MY SUMMER OF SEX WITH COWBOY
Chapter 51
By Donny Mumford
This has been a weird day! It started when Dickie blew his load while fucking Clark, which Dickie claims only happens with a client once or twice a year. Just the same, he wasn't able to get me off; then, ten minutes ago, it was Clark who got me off. And, it took him quite a while to do it. Yeah, well, Clark's, um, equipment isn't top-shelf. I'm not complaining, though, just reporting.
I'm okay, but I feel kind of sorry for Clark. I mean, he's incredibly naive, so I'm afraid somebody will take terrible advantage of him, probably sooner rather than later. There isn't anything I can do about that, although I do have this, um, this silly desire to save everyone. That's egotistical of me for one thing, plus absurd and unrealistic in the extreme for another thing.
As I approach the rental booth, I see a middle-aged man and woman giving Markie a hard time about something. Well, here I come to save the day... haha. When I get closer, I hear the man saying, "but the chairs were gone when we got back from lunch, so we're without beach chairs even though we paid for them. Are you slow? What aren't you understanding?" Markie says, "Sorry someone took your chairs, but it wasn't me. I can't pass out chairs for free. I'd get fired."
Markie's eyes glance over at me, then back to the man, who goes, "Don't be a twit, sonny boy, we rented chairs, and we don't have chairs, so provide us with two." Now, it's the man who glances at me, then the woman looks at me too, so I smile brightly at them. The woman steps closer to the man who says to her, "I don't get what this counter kid's problem is. This is so obvious."
Taking a deep breath, Markie says, "I understand what you're saying, but it's your problem... not mine. It's simple; I can't give you free chairs. Why don't you report your missing chairs to the beach patrol?" The woman says, "Are you stupid?" and I say, "Excuse me, but the kid's just following rules. It's not his rental booth; he's an employee, so he's got to follow the rules, ya know?" The woman goes, "This is none of your business, buster." I go, "Oh, how'd you know my name?" She's like, "Huh? What?"
Stepping closer to the two malcontents, I point at a sign that lists the hours of operation, plus the owner of the rental booth and a phone number. I go, "Call the owner if you feel you need to, or give the kid another ten dollars for two chairs or, better yet, beat it."
The man's indignant, "Who do you think you are telling us to beat it?"
Taking a step closer to them, getting in their personal space, I go, "I'm someone who doesn't like old farts like you trying to take advantage of a kid who's just doing his job. If you don't like me butting in, call the cops. They'll be thrilled to be bothered with this nonsense. In either case, take off!" They exchange glances, clearly intimidated now when they expected they'd be the ones intimidating Markie.
The woman gathers her wits and says, "Arthur, we're being threatened by this thug so we will call the police." Then to me, "It's against the law to threaten people with violence. You're in big trouble." I smile, flicking my fingers in a 'go away' manner, and say, "That wasn't a threat," and the man, taking a step back, says, "If I were ten years younger, I'd knock you on your ass, wiseguy." I go, "Probably not, but that, right there, that was a threat." She says, "No, it wasn't, he said if he..." Interrupting her, I smile again, "Have a nice day, but have it somewhere else." The guy looks like he swallowed a dog turd, then goes, "C'mon, Deb, we'll find a police officer."
They stalk away, and Markie mumbles, "Oh, God, I hate this job." I'm like, "Yeah, dealing with the public can suck at times." He mumbles, "Having a bodyguard is, um, helpful, though. Do you wanna come to school with me." I smirk, and he goes, "Seriously, do you think they'll call the cops?" I go, "Nope." Then, as I'm walking away, Markie calls out, "Thanks, Zach," and I shoot him with my thumb and forefinger.
Cowboy and Lee are on the beach blanket sharing Airpods, apparently listening to music from one of their iPhones. Taking the pod out of his ear, Cowboy asks, "How was your walk, Zach?" Sitting down, I go, "Great, it was very invigorating." Lee starts singing along with a very upbeat tune, "I need you to stay. Da, da, da... I told you I'd change even though I knew I never would." His back is to me as he's nodding his head, unaware of anything except the music. He sings, "I'm afraid I'll fuck it up, ah, ah, whoa, whoa..."
I look around to see if anyone's offended by that as Cowboy's telling me, "That song is called "Stay'. It's by The Kid LAROL and Justin Bieber." I nod, then go, "Oh." Cowboy pulls the Airpod from Lee's ear. Lee turns his head and goes, "Hey... hi, Zach, cool song." I'm like, "I don't believe I'm familiar with The Kid LAROL, but you have a good voice, Lee."
Influenced by Cowboy's rejection of modesty, Lee goes, "Yeah, I know I do, thanks. Hey, whaddya say we get something other than pizza for lunch today, my treat." Not stretching the barriers of originality real far, we decide on hamburgers and fries. Lee and Cowboy walk to the boardwalk to get the food as I relax and enjoy the beach scene. Ah, the beach is excellent, the endless breaking waves on the shoreline, the breeze, the smell of the ocean, and the sound of squawking seagulls... mesmerizing.
What isn't so great is the smell of sunscreen and fat men walking around with hairy bodies wearing bathing suits two sizes too small and the constant hum of all these people conversing. Ya know, when you get right down to it, I'm basically a misanthrope, except there are a select few people who I don't know how I'd get along without.
Hmm, I give a thought that Clark might check his wallet and come down the beach to thank me, but conclude there isn't any reason he'd check his wallet. Why would he since he knows, or thinks, he has only twenty dollars left. What he'll likely do is change into his swimsuit, probably one that looks like it's from the nineteen fifties, and then spend the rest of the afternoon on the beach with his parents. He's a good kid, but he's not too cool.
Oh, that reminds me that I need to call Richard and set up a date with Dickie for six-fifteen tomorrow morning. I do that, telling him the hotel's name and the room number where Dickie will meet me. Richard is Mr. Businessman, saying, "Very well, sir, and should I use your AMEX card that we have on file?" I tell him yes, then says, "You know what, Richard? Can I reserve Dickie for every morning Monday through Friday? Ya know, same time, the same place." He says, "Of course, and the fifth date in a row is on the house. There is no fee for the fifth date when you pay ahead for four dates in a row. I'll run the one thousand dollar charge on your AMEX card... please hold on the line." He wants to be sure it clears, I guess. He's back on the phone, "You're all set for five-morning massage dates with Dickie. Thank you for your business." I mutter, "Uh-huh, your welcome," and hang up.
Next, I call the hotel and tell the friendly guy at the reservation desk I'll be needing the room for five more days... Monday through Friday. No problem. Then I'm like, "I know this isn't your responsibility, but there aren't any of those small toiletry articles in the bathroom. Did the hotel discontinue the practice of providing those items?" He goes, "No, Mr. McMann. I'll have someone take some up immediately." I say, "You're the best. Thanks a lot." I know Dickie is going to sleep in the room and probably do business in there too, and I'm not saying anything about that because I remember what happened last time when I did protest and ended up kissing his ass, apologizing. He's the man!
Okay, the hotel is two hundred dollars a day, so I just blew another thousand dollars on that, and I haven't paid Dickie his $200 a date yet, so that's another thousand. Money's the least of my problems, though. Maybe a miracle will happen, and I'll go cold turkey eliminating a date with Dickie next Saturday, and, say by two o'clock I'm not climbing the walls with horniness, so I'll then be able to discontinue future pussy boy side sex. If, however, a much more likely scenario occurs and I find I'm as horny as a hedgehog next Saturday afternoon, then I'll get a fix at Dickie's apartment from either him or Gordon. Yeah, I'll likely need to continue my pussy boy activities until Bruce finishes his job.
Speaking of that, I keep thinking he has two weeks left working as a waiter, but that's wrong. There are two weeks left in the summer, not quite two weeks till Labor Day when Cowboy and Lee go off to college, but Bruce told Anne, the cafe owner, he'd work as long as she needs him in September. After that, that's when we'll probably be doing morning sex together and then I won't need pussy boys.
Hmm, in the meantime, I do need them and I'm starting to worry that, even with the paddling, I'm not experiencing the deep submissive trances I used to. I may have become too familiar with Dickie's dominant ways, and it's becoming too routine. While it is still hot sex with him, I think we need some variety to pump it up a little.. something new. I'm paying a lot for this, so I will tell him to step it up, and if he can't, I'm going to ask Richard to suggest another dominant pussy boy starting next Sunday. That's if I still feel I need one, which I probably will.
It's ironic that it only took Bruce three weeks of pussy boy training, fucking me four times a day, plus dildos up my ass to get me in this oversexed condition, and yet it's almost three months later now, and I'm still in the same situation, so what's up with that? Well, no, that's not right. I've cut it from four down to three times a day, but I can't imagine going lower than that. My goal is for Bruce to be my top all three times. Then, I'll be done with pussy boys... probably.
The boys get back with our take-out lunch, then later, we take a dip in the ocean with the guys staying in the water as I dry off in the sun. I'm sitting in the beach chair when Bruce comes up behind me, puts his hands on my shoulders, then leans over, kisses me, and murmurs, "Hi, good-looking." I go, "Hi, boyfriend." He rubs my head, opens his rental chair, and says, "I'm getting itchy to hang out with you. I miss doing the stuff during the day that we used to do. Mixed emotions because I like working and having money, but I miss you. I miss us, I guess is what it is."
And, he has even more incredible things to tell me as well, but I don't hear the word 'horny' in any of it. That doesn't necessarily mean we're not going to have sex before dinner, though. Interrupting our very nice conversation, the boys come back and childishly spray cold water on both of us, flicking their fingers and patting us on the back, grinning while saying hello to Bruce. Boys will be boys, and these two aren't in any hurry to grow up.
Later, Bruce and I do our faux-mile swim, and then Bruce, Mr. Conscienious, decided there are errands we need to do. We leave the beach at five-thirty, shower at the apartment, put on shorts and tee-shirts, then go to the grocery store as we did a week ago. We need to restock the refrigerator, plus buy two rotisserie chickens and a container of premade mashed potatoes for tonight's dinner. Then we go to a package store for bourbon and beer, Jim Beam and Bud. Lastly, to Target so that Bruce can buy a pair of tan cargo shorts for work. He spilled cranberry juice on his shorts today and doesn't know if the stain will come out. I don't know either.
At the apartment, we put the bags of groceries and whatnot on the kitchen table, then Bruce hugs me, then kisses me on the mouth, and murmurs, "I've got the same problem today I had yesterday." I mutter, "You're horny? But, Bruce, the ice cream will melt." He laughs out loud and grips the back of my neck like the old days pushing me into the bedroom and kicking the door shut behind us.
Falling backward on the bed with Bruce on top of me, we makeout hungrily. Last night we did everything slowly, like lovers, but we'd had hot afternoon sex, and we weren't horny. This afternoon feels like a need in Bruce, and what could be better? Nothing, that's what.
Bruce's anxiousness to kiss, lick and feel my body equal to my desire for him. Our hands are as active as our mouths with boners forming fast and then gentle humping of hips follows automatically. Gasping, Bruce lifts his head, our lips making a smacking sound coming apart. After sliding off me, he says, "Let's get undressed." We pull our shorts off as we lie here, then our underpants. Bruce gets off the bed and then pulls my legs over the side of the bed. I'm no dummy, so I pull my legs back, an arm around each one as Bruce fumbles the cap off the lubricant and quickly pushes some of it inside my ass. His finger rubs my prostate, and I go, "Mmm."
My hard boner is against my belly, Bruce's boner sticks up too, but he pulls his hard sex organ down until it's sticking out straight, then pushes the head against my tight anus as we both moan, "Ahh..." He looks me in the eyes nodding and then humps the head of his cock in past my sphincter. Oh boy, pain soars for an instant and then becomes only background noise as he slides all seven inches up inside me and humps against my buttocks. Leaning over, our lips meet again and we do a sloppy kiss, his groin plastered so tightly to my ass it pushes his cock a fraction of an inch further inside my body.
With his face against mine, our noses next to one another squished against each other's cheek, Bruce pulls his hips back, and a million nerve endings in my rectum sparkle with pleasure. I shudder, moaning, "Oooohh," as he drives it back up inside me, and we kiss again. Lifting off me, Bruce murmurs, "I love you, Zach," then he begins thrusting his engorged rock-hard penis back and forth in my tight rectum as I slip into a state of ecstasy I've never experienced before. Those three words I love you spoken so sincerely change everything.
We've had sex together many times, but the last three times, and especially this time, there's a dreamlike quality, an incredibly intimate atmosphere between us, a fantastic surrealist quality of a surrealistic painting. Everything is intensified, more perfect, and more meaningful even beyond the incredible pleasure; it goes all the way to love. That's what it circles back to... love.
Every steady thrust of Bruce's cock sends me to the stars, indescribable pleasure for four, five, six minutes until it's reaching almost dangerous levels of forbidden pleasure, pleasure surely reserved for superior beings until, "Ahhh," my climax is at the tipping point. Oh, no, not so soon, but it's here! My eyes open wide, my cock standing straight up, and then it blows BANG!! "Eeeiii, Bruce..." as cum shoots out burning-hot straight up in the air to the clouds, no, not that high. An explosion of pleasure makes me shake as I watch gravity grab that cum shot and bring it straight down to "Splat" on my chest. Shuddering, I tighten every muscle in my body to shoot out a follow-up blip of cum that plops out two inches and drops down on my nuts, then my quivering boner slowly lies back on my belly and begins relaxing, its job complete.
Bruce goes, "Omigod, Zach... that was, um..." and he pulls his cock from my ass as we both go, "Umm." Oh, he climaxed too. I didn't feel it this time. My orgasm was too overwhelming for me to notice anything else. Bruce chuckles and says, "You are one perfect, boyfriend Zach. That was, um, extraordinary. I loved it!"
We're ginning at each other as we clean up in the bathroom, yeah, we're very pleased with ourselves. We get our underpants and short on, then walk out of the bedroom and see Cowboy and Lee sitting at the kitchen table, smirking at us. Cowboy goes, "We put away the groceries you left on the table," and Lee says, "The ice cream was melting." Bruce and I grin, and Cowboy adds, "Um, we were wondering... did you stub your toe in there, Zach? We heard a screeching/squealing sound." Chuckling, I go, "Yeah, you wiseass, I stubbed my toe." We all chuckle then, and Bruce gets out four shot glasses as I get four beers from the refrigerator. Lee doesn't even bother complaining about doing shots and beers anymore. We're turning him into an alkie... bad influences, that's what we are.
We stand and tap shot glasses, the amber Jim Beam shimmering at the rim of each shot glass. Bruce says, "To the four of us," and we flash down the shots. Lee gulps some beer, then mutters, "It's still horrible." Cowboy goes, "That's my man."
All four of us go out on the balcony so that the three of us smokers can smoke cigarettes. Lee says, "If somebody would score some pot, I'd smoke with you guys." Cowboys like, "Yeah, can you get us some grass, Zach?" I go, "Why can't you get some?" Bruce goes, "But, Zach, we can easily get it." I go, "Oh, yeah, that druggie friend of yours, Bret Devers. Can we go after dinner?" Bruce shrugs, "I don't see why not."
Cowboy and Lee high five, then Cowboy says, "Get enough for us too." I'm like, "Well, duh." We break each other's balls joking around as we're finishing our beers, then Cowboy and Lee go off to shower and whatever else. Bruce and I have another shot and beer and smoke another cigarette talking about, well, it's more like we're trying to understand being in love. How, after three months together, it happened seemingly overnight. What a great topic, though... it entails many compliments, ya know?
Later, when we hear the guys are out of the shower, we get the dinner ready by warming the mashed potatoes, adding butter, then Bruce makes a salad. The chickens are still warm, so dinner is ready. Fifteen minutes later, the guys come out glowing, so it isn't hard to guess what took so long after we heard the shower turn off before they came out of the bedroom. I'm like, "Jesus; you two are slow dressers." Lee beams as Cowboy mutters, "Haha."
The rotisserie chickens are delicious, and they only cost six dollars each! Good cheap dinner, after which Bruce texted Bret Devers, who said to come right over as he's going out shortly. We decided the boys should stay here as Bret doesn't know them, and it'll be less complicated if just Bruce and I go.
I forget how to get to Bret's, so Bruce gives me directions, and we get there in less than a half-hour. Bret answers the door and, he's a nice guy and all that, but he looks absurd! He's a rat-faced kid with tattoos on his neck and both arms, plus multiple piercings on his face and especially his ears. Still, he's a friendly motherfucker, although I assume he's not planning a career in the business world, as a banker, for example. This is the third time I've met him, but he gives me the same hug and kiss, patting my back as he does with Bruce. You know, as if we're all old long-time friends.
Bret says, "You two look marvelous. You're boyfriends now, aren't you? I can tell because both your body languages are very different from the last time I saw you. I've got to be very aware of body language in my line of work." Bruce goes, "Very observant," and Bret's like, "First, we need a drink! Then we talk business." Jeez, last time he gave us shots of eight hundred dollar scotch, I think it was scotch.
He brings out a bottle of Hennessy Cognac Paradis that I recognize from a wild night Ronny and I had during our next-to-the-last leave before our exit from the Navy Seals. We were celebrating and that exact cognac cost $1900. Bret says, "Lucky for us, a case of this cognac fell off a liquor truck, and my friend, Wiggle, stumbled upon it and gave me a bottle on my birthday. He says this shit goes for $1500 a bottle." That's either a bargain price or Ronny, and I got screwed.
He pours some into three juice glasses, and we tap glasses as Bret says, "It's good to see you guys!" He's high as a kite!
We bought twenty marijuana joints from Bret two months ago, but we didn't get to smoke very many of them because Cowboy and Lee regularly got into our stash. One drink is never enough with Bret, so we have another as Bruce and Bret reminisce about this or that, and we don't get down to business for a half-hour. Bret apparently isn't in all that much of a rush to do whatever he told Bruce he had to do tonight. Or, perhaps Bret's so high he's completely forgotten all about it.
Bret finally brings out three different qualities of grass. He talks double-talk about each one, but the bottom line is cost. That's tricky because Bruce insists we split the price, which means we need to go for the cheaper stuff. We compromise by deciding on the middle grade buying fewer joints. It's tedious haggling over fifty bucks while knowing Bret is ripping us off at ten dollars a joint. These are very well-made joints, though, and, according to the Canadian grading system, this is AAA grade cannabis.
It's certainly a better product than we'd get on the street. Bret is a high-end drug dealer. After an hour, plus a third shot of the smoothest cognac imaginable, we leave with two dozen joints at the cost of $240. The cognac drinks alone would have cost a lot more than that at a bar, one that was classy enough to have that cognac. Bruce doesn't know that, and I'm not telling him. He probably doesn't believe the bottle cost $1500, never mind $1900.
In the car, Brue chuckles and mumbles, "Bret is such a bullshitter... $1500 for a bottle of liquor. Get the hell out of here with that BS!"
See.
Anyhow, Bruce and I need this weed like we need another hole in our heads. I mean, we're three-quarters in the bag after the shots and beer before dinner and the three large shots of cognac with Bret. I'm super careful driving while Bruce falls asleep. Well, he's been up since five o'clock this morning, so he deserves this half-hour nap. After parking the car at the apartment, I tap Bruce on the shoulder, and he goes, "Whoa, I dozed off on you, Zach." I mumble, "No problem. C'mon, let's see what the guys are up to."
What they're up to is no surprise; they're playing that Xbox game, Fortnite. They're going at it hot and heavy when we come in but stop to ask about the pot. Cowboy asks, "Did you get it?" I go, "Whadda you think?" He mutters, "Way to go, Zach." Bruce is getting a bottle of water, looking tired. After giving Cowboy five joints and telling him, "Do not smoke them all tonight!" He mumbles, "Yes, daddy," and then I put the stash of weed in the pantry, saying to Bruce, "Let's not smoke one of these tonight."
Cowboy and Lee are already on the balcony firing up a joint as Bruce nods and goes, "I agree, not tonight. It's only eight-thirty, but would you mind if we get to bed a little earlier tonight?" Well, what I'd like to do is smoke a joint and get high to see what our sex would be like, but what I say is, "Good idea." Bruce murmurs, "Thanks."
Sticking my head out the balcony's doorway, I say, "We need to get up at five, so we're going to bed." Cowboy goes, "What a bunch of pussies. This is good shit you're passing up." I'm like, "Yeah, yeah, but we had three double shots of cognac while buying this good shit, plus Bruce is tired. He's been up almost seventeen hours, and he worked eight of those hours on his 'effing feet."
Lee says, "We understand, Zach. Cowboy's just being a dick." Cowboy goes, "Yeah, what Lee said. We'll smoke with you guys tomorrow." I want to tell him again to not overdo the weed tonight but stop myself because he's nineteen, and I'm not his parent. Ha, even if I were, he'd do what he wants anyway. I say, "See you guys tomorrow."
Bruce is already in his underwear, going into the bathroom. Ten minutes later, we're both in bed. Bruce says, "I'm fucked up. It's that liquor, Zach. You can drink more than I can." He gets his arms around me, mumbling, "Don't be mad, but I need to get to sleep." Cuddling in against him, I go, "Of course, no problem. I understand." He kisses me, saying "Thanks" again. Two minutes later, I can tell he's sleeping already.
Well, not to pat myself on the back, but as Bruce's lover, I appreciated his situation and was very considerate. Anyway, what was I supposed to do? Nag him for sex and pout that he's too tired to do it? That would simply make us both feel bad. Jeez, of all nights for this to happen, though. I mean, I missed my morning sex with Dickie, and then the afternoon sex with Clark wasn't, um, the hottest. And, right now, I'd like to have a joint with the boys, except I'm afraid I'd wake Bruce getting out of his arms, sliding out of bed. Damn, I hate playing the martyr role, but whaddya gonna do?
Monday morning, when the alarm wakes us both up, Bruce mumbles, "Sorry about last night." I go, "No, that's okay, Bruce." He's hurrying, as usual, saying, "You, um, ah, I know you'll straighten everything out with, um, whatever you need to do." I go, "Bruce, it's fine, really." Of course, he was referring to me doing pussy boy sex to supplement our sex. Missing sex last night wasn't too cool, but he's starting the last two weeks of work and during that time we need to avoid over-drinking. Um, he actually could be working up to six more weeks longer depending on how long Anne keeps the cafe operating.
Anyway, we've never been ones to chat it up in the morning, and we aren't talking much this morning either, but even so, these past four days there's a special vibe between us that I can't describe. Um, it's a closeness we never had before. It's a teammate kind of thing where we have each other's back. It's us against the world as lovers. I don't know, it's small things, relaxing things like we trust each other, we share private thoughts, an unspoken understanding between us that no one else can share, um... Oh, fuck, as I said, I can't describe it, but I love it!
Wearing, a T-shirt and bathing suit I drive us to Atlantic City, and after a kiss goodbye, Bruce is jogging up the ramp on his way to the cafe, I take inventory of my horniness level and conclude that I'm not climbing the walls, but still, I have a definite itch for sex. It isn't a major problem this morning, but it's there. That's encouraging, although knowing I have a date with Dickie in fifteen minutes probably has something to do with my almost blase attitude about the itch. Well, even though we skipped bedtime sex, Bruce and I did have scorching sex before dinner yesterday, so that's a factor too.
Driving away, obviously, I'm oversexed, as I'm now thinking about the void between now and having sex with my lover after our beach time this afternoon. That's a twelve-hour void right there. It would be a twenty-four-hour void between sex acts if I don't have this date with Dickie. Shit, I'm not ready for a twelve-hour void, never mind a twenty-four-hour one, plus Bruce just about encouraged me to take care of my sexual urges which eliminates any guilt on my part, and his too for him passing on sex last night.
It's a very short three-block ride to the hotel. As soon as I park in the lot, I slip into a strong sub/dom sex frame of mind. Yeah, that's understandable because I missed out on it with Dickie yesterday. Sex with Clark was not sub/dom sex. I don't know how to even categorize that sex. It was almost jerkoff sex, which I haven't experienced for years, so I might be wrong about that.
Getting out of the car, I check my pocket to ensure I have the card key for the room, although I knew I had it. Going into the hotel lobby, I feel shaky and getting more and more, um, needy for this with each step I take. Experiencing submissiveness during sex is like a drug, and it's been two days since I last groveled in it. Well, that's the other thing, though... I didn't grovel in it. Not like I used to, so I've decided I'm going to tell Dickie to pump it up a little. He's the pro, and he knows I'm not getting my submissive money's worth lately. Hell, he's already added the paddling, so he obviously notices when his 'S' types need more dominance.
Dickie's not in the room when I get there which gets me more jittery for my fix. Maybe something has come up, and he can't make it this morning. That would be awful! I text him, and two minutes later, he texts back: I'm running late. Pick me up at my place.' How unprofessional of him! And I'm always complimenting him for being a pro.
Nonetheless, I'm going down the elevator while texting him that I'll be there in five or six minutes. It's weird that instead of being pissed off about this, I'm grateful that it's as simple as him oversleeping, and not a cancellation altogether. Jeez, I'm getting more jittery by the minute, so I guess my earlier appraisal of my horniness was undervalued. As I've speculated before, I think I'm addicted to Dickie. What was I thinking by even considering asking Richard for some other pussy boy? Dickie's my main man!
Idling outside Dickie's apartment, I only wait two minutes for him to show up before turning off the engine and walking into the apartment building. At Dickie's apartment, I knock on the door and wait almost a minute before knocking again. This time Dickie opens the door wearing only boxer underwear, mumbling, "I fell back to sleep." He looks exhausted and he needs a shower and a shave. Why is everyone letting me down lately? I whine, "What the hell is going on, Dickie?"
He goes, "Get the fuck in here and keep your voice down. My roommate is sleeping. Um, I had a late-night date that ran overtime." I follow him into his bedroom, where Gordon is quietly snoring with the top of his head the only part of him showing above the covers. Dickie starts to pull on a wrinkled polo shirt as I mumble, "Um, don't you want to take a shower first?" He gives me a nasty look, muttering, "You, shut up! I'll shower at the apartment after I finish with you." He's such a prick, but that's part of his dominance, so I murmur, "Yes, Dickie... sorry."
Talking low, he snaps at me, "I need you to stop staring at me. While you wait for me stand in the corner. The one I put you in yesterday." I whine, "In the kitchen?" He gives me a look like, duh, and I go to the kitchen and stand in the corner. At first, I'm pissed off, but then I smile 'cause I've already got some submissiveness going for me.
It's maybe five minutes before I realize I'm floating in submissiveness, my nose touching the corner the way Bruce taught me to do it months ago. Well, this is what I've been missing. Startling me, Dickie clamps his hand on the back of my neck, mumbling, "Let's go." He squeezes hard, and, as Clark did yesterday, I need to hunch my shoulders and whine, "Ow, Dickie..." He's carrying a satchel that obviously has the paddle in it, but there is a lot of other stuff in there too.
Outside, he lets go of my neck, saying, "I've gotta hand it to you 'cause I like the way you put your nose right in the corner. Did your trainer, um, Bruce was it? Did he insist on that, or was it, Richard?" Rubbing the back of my neck, I go, "It was Bruce."
In the car, he says, "Alright, let me get this out of the way. I need to apologize for being inexcusable late for our date. So, I apologize." Driving away, I go, "That's okay, I was afraid maybe you were going to cancel." He's like, "I almost did because I've been busy these past few weeks, and don't need the money. You've reserved me all week, though, so that's why I didn't cancel on you." I say, "Thank you."
The submissiveness I enjoyed in the kitchen evaporated when he apologized, so I'm like, "Ah, um, that is, do you think I'm getting into my submissive money's worth lately?" He says, "No, I don't. Funny you should mention that 'cause I was thinking about it while getting my shit together to bring to the apartment. The paddling helped for a while, but I need to up my game, and I will."
Being with Dickie makes me squirm, and I'd love to grope my junk, but I resist doing that because he doesn't allow clients, his 'S' type clients, to touch themselves. Oh man, though, I'm excited about this morning with him and finding it hard to breathe regularly. I'm exhaling in little puffs. He glances over at me, mumbling, "I told you yesterday to stop overdoing things. You're getting yourself too worked up."
Nodding, I go, "Sorry, but you're an excellent dominant top, and you get me excited." Shaking his head, he mutters, "Christ, of all mornings I need to deal with you. I'll paddle it out of you, be sure of that." "Yes, Dickie." Oh God, the frame of mind I'm in is so perfect for this. Obviously, I'm much hornier than I thought I was. Well, Dickie makes me horny, so I glance at him. He's so cool. Short and young with a short, but big-headed penis, and, even though he's scruffy this morning, he's still sexy hot, and dominant. Yes, and his confidence is off the fucking charts. Dickie is worth every penny I pay him.
At the hotel, seemingly bored, he walks me through the lobby to the elevators gripping the back of my neck. We make an odd couple with me seven inches taller and much larger than Dickie, and him reaching up to squeeze the back of my neck, with me hunched over as if he's bullying me. The guy at the desk watches us with furrowed eyebrows but doesn't say anything as we go by. He's not the desk guy who knows me, though. That guy comes on duty later.
I start to say something as we're waiting for the elevator, but Dickie mutters, "No more talking this morning." Outside the room, the one I rented yesterday for Clark and me, Dickie holds out his hand, and I give him the card key. He opens the door, pushes me inside, then pockets the card key, mumbling, "This key is mine for the week, and, just so you know, I'm telling you to your face that I will use the room for other clients." "Yes, Dickie." I expected he would and I don't care, but his arrogance about it ignited a flare of submissiveness that's buzzing around in my head. He holds his hand out, saying, "Two hundred dollars."
After giving Clark all my pocket money yesterday, I'd restocked my spending money from the cash in the BMW's trunk. When I give Dickie the money, he goes, "Gret undressed, quickly!" After taking my shorts and t-shirt off, I lean over and hold onto the bedboard because that's what he told me to do yesterday in his bedroom. He grunts approval and opens his satchel to get the paddle.
Pushing my ass out and up, I hear the "Swooshing" sound the paddle makes as Dickie takes practice swings with it. That sound makes my cock tighten up. I'm like Pavlov's dog's learned response. The dog's response to getting food, and my response to submissive sub/dom sex. "Swoosh," "WHACK!" Dickie doesn't paddle as hard as Bruce during my bogus training, but each whack still stings, and each one stings more than the one before it. After three whacks, he asks, "Do you deserve another?" I grunt, "Yes, please, Dickie." "Swoosh, WHACK," "Ohh!" He asks, again and again, accommodating the fifth and sixth times I ask for it, but won't do the seventh, saying, "There you go again, overdoing it. Get up."
Getting up, I'm rubbing my buttocks with both hands as I watch Dickie get a cock ring from the satchel. He mumbles, "This will help you maintain the paddling submissiveness," and he takes hold of my semi-boner, explaining, "I'll experiment adding the cock ring to our sex play. I'm not charging you extra for it because I'm not doing the massage. They equal out." Not really, but I, of course, don't mention I paid $250 for the alleged massage.
Stroking my cock, he mutters, "I've had my hand on a hundred guys' cock in my career and they all feel pretty much the same." He's stroking my cock tightly as I bend forward slightly, grunting, "Ah, ah..." His hand feels good, though, and my cock gets wicked hard. He keeps stroking it until it's so hard it sticks straight out like a two-inch diameter wood dowel. He gets the cock ring around the root of my cock, then pushes my scrotum through it too, then tightens it until I I'm like, "Nah, no, um..." He mutters, "It'll be fine in a few minutes. That'll hold you for a while because I've changed my mind. I am going to shower before continuing our date. While I do that, you need to stand in that corner," and he points at it, adding, "Nose pressed at the corner. It'll help you maintain your submissive frame of mind while I clean up." "Yes, Dickie." He mutters, "Go ahead, get in the corner now, and don't move your nose away from it until I tell you to."
As I walk to the corner, I'm still rubbing my burning buttocks and telling myself not to ask for the extra paddles again. In the corner, my nose at the junction of the walls, I'm in a deep fog of submissiveness, my ass still stinging and my cock and balls feeling as if the whole package is petrified bone. I hear the shower start as I glow with submissiveness. I knew Dickie would know exactly what to do. He's the very best!
This submissive sense I have is sexual. It's sex with a capital 'S,' perfect for an 'S' type client like me. I shiver in it even though I don't understand why I like it. I didn't understand why I liked it in prep school either. As I said, it becomes addictive for reasons unknown.
After a while, I noticed the wall had a smell of its own, although I couldn't describe it any more than I can describe Bruce's scent. Bruce smells like Bruce, and the walls smell like walls. By now, I'm floating in this goofy fog of submission, perfectly content without giving a thought to moving away from the corner. Bruce is in the shower so, theoretically, I could have a seat until I heard the shower turn off, but I don't because I do what Dickie says.
After I don't know how long, I totally lost track of time, Dickie is all of a sudden in the room, saying, "On your knees." Turning around and there he is naked, sitting on the upholstered armchair drinking a bottle of orange juice from the over-priced convenience bar. I wonder how long he's been sitting there? The bottle is almost empty. He says, "Over here, get on your knees over here, and you can get your money's worth sucking my cock as I sit in this chair."
I realized I'm stupified, a submissive zombie, as I squeak out, "Yes, Dickie," and did what I was told. On my knees, in front of the chair, Dickie is smelling much better than earlier. He appears very clean, his body hair as missing as if it was never there. He's obviously used the MAN creme since yesterday, or more likely had someone apply it for him. He could have told me to do it, and I would have gladly done it. Both Dickie's and my haircuts are fuzzy as both are about ten days old, but that's the only thing about Dickie that isn't the perfect pussy boy. I mean, now that he's had a shower and he shaved.
In a daze, I stare at him, thinking how awesome he is. He drains the juice bottle, then says, "See if there is another orange juice in that small refrigerator," and he holds out the empty bottle. I take it and, for some reason, my mind not functioning properly, I go over to the convenience refrigerator/bar on my hands and knees. Well, I was already on my knees, so...
There isn't another orange juice. I look at him and shake my head. He shrugs and wiggles his fingers for me to get back over there, and when I'm in front of him again, he asks, "How are your cock and balls doing?" I look down at them, then back at him, saying, "I can't feel them." He nods, then asks, "Are you feeling enough submissiveness?" "Yes, Dickie." He goes, "Yep, standing you in the corner, your nose against it with your cock and balls poking out from your body worked."
Nodding at that, I'm sitting back on my heels, as he says, "Lift up and lean over. I'll take the cock ring off. Your dick's head isn't looking too good. It's purple and swollen too much. Maybe half an hour was too long to leave you in the corner. Yeah, now that I'm thinking about it, I read where twenty minutes is about as long as you should wear a cock ring."
Thirty minutes? I had no idea it was that long. Jeez, I'm sure Bruce made me wear a cock ring for longer than thirty minutes. It wasn't as tight as this one, though. Going up on my knees, leaning toward Dickie fumbles with the velcro strip under my blue balls until, finally, I hear that sound velcro makes when unpeeled, and the cock ring is off. Casually holding it, he leans back in the chair, saying, "I want your very best cocksucking now, then I'll paddle you again, and let you take a nap with me for free. I'm exhausted."
My cock just flopped over, almost flaccid already with none of the pleasant throbbings, just a flop over, and that was it. Very disappointing, but my head, the one above my shoulders, is clearing a little. My other head has gone from purple to dark red, but it still feels petrified.
Picking up the big-headed four-inch penis between Dickie's legs, I lick it, then suck on the head and feel his dick tighten in my fingers. Taking it out of my mouth, I lick it from his nuts to the big head a half dozen times, and it gets firm enough to press against his belly so I can lick his balls and scrotum.
As I'm doing that, I'm not getting a boner as I always do when sucking cock. That cock ring did me no favors. Sure, standing in the corner wearing it got me deeply submissive but now I'm not getting hard. So, no more cock rings! Lifting Dickie's scrotum and licking under it, I finally get a shiver and my dick stirs. Encouraged, I lick up the side of his nuts to where his scrotum meets his torso, then lick the inside of his thigh and my zombie submissive state of mind reduces to normal submissiveness... that's a relief.
Taking a break for a second, I inhale deeply beginning to feel like myself again, and then really get into licking and sucking Dickie's cock and balls and all around them while inhaling his scent... and my dick finally fully comes to life. I'm licking up to his belly button, then down under his balls, trying to reach his hairless asshole but can't get there, so I put his cock back in my mouth and begin bobbing up and down on it. All this time Dickie has been holding my head, making grunting sounds, and squirming in the chair. He holds my head tightly now and begins humping his hips fucking my mouth and throat. His boner is just long enough for the full head in all its swollen big fat glory to go in and out of my throat with every thrust.
I'm gagging like mad but don't pull my head away. My cock is a full boner again, feeling good as I'm sensing the beginning of a climax, but, before it reaches the tipping point, Dickie makes a strangling sound in his throat, jerks his hips back, and unloads a large amount of cum in my mouth. I tried swallowing it, but some of it gushed out the sides of my mouth at the initial explosion. He pulls his cock out, gasping in a big inhale of air while pushing my head away. I want to stroke my boner but don't for reasons I've already explained. I sit back on my heels, swallowing the rest of his cum, and, no, I can't make out a specific taste for it.
He goes, "Ooh, Jesus, heh heh. That was random. It was me who overdid it this time," and he laughs... good-naturedly for once. Shaking his head, he goes, "Yesterday I get carried away fucking that dipshit with the freaky tongue, and then I can't stop deep throating you today. I'm overtired is what it is." Then, standing, he says, "Okay, enough of that. You need to get in position for your paddling," which I do right away, realizing I'm feeling submissive in a good way now.
Three "Swoosh" then "Whacks" has my buttocks stinging and quivering. Dickie asks, "Do you deserve another?" I told myself I'd say no to that, but the three paddles sunk me deeper into my submissive trance, so I go, "Yes, please, Dickie," and I get three more. He says, "Get up! Six whacks are the proper amount for you from now on. I won't ask if you want more until after the sixth one. That will be your regular paddling before and after both the oral sex and the fucking sex. That should allow you to get your submissive money's worth both times."
Standing straight, my hands rubbing my paddled butt cheeks, I glance at Dickie's cock that's now half a boner which happened from the paddling. That's none of my business, though, so, in my submissive frame of mind, I murmur, "Yes, Dickie." He puts the paddle in his satchel, saying in an offhand manner, "I see you're as docile as a baby lamb, so the extra paddling works. I'll forget the cock ring from now on and continue with enhanced paddlings. Um, you're the client, though. You tell me if you're getting your money's worth submissiveness-wise from the extra paddling." I hesitate, and he asks, "Well, are you?"
Still rubbing my ass with both hands, I feel too submissive to contradict him, so I murmur, "Yes, Dickie." He says, "Good, that's settled then. Close the window curtains so we can take a nap, after which we'll finish this morning's date." He gets in bed and, after a long sigh, says, "You are a helluva client providing us with this room all week. I'm so tired I can hardly see straight." That wasn't a question so, after closing the curtains, I get in bed and scoot over to sleep against him, his arm under my neck, pussy-boy-style.
My ass still feels hot, but the stinging is beginning to fade already. Willingly accepting corporal punishment in the form of paddling is a stupidly submissive thing to do, and the extra paddlings make it submissively even stupider. Lying against Dickie, I'm beginning to rethink things. Am I getting enough out of the submissive sub/dom sex to put up with the extra paddlings? It's a vicious circle. It used to be simpler... a dominant sex partner was all that was needed for me to get off having sub/dom sex.
Recently, though, it wasn't enough so he needed to include the paddling and again I'd get that gooey sexy submissive feeling. Now he needs to double the paddling. What's next, tripling the number of whacks? Suddenly, it occurred to me that it was Bruce's accelerated frat-house-initiation-type corporal punishments that got me back into my prep school fascination with sub/dom sex, and this experience with Dickie is turning into the same thing as Bruce's bizarre so-called training. Something is going on in my subconscious mind... perhaps a desire for recreating that three-week experience with Bruce.
As a teen in prep school, sub/dom sex was fun. Then, during college, I was versatile, switching back and forth between topping and bottoming, sometimes in a sub/dom fashion and sometimes not. Then, in the Seals, I stopped bottoming altogether, resulting in me eventually not having nearly as much interest in sex as I previously had. Hmm, then Richard restarted the cycle all over again, except I'm not a teenager now, so getting submissive enough required the stupid corporal punishment.
Dickie's deep asleep already, so, as my head clears of submissiveness, I roll away from him and think about this some more. What's the bottom line here? Bruce followed up Richard's dominance taking it higher and higher, and I somehow fell in love with him. Who knows why? That's a mystery, but not the point here. Or is it? Hmm, but Bruce and I are doing lovers' sex, not sub/dom sex, so why do I care about the sub/dom sex with Dickie? Circles within circles, which is why I think my subconscious mind must be to blame. Hell, I've got what I wanted, which is Bruce falling in love with me, so why the continued fascination with submissive sub/dom sex? Do I want to relive the experience of falling in love?
That's an excellent question, but I've been up since five-thirty, and it's dark in here, so I fall asleep without an answer. I'll work on the answer later.
When I wake up, I see the digital clock on the nightstand... it's eleven o'clock. Wow, almost four hours of sleep! Christ, I'll never be able to sleep at nine o'clock tonight. Glancing at Dickie, I see he's still deeply asleep, but he isn't going to sleep forever, so I slide over to lie against his side where he'll expect me to be when he wakes up. He has a nice body, albeit a smallish one. I don't especially like him, but I don't dislike him either. I'm neutral in that regard, although I have to admire him. I always say he's a real prick, but he's not actually a mean person. He's doing his job, and he's good at it too. He feels I need all this paddling, and, as a side benefit, he gets off doing it.
I don't care about that, though. What I care about is why I put up with it, and, even as I ask that, I'm feeling very horny. Things haven't gone well in the area of sub/dom sex the past two days, and I'm horny for it. Dickie makes me horny for it. Bruce and I are having perfect lovers' sex, but we didn't have it last night, so that's a factor in my horniness too. It's the supposed need for the paddling that's screwing up the works. The crappy sex I had with Clark yesterday afternoon generated no submissive feeling in me at all. Yeah, it was crappy but relieved my horniness, sort of.
Oh man, I'm back where I started... why do I still desire sub/dom sex? Well, I'm not frantic for it, am I? No, but I'm horny. Hmm, I wonder if maybe a simple generic fuck would be sufficient to curb my horniness until afternoon sex with my lover boy? A generic fuck that's at a hotter level than Clark was capable of providing. Yeah, I'm interested in keeping my horniness under control until Bruce quits that job, but it doesn't need to be sub/dom sex, right? Maybe it doesn't.
Thinking about that for a while, I finally get tired of waiting for Dickie to wake up, so I do little nudges against his side, and he goes, "Huh? What, um..." Then his eyes open, and he sees me. Automatically, his arm comes out, and I lie the back of my neck on it as he mutters, "Damn, how long did we sleep?" I tell him, and he yawns, then says, "Shit, that's fantastic," and he stretches his arms out to the sides. Stretching as he's doing, I feel his hard bicep muscle under my neck. I knew he was a strong little fucker, so I'm not surprised he has good biceps.
Looking at me, he says, "That trainer of yours did one helluva job with you. Even though you're out of the program, you're still right where a good pussy boy should be, next to your man, even after hours of sleep." That wasn't a question, so I don't say anything, and he adds, "I already tried talking you into being my trainee and you declined the offer, but you'd be fabulous as a pussy boy working for me."
I have nothing to say to that, but since we're not into our date at the moment, I ask, "Well, how's your trainee coming along?" He makes a face, mumbling, "I suspended that asshole for two weeks. He's not a submissive type like you, and he gave me some backtalk, so I suspended him." I go, "Do you think he'll be back?" He says, "You need to get up now," and as we get out of bed, he says, "Yeah, he'll be back. At first, I told him he's suspended for a month, but he got submissive real quick and begged me to continue with his training, so I dropped two weeks off his suspension."
He's getting the paddle, mumble, "Assume the position." Oh, fuck, I'm wicked horny, so I don't want to complicate things by protesting the paddling now. I grab the bedboard at the foot of the bed and get six paddles and sink right into submission to Dickie. My buttocks are burning hot as he mumbles, "Get on your knees and suck a boner on me, and as soon as I'm hard you're to stop sucking immediately! I don't want to cum in your mouth again." Then he mumbles to himself, "I need to finish this date."
I'm still rubbing both butt cheeks like mad and through a fog of submission so deep that I'm barely able to murmur, I go, "Yes, Dickie." It's delicious submissiveness. I stop rubbing my ass when I drop to my knees. Leaning my face right into Dickie's crotch, I begin frantically licking all around his cock and balls.
A minute later, he hits the top of my head with a knuckle, saying, "Just suck my dick to get it hard. You already got your money's worth with the earlier oral sex." Mmm, as I put his cock in my mouth I hear a condom packet rip open. Dickie's all business. He wants to finish this date and get on with his day.
The big head of his cock is so hot to suck on. I suck it and swish my tongue on it until he pushes my head away, mumbling, "Put this on my cock." Huh? Oh, I take the condom from him and slide it on his fat-headed boner. He yawns, then says, "I'll fuck you in your paddling position at the foot of the bed. That might keep the paddling in your head and increase your submissiveness. I want to be sure you get your money's worth from this fuck."
I grab the bedboard keeping my ass lower than it is when I'm being paddled because Dickie's kind of short. He rams his bulbous hard cock head inside me, and I stifle a scream. That really hurt but my buttocks are so sore it's hard to separate one pain from the other. Pain lingers, but I'm ignoring it as he thrusts his full four inches of hard cock into my rectum. He's in a hurry, so immediately the slapping sounds ring out in the room as he humps his boner back and forth quickly, "Slap, slap, slap." Pain and pleasure duel it out until pleasure wins the battle, and I'm in a sea of rough and tumble sexual pleasure that feels really good, I'm like, "Ah, ah, ah..."
Dickie's pulling my hips back hard and my ass slaps into his crotch with every hard fast thrust. It goes on for three, four, five minutes of sexual bliss, "Ah, ah, ah... ooh, Dickie..." Then, my bully of a climax takes over, and I shake with anticipation as it quickly builds and then "Eeeeiii, aah..." My boner straight out from my groin blasts out hot creamy cum that splatters against the end of the mattress. Sensations soar all over me as I shudder, then the after-effects leave me shivering with the pleasure of it all. Dickie pulled his cock out when my cum hit the mattress. He mutters, "Stay as you are."
I'm holding onto the bedboard, still enjoying that climax as I hear the toilet flush. There goes the condom. Oh man, that was a good climax... I needed that! Then I hear the swoosh of the paddle, and Dickie gives me six whacks, one right after the other. I never moved my ass, keeping it still for my paddling. With pain pulsing off both my butt cheeks, I'm staying stationary as I hear Dickie zip up his satchel, saying, "I'm leaving my satchel and stuff here in the room because this is where I'll be staying this week, obviously."
He goes, "Whaddaya doing? You can stand now, your date is over! You're done until six-fifteen tomorrow morning. Um, give me a good tip now so I can get outta here? I've got a lunch date with Richard in twenty minutes." In a deep fog again, I murmur, "Yes, Dickie," and slowly stand, both hands rubbing my butt cheeks again.
Getting my wallet, I hand him a hundred-dollar bill. He goes, "Thanks, um, not to be pushy, but could you be out of this room by two o'clock at the latest? I have someone coming over then." I nod, "Yes, Dickie." He's dressed and I didn't even see him do that. He pats my shoulder, saying, "We definitely figured out the submissive question, huh? The paddlings get you super submissive and docile to me. I'm glad it works for you... I'm happy for you. See you tomorrow morning." "Yes, Dickie."
He laughs, rubs my head, mumbling, "You'll snap out of it in a half-hour or so," and then he's out the door. I go back to the bed lying on my stomach because my buttocks are burning and stinging like wildfire.
It doesn't take a half-hour to get over my submissive sense, within minutes after Dickie leaves any trace of submissiveness is gone. It left with Dickie, leaving me with a sore, spanked ass, but that doesn't last long either. As I've said before, Dickie doesn't paddle nearly as hard as Bruce did during my so-called training.
Huh, I read a book some years ago titled 'The Fatal Shores' about the late seventeen hundreds when Great Britain began shipping their criminal element, which included a person stealing a loaf of bread, to Australia for seven to fourteen years. Australia became England's prison system and it was unimaginably cruel... sadistic beyond belief. The beating they gave those poor prisoners using a cat o' nine tails is one of the most inconceivable things I've ever read about. The men would get tied to a triangle frame and be given one to three hundred lashes. That was common, and it sometimes exposed the muscles in their backs and even the spines of the one receiving the corporal punishment. The six paddles I get would be less than a mosquito bite to those sad people.
I shrug at the fact I did nothing to stop the paddling. He was in a hurry to get going and I lost my determination to raise the issue today. I intend to put my foot down in that regard tomorrow, though. I want to see if a plain old regular fuck will satisfy my horniness during the day. It's important that Bruce and I continue our fabulous run of loves' sex which, so far, requires that I get my rocks off during the day. Yeah, spending time with Bruce after he gets done work is so much better for both of us when I'm not feeling horny.
Yeah, I'm calmer when not horny, and he can see that so he's okay with my pussy boy side sex. I think it helps Bruce, psychologically, knowing I'm using pussy boys and not random prostitutes from the street. The roadblock to doing away with the paddling, though, is that Dickie insists on doing it. When I've tried rejecting it, like yesterday when both Clark and I said we didn't want it, Dickie told us he insists on it for type 'S' clients.
Well, I may need to ask Richard for a pussy boy date with someone other than Dickie after all. He's been great, Dickie has, but the extra paddling, ironically, has me questioning whether I need submissiveness with sex. This is a positive move that might break the circle I was thinking about earlier. So, we'll see...
To be continued... donnymumford@outlook.com.
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