Summer of Sex with Cowboy

MY SUMMER OF SEX WITH COWBOY

Chapter 53

By Donny Mumford

Wednesday morning, after what turned out to be an hour and a half nap, Dickie shakes my shoulder, muttering, "It's way past time for you to get up." Stretching, I'm surprised he let me sleep this long, so I'm like, "Oh, fuck, that was good, thanks, but..." Sounding irritated, he cuts me off, saying, "Yeah, yeah, you slept while I only dozed off for twenty minutes in the end. Mostly, I was lying here wide awake, wasting time waiting for you to wake up. C'mon, get up!" A pleasant submissive buzz slides over me 'cause Dickie is the very best dominant pussy boy while, of course, he's also a hard-ass prick. I drag out the words, "Yessss, Dickieee, and thank you." Whatever, I get up feeling pretty good.

Dickie's still naked as he sits on the edge of the bed impatiently watching me putting my swimsuit and T-shirt on, then, after stepping into my sandals, I fish a fifty-dollar bill out of my pocket and give it to him as a tip for the extra nap time, mumbling, "Um, tomorrow, Thursday, you're gonna do the full paddling, extra paddling included, right? I need to experience your full-blown sub/dom sex one last time, heh heh."

He's shaking his head, muttering, "I suppose, but what's to stop you from saying the same damn nagging thing after tomorrow's date? And, by the way, you need to arrange that through Richard." Nodding, I go, "I know, but please do the full balls-to-the-wall paddling Thursday and, um, I promise never to ask again." He shrugs, mumbling, "You're the client. I don't care one way or the other, but you said you want to wean yourself off the submissiveness." I go, "And I'll start with that on Friday; um, can I hug you?" He mutters, "No," and I'm like, "Well, ah, another thing I was thinking about, ah, well, Richard always says I'm paying for an hour massage date with you, but recently our dates are only ten to fifteen minutes."

Getting off the bed, he goes, "You're never satisfied, are you? Hell, if you want a massage, just fucking say so. Then, after the sex, the rest of the hour we'll spend talking. Is that what you wanna do... talk?" I shrug, "I guess not." He makes a face, so I mutter, "Well, we've got seven more days, so we'll see how it goes." Sighing, he mutters, "Uh-huh. For now, this date is over. Christ, it was over forty-five minutes ago." Nodding again, I cheerfully say, "It's been terrific."

He says, "Yes, you got your money's worth, I've been tipped very well, so it's all good. Um, remember to make the arrangements for this room through next Wednesday, then contact Richard to hire me for the extra days. And, assuming Richard sets you up with me, fine, tomorrow it'll be full paddling, then on Friday, you'll only get five whacks. And keep the big tips coming, you rich motherfucker you, heh heh." He grins, thinking about the big tips, and I go, "Yep, see you tomorrow morning."

Christ, my feet hardly touch the floor walking down the hall to the elevator. One last time, it'll be the full-paddling sub/dom sex tomorrow morning!"

Let's see, after that nap, Omigod, it's almost eight o'clock. I'll have breakfast in the cafe! As soon as I walk into the cafe, Bruce treats me special, smiling and rubbing my head affectionately. Then, for once, the food is very well prepared and tasty too. After leaving a ginormous tip, I stop to ask Bruce, "Hey, do you think my hair looks fuzzy?" He goes, "Um, what? Fuzzy? No, I hadn't noticed that. You look gorgeous to me." I go, "Oh, jeez, thanks, Bruce. Um, it's been over two weeks since you gave me a haircut, though, so maybe I need one. Ya know, after all the years in the Seals, I'm used to that crisp look."

Shrugging, holding a pot of coffee to serve the new customers who just sat down, Bruce acts a little impatient, saying, "Sure, whatever you want, Zach, but right now, I need to get back to work." I'm like, "Oh, of course! Oh, and, um, don't forget we're waterskiing this afternoon." He nods, "Yep, uh-huh," and he's off doing his job.

Haha, I guess I've been nagging people this morning. Then, I'm almost skipping down the boardwalk to the ramp, feeling so good it's sick. When I'm at the rental booth, Markie says, "No hugging!" and then he gets me a beach chair as I grin, muttering, "Killjoy." I follow him to my usual spot on the beach where, surprisingly, Cowboy and Lee are sitting. As Markie screws the umbrella in the sand, I say to the boys, "Holy shit! You guys are up and at 'em early today." Cowboy says, "Yeah, we wanted beach time, and then can we go waterskiing with you and Bruce?"

I give Markie a ten spot and then fake that I'm going to hug him. He hops away from me grinning, and saying, "No! Be good," and off he goes. Sitting on my chair, I mumble, "Of course, you can come with us. That will be cool, the four of us skiing together. I'll call to rent a bigger boat." Taking out my cell phone to do that, I mutter, "I'm glad you guys want to join us."

Walking away from my chair to call for the boat, I also need to call Richard and arrange dates with Dickie for Thursday and Friday and I don't want the boys hearing that. Richard tells me no problem, then I rent a bigger boat and reserve skis and life jackets for four. Richard said no problem, but he'd only agreed on dates with Dickie Thursday and Friday. He wouldn't guarantee anything past that. Fuck, I'll need to call again after Friday's date.

The boys and I have a good time on the beach, then they get lunch for themselves, but I'm not hungry after that big breakfast, so I pass on lunch. Later, Bruce joins us, and by four o'clock, we're in my BMW halfway to Ocean City. We waterski until seven o'clock, then we all get baskets of fried clams, fried shrimp, and French fries from a takeout joint and eat at a picnic table near the bay, dipping the fried food in a tub of awesome tartar sauce. Yeah, I know, our dinner is a cholesterol nightmare; it's been a great day, though!

Everyone showers at the apartment, then the boys take off on Lee's motorbike for the Steel Pier. As soon as the door closes behind them, Bruce and I exchange glances, then grin as we both head for the bedroom. We have fantastic sex with hot climaxes. Omigod, my climaxes with Bruce, especially lately, are totally superior and very different from those I get with Dickie. Sex with Bruce is a loving mutual endeavor, whereas it's a one-way sub/dom street with Dickie. He's very dominant, and I'm deeply into submission, getting paddled, and so forth. Completely different experiences, although, of course, both sex acts end with volcanic climaxes for me. Dickie, well, he hardly ever climaxes. He pulls out when I climax, then he's off flushing the condom and wanting a big money tip.

Then, Thursday morning is a typical morning for Bruce and me. At the boardwalk ramp, I get a juicy kiss goodbye from him; then, I go directly to Dickie's hotel room. Thank God there was no overnight client, and Dickie opens the door looking fabulous. He's the perfect clean-cut pussy boy this morning, but he just waves me into the room. There's no too-tight grip at the back of my neck, no standing me in the corner; he merely says, "Two hundred dollars," holding out his hand. As I get out the money, he asks, "Do you want the massage this morning?"

I'm too antsy for that! I want to get paddled and then suck his cock and balls. Shrugging, I mutter, "Um, no, I guess not. You were right about me not wanting the massage, but, ah, you're, ah, not being very dominant this morning." He says, "You want to wean yourself off submissive sub/dom sex, so I'm lowering the dom factor slightly." I make a face, sort of whining, "But today was supposed to be my last full experience with it." Raising his eyebrow, he makes a rude sound, then snaps at me, "Christ, all right then. Go out, and we'll start over."

Well, this is supposedly my swan song for the full-paddling dates, my last go at the whole enchilada, and, um, whatever other cliche there is for a 'last' something. Outside the door, feeling silly, I knock again. Dickie opens it, grabs behind my neck, squeezing it so hard I'm hunching my shoulder, bending over, grimacing, and going, "Ow, ow. Nah, ah...!" Kicking the door shut behind us, he lets go of my neck and says, "Get undressed quickly and I don't want to hear a peep out of you." I'm quickly naked and he grips behind my neck again, walking me to the corner, pushing my nose against it, saying, "You'll get your whole hour today, standing in the corner through most of it. Stay! I'm ordering my breakfast from room service."

Dammit, he pushed my nose so hard in this corner; my eyes are watering, and my nose is running. I wipe at it with the back of my hand, and Dickie mutters, "You asked for it, so I don't want to hear any sniffling from you." I wasn't sniffling, but I'm not supposed to speak, so I can't tell him that.

The air conditioning is cranked up, and it's chilly in here, especially being naked. On the plus side, I grope my junk feeling a submissive vibe building, so, okay, we're off and running. I hear him ordering a large breakfast, and as he does that, I add up the cost of each item in my head. I know how overpriced everything is from my vast experiences with room service. And again, I wonder why I lately have this thing about how much stuff costs? I've never given it a thought before. Oh, wait, like yesterday, yeah, it's Bruce's influence. He's concerned about every dollar he spends, and that's rubbing off on me. Well, I've been spoiled, haha, and pinching pennies is a tedious business.

After what seemed like a long time, there's a knock on the door, and a cart gets wheeled into the room with Bruce's breakfast on it. I smell the coffee. Room service is notoriously slow, though, so how long have I been standing here? Suddenly, it feels like forever, and I'm itching for the paddling so I can do the oral sex. Plus, I haven't moved an inch, and I'm now in a zombie-like trance of submissiveness, and this type of trance doesn't have the sexual overtones regular submissiveness has. This blows.

The minutes drag on, and my nose is running again, but I don't care. All I'm thinking about is the paddling because that starts everything. I'm going to ask for all the extra paddles I can get. And, why the hell I ever mentioned anything about an hour-long date, I can't imagine. That was stupid! Dickie knows that too. And after this experience, he knows I'll never bring up the hour date again. Squeezing my dick, wanting the paddling so severely, it's all I can think about. Oh, good, I finally hear the cart being rolled out the door, and I shiver with anticipation.

Dickie's hand grips the back of my neck, pushing me to the end of the bed, the bed nearest the bathroom. I grab the bed board pushing out my ass, and, "Swoosh/WHACK!" I go, "Ahhh," as my cock begins firming up, then gets firmer with each paddle. After six, I ask for more. Omigod, it's so sexy getting this deeply into submission with my hard cock throbbing. The anticipation of what comes after this gets me shaking. "Swoosh, WHACK!" OW! I get seven and he doesn't offer more. Oh, fuck, my butt cheeks burn!

Then, ten or twelve minutes later, the taste of Dickie's precum still in my mouth, my cock still vibrating from my unbelievable climax, my buttocks on fire from the last paddling of this date, I'm out of the room and down the hall pushing the elevator button, not daring to touch my red hot and wickedly stinging buttocks. I get in the elevator in a submissive daze and go down to the lobby, still feeling dizzy. The forty-some minutes of standing naked and cold in the corner are merely a distant memory now. I'm not cold any more as the heat coming off my ass overheats my whole body. I walk stiffy through the lobby on my way to do the only thing I can think of; what I've done the previous mornings. I'll walk on the beach until I come down off my sexual submissive high.

This morning, I walked almost two miles up the beach. Then remember I usually walk in ankle-deep ocean water, so I walk back in the water carrying my sandals. My butt cheeks are both still hot and sore because Dickie let it all out although he still wasn't paddling as hard as I recall Bruce doing it long, long ago. Years ago, it seems to me now.

Halfway back, my head clears, and now everything about this morning seems artificial, like a phony reality TV show. Why is that? Hmm, maybe it's because I was the one who told Dickie what I wanted instead of him doing things his way, plus he seemed pissed-off about that. In the end, today wasn't as, um, as fulfilling as the previous mornings. Still, there's the tremendous climax I had. No surprise there, but Dickie doesn't like 'S' type clients telling him what to do, so, fuck it, I'm not telling him anything from now on.

Tomorrow, Friday morning will be close to the full-blown deal with five paddles each time. I'll do it correctly tomorrow. And, this is the right way to conquer my addiction, little by little, over seven days. Hmm, maybe I should have suggested doing it over two weeks. Dammit!

After a four-mile walk, I get to my car at seven-thirty. Hmm, I could have breakfast at the cafe if I wanted to. It opens at seven, but no, I'm not doing that. I feel like a dick after screwing up this morning. Plus, Bruce will be wondering why I'm not in the good smiley mood I've been in the past few days. Rubbing my ass that's still sore, I shrug and get in the car, sitting gingerly. Ow! Yeah, well, I deserve this sore ass.

Here's something positive, though. Looking at this morning's date in another way, the whole idea is to lose my fascination with Dickie's sub/dom sex, and after today's less than fulfilling result, I could be on my way to losing interest. It's a start, right? Sure, I had that explosive climax, but the build-up to it left me in this negative frame of mind. Well, nobody ever said breaking an addiction was easy.

I pop the top on a can of beer at the apartment and smoke a cigarette on the balcony drinking the beer. When I finished the first beer, I got another 'cause why not a morning beer buzz? I haven't had a morning beer buzz in months. After three beers, I lose interest in that and take my morning beer buzz to bed and sleep it off until noon. Jeez, I notice a slight hangover when I wake up. A three-beer hangover? Can I believe that? After swallowing a couple of Tylenol, then a long shower, I feel better. Not great, but better.

I'm hungry, but I don't feel like making a sandwich here, so I drive to the Jersey Mike's sub shop in the strip mall and have their Super Sub for lunch. It's got all kinds of Italian meats in it with provolone cheese, lettuce, tomato, and whatever else. It's good.

After lunch, I drive to the beach and find Markie is in a good mood today, which helps. I guess his boyfriend gave him a good fucking last night. Yeah, I've met his boyfriend, and that's why I'm assuming Markie is a bottom boy in their relationship. Just an educated guess. In his excellent mood, Markie insists on comping me for the beach chair and umbrella. Well, I couldn't give a shit less about the ten dollars, but I do the gracious thing accepting his nice gesture and thanking him sincerely.

Okay, I'm coming out of my funk helped along by a refreshing ocean breeze while gazing out at the majestic Atlantic that's extending out as far as the eye can see, seemingly forever. What an unimaginable volume of water that the moon's gravity has no problem pulling one way, then the other. Speaking of unimaginable, yesterday, Lee told me that while the observable Universe is immense, almost beyond comprehension, it's only a speck of the ultimate size. It could be a billion trillions times bigger than current telescopes in space can see. Yeah, I know, that sounds like bullshit, but there it is anyway.

The boy left the apartment before I woke up from my nap, but Cowboy left a note saying they had some shopping to do preparing for college, so they're skipping the beach today. He added a PS, 'Zach, somebody broke into the apartment this morning and left three empty Bud cans in the recycle bin. Should we call the cops?' Smartass!

Later, as I'm going in the ocean for a swim when someone bumps into me. I mutter, "Sorry," even though it wasn't my fault. He says, "No, it was my bad. Excuse me." Oh, wow, what a good-looking fellow! He's about twenty years old or so, smiling and adding, "I wasn't looking where I was going. I'm on my way further out where I can swim." I nod, "Me too," and we wade out together as I tell him, "When we get further out, the lifeguard will eventually go all apoplectic, standing in his watchtower blowing his whistle and frantically waving at us to come in closer to shore, but just ignore him."

He laughs, "Oh, you've done this before, huh?" Gee, this guy is almost as good-looking as Richard, who is nearly as good-looking as Cowboy. Nobody I've seen is better looking than Cowboy, but that's from my perspective. I say, "Yeah, I swim a mile some days." He asks, "Mind if I join you?" I go, "Of course not." Pointing, I say, "If we swim in that direction until we see a big Mobile gas sign on land, that's the half-mile marker. I checked it on my car's speedometer."

Bruce and I never swim nearly to the sign, but I do when swimming alone.

When we're past the people who are wading and, therefore, in our way, we start swimming. The lifeguard must be putting the make on some hot chick because he doesn't notice how far out we are. This guy I'm swimming next to has short blond hair and a swimmer's hot body, or maybe a gymnast's body. He swims effortlessly, so I ask, "Are you on a college swim team?" He's like, "Yes, I'm in my senior year at Yale." I go, "Holy shit, I graduated from Yale. The university has won four NCAA swimming championships." He chuckles, "Yeah, I knew that. When did you graduate?" I tell him, and he goes, "What? Were you eighteen when you graduated college? You don't look old enough to have graduated over four years ago."

Swimming effortlessly myself, I'm feeling good now. I say, "Well, I did." He goes, "Do you mind me asking what kind of a job you have?" I say, "No, I don't mind. It's not the kind of job you're probably thinking about, though. I just finished four years in the Navy Seals. I'm taking the summer off, but soon I'll need to find out what kind of a job I end up with." Talking takes some energy, so after he grunts, "With a Yale degree, you'll do great," that's all the talking we do the rest of the way out and back.

It was a good workout, and I needed it to get back to feeling more like myself. Wading out of the water, he holds his hand out, saying, "I'm Jay Bird; it was a pleasure swimming with you." I shake hands, telling him my name, then grin, asking, "That's your name, huh? JayBird?" He laughs, "Yep, it is. I'm actually a distant relative of Larry Bird, the old-time basketball star. Very distant relative as I've never met him."

Walking onto the beach, I say, "Gee, JayBird, your parents had a sense of humor naming you, huh?" He goes, "Yeah, one I didn't appreciate from age seven onward. I'm JB to my friends." I nod, "That makes sense. Ya know, your parents could have named you Blue." He smiles, "I've heard that one before, heh heh. Blue Bird, yeah that would have been cool."

Walking up the beach, he goes, "Well, I need to go to the left here. I'm a few yards that way, and I expect to hear some shit from my girlfriend about taking this long of a swim." I nod, "Oh, good luck with that. Nice swimming with you, JB. GO BULLDOG!" He chuckles, "Yep, that's it, Handsome Dan, Yale's mascot bulldog," and we bump fists as he mumbles, "I hope to see you around, Zach."

Huh, there goes a gorgeous straight guy wasted in the hetero world. I'll bet his girlfriend doesn't appreciate him. Yep, another pussywhipped straight dude, and a molten hot sexy one too, but so what? I couldn't pick him up even if he were gay. I've already got a boyfriend and a side-sex sub/dom pussy boy, so who could ask for anything more?

That swim, keeping up the pace Jay Bird set, was super invigorating and just what I needed. And then, I can't help but smile when Bruce shows up; he makes me happy. His personality has changed so radically over the past three months, especially these past eight or ten days. His miraculous change in demeanor is almost as hard to comprehend as that billion trillion times larger Universe that astrophysicists claim is possibly the case.

Bruce is relaxed, smiling, and friendly, plus lately, he's quick with some good-natured ballbusting for shits and giggles too. He's fun to be with, in other words. However, the change in Bruce that I appreciate the most is the affectionate way he interacts with me now, touching and being sort of protective even though I'm the last one out of the four of us who need protecting. Bruce is indulgent and obliging; accommodating, while still subtly being in charge. He's the Alpha dog between us managing to be that in an entirely inoffensive manner. Sure, I encourage it too 'cause it gives me goosebumps, and I'm happier than I've ever been before in my life. I'm not sure I was ever happy until now. I mean, Bruce and I fit perfectly together so well it has to be love.

So that's awesome, and then during Friday's date with Dickie, he's the perfect dominant pussy boy again, looking good and doing the one less paddling followed by our sub/dom sex that's hot and sexy. Oddly, though, my submissive highs, even with five paddles, seemed to pale compared to earlier ones. My climax still did the job of eliminating horniness, though, so I'm good.

Before Bruce excuses me Friday morning at six-thirty, he goes, "So, dude, I see you got another pussy boy haircut. What's up with that?" I shrug, "I asked Bruce to cut it for me. I saw your fresh pussy boy haircut the other day and that motivated me to follow suit." He asks, "Hey, you're not working the street for him, are you?" I'm still in a relatively submissive frame of mind, mumbling, "No, Dickie." He shakes his head, "You're an odd one, ya know that? I'll bet in your heart of hearts you want to be a pussy boy in the worst way, doncha?" I go, "No, I'm in love with Bruce." He looks dubious, then, touching my head, he goes, "Huh, now that I look at your hair I see it's a home haircut. There are uneven parts where it gets extra short and then longer. Haha, what the fuck? You're rich, so why don't you go to a professional barber, for Christ's sake? That's a home haircut you got there, dork." I go, "It's as good as yours, um, almost."

He smirks, "Yeah, uh-huh, whatever you wanna believe, but you need to get outta here now. You're done. If Richard okays it, I'll see you Saturday morning, but he might not because my trainee's re-training starts tomorrow." Hmm, is that going to be a problem?

I mean, I want this morning sex with Dickie because sex with Bruce has been spectacular, and I don't want to take a chance on changing anything major. I'm slowly trying to eliminate sub/dom sex, but I'll still need morning sex to maintain the status quo, ya know? Sure, I've been missing performing oral sex with Bruce, but that's up to him and we're getting boners as we make out, so that works. Then, our lovers' sex is almost perfect.

Walking on the beach again, I call Richard about tomorrow's date with Dickie, Saturday's date, but he's not in and won't be available until tomorrow morning. Dammit, I text Dickie telling him that, but he doesn't text back. Hmm, Saturday is a four-paddling day, and I don't want to miss that.

Finished my walk on the beach, my buttocks feels fine, so I put the top down on my car and drive away from Atlantic City not thinking about this morning's date with Dickie. That's odd because that's all I could think about during our earlier paddling dates. Right now I'm thinking about sex with Bruce later today.

Yeah, I didn't leave the hotel room today in a submissive trance reliving the incredibly sexy ten minutes or so with Dickie as I usually do. Hmm, I better not dwell on that too much, though, or I might be tempted to start all over to experience it again. Dickie would be happy to oblige because he gets off paddling guys. No, I've made a tiny bit of progress, so I'm not backtracking.

I'm thinking about sex with Bruce because, as I mentioned earlier, he's changed things recently. Now he's getting heavily into making out. Each day he gets better at it too. I love it even though it does shortcut me out of oral sex with him. I've always been super-hot to perform oral sex on guys, and that goes especially for Bruce. But, as I said, we both get a wicked hard boner making out, grinding our hips, and touching each other, grabbing asses. Finally, when he's ready, Bruce is highly aroused for our anal sex.

So, lacking oral sex with Bruce, performing it on Dickie is more crucial than ever, which is why I need to get Richard to allow me to continue having dates even though Dickie's full-time recruit is back in play. If it comes to money, I'll increase it to whatever semi-reasonable level they come up with.

That will take care of my oral sex fix, allowing me to appreciate Bruce's making-out technique better. He claims to mostly be following the making-out training videos he had to watch eighteen months ago when he was a recruit. I guess that's some of it, but I think Bruce's making out is more advanced than following some step-by-step techniques he watched in a couple of videos. There's too much feeling in Bruce's making out to be simply replicating some video. There's love and affection involved. Well, I'm far from a make-out expert myself as I've only done some rough making out during my club pick-up days with random guys for one-night stands. I've never had a boyfriend or been in love before I met Bruce, so, like Bruce, I've never done much making out; I'm learning how from Bruce.

Later that day, Bruce, Cowboy, Lee, and I go waterskiing again, but we rent two boats this time. Today, Ocean City Bay's water is choppier than the last time, so we have many more wipeouts. We need to circle back and pick up whoever wiped out, which takes time. We wear life jackets, of course, so there's no danger, but some of the wipeouts are funny as hell, and it's a lot of laughs. After the waterskiing, we repeat the cholesterol nightmare dinner of fried clams and shrimps, big giant tubs of tartar sauce, plus French fries. Yeah, it's a blast hanging out with the boys. Bruce and I are going to miss Cowboy and Lee big time. Six more days to Labor Day, which is when they'll both be flying off to college.

At the apartment, the boys go into their bedroom to showers and whatever else they do. Bruce and I go into our bedroom too 'cause my man is feeling amorous. We take off our swimsuits and T-shirts as Bruce gets that look in his eyes and, even though we smell like Ocean City Bay water, our arms go around one another, and Bruce whispers in my ear, "I've been wanting to do this with you all afternoon, boyfriend."

As he plays with my recently cut hair, I murmur, "Good; you make me feel weak with desire." He rubs my head affectionally again, grinning and muttering, "I was hoping you'd say that," then he lightly caresses my neck, his hands so smooth I get shivers. His lips brush against my ear as he murmurs, "I love being in love." His hands move over me as he kisses under my jaw, then my shoulder, then my neck giving me more shivers.

Jeez, I need to take a deep breath as my cock firms up. Smiling, looking into my eyes, Bruce does a light kiss on my lips, gentle and tantalizing, and I'm getting that hypnotized feeling as slowly and deliberately he sucks my top lip, then the bottom one, and by now, my mouth is open slightly, so the tip of his tongue touches the tip end of mine. We do open-mouth kissing with our arms squeezing around one another, getting incredibly aroused, both of us with throbbing hard boners now. Then, again using only Nature's lubricant, Bruce fucks me. He lies my back gently on the bed, him standing and leaning over me. In a trance, shaking with anticipation, I pull back my legs, and he pushes the head of his rock-hard cock against my tightly closed anus.

One hump of his hips, and I grimace at the initial pain of the head going in past my sphincter muscle. Okay, so that's the worst of the pain, and it wasn't so bad. Leaving just the head of his boner inside me, he leans over, and my arms go around the back of his neck. We kiss, our tongues sliding together as the pain fades away like magic. Slowly Bruce pushes his seven-inch boner inside me until he's tight against my buttocks. Yes, I'm experiencing some discomfort again, but our lips are kissing again too and the pain can't match the pleasure I'm feeling. Another luscious kiss and I float off the bed, tightening my hold around Bruce's neck with love swarming over my brain, my happiness making my eyes water.

Moving his hips back ignites pleasure from my prostate, and the last of the pain leaves the building. It's all good now, and when Bruce slides that awesomely long boner of his back inside my rectum, I lift my back off the bed slightly, moaning, "Mmm, Bruce, mmm." He pulls his cock back again, and I shudder. Bruce begins steady thrusting and now my world has become a pleasure machine. "Oh, oh, oh, Bruce, ah..." With a look of concentration on his face, Bruce tightens his jaw and increases the thrusting speed.

The long steady thrusts are coming a little bit faster, but not hard and not too fast. His thrusting creates pleasure inside me that boggles my mind as I hold onto his neck, keeping my legs out of the way. Both of us experience sexual arousal and joy that goes on and on, our foreheads together, me stationary, and Bruce's hips were moving his hard sex organ steadily back and forth inside me. Oceans of sexual pleasure, wave after wave of it flow over us both until it's a love orgy that could go on forever as far as I'm concerned.

It doesn't, though. The inevitable climax, too soon, shows up promising a thrilling finish to this loving sexual endeavor, irresistible promises. First, it teases, and both our bodies tighten up, almost afraid of the strength of our building orgasms as they build and build, getting stronger and stronger until, shaking, I squeal, "Ah, ah, Bruce! Ahhh..." cum exploding from my steel cock splattering against Bruce's stomach as his hard stream of cum spikes against the wall of my bowels. We're both shaking for a few seconds, then shuddering as the after-effects sweep over us.

Bruce lies on me, hugging me, sweating, his heart hammering against my chest. I'm dizzy again; the force of that climax was so beautifully intense, you know, like Galaxies colliding. We're both taking deep breaths, then Bruce lifts off my chest. Catching his breath, he murmurs, "That was, um, enjoyable, huh?" I kiss him and go, "Pretty good, yeah." We grin at each other, and Bruce gently pulls his cock out as we both do one last slight shudder. "C'mon, lover boy, let's take a shower," and he holds his hand down to me, then helps me up. This was perfection!

After showering, we have a shot and beer with Cowboy and Lee, who just came out of their bedroom looking as contended as we are. We take the beers to the balcony and share a couple of joints reliving funny wipeouts on the bay today, having a good time. Then, feeling high, Bruce and I walk around the grounds commenting on what a lovely complex this is. We see a group of college-age kids getting an early start to the coming semester. We'll see many more college students in a week or so.

After a great day and night on Friday, I'm dropping Bruce off for work Saturday morning, getting a juicy kiss goodbye when he leaves. Then I kill some time on the beach until the cafe opens at seven. Bruce and I exchange smirks and grins as if we have secrets, which we do. Then, after breakfast, I kill some more time smoking a cigarette at the railing on the ocean side of the boardwalk until a little before eight o'clock when I walk up to the Locker Rooms. Richard often starts work early, and yesterday I was told he'd be in his office this morning. I could have called him, but face-to-face negotiations work out better, and I need to talk him into allowing me a date with Dickie this morning even though there is the complication of Dickie's recruit training.

Inside, surprisingly, there are four teenage girls at the counter paying for lockers this early in the morning. That is doubly odd as it's overcast today, and there's a chance of thundershowers this afternoon. I walk past the counter to the open door of Richard's office and see him at his desk looking at printouts of some kind. Tapping on the doorframe, he looks up and says, "Oh, it's moneybags, simultaneously my worst and best client. Come on in and have a seat."

With a big insincere smile, I sit on one of two clients' chairs in front of his desk, saying, "Good morning, Richard!" He taps on his laptop, then goes, "So, how have your massage dates been with Dickie?" We both smirk at that, then I mumble, "Fabulous. He knows how to give a massage worth every penny of the two hundred and fifty dollars you charge." He nods, then goes, "So, whaddya want?" I go, "Well, the massages get me started on the right foot every day, so I'd like to reserve Dickie every day till next Wednesday, um, including today. Let's say, eleven o'clock dates." He taps his laptop, then says, "Today, he's all booked up."

I go, "I only need like a fifteen minutes massage today, and it doesn't even need to be this morning. Any time before three o'clock will be fine. Surely he has a fifteen-minute opening sometime during the day." He never says why Dickie isn't available, although Dickie told me the reason. Richard and I argue, but he won't give in. He says, "What part of no don't you understand?" Rolling my eyes, I ask, "How about Sunday?" He mumbles, "Check with me after five o'clock today, and we'll see."

Yeah, he wants to see how Bruce's training went with the recruit coming off suspense. He's tapping on his laptop, then says, "I can set you up with an almost virgin pussy boy. His name is Paul DeFrancisco. I don't mean he's almost a virgin as if he's never had sex; I mean almost a virgin pussy boy. He just finished his street whoring ten days ago. He's available eleven o'clock at his place." I'm like, "Do you have anyone with more experience?" Richard goes, "Not until later this afternoon." That's no good. Well, I've told myself not to change anything until Bruce quits his job, so I need to get my rocks off. I go, "What's the new guy look like?" Richard turns his laptop around so I can see a picture of this new pussy boy.

He looks like a clean-cut pussy boy, duh, of course, he does. I see from his bio he just turned twenty, which is good. He has a friendly smile, so I nod, "Yeah, okay, hook me up with Paul." He asks, "Should I use your AMEX card that's on file?" I mutter, "Uh-huh," and he taps on the computer for a bit, then writes an address on a card and gives it to me, saying, "He'll be expecting you at eleven o'clock this morning. Thank you for your business, Zach. It's appreciated."

I stand, mumbling, "Sure, you're welcome, Richard. Um, ya know, I never actually thanked you properly for, ah, you know, straightening me out on my sexuality." He goes, "You were so obviously a submissive bottom; I recognized it within three minutes of meeting you and then acted accordingly. I thought I had myself a potential star pussy boy recruit, so I got right on top of you, and you fell in line immediately. Now, please, if you don't mind, I have work to do."

Mumbling, "Anyway, I wanted to thank you." He waves his hand, and I leave his office feeling weirdly submissive to him, which is the exact opposite of how I felt going into his office. He has a natural magnetism and a confidence that belies his years and size. He's smallish and nineteen or twenty, very handsome too, but he has a dominance going for him I can't describe. I'd love another date with him, except it would reverse any progress I've made overcoming my need for a deep submissive sense during sex. I went into his office like a lion and came out like a lamb, groping my junk. Jesus!

Three months ago, I was in a mood to kick his ass because he fucked up Bruce. Richard acted like a little nineteen-year-old sissy that day. Today, though, in a neutral situation, one on one, he got on top of me again, and I'm not sure how that happened. He calmly said 'no' to me twice, and I caved in and said okay to his first alternative, this Paul-somebody. I was only in his office five minutes, and he had his way. Amazing.

Stopping at the Locker Room's front door, I look back at his office, thinking how it'd be something to remember for years having an overnight date with Richard. No, not an overnight date, a regular one, or a two-hour one. My dick gets firm, and then I hear, "Excuse us, Mister, but we'd like to get out." Oh, I'm blocking the door, and the girls, now wearing bathing suits, want to get out. I mumble, "Sorry," and walk out ahead of them and go over to the railing, light a cigarette, and shake my head. Whew, that was close. Richard is too heavy a load for me to handle in a paid dating situation.

Anyway, I asked him for a date three or four weeks ago, and he laughed at me. He's only recruiting guys, and, by now, he knows I'm not interested in being a pussy boy. The funny thing is, in a different world with either Richard or Dickie, and most definitely Bruce, I'd probably get recruited and be one of them. Thank God it isn't a different world.

Smoking my cigarette, I look up and see the sun trying to peek through the clouds. Thinking about the teenaged girls in the locker room, I hope the sun is victorious for their sake. I'm sure they have big hopes of a lovely day on the beach in Atlantic City.

Anyway, now that I'm outside and away from Richard, I've no interest in him at all. Shaking my head again, I stub out the cigarette butt on the edge of a trash barrel and walk down past the cafe. Sighing, I decide to kill more time on the beach. Hmm, I wonder what Paul-whatshisname will be like? Actually, this could be interesting, but I hope Dickie is available tomorrow. Yeah, what number of paddling am I down to? It would have been four today. I wonder if Dickie will do three if I get a date with him tomorrow? I won't know about Sunday until I call Richard after five o'clock today. Why doesn't that bother me as much as it should? Is the Dickie allure wearing off?

Walking down the ramp and onto the sand, then past the rental booth, which should be open soon, I take off my sandals and walk down to the water, rethinking my situation here. I can't walk on the beach for almost three 'effing hours. It's a half-hour home and a half-hour back, so I'll have nearly two hours at the apartment if I leave now. That's a more sensible thing to do, and it's what I'm going to do.

Heading back up to the street, I see two young guys walking toward me, and my gaydar tells me they're most likely gay. It's the way they're walking too closely together, the backs of their hands brushing together with each step, and the way they look right at each other grinning and saying, um, whatever. I can't hear them.

They drift to the right to avoid passing too closely by me. Huh, they make a cute couple, although individually, they're only average-looking. I'd be happy if this pussy boy Paul were either of these two boys and, just like that, I realize I'm feeling horny. An hour and a half ago on a normal morning, Dickie would have paddled me, I'd have sucked his dick, been paddled more, and then shot out a miraculous climax getting fucked by him. That's been the case for two weeks now. No, it's been longer than that. If I had any doubts about needing this morning sex, I've got the answer. The answer is yes, it's still required. I need it to curb my horniness for the rest of the day while I continue working on the submissiveness part.

For now, I'm looking forward to this Paul guy more than I realized. I was cool until I saw the two gay boys. Getting in the car, I'm thinking about Cowboy and Lee, who are probably getting up about now, which means Lee undoubtedly is fucking Cowboy's brains out. Yep, I'm horny.

In the apartment, I find Cowboy and Lee eating breakfast. "Hi, Zack, would you like breakfast," asks Lee. I rub his head and kiss Cowboy, saying, "Nah, thanks, but I already ate. What are you guys doing today?" Cowboy says, "We'll be at Lee's house all day getting the stuff organized to be sent via UPS to college." Lee says, "We'll have dinner there too and sleep in my room. Tonight is a good night to do that because, after dinner, Mom and Dad play gin rummy at a neighbor's. They do that every Saturday night, so Cowboy and I can, um, play around." Cowboy snickers, "Yep," then he says thoughtfully, "When we go to college, how am I going to get through every day without you, Lee?" Lee goes, "I don't know, but no screwing around on me. I'm calling you every night and asking, and I'll be able to tell if you're lying."

Cowboy makes a face and says to me, "Does Bruce say that to you?" I go, "No," and Lee, with a grin, mumbles, "Maybe I need to talk to Bruce." I rub his head again, "And maybe you don't need to talk to him." The thought passes in my mind how hot it would be to get dominantly fucked by Lee. I'd never do that to Cowboy, and, haha, Lee probably wouldn't be interested in the first place. These two are making me hornier, though. Lee's grinning, so I don't know if he and Cowboy are serious about what Lee said or not.

I go, "I'm going to miss you guys!" They look so young; I can't resist hugging Lee's shoulder and kissing his cheek," saying, "I'm glad Cowboy found you, Lee." He goes, "Me too, Zach." Cowboy goes, "Um, Lee, when your old man gets home from his barbershop, do you think he'll insist on us getting haircuts today." Lee mumbles, "Almost definitely. I'm used to it, and thanks for going along with it. He likes you." Cowboy mumbles, "Oh, yeah? It's hard to tell."

Remembering Cowboy's long girlish hairdo before he met Lee, I much prefer the way grumpy Mr. Patrick cuts it now. I mumble, "Well, I've been up since five-twenty-five, so I'm going to take a nap. Good luck with what you're doing today and have a great night, which I'm sure you both will," and I rub Lee's head again, adding, "I'm sure Lee will take care of that." Cowboy goes, "Yep," and I say, "I'll see you boys tomorrow." They both give me a wave as I go into the bedroom and flop on the bed. Yeah, they both make me horny.

Falling asleep takes me a while because I'm thinking about the two gay guys I saw on the beach and imagining them taking turns fucking me... haha. And I'm thinking how I used to greatly enjoy fucking Cowboy. That was mainly toward the end, though. Not too long before he met surprisingly hot-stuff Lee, and then I met Richard, who changed me around. Yeah, and I'm glad he did. Jeez, one more date with Richard would be something I wouldn't soon forget. That one night when he had me wrapped around his finger was a revelation. These certainly are sore horny thoughts I'm having. Wow, I'd forgotten what it feels like to be this horny. It's not all bad, though. The fantasizing is fun, but I'm now very anxious to meet pussy boy Paul.

At ten-fifteen, my cell phone alarm wakes me. Oh, good, I finally did fall asleep. After taking a piss, washing up, and brushing my teeth, I make sure I have the card with the pussy boy's address, and I'm on my way to get my ashes hauled. The horniness I'm experiencing hasn't happened to me to this degree in months. Sure, short periods of horniness now and then, but not like this. It's the contrast of Dickie piling on heavy sub/dom sex before seven o'clock every morning, and doing it for a couple of weeks, and then today it's almost eleven o'clock now and I've had nothing.

The address of the apartment isn't near Dickie's dump of an apartment building; it's in a nicer neighborhood, only a block from all the action on the boardwalk. I arrive at ten of eleven, park the car on the street and lock it. The apartment building's front door is open, but that's as far as I can go without getting buzzed in. Looking at the card to be sure of the apartment, I push the button for apartment 222, and right away, a voice scratchily asks, "Yes?" I mumble, "I'm Zach looking for Paul." He says, "I'm Paul, but you're early. Ring me at eleven..." then, "click." Seriously?

Going outside, I light a cigarette, then touch my pocket to ensure I have my little plastic box of Tic Tac breath mints. Yeah, I knew I had them. Okay, but, do you know what I don't need? I do not need an asshole pussy boy this morning! Some of them are, though, and I know because I've hired a few.

At one minute of eleven, I flick my cigarette butt into the street, pop a few Tic Tacs and go back inside. When I push the button for apartment 222, the same scratchy voice over the intercom says, "Yes?" Rolling my eyes, I mutter, "I'm Zach," and the inside door buzzes open. Inside I use the stairs to the second floor, then walk down the hall to apartment 222. The door opens before I get a chance to knock, and there stands a guy who says, "Hello, I'm Paul. Are you Zach?" I nod, muttering, "Yes, I'm Zach. Richard set me up with a, um, date with you."

He steps back and nods for me to come in. I think this is what's called an efficiency apartment, meaning everything, living room, kitchen, and bedroom, is contained in one room, plus there's a tiny bathroom. My initial, ah, superficial appraisal of Paul is that he's a geeky nerd. He's tall and skinny; his arms are thin with knobby elbows and big hands. The same goes for his legs; they're lean with knobby knees and big feet. He has a prominent bobbing Adam's apple; he's loose-jointed and, well, awkward. His face is longish with average facial features, and when he flashed his smile for just an instant, he looked like the photo I saw on Richard's laptop. After the nervous flash of a smile, he says, "You're my first 'S' type client," then a nervous gasp and he adds, "My second date of any kind, actually." I nod, then mumble, "Oh," and wait for him to catch his breath.

Then abruptly, he says, "Get undressed!" His voice squeaked when he said that. Ten seconds later, I'm naked, and he does the pussy boy grip at the back of my neck, then breathlessly says, "Get walking." There's more power in his skinny arm and large hand than I expected as I'm hunching and bending over, going, "OW!" He pushes me onto the twin-size bed, face down, and climbs up to sit on my ass, one of his knobby knees on either side of me. He takes another deep breath and says, "After your massage, you can tell me if there is anything else I can do for you." He takes another deep breath, then adds, "I reviewed my notes from training, and rest assured that everything will be done exactly by the book." Big breath, then, "Feel free to request whatever you want."

He hasn't undressed, still wearing the pussy boy uniform of a white short sleeve polo-type shirt and tan cargo shorts. His big hands squeeze my shoulders, and, sounding out of breath, he says, "No talking!" I haven't said two words, but it's probably in the training manual to say that for an 'S' type client. I don't even want a fucking massage, but I'm sure it would throw Paul off if I told him that, and he's nervous enough as it is.

Then he does an excellent massage lasting maybe ten to fifteen minutes. I'm almost limp by the time he climbs off me and stands next to his small bed, saying, "Stand up now, please. Um, no, I didn't mean to say please. Just, stand up." Wow, seriously, that was a helluva massage, I feel loose, and I almost forgot how horny I was when he was doing the massage. When I'm standing, he puts his big hands on my shoulders and moves his face too close to mine, then says, "So, is there anything else I can do for you in the remaining forty-five minutes of our date?" He's two inches shorter than me, Bruce's height in other words. He's so earnest in his gangliness it makes me want to help him as he tries unsuccessfully to be dominant.

Nodding and looking into his little brown eyes that are too close together, I say, "First, let me say that was the best massage I've ever gotten from anyone," and he flashes his smile for an instance, then says, "That's what my other client said too, but he didn't request me again." Huh? I go, "Oh, um, I will, though." He says, "Oh, really? I'd appreciate that so much. Thank you. Ah, wait, no. I mean, yes, it's okay for you to talk about whatever you want, or is there some way I can pleasure you perhaps?" I go, "Um," and he says, "Wait! No, you're an 'S' type. I meant to say, don't waste my time! What do you want? Speak up!"

It's difficult to keep a straight face, and speaking of faces, his face is even closer to mine now than it was when he started, but he does have very fresh-smelling breath and beautiful white teeth. I say, "I'd like to suck your cock and balls and then have you fuck my brains out." He nods and flashes that smile for just an instant, then steadies himself and says, "That's better. Do what you're told. Um, or you'll get extra paddling."

Oh good, he paddles too. I remember to say, "Yes, Paul," and he smiles and turns his head to the side. Then he goes, "Um, hands on your knees, and I'll paddle you to get you started. No, wait! First, that'll be one hundred and fifty dollars. No! I meant two hundred dollars! I forgot the paddling charge, and you must take the paddling as an 'S' type." I frown, and he asks, "That's right, isn't it?"

He's still too close to me with his hands, sweating, still gripping my shoulders. Trying to keep the exasperation out of my voice, I say, "Yes, Paul, um, but should I get the money now?" He goes, "Yes," then, "Oh, yeah," and he takes his hands away and takes a step back. This would be funny, except I feel kind of bad for him. He's obviously nervous, so I quickly pick up my shorts and get two hundred dollars out. Holding it out to him, he says, sounding surprised, "Thank you very much," then turns away to hide his smile again. He looks back, with a straight face now, and says, "Hands on your knees. No talking!"

I do that as he looks around; I guess he's trying to figure out where he should put the money. He finally shoves it in his pocket and gets undressed. Huh, he has a nice set of private parts, not exceptional, but nice. His dick is over five inches and he has a roundish set of balls, all free of hair, of course. He's skinny to the point his ribs show, and his body, including his cock and balls, is a pale pinkish/white color, but looking healthy enough. He's walking around the room now, probably looking for the paddle that he's never used before.

Without much conviction, he mutters, "No talking," and then kneels to open the cabinet in his tiny kitchen opposite the small bed that I'm next to, still bending over with my hands on my knees. Now he's rummaging through the only closet in this one-room apartment. A few things tumble out of the closet, and he mutters, "Damn," then turns around with the same paddle in his hand that Dickie uses, except this one is still in its plastic wrap with a price tag dangling from the handle. Paul looks at me looking at him, and says, "This is the first time I've used this. Gene, my trainer in Delaware, had me use his. I had to buy this as, um," and he realizes he shouldn't be explaining anything to me and goes, "No talking."

Looking at his naked male body, unspectacular as it is, his junk has my horniness roaring again. Plus, I can't wait to feel the paddling. I'm seriously excited that he's going to do it. He gets the plastic wrap off the paddle and walks over behind me, swinging it "Swoosh" in the air. Then "Swoosh/WHACK!" and I yell out, OW!" Swoosh/WHACK!" "OW! DAMMIT," "Swoosh/WHACK!" "Ooh, ow, fuck." That really hurt and a submissive sense does swarms over me. Paul paddles as hard as Bruce did during my training. I'd forgotten how much that hurts. After three whacks my buttocks are on fire, still quivering.

Paul asks, "Do you deserve another?" I go, "No, Paul," and hear, "Swoosh/WHACK!" "OWW!" He says, "That's what I'm supposed to do. Do you always scream during your paddling? It said online that you get paddled every date." I don't want him doing another one, so I timidly say. "I'm sorry for screaming, Paul." He goes, "Well, I'm going to need to paddle you afterward, too. You know that, right?" I go, "Yes, Paul." As he puts the paddle on the bed, he mutters to himself, "This is harder to do than I thought," then to me, "Okay, on your knees now," and he stands in front of me holding out his dick, saying, "I showered twice when Richard texted me that I had a date, so I'm very clean."

He sure smells clean as I take his dick from his fingers and suck the head into my mouth. It's a rounded head and very smooth. He has a chubby penis too, so I'm pleased with it. The problem is, any submissiveness I got from that hard paddling drifted off because he felt he had to explain himself again. Okay, here we go. His big hands are on my head as I lick and suck on his dick getting it very hard, very quickly, and it gets nice and fat too.

Taking it out, I press it against his hairless groin and lick and suck on his nice roundish scrotum moving his balls, which feel normal. Actually, he's got an above-average package; better than I thought at first glance. Some submissiveness sets in as I lick the inside of his thigh and up and across his smooth hairless pubic area as Paul quietly grunts while scratching my scalp. His big feet with extra long toes are shuffling a little as I'm sucking on one of his nuts, then the other one. I stop, shocked, that I'm feeling a long drool of precum run down the finger I'm using to hold his now hard boner out of the way. It's only been like forty-five seconds!

Drooling precum, he should tell me to stop, but he doesn't, so I put his cock back in my mouth, sucking on the head and then bob forward sliding his cock tightly into my throat, and do it again, then once more as Paul goes, "AAAAHHH!" and blows a big load of cum partially in my mouth and partially down my throat. I gag as another shot of cum hits the inside of my cheek, some of it coming out the side of my mouth. He steps back abruptly, pulling his cock out of my mouth. We both grab our cocks, mine a hard boner. Hey, that was good but lasted only a minute, total.

He goes, "Oooh, mmm. Oh, Jesus, whew, um. Wow, um, I mean, did you get what you paid for?" As my cock begins losing boner status, I say, "Yes, Paul," and he says, "Good, that was, um, I mean, get in the bathroom and clean my dick." Getting up, I follow him the short distance to the small bathroom, then bump into his back because he stopped. He goes, "I forgot," and grabs the back of my neck, pushing me the last two steps into the immaculately clean tiny bathroom.

Paul picks up a clean washcloth and wets it, then wipes his cock, apparently forgetting that he told me to do that. I wash my face and hands, still tasting his cum. It had a faint coffee flavor, very light. He reaches over and uses a clean towel to dry my face, saying, "We can talk about anything you want for the next half-hour, and then I'll fuck you." I ask, "Can I pay you fifty dollars to lie with you in bed instead?" He goes, "Oh, you don't need to pay me for that, but don't tell Richard, okay?" I nod, "Okay, I won't, but I don't mind paying you."

Shaking his head, he holds onto the back of my neck, and we go to the bed. Still holding my neck, he uses his other hand to pull back the covers and says, "I get in first." He gets in and slides over to the far side, which isn't that far. When I get in there's barely room for both of us. Paul gets his arm under my neck like every pussy boy I've ever been in bed with. We squirm around, getting comfortable for a few seconds, and I end up lying partially on him, of course.

He sighs, then says, "We're on break now so I can let up on the dominance." What dominance? He asks, "What would you like to talk about?" He smells so friggin' clean I can hardly believe it. I say, "I'd like you to tell me about yourself if you don't mind." He goes, "Sorry, but I'm not supposed to get personal." Then before I can say anything, he tells me his life history, "My short history leading to joining the pussy boys starts the summer after I graduated high school. I left home because my mom's boyfriend hated me for being gay. I got a job at McDonald's but was fired after nine months for smoking pot on break. The two guys I was sharing an apartment with threw me out when I didn't have my share of the rent. On the street after a week, I was too scruffy for anybody to hire me, so I joined up with a guy who was hooking at the Greyhound bus terminal in Dover. He said he'd teach me how to do it but that I was working for him, and he'd get half of everything I made from blowing guys. I didn't know how to go about asking if men wanted a blowjob, so I agreed. Then, after two days without any success, the guy told me to get off of his block, and I met this guy, Gene Penny, at a homeless shelter. He was recruiting for the pussy boys, and here I am."

I'm like, "Very interesting, but why are you in Atlantic City if he recruited you in Delaware?" He goes, "Gene has too many pussy boys, so he sent me here. Richard owns me now." I go, "He doesn't own you!" Paul says, "Well, I know Gene got five hundred dollars to send me here." Jesus! I go, "How are you affording this apartment?" He says, "Richard advance me a thousand dollars at ten percent per month, and I've paid him back a hundred so far, whch is the ten percent. Today I'll pay him back another hundred. This is my first week, and I'll already have paid him back two hundred."

Wow, this kid reminds me of that guy, Clark. The kid from that weird situation where Dickie insisted Clark, and I share the date with him. I felt terrible for Clark and eventually had a side date with him as the 'top.' He was in a financially strapped situation, and so is Paul, but at least Clark wasn't entangled in the pussy boys' mess. I feel even worse for Paul than I did for Clark.

And, obviously, Paul's money situation is why Richard stuck me with him. No, I don't mean 'stuck'; Paul is okay. He's simply too soft to be in this line of, um, work. For something to say, I ask, "So, ah, how did you handle the six-week training?" He says, "Gene seemed to enjoy making it very hard and humiliating for me, and I quit twice, but what else did I have going for me? I begged my way back in." Oh, jeez.

I'm at a loss for words, so he finally goes, "Now, let me ask you something personal, which I'm also not supposed to do, um, so don't tell Richard." I mumble, "Sure, what do you want to ask me?" He goes, "Many things, but first, um, you don't have pubic hair so were you a pussy boy?" I tell him the story, then he asks, "How come a hot handsome guy like you needs to hire me?"

Three or four other pussy boys asked the same thing, and I tell Paul the same answer about not wanting the hassle of the bar and club pick-up scenes, plus I have the money, so I use pussy boys. He says, "I'm sure glad of that." He tells me how this guy, Gene, handled him, Paul, plus an older man training them simultaneously. It sounds as if Gene pretty much did the training the same way Bruce did. Then Paul goes into more detail than I need to hear about describing his six months on the streets of Dover, Delaware, and how hard it was for him to get men interested in him. He goes, "Some nights, I came back after ten hours of trying without any money, and Gene would paddle me and make me sleep on the floor."

Hmm, maybe I'll take a side trip to Dover and look Gene up. You know, see how he likes getting his ass kicked around the block.

Finally, Paul's cell phone chirps, and he says, "Times up. C'mon, you need to suck a boner on me, and I'll give you a good fucking, so you get your money's worth." Christ, I was feeling so sorry for Paul and forgot I was horny. Not really, but his story did take my mind off it for a few minutes. The horniness is back on me, hot and heavy now that sex is eminent. I'm really up for this. Paul might be a geeky sad case, but he has good equipment, and being geeky doesn't mean he can't fuck like a stallion.

We get out of bed, and Paul stands with his legs spread a little, saying, "No more talking, or I'm supposed to paddle 'S' types because they like it, right?" I shrug, "It's complicated, Paul." He says, "Sorry, but you're paying for me to dominant you, and now I'm back in that frame of mind." Pointing right in front of him, he goes, "Get on your g-damn knees and suck my cock, but when I say stop, you stop." I nod, "Yes, Paul." He tries not to smile when I said that, probably surprised anyone does what he says. It was a quick smile he tried to hide by looking away, then he adds, "And I mean it too."

Whatever! He has a nice cock to suck, so I take my time doing it, dragging out the oral sex because I miss doing it with Bruce. Hmm, first, there's some crusty cum on the head from when he blew a load in my mouth and throat. A little bit he missed when cleaning up. I lick that off real quick; his hands go to my head as he grunts, "Ahh." I'll bet no one has sucked his dick, maybe ever, but certainly not since he ran into this creep Gene. Some pussy boys, like Dickie, are where they belong, but others, maybe most of the pussy boys, are sad cases. Prostitution doesn't leave a person with a lot of dignity.

Whether Paul is a sad case or not, I get into this oral sex. It's hot sexy, fun, and gives me a sliver of submissiveness that's relaxing and quite pleasant. As before, Paul's dick gets hard almost instantly, so I hold it against his hairless belly and lick all over his nuts, getting him to go up on his toes, then down, then up, groaning. "Ahh, ahh, ahh." Quickly, in under a minute, his precum is drooling down my fingers again. He goes, "Please stop," so, reluctantly, I sit back on my heels letting go of his boner.

He's nodding his head, muttering, "Uh-huh, good, um, now..." and, continuing to be disorganized, he looks frantically in a cabinet, I assume for a condom. He comes up with an unopened pack of six condoms and then has trouble getting them unwrapped, but finally has one, saying, "Ah, would doggy style be okay? No, wait! I meant to say, get on your hands and knees, ah, if that's okay."

I say, "Yes, Paul," but, again, I'm not feeling even slightly submissive. That sliver of submissiveness I sensed while licking his nuts drifted away almost as quickly as it arrived. He gets behind me as soon as I drop to my hands and knees, but he doesn't force his boner inside me. He presses the head at my anus tentatively, exerting pressure slowly for maybe ten seconds before the slippery head slides inside, creating some pain, but hardly enough to mention.

It's another thirty seconds before he makes a quiet moan, "Ummm," and his crotch is against my butt cheeks. He has a chubby boner, over five inches long, so it feels good going in slowly like that. He mutters to himself, "Oh, yeah," and then slaps the side of my right butt cheek. More like a pat than a slap, and says, "Get your ass down. I mean, up!" I push it up a half-inch, and he starts pulling his cock out as slowly as it went in. My prostate is already sending off some pleasure vibes to counter a little pain from my violated anus that hasn't yet relaxed enough, so is still a bit problematic.

Two more slow insertions and withdrawals and soon everything feels good to me. Paul is making low moans indicating it is feeling better than good to him. The sensations coming off his hard chubby boner encourage him to speed up his thrusting, if I can call it thrusting because he's doing it jerkily without any rhythm. Abrupt thrusts, two or three, and then he leans hard against my buttocks, making a gasping sound. Three seconds later, three or four hard thrusts and another pause of three or four seconds, then fast thrusting five or six of them, and he's against my buttocks again, his whole body stiff as a board while he makes a wheezing sound humping once against me and, I'm sure he's already climaxing.

Long breathy exhales from Paul, and after a ten-second pause, he thrusts more evenly now, still making quiet gasping sounds. It's odd anal sex, obviously, but his cock still feels stiff, and it is still activating pleasure sensations coming now from my anus plus my prostate. The following seven or eight minutes, all I'm thinking about is the sexual pleasure, and a couple of minutes into it, I begin with involuntary moans, "Oh, oh, um, um." Feels good, and then my Johnny-on-the-spot climax, always happy to oblige, comes rushing on the scene, and two minutes later, it does its job, and I make a gasping sound as cum fires out from my hard cock, the spray clipping my chin on its way by.

No, not an incredibly fantastic orgasm at all, but it felt good just the same, and I shudder, then shiver at the after-effects. My hips humped as I fired off my load, and Paul pulled his cock out, saying, "Whew, that was, um, I mean, I hope you got your money's worth." Squeezing my dick, I grunt, lying, "Definitely, Paul. It's been a great date." Taking another deep breath, he says, "But it's not over yet. You still need your last paddling."

Lifting off my hands, sitting back on my heels, I go, "No, that's alright. You can forget that, Paul." He pulls off the condom, saying, "But, I'll get in trouble if Richard finds out." I'm like, "How would he find out?" He says, "He'll ask me, and I'm a terrible liar." Nodding, I go, "Oh, that's how," and drop to my hands as he gets the paddle off the little bed. "Swoosh, WHACK!" three times, and my buttocks are on fire again. Yep, Paul paddles the way Bruce did it, so when he asks, "Do you deserve another?" my voice sounds timid to me as I say, "No more, please."

He says, "I'm sorry if the paddling hurt, but you paid for it, right? I thought you liked it." I'm still swaying on my hands and knees, dealing with the burning, stinging pain, thinking that, if only Paul didn't turn into Idi Amin when paddling, I might be able to sense more of a submissive vibe. Slowly standing, I say, "Um, maybe it's just me, Paul, but your paddling seems to be a bit over-energetic. You may find that other 'S' type clients won't appreciate the over-the-top paddling."

He looks confused, saying, "But it's how Gene paddled me." I mumble, "Yeah, well, that was training bullshit, and I went through the same thing, but you're in the pleasure business now. Lighten up on the paddling a little is all I'm suggesting."

Shaking his head, he goes, "Thank you for being honest. You're my first 'S' type client." I'm putting on my bathing suit, grimacing because my buttocks hurt as I'm doing that. Whew, I go, "Yeah, I know I'm your first because you told me, and I'm only your second client from the online site."

Oh, I guess I said that too sarcastically or something because he looks hurt, so I add, "I liked our date, though, Paul. Hell yeah, and I'm calling Richard and asking for another date with you." His face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning. He says, "Oh, God, that's fantastic! I'll be sure to lighten up on the paddling."

Pulling my T-shirt on, I go, "Well, okay then. That sounds good, but for now," and I pull two bills from the back pocket and hand him a hundred and fifty dollars, "Here is your well-earned tip." His eyes open wide, "But, this is way too much! I can't accept this much," and he tries handing the hundred dollar bill back, adding, "I didn't get any tip from my first client." " I mumble, "Yeah, well he's a stiff then. Um, it's okay, Paul, I always over-tip everybody. I'm kinda rich." He goes, "Omigod, thank you! I'll be able to pay Richard back sooner than I thought I would."

Hmm, that conniving Richard knows I throw money around, so he hooked me up with his boy, knowing where most of what I give Paul will end up. Stepping into my sandals, I pat Paul on the shoulder, saying, "Nice job. I'll see you here tomorrow." Paul goes, "I don't know what to say except thank you." I go, "And you've already said that more times than necessary. You're a good guy, Paul."

He walks out with me to my car. "Wow, what a fabulous car!" I mumble, "Thanks, see you tomorrow." He thanks me again, and I drive away, not sure if that date with Paul took care of my horniness or not. Mostly, I need to help that kid somehow. I need to get him a legitimate job because he's not going to make it in this job. Poor kid! Goddammit, I need to talk with Mac, my old man, who will tell me to speak with my Godfather, Jo-Jo Sale, about jobs for Bruce and me, plus something for this kid!

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

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