper?" Shaking my head, I go, "No, none of that. I'm who I said I was. I'm looking for this guy, Bruce." Matt quietly says, "What will you do if you find him? As Dickie said, there are security guys in there. You can't just walk in and have a conversation with the guy you're looking for."
Hmm, I ask, "Well, you two are out here smoking. Will Bruce get an hour out here?" Matt shakes his head, "No, just the first-floor guys. Only two of us at a time, and there are sixteen of us, so we take turns during off-hours, like now." Dickie says, "Now that we've answered your questions, here's an idea. How about taking this opportunity to get your rocks off. We can fuck you up real good, or maybe you'd prefer a blowjob. Matt and I are excellent at both."
I'm like, "You mean you work the street on break?" Matt says, "Nobody said we could, but nobody said we couldn't either. The security guy at the door, for a blowjob, will give us a break to get some pocket money. Certain guys, insiders who deliver stuff to the club, they know about pussy boys on break. They'll occasionally take advantage of what we offer." He nods at an SUV, adding, "We use that van." I go, "What do you need money for?" He says, "To bribe the bartenders to sneak us booze on the side. A bottle of vodka can make the time pass easier."
Well, I need allies, so I shrug, "Yeah, ya know what? I would like to spend a bit of time in the van. That would be quite cool. Totally unexpected, but yeah." I meant with Matt, but Dickie goes, "Let's go then. What's it gonna be, blowjob, or fucking? If you're a bottom, my specialty is giving an ass a good workout?"
I look at Matt, and he shrugs, saying, "It's Dickie's turn. Yesterday a cable guy stopped in when we had a morning break. He usually wants a blowjob. Um, he's like sixty years old but in pretty good shape, and yesterday he gave me a hundred and twenty-five bucks for sucking his old dick and then him fucking me twice with it in the van." Jesus!
Rubbing my nose, stalling to see if I think it's worth doing this. Dickie, using a much nicer manner now, says, "C'mon, I'll do you up good and, I really need some pocket money. I'm, ah, sorry for coming on so strong earlier." He's so small, though. Yeah, but both guys are okay-looking and very neat and clean, so I smile and go, "Do you promise not to use any of that aikido shit on me, Dickie?" He grins, and he has a cute grin too with his two front teeth slightly longer than the others, making him look very young. He goes, "I don't actually know how to do that shit. I read about it."
Nodding at the van, I go, "My ass needs a good pounding. Let's go." Matt says, "Um, would you be offended if we ask for the hundred upfront?" I'm like, "I'm a little offended, yeah, but I can see why you'd want that." I pull from my pocket two bills, both hundred dollar bills, and ask, "Who holds the money?" Dickie goes, "Oh man, is that really a hundred-dollar tip!" I nod, and they exchange 'looks,' then Dickie says, "We each get one. Matt and I share our good fortune, of which there's very little in there," and he nods his head at the building.
Jeez, I feel sorry for these guys. I pass them each a hundred dollar bill and they both pocket it, saying, "Thanks, dude!" Then Matt asks, "What's your name?" I tell him my real name, and Mickey says, "This way, Zach," and reaches up to grip the back of my neck. I go, "No," and he drops his hands, mumbling, "They teach us to do that."
He opens the van's back door, we step up and go inside. Omigod, it smells like sex in here. I ask, "In your experience, Dickie, do most, um, customers want to fuck you want you to blow them?" He shakes his head, "Um, I'd guess maybe 60% want to top or have me give them a blowjob, but it's not uncommon at all for guys to requests me to fuck them. It's the same street price either way."
He's so much nicer now it's hard to imagine him being the pain in the ass he was earlier. He drops his shorts and neatly folds them, then his jockey underwear gets laid on top of his shorts. Dickie has a dick that goes with his little body. I only glanced at it, but his dick couldn't be more than four inches, and maybe not even four. Plus, it's proportionately small in heft; it's not a big one, to say the least. I don't say anything about it, though, and he seems comfortable, not at all self-conscious of his penis, and, of course, his groin is hairless, as are his legs.
Holding his dick out, he goes, "For a hundred dollar tip like you gave Matt and me to share, you get to suck a boner on me, no extra charge. Um, but drop your shorts first."
I have yet to meet a pussy boy who wasn't bossy. Dropping my shorts and underwear, I toss them on a broken beach chair. He goes, "Nice dick, and you're shaved. Were you really in pussy boy training?"I nod, "Yep, for three weeks, but, as I said, it's complicated." He casually picks my penis up, murmuring, "Do you ever use this beauty to top guys?" I go, "Yes, I was exclusively a top for over four years, but recently rediscovered the pleasure of feeling a guy's hard cock in my rectum." He grins his cute grin, mumbling, "Your mentor saw to that, I'll bet." I nod, "You got that right, Dickie."
He points at a mattress, one that's seen better days, and goes, "You can kneel on that to suck my dick." He said that so bossily I cover my mouth and do a fake cough to hide a laugh. He strikes me funny. I don't know, the way he acts so confident, and with that little pecker too. It's rather funny.
I get on my knees where he pointed, and he steps right in front of me, his legs spread, his hands on my head, his hips pushed out with that little pricklet of his hanging there. I'm stifling an urge to roll my eyes as he tells me, "When you get me hard enough, I want you to do some deep throating too." Holy fuck, I do another fake cough because I'm not sure his cock will reach my throat.
Dickie says, "There is bottled water in the front cab for that cough of yours. Do you want me to get a bottle for you?" I go, "No, thank you, Dickie. I'm good now," and I pick up his little dick and lick it from his nuts to the miniature mushroom gland on top. Yeah, the head is a small mushroom while often, small penises called pencil penises, have pointy heads like Jimmy's.
When I've licked up and down and all around his dick, I put it in my mouth and give him the works, my tongue and lips really active. Surprising me, he's pretty fucking blase about my efforts, barely squirming and not making a sound. It takes two full minutes, my tongue aching, before getting this little dick hard, and it's still not all that hard either.
He's very clean smelling, which I expect from pussy boys, so that's good. His cleanliness is most noticeable when I press my face tightly against his taut belly in an attempt to deep throat him, and the head, or part of it, does reach past the gag reflex area in my throat. He finally says something, "That's was a good effort, Zach. Keep doing it," and now he's got both his hand behind my head, pulling it forward as hard as he can.
When I exert pressure to back off, he lets my head move back, and then he pulls it forward again until my nose is tightly buried in his nice-smelling belly. He's grunting now, "Umm, umm." After maybe ten deep throatings or so, I lost count, Dickie says, "That's enough; I don't want to climax in your mouth."
Moving my head back, I let his boner slide out on my tongue. It leaves behind a clear strip of pre-cum. Dickie's tight boner sticks straight out from his groin, still barely four inches long. I was hoping it would get a bit longer boned-up like this, but nope. And it didn't get any fatter either.
Dickie points to where he neatly laid his shorts, saying, "Get me a condom from my pocket and then get on your hands and knees." I walk three steps over to the chair on my knees, reach into his pocket, and pull out three condoms. Putting two back, I hand the other one to him. He says, "No. You get to do it. Roll that on my boner." Glancing at the condom, I see it's an Atlas True Fit, no-slip condom. It's for small penises. In the Navy Seal's, we used to pass this small condom brand out as a joke when one of the guys was hesitant to do something stupidly dangerous. That's how I know these condoms are for small penises.
A regular size on Dickie's boner would come off in a woman's vagina or, in our case, a guy's rectum. He doesn't comment on the small condom, and neither do I. Hell, I want this guy to help me get inside the club. That door off the parking lot looks inviting.
After rolling the condom on, and it fits snuggly, I get on my hands and knees, and, of course, Dickie slaps my ass. Everyone slaps my ass. He says, "Go ahead and stick that pussy of yours up more," and he slaps me again. Amazingly, and I guess because I'm so used to it, I actually feel a tiny sense of submissiveness as I'm arching my back and getting my ass sort of pointing up a little. He slaps my ass again, saying, "You can do better than that. Get it up!" Ooh, a nice submissive sense spiked in my head as I strain to do what I'm told.
He mutters, "That's better," and he grips my hips, then mounts me with all four inches sliding in, and sliding in tightly too... and it hurt too. It didn't hurt as much as a big dick hurts, but it hurt, and I went, "Umpt, ah!" There was no hesitation on Dickie's part; it's, "Slap, slap, slap," right off the bat with his fairly normal set of balls bouncing off me with every slap sound. He keeps a steady fuck going that's very quickly beginning to feel good. My rectum is just as tight on his little boner as it is on a big one, or that's the way it feels anyhow.
Plus, he's changing the angle of penetration, giving my prostate a nice ride. Damn, the hurt faded in fifteen seconds, and this feels good. My cock starts getting hard and is a full-fledged boner in less than a minute. Ummm, nice fuck! With every hard thrust, his entire small body slams against my buttocks, making me sway forward and back on my hands and knees. I feel my climax building in three minutes or so, and I try fighting it off because it'd be embarrassing to blow my load this quickly. My climax persists, though, and I can't hold it off. I make a gasping, almost a yelping sound as I'm blowing my load. It's a shuddering climax that shoots along my torso, just missing my chin to splatter on the back of the driver's seat... a long hard stream of cum.
Dickie pulls right out, slaps my ass again, and says, "There ya go! Nice cum shot, Zach. Great doing business with you." Christ, I've got shivers, then a shoulder shudder. Dickie's already got the condom off, putting it in a covered plastic container, saying, "I usually can get a guy off a little faster than that, but not bad, huh?" Blowing out a long exhale, I go, "That was worth two bills, Dickie. Damn nice fuck. Thanks, man."
He nods his head as if he's used to hearing that, then he says, "Get your pants on," I do that as he was putting his on. He opens the back door and hops out and, ya know, I like this guy now. I feel good too! There was just enough initial pain, then it faded, and just a touch of a submissive sense, and, dammit, it was a really good fuck. I'd have dates with Dickie any old time. Who knew a small dick would feel that good?
Without remembering I said no to this, or remembering but not caring now, he grips the back of my neck tightly, walking me back to where Matt's standing. I grin to myself, letting him do it because he's an amusing guy. Matt smiles, asking, "Whaddaya think about my boy Dickie, Zach?" I smile back at him, saying, "I'm super impressed by Dickie. I was feeling kinda down, but Dickie got me feeling good. He can be my top any day."
Still holding the back of my neck, Dickie says, "C'mon, move over there," and he moves me on the other side of Matt, then takes his hand away, saying, "They can see us if you stand there." He points to a window. I nod, "Oh. Um, how long is your break?" We all light cigarettes, and Dickie says, "Until other guys come out, but we don't want Arnold looking out that window and remember we're here."
Matt chuckles and says to me, "So, did you get your money's worth?" I nod, "I sure did; nice fuck, Dickie." He shrugs, "It wasn't my best, but it was okay." I'm like, "Whose Arnold?" Matt says, "He's the security guy guarding that door," and he points at the door I had hopes of using, so I'm like, "He's not always on the door, is he?"
Both guys laugh, then Matt says, "He is, or someone else is. They can't leave the doors unguarded, or half the pussy boys in there would leave." I go, "That's, um, against the law. It's like kidnapping you guys or something similar." They shrug, and Matt says, "We all signed things saying we want to stay until we qualify. And, they took videos with us being really sincere, asking them to re-educate us and teach us and all kinds of bullshit like that."
Dickie goes, "Yeah, and we had to say we like being fucked and can't get enough cock to suck. Stuff that would be embarrassing in the extreme if people we knew outside the pussy boys ever saw it. So, while some of us would escape if we could, nobody I ever talked to would go to the police."
I talk with them for another twenty minutes and find out the food is okay, and they all have ten hours shifts, but after that is free time, and they can play video games, watch TV, read, etc. Before leaving, I come right out and ask, "Is there any way you can sneak me in?" They both shake their head at the same time, saying, "Fuck no." Then Matt says, "Sorry, but that's impossible. If you knew a member, he could bring you in as a guest. I think it's a hundred dollars to visit the funhouse where the guy you're looking for would be... if he's here. But, ya know, there's a funhouse in Florida too." Dickie says, "And one in the Caribbean."
Damn! This blows. Finally, we hear the door behind the boys being unlocked, so I say, "It's been a pleasure meeting you. When you see me inside, help me if I need it." We bump fists, and I wander out of the parking lot. The last thing I hear is a deep voice asking, "Who was that?" Meaning me, obviously. I don't know what Matt or Dickie said.
Retracing my steps, I surprise myself by doing it right. I walk right up to my rental car, and by now I've thought of a plan too. It's a very loose plan of somehow making a friend of a member, an older member, and it will probably necessitate having sex with him. The oldest person I've had sex with was forty-one, and he looked younger. That was a bar pickup in New Orleans three years ago when Ronny and I were on leave. The sex was okay, but I'm into younger guys now, so having sex with this potential old member will be hard to take.
Anyway, that's my plan unless I can think of a better one. I'll stake out the place later when more people are likely to go to the club. It's a Wednesday, so this probably isn't a big night for going out to dinner and a blow job, but I'm going to check it out and see.
In the meantime, I'll go back to the hotel and get cleaned up in case I hook up with a member. If this were Ronny, his plan would likely be to knock out the animal at the front door, then drop some tear gas canisters around while firing blanks getting everyone panicking as he strolled around looking for Bruce. It'd probably work, too, because I can't imagine calling the police is the first thing the pussy boy club would be anxious to do. I'm obviously not Bruce, so I'm going with the less aggressive plan.
The GPS gets me back to the Waldorf where I give the doorman a fifty-dollar bill to hold my car at the door for thirty minutes; then I go to the front desk and exchange two hundred dollar bills for ten twenty-dollar bills. By now, even I am sick of passing out hundred or fifty-dollar bills when a twenty would work just as well.
In the room, there's a fat envelope with a note from Cowboy. 'Zack, here are thirty-five hundred dollar bills for spending money and a cashier's check for twenty-five thousand as my share of expenses the past three months. If you feel you've spent more than that on me. Let me know 'cause I'm good for it. Lee and I are out for dinner. Love, Cowboy'.
Jesus H Christ! Oh well, I don't have time for this now. I stick the money in my satchel and toss it in the closet. No thief would ever think to look in there, right? Swell.
Showered and freshly shaved, I dress in a clean polo shirt and khakis while thinking I really need to upgrade my wardrobe. I've been wearing khakis and either pull-over polo shirts or t-shirts since leaving the Navy.
With my small Swiss Army knife in my pocket, I hurry down to the hotel's front entrance. Thanking the doorman, I get in the rental car and pull into traffic, heading back to Brooklyn. It's now almost seven o'clock, so I've missed the major rush hour traffic. The GPS lady gives me the right directions for the address I programmed in: a beauty parlor named 'tame your hair bitch'. Classy.
Driving past the club's parking lot, I see maybe a dozen cars. There's a pickup truck parked on the same side of the street, so I park in front of it. The pickup is between me and the club's parking lot. I can see the parking lot in my side mirror. The warehouse is this huge building, although I'm guessing a quarter of it is the pussy boy's private club.
Sitting here with the motor off, I look at the driver's side mirror seeing cars pulling into the parking lot every ten minutes or so. Usually, two men get out and walk around the corner to the front door. Matt and Dickie told me the parking lot door is only an emergency exit, plus used by the pussy boys on break; never used by the members.
I'm looking for an older guy going inside alone because, perhaps, he doesn't know anyone to go to the club with, you know? A solitary gay older man who just might be interested in meeting me. I'll need to charm the shit out of him and probably let him fuck me, and then maybe tomorrow night, he'll take me in as his date.
Yeah, another long shot, but I've made a couple of long shots happen by persevering. Men are going in by themselves, but they're not old enough. After an hour of watching, I conclude that this private detective work is mind-numbingly boring, plus I'm getting another 'effing headache. And, I'm now seriously doubting this will work. Come on! I need an old guy driving himself.
At nine o'clock, I swallow three Tylenol, convinced Bruce is in Florida or the Caribbean. Still, I hate to give up, but I need to get out of this car. Getting out, I saunter up the sidewalk looking in the gutter for a nail or screw, something that could cause a flat tire. I plan to either let the air out of an old lonely guy's car tire or cut a hole in it with my Swiss Army knife. If I do that, it'll be better if a nail is sticking out of the cut.
I haven't eaten anything since breakfast, and I've been chain-smoking in the non-smoking rental car convinced this would never work, but look at that... in the gutter is a sharp metal, um, something. The end of a steel spring, maybe. Whatever it is, it will do, so I pick it up.
Then, I'm back sitting in the car watching. If nothing happens by ten o'clock, I'm going to find a bar and get drunk. I haven't been drunk in almost a month. Ten o'clock comes and goes, and I use the flawed logic I used whenever I wanted to stop doing the pussy boy shit, which is, I've already done so many things, why not do this one more thing? Ya know, I've already sat in this 'effing car for three hours, so why not one more hour?
Three minutes later, I watch a guy driving a vintage, fifty-year-old, Mustang convertible slowly drive into the parking lot. Oh, yeah! I sit up in the front seat, watching him walking out of the parking lot, and, holy shit, he's perfect. He's a white-haired gentleman of about sixty-five walking around the corner, flipping his car keys in the air and catching them. He's alone and old, and I'm hoping that's because he's shy and, well, I don't fucking know. I basically need my luck to hold out.
Without hesitating, I get out and walk up the block to the parking lot. Hmm, there's the vintage Mustang just inside the entrance. I walk across the street and then up an entire block. Not seeing anyone, I walk back on the side of the parking lot while closely checking if anyone is guarding it. I don't see anyone, but the parking lot is lit up like Citizen Bank Park for a Phillies' night baseball game.
Taking out the knife, I get the longest, sharpest blade out. Then, next to the Mustang, I kneel and press the knife against the back right tire. Holy fuck, I'm pushing and twisting with all my might, then it goes in, but I don't hear air coming out. What the fuck? After forcing the sharp piece of metal in the hole, I take the little screw-top off the air valve and push in the middle thingie, hearing air escaping.
Jesus, I know it only took a minute to let most of the air out, but it seemed like an hour. If anyone is watching, I pretend I've been looking for my cell phone that, being retarded, I somehow dropped. Overdoing it, I loudly say, "Oh, there it is and hold it up, then get up and put the phone back in my pocket, and walk down the street. I'd never make it as an actor.
Overdoing it again, I casually walk back up the block, passing my car and going up two blocks more before stopping. As far as I can tell, no one saw me do any of that. Turning around, I walk back and get in the rental car, lighting another cigarette and watching another guy drive into the parking lot. He's old too, but I've already got my white-haired guy, and now I need to wait for him to come out and discover he has a flat tire. That's when I'll casually be walking by and offer the old fart a hand changing his tire. Yeah, that's the plan. That, plus he needs to find me charming, etc.
I'm tired and hungry, and after an hour and a half, I'm convinced my white-haired loner is probably having a good time in there; probably he's the most popular man in the club, and this is the first time he's come here alone in fifty years. Then, another lifetime passes slowly before, at ten minutes of twelve, the lonely white-haired guy comes out the door alone. Thank Christ!
Plopping a few Tic Tac in my mouth, I get out of the car and very slowly begin walking up the sidewalk across from the parking lot. The old guy doesn't notice the flat tire and fires up the engine. He begins backing up, then stops and bangs the steering wheel with both hands. Yeah, flat tires are a bitch.
By this time, I'm almost across the street from the parking lot. He has the trunk open, but he's just standing there looking at the open trunk. I'm lurking in the shadow over here. There are no street lights on this side street, which is probably why they have the parking lot lit up like a murder scene. The old guy looks at the warehouse/club, perhaps thinking he'll go back in and get help. I don't want that, so I call over, "Excuse me, could I give you a hand?" I slowly walk across the street, adding, "I live down the block there and, um, just getting some fresh air." He looks up, and his face is red, probably frustrated.
When I'm in the parking lot's lights, he sees I'm a clean-cut fellow, smiling slightly and not dangerous at all. He says, "Well, um, I've got a flat tire, and I'm embarrassed to say that thing there, the jack-thing. Ha-ha, I have no idea how to work it." I go, "Wow, what a beautiful vintage Mustang. It's like new." He pats the bumper, saying, "I had this rebuilt the way it was when it was a brand new 1969 coupe convertible." I think it's one or the other, a coupe pr a convertible, but why correct the old guy? I go, "It's a beauty."
He goes, "Well, you're a big handsome lad. It's so nice of you to help me out here. I'll be happy to pay you for your trouble." I say, "It's no trouble, sir; I'm happy to help you with this." It takes me ten minutes to change the tire, pointing out the steel object in his tire. He frowns, "These tires are supposed to self close a small puncture like that." Well, yeah, it did.
Putting the flat tire in the trunk and closing it, I say, "Huh, that is puzzling. Well, there ya go. You have a beautiful car here." I try slipping in a bit of gay affectation by stepping back and holding my arms a little faggy across my chest with a limp wrist. He holds out his hand, saying, "I should have introduced myself. I'm Frederick Straton, and I can't thank you enough." I shake hands limply, saying, "A pleasure to meet you; I'm Sonny McFadden, and, as I said, I live two blocks from here." Nodding at the building, I go, "What is this place anyway." He goes, "It's a private club."
Moving on quickly, he adds, "Here, let me give you a twenty for your trouble. It's the least I can do," and he reaches into his pocket. I'll say it's the least he could do. A twenty? I shake my head, "No. It's my good deed for the day. I couldn't accept money for doing what anyone would have done." And I try moving my head the way that gay goof this morning moved his.
I think I saw a lightbulb light up in Frederick's head as he asks, "Well, could I buy you a beer instead? I'll tell you about my vintage car collection. You seemed interested in my Mustang. I have others." This is too easy. I go, "Wow, sure. I'm interested in old cars. They don't make 'em like they used to."
He goes, "Um, should you call your wife, ah...?" I go, "Oh, I'm not married. My boy..., um, I mean my partner and I don't live together anymore. It's, um..." and he says, "It's none of my business, Sonny. I shouldn't have pried. C'mon, get in. I know a nice bar a few miles from here." I hesitate, sort of pointing to the building, and he goes, "It's too noisy in the club. We couldn't talk about the cars." Fuck!
I get in on the passenger side, and Frederick drives us more than a few miles. It's more like ten, pulling into a place named "Your Favorite Back Door'. Obviously a gay bar. Imagine that?
As we get out of the Mustang, I say, "I think I've been in here with a friend one time a year or so ago." He rubs my shoulder, saying, "It's loud downstairs, but the upstairs bar is quiet." I nod, acting shy, saying, "Oh, I didn't know there was an upstairs bar." Frederick, suddenly, isn't acting like a little older man who's puzzled about how to work the jack. He's going to show off for me, the gay country bumpkin, saying, "We'll have a drink down here first." Then, at the bar, he calls out to the bartender, "James, two brandy and sodas, please." "Right away, Mr. Straton."
With his arm around my back, he leans in close, saying, "I hope you like brandy and soda. I should have asked you before ordering." I sneak in a lisp, saying, "I've never had brandy, I don't think." The drinks are put in front of us, and he asks, "What do you do for a living, Sonny?" And we're off and running with me saying, "I just got out of the Navy, and I'm currently working as a waiter in Manhattan, and blah, blah, blah."
After three brandy and soda, plus an order of shrimp cocktail, that I devoured, and he orders another, I notice that going upstairs isn't mentioned again. The vintage car conversation never gets started either. Instead, he wants to dance, and he's a better dancer than me. I've got my act down pat by now as the naive gay boy overwhelmed by a sophisticated rich gay man. He pays for everything, and I keep thanking him. He goes, "Oh, my dear boy, it's my extreme pleasure."
After the fourth brandy, he kisses me on the mouth. I kiss back with my eyes closed, pretending I'm kissing Bruce, or Cowboy, or even Lee. Then he's rubbing my head and kissing me on the mouth again, doing that right here sitting at the bar. His face close to mine, he murmurs, "Would you like to come home with me tonight?" Acting a little breathless, I murmur, "Yes, but I have to be at work tomorrow, so I can't stay all night."
Acting cocky, after totally winning me over, he pinches my cheek, saying, "You're cute and handsome. I think I'll have you stay the night anyway. Um, have you ever been with an older man?" Shaking my head, acting shy, he kisses me a quick kiss, saying, "You're in for a pleasant surprise then. C'mon, Sonny, we're going home now, darling."
He walks possessively of me, his arm around my waist guiding me as he says, "From one of my worst nights at the club to this wonderful night with you, Sonny. It really has been a breathtaking change of pace." I go, "Why did you have a bad night at the club?" He says, "I'm beginning to think I don't fit in with that crowd. They're offputting and, well, snobby." He's slushing his words a little bit after four brandies, but he doesn't act especially drunk other than that.
He drives us for two minutes and then pulls into an alley behind a large brownstone, the one on the end of maybe ten of them, all connected. Parking, "He says, "C'mon, give me your hand, Sonny. A few of the steps are broken." He holds my hand, saying, "Watch your step," as if I'm the sixty-five-year-old guy. Eight steps are leading to the front door, and inside it's impressive, obviously renovated recently.
Still holding my hand, he leads me into the big kitchen turning on lights as we go. "Shall we have a nightcap, Sonny?" I nod, saying, " Okay, but even though it'd be cool, I really can't stay the night," and he pats my cheek, murmuring, "I'll get you to work on time, you sweet boy you. Let me worry about that, okay?" He goes in a pantry as big as some kitchens, and I text Cowboy. 'No worries, bro, I'm out for the night... it's all good. Love, Zach.'
Frederick comes out of the pantry, saying, "I have a wine cellar. Well it's a cooler-like machine acting as a wine cellar," and he holds up a bottle, adding, "Tonight calls for wine." He pops the cork and pours us wine in big bubble wine glasses, then takes my hand and gives me a tour of this large place ending in his large bedroom. Letting go of my hand, he says, "Get undressed and slip into bed. I'll get the wine bottle. I say, "Yes, sir," and he smiles at me, showing super white teeth, probably all capped.
Ya know this is working. He's nice, and he's treating me like he won first prize. I strip naked and slide under the covers in his kingsize bed, sitting up with a pillow behind me. Hmm, I'm trying to think what to say if he notices my lack of pubic hair. That could raise high suspicion. Yeah, but what if he wants to blow me? Dammit, I've got to think of something not related to pussy boys.
He's back with the wine bottle, pouring more in my glass. I'm getting hammered because I haven't eaten anything all day, except the shrimp. He hands me his wine glass, saying, "Hold this for me, dear, while I unrobe." He takes off his clothes, putting them on an upholstered armchair that could be an antique. His chest is covered with white curly hair, but he's not in terrible shape. A small potbelly, but the rest of his torso looks fairly tight. The same curly white pubic hairs surround his penis that's as long as Bruce's... seven inches. What a coincidence that is. It also breaks the string of four and five-inch penises I've been experiencing the past couple of days.
Frederick gets in bed under the covers and slides over to take his wine glass. He puts his arm around me, and then we make out for a couple of minutes, holding our wine glasses to the side. Yuck. It's rather horrible and totally not sexy. He must have shaved before going out tonight because he's clean-shaven. Not that I mind a man's beard, but it's the color white that turns me off. Young guys do not have white beards. I'll get through this and chalk it off as one more weird life experience, none of this is pleasant.
Frederick talks about himself, and he is very pleased being him. He owns a printing company but does very little work with it as he's partially retired, letting his manager handle the daily business. They have contracts with major high gloss magazines, plus huge contracts for business letterhead stationery and business cards, and... blah, blah, blah. I'm used to nodding my head, pretending I'm listening and interested. Plus, I add appropriate one-word exclamations when necessary. When we've finished the wine, he says, "Sonny, put our glasses on that table next to you, and then I'd like you to give my old penis a good suck. Okay, sweetheart?"
Putting the glasses on the table, I say, "Sure, it'll be my pleasure after this wonderful evening." He pats my shoulder, then grins, rubbing his hand on my cock and balls, murmuring, "I think we'll have many wonderful evenings together. I'm going to get Walter to find an important place in our printing business for you. Maybe in sales so that handsome face of yours can win people over."
Then, he flips the covers off his crotch as I hold onto my covers. His flaccid penis is lying on a rather big set of balls surrounded by lots of white pubic hair. Gawd!
As offensive as I find that combination, I nonetheless bend right over, pick up his cock, close my eyes and pretend it's Bruce's seven-inch cock. As I'm sucking and licking it. It takes longer than I'd have thought to get this hose of his hard, and while doing it, I heard nothing from Frederick. Then, he speaks, "My goodness, that was a bit amateurish but energetic." He giggles like a little kid, adding, "You need practice, so do it some more, Sonny."
After another two minutes of sucking and licking his hard cock, he says, "Oh, umm, that's okay. I'll have my ex-significant other give you some tips on how a man sucks another man's cock." Jesus, is he kidding? Most guys would have blown their load a while ago.
Sitting up, I look at his hard boner as he says, "In that table's drawer next to you, are condoms. Get one for me, please, and then roll over on your stomach for me. It's getting late, so I'll only be able to do you once tonight, but in the morning, we'll have a more extensive playtime." I murmur, "Yes, sir," and he says, "You really are the most darling young man."
I find the box of condoms and take one out and then forcing a grin at Frederick. He says, "You're quite eager for this, aren't you?" I nod too hard, grinning harder, and he laughs, mumbling, "I can hardly wait to get you all decked out in a tight leather jumpsuit. It's one piece and covers your head and, oh my, I'm getting aroused just thinking about it. There are openings for your pretty eyes, nose, mouth, and, of course, for your cock and balls. Oh, the smell of it! An all-leather outfit on you... I can't wait."
Good God Almighty! I rip the packet open and then lean over to roll it unto his long boner. He says, "Thank you, my boy, now onto your stomach, please." As I do that, he flips the covers off me and straddles my legs, saying, "Put your face in the pillow, dear. I don't like hearing a lot of screaming from my boys." You know what? This guy assumed from the start I'd be his bottom. He's a confident and experienced old dude... a bit scary, actually.
His cock has a normal heft to it, but the mushroom head is quite a bit larger than the shaft, and that's what will cause the pain. I wait for it, and he casually humps it in hard, driving it past my sphincter muscles. Leaning forward then, he slides his entire seven inches inside my rectum just like that. It took three seconds, and it hurt a lot. My body's stiff as a board as the pain ballons in my senses. He could hear my muffled scream, or I should say screams because I screamed more than once.
He humps against my ass, then pats my shoulder, murmuring, "It'll pass. You're probably not used to a cock this size, Sonny. In a week or two, you'll be used to it, though, so don't worry." I have a few smart-ass thoughts I could say to that, but right now, I'm still dealing with pain.
Frederick has a considerate side, though. He leaves his impaling boner all the way inside me but allows my rectum to loosen up before he starts thrusting. The pain reduces enough that I can unclench every muscle in my body. He sees that and pats my side, murmuring, "Now for the good part, Sonny. Enjoy being fucked by someone who knows how." What arrogance!
He starts with steady full thrusting using every inch of his long boner, and it hurts for a full two minutes more, but it's bearable. Then the pleasure of my prostate overcomes any discomfort, and then it's steadily building pleasure. I'm trying hard to pretend it's Bruce fucking me, but that only goes so far because I know it's not Bruce. It's a white-haired old man. Still, he has a damn good boner working for him, and my ass doesn't have a brain, so it's sending out a lot of sexual pleasure. And soon, I'm not caring who is doing the fucking... it feels fantastic.
I'm making muffled sounds of extreme pleasure, my face buried in the pillow, "Ahh, ahh, ahh, ooh, oooh, ooooh!" My ass humps back at the long thrusting cock, me squirming under Frederick, while he begins heavy breathing and starts slapping my ass as he increases his thrusting speed.
It seems about the eight-minute mark when I lift my hips, lift Frederick too, as I blow a hard streak of cum onto the bed, then another as I grovel, moaning and seeing stars. Then lie flat on the bed in my cum with after-effects sizzling around my groin as I shiver with pleasure. Then I moan, just lying here as Frederick takes another five minutes fucking me hard, huffing and puffing, before climaxing with him going, 'Yeeees!" and then pounding his cock in my ass another dozen times before pulling out, gasping for oxygen.
I look back and see him lying back on my legs, his head between my feet. He giggles, then he sits up, saying, "When was the last time anyone fucked you that good?" I go, "Never, sir," and realize I've never actually called him by his name. The 'sir' word just came out from the start without me thinking about it.
Grinning, he crawls up the bed, looking at me, saying, "I'm not your 'sir' yet, Sonny, but you have potential so I could be. Would you like that?" Nodding at him, I say, "Yes, sir!" He looks at my chest covered in my own sperm and angrily says, "Go wash. Ew, you should have been considerate enough to catch your goo in your hand! Look at the mess on my sheet!" I hesitate, thinking he's lost it. He points at a door that I assume is a bathroom, "Go, now, boy!"
Holy shit. I go in and wash up, then come back casually holding a towel in front of my shaved groin, meekly saying, "I'll clean it up." In a complete reversal, he says, "Oh, don't worry about that. Get back in bed, you silly bad boy. The maid service will change the sheets."
He's already in bed, sitting as far from the carnage as he can get. I don't know what he did with the condom. I get under the covers avoiding the wet spot and pull the covers over me. I'm still wondering what he meant by he'd soon be my 'sir.'
He slides over next to me, wrapping both his arms around me, saying, "If I agree to be your master, it will involve spankings and daily usage of sex toys. Are you okay with that?" Oh, that slave/master horseshit again. I nod that I'm fine with that, and he laughs again, saying, "You don't talk much, do you?"
He yawns then and says, "Come on over this way," and he drags me away from where I shot my load without actually mentioning it again. We lie down with his skinny arms still around me, and he says, "I'll insist you let your pretty blond hair grow out, and they'll be a few other alterations to your appearance. But with some changes, sure, you can be my slave boy. You can even live here with me if you'd like. Would you like that?" I nod enthusiastically, and he says the magic words, "Hmm, I'm taking you to the club with me tomorrow night. I can't wait to see the looks in those snobs' eyes when they see you."
He gives me a tight hug then and says, "We'll get some sleep and in the morning have some more fun, okay?" I nod, and he giggles, mumbling, "I can make you almost perfect in a month." Sleeping in his arms is seriously creeping me out. Then, making it worse, he puts his hairy flabby leg over my legs, and it's terrible. I don't need to wait long before he's breathing deeply, though. He's quickly fast asleep, and I untangle myself from his arms and legs, then move away as much as I dare to keep clear of my wet cum.
Then it's morning, sunshine is flowing in from the floor to ceiling French doors leading to a balcony, which is where Federick is sitting, wearing a bathrobe and drinking what I assume is coffee. I quickly get dressed, then check my cell phone seeing a text from Cowboy, 'Hope you're having fun, bro!' I also see it's eight-thirty. Glancing at Frederick, he looks older than he did last night. I get the creeps now, remembering everything. It helped that I was drunk last night, but now I'm sober.
Taking a deep breath, remembering him saying he's taking me to the club tonight, I force a smile and join him on the balcony. He smiles and stands to kiss me on the lips, "Good morning, Sonny. How are you? A little hungover, maybe?" I grin sheepishly and shrug, mumbling, "No, I'm okay. How are you?" He goes, "Fine! I couldn't be finer. Here, have some coffee," and he pours some from the silver ern on the table.
I sit as he adds sugar and cream to my coffee, then I smile at him and drink the lukewarm coffee, wondering how I'm going to get out of here. Out of the blue, he asks, "Have you ever worn a dog collar?" I nod, and he goes, "Good. I have one for you to wear tonight." That makes me try remembering where I put Bruce's dog collar.
Frederick talks a blue streak about our plans for a slave/master relationship. He tells me about a boy who was with him for five years. He says, "His name was Bartholomy, but I called him, Buttons. He was not nearly, oh my God, not even close to how good-looking you are, but after two months, I had him very obedient. He got too old-looking, though, so I sent him on his way. I had to."
With nothing to say to that, I nod my head and drink the rest of the lukewarm, overly sweet coffee. Frederick leaps up and holds out his hand. Oh man, what can I do? Forcing another grin, I give him mine, and, holding hands, we go into the bedroom again, where he drops his robe and says, "We'll do the oral sex with you on your knees this time. Sonny, dear, that's the proper way to do oral sex for your master, and why did you get dressed. Silly boy, take your clothes off."
I look down and mumble, "Um, I'm embarrassed about something." He goes, "What?" Looking at him, I go, "I shave my pubic hair, and I'm afraid you'll laugh at me." He goes, "My God, I see boys without pubic hair three nights a week. Why would I laugh at you?"
I put on this perplexed expression, and he goes, "At the club. I see hairless boys at the club. They're all hairless!" I go, "Why?" and he shrugs, saying, "I'm not sure, but you'll need to let yours grow out." I go, "Anything you want, sir." And I undress with Frederick licking his lips, nodding encouragingly. When I'm naked, he goes, "Spectacular body, you handsome boy you." Acting shy again, or what I hope is shy-acting, I go, "Thank you, sir."
He points to the floor, and I get on my knees, then pick up his dick and lick it from his balls to the mushroom head ten times, tasting last night's condom the first five licks. His cock gets firmer quicker now that he's sober. The mushroom head goes in my mouth, and my tongue goes to work on it as my lips cover my teeth, putting pressure on the shift. He says, "Do light nips on the head with your teeth and bob your head when clamoring down on it. C'mon, boy, get with it!"
He complains, but he's plenty hard in two minutes, so he says, "That was a little better, Sonny. Now get a condom. You know where I keep them, dear, but don't make me need to tell you everything. In time I'll have you anticipating my needs and doing what needs to be done without me repeating myself time after time. Oh, how I needed to spank that into Button. He tried, though; I'll give him that."
This old guy is delusional. Whatever, I immediately get a condom, open it, roll it on his cock, then look up at him. He pats my head, grinning and saying, "You are an eager one, aren't you? I like that you try to please me. Okay, it'll be a doggy style fucking of your pussy this morning. Quickly, Sonny!"
I get on all fours, pushing my ass up. Surprising me, he's holding a hand towel out to me, saying, "Don't get your cum on the floor, Sonny. You're to shoot your goo into this towel. No more nonsense like last night. That's right, boy, I'll be very firm with you, but always fair."
I nod, and he grabs my hips, then rams his old boner in with me lifting my hand and holding the towel to cover my mouth as I make a kind of yodeling sound at the pain.
He smacks my ass, "No, Sonny!" I gulp and gag, trying not to scream again while he pushes his entire cock inside my rectum with firecrackers exploding at every inch; his big mushroom head spreading open my bowels and continues stretching my anus. It hurts, but again he's considerate enough to let my insides settle down. Then it's a hard fucking for five minutes before lifting my hand, holding the towel in front of my boner, I hold my breath, and then BAM! It's another sizzling orgasm that has me shaking and shuddering. Frederick smacks my ass, saying, 'No, boy! NO!"
He smacks it repeatedly until I calm down, then he gets into deep thrusting again, and, like last night, it takes him another five minutes to climax. Gasping the same way he gasped last night, he pulls out and groans before grunting, "You'll need to learn better manners as my bottom boy, but for now, that was okay. You don't know any better." I whine, "Sir, I need to be at work by ten to set up for the early lunch crowd."
Irritated now, he goes, "Goddammit! I have other plans for you this morning. Oh, for Christ's sake, you'll need to quit that silly job pronto, Sonny." Getting up, I go, 'Yes, sir." He goes, "Oh, you poor thing. I'll teach you the proper manners. Look, I'm sorry for jumping down your throat. Get dressed, and I'll drive you home." He has white whiskers this morning, so thank God he didn't start kissing me. Then, I think, holy shit, this is the sort of thing pussy boys put up with every single day.
He's very talkative during the drive. He is heading for the club without asking because I told him last night that I lived two blocks away. He's telling me how he'll have my nipples pierced as soon as Randolf gets back from Paris, and he'll want my penis pierced too, but I'm not to worry about that now. We're driving past my rental car that looks fine. No one has stolen the tires, at least.
I pick a house and say, "That's where I'm staying currently, sir." He pulls over and says, "Oh my goodness, no wonder you want so desperately to move in with me--you poor boy. Okay, I'll pick you up here at ten o'clock. Now kiss me goodbye." I lean over and kiss him, and his tongue goes in my mouth, his white stubble on his upper lip grossing me out so much I need to stifle a gag.
He pats my head then, asking, "Are you excited about being my boy?" I nod too fast, saying, "Yes, sir, of course. Um, but tonight I can walk down and meet you in the parking lot." He goes, "You are so sweet to save me the trouble. Okay, Sonny, I'll see you there tonight... ten o'clock. I know you won't be late and I'll reserve one of the guest rooms. I know you, and you will get antsy if you need to wait until we get home before feeling your master's cock in you. Right?"
I nod enthusiastically, then for a little show of clueless humbleness, I ask, "Um, what should I wear tonight, sir?" He laughs, "Wear whatever you like, sweetheart. Aren't you sweet to worry about that, and I'll have your dog collar. Believe me, that'll stand out no matter what you're wearing. "Yes, sir," and I get out. He waits as I go up the steps to someone's worn-out-looking row home. I fumble in my pocket, pretending to look for my key as he blows the horn and takes off.
Omigod, what a fucked up experience...
To be continued... donnymumford@outlook.com.
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