Summer of Sex with Cowboy

MY SUMMER OF SEX WITH COWBOY

Chapter 7

By Donny Mumford

Waking up the next morning, Cowboy and I get into a little grab-ass. Just some fun body/touching/wrestling type stuff, laughing, and just messing around until I give in to Cowboy's nagging for, as he calls it, a 'wake-up spanking.' Lying on his stomach, Cowboy comically exaggerates, pushing his ass up, then looks back at me, and grins saying, "I've been a bad boy, Zach." Ha-ha, whatever, I wail away at his buttocks until my arm feels like it'll fall off. He finally yells, "Stop!" and, as usual, he's crying and laughing at the same time, mumbling, "That was great, Zach! You're turning into a spanking pro, bro. Now, do me without a condom, okay?"

I'm like, "Sure thing, bossy," but he goes, "Oh, no, wait! What I meant to say was, first, I need to suck your dick." Lately, I've been okay with him doing that because he likes doing it so much, and he does it pretty damn well too. Plus, I've been fucking him, so why the hell did I hesitate to okay him blowing me? It made no sense.

This morning, though, I'm determined to take my cock out of his mouth the second I sense eminent pre-cum. I don't want to lose pre-cum in his mouth because I need it, plus lubricant remnants from last night to help with initial, um, penetration. Cowboy likes the pain, which is why he prefers that I don't wear a condom, but I'm not into pain at all, so I'm improvising to spare my cock discomfort. Frankly, it's not his fault, but there's something peculiar with people who put up with a lot of pain during sex. Sex creates pleasure, dummy.

Cowboy's enjoyment of pain with his sexual activities is hard to understand, and I don't claim to understand it myself, but clinically, I suppose it qualifies as sadomasochistic behavior. I refuse to believe that applies to Cowboy because, after all, it's just a spanking. I prefer thinking he's going through a stage of sexual experimentation. I, personally, do not get any pleasure spanking him, and why he or anyone, for that matter, gets off on pain remains a complete mystery to me. It's something I can't imagine myself ever tolerating. There is no circumstance in which I'd put up with it, but then I'm a 'top,' so it's a moot point anyway.

And, I don't know if there's a clinical category for those who enjoy giving oral sex as much as Cowboy does, but there probably is. In any case, he's bending over as he kneels between my legs and quickly has me squirming at the things he can do with his tongue and lips on my penis. It feels fantastic, but I stick to my plan and push his head away when I sense imminent pre-cum. He looks up with a questioning expression, asking, "Why'd you push me away?" I go, "It's unlikely my dick is going to get any harder, and I do not want to blow my load in your mouth."

He goes, "Oh, right, it belongs in my pretty ass," and I add, "Um, I meant the pre-cum, but whatever, let's fuck standing up, okay?" Nodding his head, holding his boner in his fist, Cowboy slides off the bed with me right behind him. Yes, incongruously, Cowboy has a boner from sucking my dick. I'll never understand that either!

We both wear boxer shorts to bed at night, so our boners are sticking out through the slot in front. First things first, we need to take off our unnecessary underwear. Kicking his under the bedroom chair, Cowboy grins and enthusiastically goes, "This rocks, bro. My ass is stinging on the outside and tingling inside, anxious and ready to greet your boner."

I can't help smiling at his youthful enthusiasm. Already sexually aroused from our foreplay, I watch him bend over and push his red-spanked ass out. He has both hands on the room's large bureau for support. Looking back at me, he mumbles, "Do me really hard, okay, Zach?" I go, "Uh-huh," and poke the head of my boner at his anus a few times, then rub the head across his firm butt cheeks and hear him grunt, "Ow, that feels good." Yeah, his ass must sting like a motherfucker after that spanking, but, again, it's the pain thing he likes.

With pre-cum drooling, I'm able to force my cock in past Cowboy's tight sphincter muscle as he's yelping loudly at the pain. The pre-cum helped my boner get past his tight asshole muscles, but it apparently didn't do much to help Cowboy. I've learned to ignore his cries of pain though, that's part of what Cowboy gets off on.

Fucking a guy's ass never gets old for me. I bottomed in the distant past, and it was alright, I guess, but I'm a top now, and that's what I'm going to continue being. Amazingly, no matter how many times I do this, it still surprises me how incredibly fantastic it feels every single time. When I force my hard cock up a guy's ass, I feel dominant and deserving of the vibrating sensations from thousands of nerve endings in my penis. Tremors of pleasure that are as special now as they were when I first experienced them. Fucking a male's ass, a sexy guy's ass is what puts the sexual pleasure over the top. It needs to be a guy I'm fucking, though or no thanks.

Seeing Cowboy bent over, willingly taking my cock up his ass, gives me the dominant sense I spoke of. That component of sexual pleasure is rolling over me and making me shudder and marvel at it simultaneously. I love doing tight, fast, hard thrusting in a guy's ass, and I love my body slapping against his buttocks, and I love the "Slap, slap, slap" sounds and the moans from Cowboy; of, "Oh, oh, oh..." And I love hearing my own grunts of, "Ump, ump, ump," with each thrust. All of it is a pleasure like no other. I love being the man in charge doing the fucking because it's one of the rare times I get to be in charge. Well, other than with Cowboy, where it's not certain who is in charge, although I'm supposed to be. What the bottom submissive guys find sexually arousing alludes me. That's obvious since I'm an exclusive a top.

So, yep, a morning fuck is great fun, but this morning it somehow lacks the specialness of last night's sex. I'm not sure why, but the sense of deep affection for Cowboy that I felt last night doesn't materialize this morning, not to the degree it blossomed in me last night. Still, I've become very fond of him, and my climax is a good one. It's always good when I'm fucking this kid. The only negative is a tiny little voice in my brain reminding me that Cowboy is Ronny's little brother. Swell.

Ronny's little brother or not, my climax went off like a bomb, BANG, leaving me trembling with pleasure. I back up a step, and my cock flops out of Cowboy's spanked ass. It, my dick, isn't very hard now, but it's shiny with cum, and still vibrating a little. Then the aftereffects of climaxing swarm over me, giving me shivers of pleasure. A different kind of pleasure, they're sort of bonus-shivers, I guess you could say.

So, yeah, the pleasure of climaxing this morning was pretty much the same as last night, and Cowboy seems pleased with our sex as he's pulling on his dick, cum dripping from the head while he exclaims, "Wow, wow! Awesome, fuck, Zach! Now I'm ready for the day! Morning sex rocks, don't it?" I hug his shoulders, muttering, "I'll say. Especially with you, bro." Dammit, I didn't need to say that last part, but I'm glad I did. He's a wonderful sex buddy, and, frankly, I can't think of a better one? Not right off the top of my head, I can't.

As he's using a bunch of tissues wiping cum drooling from his rectum, he goes, "We're a good match, huh, Zach?" Nodding, I say, "Yeah, sure," and then go in the bathroom to do what I need to in there. Uninhibited Cowboy follows me, managing to do his bathroom business along with me. I don't mind, though, because his smile brightens my mood.

As I mentioned, I haven't always been exclusively a top. During my early sexually active years, I was a 'bottom' many times for several young gay buddies, and I did both at college, but joining the Seals, it just seemed right that I be a 'top,' and now I can't fathom why I got off being a bottom as much as I did. That was some years ago, though, and now I much prefer the dominant sense I get from being the 'top.'

I can no longer tolerate the unmistakable submissiveness of allowing myself to be fucked up the ass. Navy Seals do not get fucked up their ass, um, except for Charlie last week when I fucked him up his ass. Botton guys can rationalize it away, but they've accepted the female part of homosexual intercourse. I accepted it when I was younger, but I'm a man now and only want to be the dominant top as a gay man. After saying that, I need to emphasize I don't think less of gay guys who prefer bottoming. To each their own, ya know? And I'm wicked happy there are guys like that. And I'm just as wicked happy I'm not one of them.

Done with the bathroom, I'm like. "Um, do you realize we don't have any clean clothes?" He mutters, "No, I didn't, but no problem," and he starts going through his satchel that's full of dirty clothes, mumbling, "I only need my swimsuit and, um, a t-shirt that isn't totally mephitic." I look at him, asking, "A t-shirt that isn't what?" He mumbles, "One that isn't, you know, smelly."

Rolling my eyes, I mumble, "Riiight, anything but a mephitic t-shirt," and then remember to check if the hotel has a laundry service. In the closet, I find a laundry bag that I fill with our previously worn clothes. There's a form attached to the plastic bag that I fill out and then put the bag on the bed, plus a twenty-dollar bill. I'm aware I need to pay for the laundry service... the twenty dollars is for the maid.

Feeling good that that's taken care of, I adopt Cowboy's idea of wearing a t-shirt that doesn't stink and find one in the laundry bag. I go, "Ready for breakfast?" Cowboy's like, "Yep, let's go. Oh, and, um, Zach, after breakfast, Lee is meeting us on the beach. It's okay if he hangs out with us on the beach, isn't it?" I go, "Of course it is." Yeah, it actually is okay with me because Lee isn't anything like tricky-Ricky. Ricky humiliated Cowboy by dominating him with the abusive use of sex toys and in other ways. As I mentioned earlier, Cowboy couldn't get enough of being humiliated and dominated for some mysterious reason. He's a little deranged like that, Cowboy is. Subjection yourself to humiliation might be worst than the pain bull shit thing. Different strokes, I guess.

As we wait for the elevator, I go, "Bro, after breakfast, I'm going to work out in the fitness center. Do you want to join me ?" he goes, "Normally I would, but I texted Lee that I'd meet him on the beach at ten-thirty, so..." Shrugging, I go, "That's fine, no problem. Um, but you need to rent beach chairs and an umbrella. Oh, and remember to take the sunblock." He smirks, mumbling, "You know what? I like it when you boss me around." I go, "I'm not bossing you around! I'm reminding you of things." He bumps against my side, grinning and muttering, "Oh, uh-huh." I don't have it in me to be bossy, and U don't like bossy people. And, Cowboy's wrong; Ronny wasn't bossy. He made decisions for us. That's different.

In the hotel's cafe, Cowboy orders pancakes, breakfast sausages, and scrambled eggs. All I feel like having is coffee and a blueberry muffin, the same thing I had yesterday morning. After breakfast, Cowboy is anxious to hook up with Lee, and I sense a quick stab of immature jealousy for a second, but mostly I'm glad to see another day of improvement in both Cowboy's and my outlooks. Nobody is forgetting their grief, but it's as though we're dealing with it better every day that passes.

Cowboy heads off to the beach while I check out the hotel's fitness center. Huh, overall, it's not bad. The equipment isn't new, but there are treadmills and exercise bikes, plus an elliptical machine. What interests me the most, though, is the weightlifting machine. I don't recognize the model, but they all work basically the same using a series of adjustable weights, pulleys, and leverage to replicate free weights lifting somewhat. It's safer than free weights, actually.

Besides me, there are two women in here. They appear to be in their late thirties, both on treadmills, both with ponytails, and both very talkative. To each other, they're talkative, not to me. They ignore me, which is perfect. My last thought is, why do overweight women, like these two, insist on wearing spandex pants that highlight how overweight they are?

After some warming-up exercises, I spend twenty minutes working out on the elliptical machine. Ya know, it's an anaerobic workout for the heart, lungs, and some for muscles as well. Then I spend an hour working out on the weightlifting machine doing pyramid sets. Sets start at twenty reps with modest weights, but I do higher and higher reps counts, increasing the weights and reducing repetitions. I do sets for my chest, shoulders, and legs until I'm quivering from the effort and dripping with perspiration.

Exhausted but feeling good, also conscious about not overdoing it... enough is enough. As everyone should do after working out on these machines, I'm cleaning the ones I used, and when I'm almost ready to leave, three middle-aged, pot-bellied men come in, all of them with style beards because, hey, even though they look like shit with their beards, they must wear them. After all, all cool guys have a beard, right? God forbid, they should dare to be different. The two blabber-mouth women left long ago, and, luckily, I'm just finishing up when the beards arrive. Occasionally, things do go my way.

Back in the suite, I jug-a-lug a bottle of spring water, then take a shower grinning to myself at memories of showering with Cowboy. My previously worn t-shirt is too sweaty now to wear to the beach, so I look through my satchel and find a sleeveless t-shirt stuck in one of the zippered compartments. It shouldn't have been there, but I'm glad it was. It's wrinkled but clean, so I put it on and head for the beach with money, cell phone, and cigarettes in my pockets.

Walking past the surly beach boy who we encountered yesterday, I say, "How are you doing today, grumpy?" He gives me a withering look, mumbling, "Do you want to rent something?" I go, "No, sunshine, I just wanted to say hi." Narrowing his eyes at me, he frowns and mutters under his breath, but just loud enough for me to hear, "Fuck you."

Haha, I chuckle and keep walking to where I see an umbrella and three beach chairs, but I don't see Cowboy nor Lee. I know it's their chairs, though, because Cowboy's t-shirt is draped over one of them. They're probably swimming.

Man, I'm feeling great after that workout, but I should probably go for a run to finish it off. If I were with Ronny, he'd insist on it, but I'm not with Ronny. Instead of running, I light a cigarette and check out the best-looking guy I've seen in Atlantic City so far, except for Cowboy, that is.

This guy appears to be in his early twenties. He's lying on a beach blanket sunbathing and looking good. He's handsome, hot, and sexy. He's also a blond-headed fellow with a well-formed body, albeit an excessively hairy one. Yeah, but that makes my dick twitch thinking of lying against all that blond body hair and the muscles under it. The only reason I don't say anything to him, and I could speak in a conversational voice because he's only ten feet from where I'm sitting, but I don't say anything because of the person lying next to him. She's a sexy twenty-something-year-old female with a dragon tattoo on her leg. That's the major problem with being gay; most of the other guys you see aren't; they're straight or pretending to be. Yep, desirable pick-ups are slimmer for us than they are for straight guys.

Finished my cigarette, I bury it in the sand, knowing it's a crude thing to do but fuck it. And, here come the boys now. They're dripping with ocean water, and, of course, Cowboy is smiling. He does that a lot. They're nineteen but look more like a couple of sixteen-year-olds, happy sixteen-year-old boys. I go, "Hey, guys, what's up?" Grinning now, Cowboy says, "Lee can't swim," and, grinning just as hard, Lee says, "Carson is afraid of jellyfish." I mumble, "So am I."

Cowboy picks up the Marlboro box and takes out a cigarette, saying, "I'll bet you don't smoke, do you, Lee?" Lee goes, "Duh, no!" And, for some reason, they chuckle about that. Lee is so skinny his ribs show, and he has an ashen complexion too. And it's not just his freckled face that's pale; all over his body, he's very pale. He's got freckles on his shoulders and arms too, but no obvious body hair. Frankly, I don't understand Cowboy's attraction to this kid. Lee isn't sexy at all, although I give him props for being very nice, very polite, and sweet even. Mostly, though, he's nothing like Ricky, which is why I like him, but not at all in a sexual way.

Lighting his cigarette and then sitting down, Cowboy asks, "So, how was your workout, Zach?" I shrug, "It was actually quite good, bro. You should come with me next time. They have decent equipment." Cowboy exhales smoke while mumbling, "Maybe I will," and Lee says, "Carson told me you were a Navy Seal, Zach. Looking at you, no one would doubt that for a second. And you're, um, gay too, huh?" I nod, "Yes, I am, and proud of it, Lee." He says, "I'm in the closet, except for telling you and Carson." I go, "Yes, I know. You told me that yesterday."

Exhaling smoke again, Cowboys chuckles and says, "Lee thinks you're like an Adonis, Zach." Lee blushes so brightly it almost hides his freckles as he goes, "Carson! Um, that was in a private conversation." Cowboy goes, "Oh, yeah, sorry. Um, but will you please stop standing there? You're blocking the sun. Here, Lee, come over next to me. Pull that chair over here." Lee does what he's told as I give Cowboy a frown, saying, "Be nice, Carson. Jesus!"

Sometimes it's Cowboy who is dominant, as he seems to be with Lee, and sometimes Cowboy is submissive as he was with tricky-Ricky, and to a lesser degree, with me. Submissiveness is a curious thing, ya know? Kind of a pussy reaction to an uncertain or stressful situation.

Lee does what he's told and sits, but Cowboy says, "Closer to me, Lee," and Lee moves his chair next to Cowboy's so close the chair's arms are touching. Nodding his head approvingly, Cowboy puts his arm around the back of Lee's neck, pulling his head over, and murmurs, "Now, remember your kissing lesson." Lee nods and snorts out a laugh, but then they kiss on the lips. They kiss the way you might kiss your sister if you were forced to. Cowboy goes, "No, like this," and this time, they kiss with more lip action. Lee's blushing again, but he doesn't pull his head away. I let out a noisy exhale and roll my eyes as they giggle and kiss again. Swell.

It's always weirdly interesting to see someone immediately do what he's told the way Lee does what Cowboy tells him to do. What's Lee thinking, I wonder? How's it feel to do what a peer tells you to do? As a Seal, of course, I did what I was told, but it wasn't a peer telling me what to do. It was a higher-ranking officer. The military is a totally different situation as far as doing what you're told to do.

Done with the kissing, Cowboy asks Lee, "How did you like that?" and Lee goes, "You taste like a cigarette, but I don't care. I liked it. You're the coolest guy I've ever met by a factor of one thousand." Cowboy nods his head, muttering, "That's probably about right." Lee laughs and musses Cowboy's hair. Then Comboy tells Lee, "Get the sunblock lotion, Lee. I'll put it all over you again to protect your Casper the Ghost skin."

Lee gets the tube, and Cowboy tells him to stand there. It's sexy watching him slather sunblock all over Lee. Naturally, Cowboy's fingers go down the inside Lee's bathing suit waistband, and they giggle and so forth. Well, it's cute and all that, but enough already. I stand, saying, "Okay, guys, I'm going for a jog on the beach. Would you care to join me?"

Lee looks at Cowboy, letting him decide what they'll do. Cowboy says, "No, not today, Zach. I need to finish doing this and later teach Lee how to swim." I mumble, "Good luck with that. I'll see you guys in an hour or so," and I walk down near the water where the sand is wet. Obviously, it's much easier on the legs jogging on a firm footing. Running on dry sand is a bitch. My run is further helped along in that there aren't crowds of people on this section of the beach, and the ones that are here conveniently get out of my way when I approach them.

As I run, I'm fighting the notion that everything I've been doing lately is random and pointless. I'm not sure but, am I bored? And, am I keeping a promise made to Ronny or simply floundering through every day by taking the easiest path? And how am I going to do this for three more months? And more importantly, what am I going to do when I'm done with this? Yes, I feel lost; I'm in over my head because I'm missing Ronny, who always decided what we'll do. Hmm, I guess you could say I did what I was told when Ronny was doing the telling, but it never felt like that between us. As I keep reminding myself, it was different somehow.

Picking up the pace, I dwell on that for a while and find myself immaturely crying again. Am I feeling sorry for myself? That would be stupid because I should be feeling sorry for Ronny. I guess my old man was right when he said I've been avoiding growing up since graduating college. I pretended to be an adult as a Navy Seal, but that was an illusion. As a Seal, it was more like I was a big, gung-ho strong, and very dangerous child. Shit, can that be right, though, can it?

It'd be convenient to write off my confused frame of mind as another stage in the grieving process, but it's more likely another stage of feeling sorry for myself. No, maybe it is another stage of grieving. I mean, the reason I'm feeling sorry for myself is I no longer have Ronny to follow. Hmm, that sounds like glamorized bullshit even to me. It's more like I'm having a childish tantrum because I don't have Ronny to play with, doing the irresponsible goofing around shit we always did together.

I've no real reason to feel sorry for myself anyway; I mean, I'm relatively rich and can do just about whatever I want. The problem is I don't know what I want. Maybe I should go to law school and please at least one person; my old man. Or maybe I should please myself. The problem with that is, as I just said, I don't know what would please me. I need something new in my life. And now I've forgotten what it was that started me thinking these unflattering thoughts.

I stop running and look around. Holy shit, I'm way past the end of the boardwalk. Huh, well, I've lost interest in running anyhow, so I start walking back. Oh good, my cigarettes are in my pocket, so I light one and smoke it deciding I'll put off my concerns about whatever it was that's got me into this, um, confused state of mind. I need a simplified objective instead of worrying about what to do with my life. The obvious one is I'll keep my promise and look out for Ronny's brother this summer. There, that's simplified things.

The problem with that, though, is it makes me think again about why I needed to make that promise, and my eyes fill up again. Yes, I'm obviously having a bit of a grief relapse which shouldn't be shocking. How does one get over the loss of the most important person in one's life, the best friend of a lifetime in a mere seven or eight fucking weeks, whatever it's been? One doesn't, that's how. So, I've slipped into part grief and part feeling sorry for myself as interrelated, um, confusion in my current frame of mind.

Seeing a trash barrel, I walk over and stub out my cigarette butt, then drop it in the barrel. That was an adult thing to do, right? Jesus, am I fucked up, or what? No, I'm too hard on myself. I've done a responsible job of getting Cowboy through the past two months. And, ya know, being with Cowboy has helped me deal with Ronny's death. Something I'll be dealing with for a long time, but dealing with it alone during these early days would have been much harder. Yeah, I believe that's true, and vice versa for Cowboy as well.

With that in mind, instead of approaching this summer thinking of Cowboy as an inconvenience, I should be grateful for the opportunity to spend this time with him. Huh, did Ronny make me promise to do this for my benefit as well as his beloved brother's benefit? It'd be pretty to think so, to quote Hemmingway.

While I'm not at all sure I resolved anything by having this, um, 'talk' with myself, I feel better about things just the same. It's good to be clear about what to do and, for the moment, my purpose in life is getting Cowboy in the right frame of mind to enjoy the college experience. I guess that basically means helping him grieve while, at the same time, seeing that he enjoys this summer as much as possible. I also want to see that he stays out of trouble, so, yeah, I need to man up, as Ronny always used to say.

As I approach our chair/umbrella set-up, I see the boys lying together on the sand, laughing about something. And, hell yeah, I've done an okay job of fulfilling my promise so far. It's not been perfect by a long shot, but it's been okay. Cowboy's happy, probably dealing with the loss of his brother better than I am. I just wish I could lose the guilty sense that I'm probably enjoying having sex with Cowboy too much. Oh great, I've found something else to fuck with my mind about. Swell.

"Hey, guys, how'd the swimming lesson go?" Cowboy turns over onto his back and says, "Not great, but Zach, how come we don't have beach towels? We're lying on the 'effing sand." Lee goes, "No, Carson, don't. Zach doesn't, um, I mean, tomorrow I'll bring a couple of beach towels." Blah, blah, blah, our nonsense conversation goes on, but the boys are fun to look at, and Lee is growing on me.

We again have pizza on the boardwalk for lunch, then go back to the hotel to hang out around the pool where both Cowboy and I finish teaching Lee to swim. Lee is not an especially adventurous lad, so it's slow going with lots of coaxing involved, but he eventually swims across the pool on his own. Jeez, swimming's not that fucking hard, for Christ's sake! I kept my impatience in check, though, and was impressed by Cowboy's patience. So, that's my good deed for the day. I mean, everybody should know how to swim, right?

Lee had to eat at home tonight, so it was just Cowboy and me at dinner. I take him back to the same restaurant we ate at last night. Later, Lee meets us on the boardwalk where he and Cowboy want to go on rides, so I go into one of the casinos where I lose $700. My luck at the blackjack table blows, so I try roulette and lose another $100. Swell. Then, I'm drinking a cocktail at the casino/hotel bar when Cowboy texts me, saying he and Lee are going back to the hotel to mess around. Hmm?

So, I'm not having any luck gambling, but an interesting possibility for another kind of luck just sat down at the bar catty-corner to where I'm sitting. He's a youthfully handsome young man who, until a year ago, I would have said, was Asian. That classification, I've been schooled to realize as too generalized. One of Ronny's and my best friend in the Seals was a Japanese American who, while we were drinking a few beers one night, told us how we could tell the national identity of Japanese, Chinese, and Korean people.

There are other nationalities generalized as 'Asians,' of course, but our Japanese American friend only spoke of those three. It seems that while all three have similar clear, smooth skin- coloring, there are differences in their facial features. The differences are subtle, especially for those of us who are not Asian. We were told that Japanese supposedly have wider, longer faces while Koreans have prominent jaws and higher cheekbones, and Chinese have rounder faces. Also, Japanese eyes are bigger, and they're angled slightly downward, while Chinese eyes are angled slightly upward, and Koreans have smaller eyes that aren't angled up or down.

I remember Ronny and me exchanging frowns, very much doubting the differences as described being enough to help us discern between the three nationalities. After saying that, I'm feeling pretty sure this guy I see at the bar is Japanese, not that it matters to me one way or the other. What does matter is he just made eye contact with me and then smirked knowingly at me as if we're sharing a secret. It was a quick eye-contact experience as he quickly shifted his eyes to look at the bartender, ordering a drink. Fleeting eye contact that, nonetheless, left me with a tingling in my dick, which is weirdly unusual!

Yes, ordinarily, I'd simply admire this young guy's outstanding looks, his taut slim, albeit smallish body, and clean-cut appearance. Usually, after admiring those things, that would be the end of it. Yeah, except there was something there that got my dick involved. Perhaps it was the tilt of his head or the way he sat down that had my gaydar on high alert. That, and the eye contact, obviously.

Now another, um, Asian guy just appeared, and my handsome Japanese guy accepts a quick kiss 'hello' on his cheek from this older guy. Hmm, the gay factor becomes a stronger possibility while, at the same time, reducing the possibilities I'll be involved. The much older less-attractive guy has compromised my dick's interest in the young Japanese guy. Huh, I've seen many super attractive Japanese young guys in my travels, but I sensed this one as being somehow special. Shit, and he's with that old guy, but that's the way life goes sometimes.

Feeling unrealistically disappointed, it's not going to work out; I order another drink and glance around at the mostly male clientele in here. Expecting a lot of success in the pick-up game is unrealistic, which is why I just said my disappointment was unrealistic. The odds are not in my favor or any gay guy's favor. In this situation, for one thing, that young Japanese guy may not even be gay, and for another thing, my chances of successfully connecting with him, even if he was gay, is another long shot. Just because a guy is gay doesn't mean he'll have any interest in a pick-up situation with me or anyone else. Sure, gays have a reputation for being promiscuous, and some are, but then some aren't. Same as heterosexuals.

What am I complaining about, though? I've got my own hot cute young stud, oddly named Cowboy. He's as gay a guy and as attractive a young guy as I could hope for, plus he likes me fucking him. Oh, wait! The older Asian guy flashed down a shot of liquor, and then, after a pat on the back of the young Japanese guy, the old guy leaves. Oh boy, perhaps the possibility game is on again.

To facilitate that possibility, this time, I make eye contact with the handsome young Japanese guy. It wasn't hard to do because he glanced over here as soon as the older guy left. We spend an entire second-and-a-half looking into one another's eyes before he shifted his eyes away. That doesn't sound very long, but, believe me, it is a long time for two people to gaze directly into a stranger's eyes, especially two people of the same sex. Sometimes that will result in one of the strangers barking out something like, 'What the fuck are you looking at?'

This time, however, neither the young Japanese guy nor I do that. Instead, a minute or so later, we look at one another again, and this time he nods his head at the door and then watches me until I nod back at him. We both pick up our drinks, drain them, and get off our stools. As I'm walking to the door, my heart is going pitter-patter with high hopes, as Charlie, who I was with the other night, liked to say. There's a sense of anticipation, sure, but also some hesitation. The amount of hesitation in a potential pick-up situation usually depends on the success of a recent pick-up that didn't turn out all that well, which in this case was Joe Smith. For a number of reasons, I regretted hooking up with him.

So, yeah, I'm a little bit hesitant, but I get over that quickly because this is a fascinating guy. He's small, yes, but there's a definite attitude about him. His side-to-side swagger as he walks screams arrogance. Also, the confident way he nodded his head at the door was as if he ordered me to meet him there. It was an intriguing indication of a confident attitude, although he's going to discover very quickly I've got a confident attitude myself.

When we meet at the door, the guy jerks his thumb toward the ocean, mumbling, "Over there," and he starts walking across the boardwalk in that swaggering manner of his. He's wearing baggy shorts that are too long for his height, reaching down to cover his knees partially. A polo shirt covers his taut torso with the little polo player logo, and he has sandals on his feet with white socks. Sandals and white socks, any socks, is not a cool fashion statement, but so what?

So, he's not a cool dresser. I don't give a shit how he's dressed because it's his attitude, especially considering his size, that's intriguing. Confidence oozes out of him, which is really rare for smaller guys. Or, maybe because of his size, he has what's called a Napoleon Complex. He's about the size of Cowboy's new friend, Lee, but where Lee's so skinny, his ribs show, this guy is built, as they say, like a brick shithouse. I'm not positive about the brick shithouse reference, but I assume it's a compliment of some sort. Anyway, this guy has a hot built, albeit in a small package, like a gymnast. The bodies on some of those gymnasts, holy shit, they're scorching!

By the way, in the five seconds, I was up close to this guy at the door, I saw his face clearly, and I'll add cute to the handsome description I already gave him. He's a rare cute-handsome guy who I'm guessing is about twenty-two or three. Swaggering across the boardwalk, he never looks back, assuming I'd follow him, and I am 'cause, as I said, I'm intrigued. And, as I also said already, I'm a confident guy too, but I can back my confidence up with a lot more firepower than my diminutive Japanese fellow possesses, even if he is built like a brick shit house. Yep, I could kick the shit out of him if it became necessary.

He goes all the way across to the boardwalk's far railing. When I get there, he's leaning against the railing, lighting a joint as he's gazing, looking out at the ocean. I lean against the railing next to him and, without looking at me, he takes a big toke off his joint, holds the smoke in his lungs; then, holding the joint out to me, he exhales and says in the strained voice everyone has while exhaling pot smoke, "I haven't seen you around before."

I inhale off the joint, noticing he lipped it significantly; the end is literally wet with his saliva. Holding in the smoke, I pass the joint back to him, and then we look at each other until I exhale, saying in the same strained voice he used, "That because I haven't been in Atlantic City for years." He grins, mumbling, "That explains it, then," and he takes another tote off the joint. We pass it back and forth a few times, and then he flicks the roach out into the night and asks, "What's your name?"

For some reason, I tell him my full name, Zachery Mc Mann. Maybe I gave my full name because I realize this is not at all my normal pick-up routine, and I'm off my game a little. He took the lead right off the bat with the head nod toward the door and followed that up by jerking his thumb, in effect, telling me to meet him at the railing across the boardwalk. Doing what he wanted me to do both times has me on the defensive. That, and now the strong marijuana he got me to smoke, means he's up 3 to zip in the pick-up game.

Still, I'm infatuated with this guy; he's well built, although quite compact and, well, he's almost beautiful too, but like Cowboy's beauty, it's somehow a totally male beauty, nothing feminine at all. Then there's his almost arrogant confidence. How can he back that up, though, ya know? And imagine seeing two guys as incredibly good-looking as Cowboy and this young Japanese guy the same day. Rare!

All those factors, plus the fact he didn't deem it necessary to tell me his name when I gave him my whole name is oddly intimidating. That's why I hesitate before asking, "Um, so... what's your name?" He shrugs, saying, "Not that there's any reason you need to know it, I'm Richard Ahane, and I own that," and he points down the boardwalk. I look to the other side and see he's pointing at a sign that reads, 'Beach Lockers... $15 a day. Best price on the boardwalk'. Swell.

I don't have any idea what the locker room has to do with anything, so I mutter, "Oh, you own that, huh?" He goes, "I just said I did. Are you slow-witted?" Rubbing my face with both hands, I say, probably too loudly, "No! I'm not 'effing slow! Dude, what the hell was in that fucking pot?" He grips my arm, pulling me away from the railing, saying, "Nothing was in it, dipshit. Come on, walk it off," and we walk along the railing as he sternly says, "I want to know why the hell you were you staring at me in the bar."

His hand gripping my upper arm is so small his fingers reach only halfway around my bicep, but he's got a very tight grip. He's walking beside me but definitely pulling me along, almost in a bullying fashion, which is ludicrous but, as strange as it sounds, I kind of like it. My head is slowly clearing the effects of the marijuana as he squeezes my arm even tighter, saying through gritted teeth, "I asked you a question, Zachery."

I'm like, "Yeah, I know. You wanna know why I was staring at you. Um, well, that's a stupid ass question, but I'll answer it anyway. Um, but first, would you let up on my arm, like totally, dude?" Tightening his grip even more, he mutters, "Answer the question." Frowning, I say, "Well, what the fuck? Obviously, I was simply returning your staring at me!" He snickers and mutters, "Good answer," then he says, "Stop here!" and he yanks on my arm, getting me to stop across from the locker room facility he claims to own.

Beginning to feel like me again, I say, "And, um, I saw that older guy kiss you and thought perhaps you and I might have a common, ah, sort of interest." Still holding onto my arm, his head coming only to my shoulder, he says, "I believe we do, actually. You're really put together, aren't you?" Then, looking at my head, he asks, "Are you in the military?" I briefly explain I was a Navy Seal but checked out a few months ago. Then I ask, "Why'd you ask that? Are you in the military or the police, or whatever?"

He laughs, then says, "Don't be ridiculous. I'm a graduate college student entering the second year of getting my MBA degree. And, not that it's any of your business, the older man you saw kiss me is my father. He funded the locker business that I've run starting last summer while I'm on summer vacation from my studies at Harvard." Holy shit, this guy must be smart. MBA degrees are for very intelligent people. But, wow, the old guy didn't look that old. Not old enough to be this guy's father.

Richard adds, "My father is visiting from Japan. He was curious to see what I've done with his investment" I go, "Oh, you're from Japan then, and going to Harvard?" He says, "You are slow! I live here; obviously, I just told you I go to Harvard, and then summers I'm running this business. What part of me being here all year didn't you understand?" I'm like, "I was making polite conversation. In reality, I don't really give a shit where you live or work... let go of my arm."

He says, "My parents divorced when I was a baby, and my Mother moved here with me." I shrug, and he snottily asks, "Is there anything else you need to know about me?" I'm thinking clearly by now and say, "No, actually, that's quite a bit more than I wanted to know. Look, let's get serious, fuck telling me your life's history. I'm telling you right up front that I only top during sex, so if that's a deal-breaker, um..."

He lets go of my arm and, instead, gets a grip on my shorts at the waistband in the back, almost giving me a wedgie to get me walking across the boardwalk toward his locker room building. I'm aware of how curious it is that I don't simply squash him and put him in my pocket, but as I've said, he intrigues me. He mumbles, almost as if he is talking to himself, "Not tonight, you're not. You won't be topping tonight." Then he says clearly, "You're not a top when you're with me. I am always at the top. You will be my pussy boy bottom tonight. As a matter of fact, assuming I like your pussy ass, perhaps you'll get to be my bottom boy two or three times tonight."

I'm grinning to myself, thinking, Is this guy delusional? Can I believe the total day-dreaming bullshit this little dude is spouting out? The last time I bottomed for anyone, I was at Yale. Oh, and coincidentally, my top that night was a tough little guy about the same size as pint-sized Richard here, so that would be a weird coincidence, huh?

I'm still not resisting, so he's able to push me up against the locker building, his hand still gripping the waistband of my shorts. He takes a key out of his pocket and unlocks the door, then pulling me over in front of the door, he says, "Get your ass in there. The light switch is on the right.

Okay, this is interesting: I'm letting him bully me, and, um, I can't really explain why that is even to myself, but maybe my dick getting slightly hard has something to do with it. And I recognize what he's been up to. Little by little, this guy is getting on top of me. I recognize what he's doing because it's what I always try to do in pickup situations. I also know if I let him have much success at that, it'll be too late for me to change the narrative.

In pick-up situations, it's initially who expects to top. That spot usually goes to the one who, physiologically, gets on top of the other guy first and then keeps getting more and more into his head. I never let my guard down, but I did it anyway, which allowed him to stay on top of me from the get-go. He's followed that advantage by getting me to do minor things his way, such as the various ways he's been grabbing me and getting me to walk down here. Each little bit I give in to him strengthens his dominant position.

Huh, that's all true and, I don't know, but he must be doing it better than I thought because now I have a sexy feeling in my dick, and I don't feel like resisting. In other words, I do what he told me to do and get my ass inside the building, and then I flick the light switch with him pushing me and mumbling an unnecessary, "Faster." Inside now, I see we're at the front counter of the locker room where a person would check in and pay, I suppose. People coming to the shore for the day need a place to change into swimsuits, shower after a day on the beach, etc., and this is one of those places.

Jesus, though, this is so 'effing different from any pick-up situation I can think of. Making it even more different, Richard pulls on my waistband, moving me around the counter, saying, "This way, pussy boy," and then pushing me past the counter where there's another door; he sort of punches my back using his fist gripping my short's at the waistband, saying "Go ahead boy, just push it open, the door swings both ways."

When I push open the door, he says, "Get the light switch. It's on your right again." I feel the wall and hit the switch. Bright overhead lights come on, showing a much larger place than it looked to be from outside. There are three rows of lockers going back twenty feet, and I can see another room, maybe an office, and then there are a number of shower stalls in the back, and I suppose toilets and sinks, although they're out of my view from here.

It's past the time when I should have insisted he lighten up on the 'boy' shit, and past the time when I should have objected to all his pushing he's doing on me, so I need to make up for those mistakes and set this fellow straight. There's no way he can back up with physicality the trouble his big balls are getting him into, but before I can do anything, he lets go of my waistband and says, "Drop your shorts and no talking unless I ask you a question. Just continue to do what you're told."

Okay, motherfucker, this is it. This is the point of no return. If I do what he says now, he wins. Glancing at him, I see he's pulling his polo shirt off over his head. Dropping the shirt, he sternly says, "I mean now. If you hope to be a pussy boy, get undressed now."

Omigod, there goes that tingling in my balls again, and it occurs to me that it's already too late for me. I've already lost. He's got me in here without me saying a word of protest. And, it's not as if I let him, although I'd like to fool myself into believing I simply went along for the hell of it. No, the fact is he got on top of me from the start and never let up, and I couldn't do anything about it. There's always somebody better than somebody else at doing something, and this little fucker is better at getting on top of a pick-up situation than I am. Holy shit, realizing that makes me shiver and rub my cock.

Yep, he got on top of me and now that I've admitted that to myself, I'm having trouble catching my fucking breath. Then, out of nowhere, I remember with clarity an awesome time during my junior year of high school when a guy bullied me and fucked me until I thought I'd die at how good it felt. Then he fucked me again and again until I could barely walk home that night. Holy shit, he smacked and fucked my ass so hard I could barely walk, but I loved it! That's a memory I haven't had for maybe six or seven years, yet it's clear as day to me right now.

And, yeah, here I am in too deep with this little Japanese stud, and I recognize each step of his method of dominating me. And I know he's not done yet as he's, right now, giving me that disapproving 'look' of his. Oh, it's because I'm just standing here reminiscing in my head about olden times as a bottom.

Making a quick decision, I drop my shorts and then my underpants. He nods his head and finishes getting undressed. I'll get it together in a minute or so, but first, I've got to admit that my little dominant sex buddy's body excellent. It looked good with his clothes on, and now that he's naked, his body is even hotter than I thought. Nooo, his body is nothing like Lee's body. I mean, yes, they have similar frames, and both are about five-feet-six-or-seven, but Richard's body is tight with excellent definition. My gymnast comparison is a good one as this guy looks like a gymnast.

I'm not sure what to do now or if I should do anything about this. I again think back to a feeling from long ago of being dominated by a prep school freshman when I was a sophomore. That way-back memory makes me gulp.

Hearing the gulp, Richard asks, "Is this new to you? Listen to me," and he reaches up to cup behind my head, pulling it down slightly, saying, "There's no reason you should be nervous or frightened; just do what you're told. I'll do all the thinking for both of us. You'll be fine once you accept your place as inferior to mine. Um, do you understand your place, Zachery?" Holy shit, I'm actually intimidated by this little fucker. What's up with that?

I shrug at his question, then shake my head because I can't think what to say. He reaches up, gripping my chin, saying, "You're obviously too slow to grasp this on your own, so I'll tell you." Then he speaks slowly, pronouncing each word carefully, "Your place is to do whatever the fuck I tell you to do, and do it immediately. I bet even you can do that. You just listen to what I say and then do it immediately."

I could, but I don't want to tie his arms in a square knot and dump him in the trash. And, I'm shocked realizing I'm not play-acting at being dominated; I am being dominated, for real. I can't spend time figuring out the reason for not being myself because my entire attention is focused on Richard and his absurdly arrogant dominant posture. It's incomprehensible and impossible, but there it is, anyhow. I can't even maintain eye contact with him. Looking down, I gasp, then gulp again, unable to say anything.

Richard mutters, "For Christ's sake," then he reaches up to lightly smacks the back of my head, adding, "Don't make too much out of this, but I'm testing you to see if you have potential. It's a simple test," and he cups behind my neck, jerking my head down to his level, and goes, "Oh, wait, I see what's happened. You just got the picture and realized your fate, and you've never been fucked up the ass before. Is that it, you're a virgin? A big tough guy like you, a few seconds ago, understood that, yep, tonight I'm going to fuck you in the ass, and you're scared shitless about that. No pun intended."

I have never met anyone in my life like this guy. I'm standing here dumbfounded. He has me psychologically paralyzed to a degree where I can't even speak. Standing on his toes, he gets his arm around the back of my neck, pulling my head against his chest. What should I do other than, stupidly, register a faint case of BO, as he's whispering, "Well, my pussy boy prospect, I won't lie to you, it's probably going to hurt like a motherfucker at first, but the pain usually gets less and less the longer I fuck your ass? You can only hope for the best now as all hope is lost that you won't feel a guy's hard cock in your ass. If you handle it okay, I might have a job for you."

Nobody can be this cooly confident while saying challenging, hell, insulting things like that, and I again can't catch my breath, then I hiccup trying to gulp in some oxygen. This is so fucked!

He shakes my head, saying, "Look at me, Zachery!" He's still holding the side of my face against his chest, me bending down, his arm still around the back of my neck. I lift my eyes to look into his, and he says, "Good, see, you can do what you're told. I told you to look, and you did. That wasn't hard to do, was it?" What? He's going too fast.

He says, "Open your mouth a little," and when I do, he puts his thumb in my mouth and rubs it on my tongue, murmuring, "Suck it a little, so you get the proper lip action. Pretend it's a very small cock. Maybe the size of yours. Go ahead, suck my thumb." Well, I've been lost for the last ten minutes, so the easiest thing to do is suck his thumb.

He takes his thumb out in ten seconds and says, "See, it gets easier and easier to do what you're told once you get started. Now, repeat after me... I want you to fuck my ass, Richard." Frowning, I manage to mutter, "What?" He shakes my head, tightening his arm that's around my neck, and repeats himself. In a stupor, I mumble, "I want you to fuck my ass, Richard," and he lets go of my neck.

Gulping again, I try to say something about how I'm not a gay sex novice. Hell, I'm experienced with sex, but I can only get out, "Nah, ah, Richard, it's not like I've..." and he smacks my bare ass, "I just told you a minute ago, no talking unless I ask you something. Didn't I just tell you that?" Looking down again, feeling my cock getting harder. Then he sounds even more pissed off, saying, "That last part was a question, Zachery. That's when you're allowed to talk."

Embarrassingly, I go, "Um, yeah, I guess you told me that." He pats my shoulder, "Good, now take your sandals off, and stop touching yourself." I didn't realize I was rubbing my cock, but I was, so I do both things, he said, feeling I'm sinking deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole but not minding it very much.

Richard looks around, taps his front teeth, then mumbles, "Okay, I guess we'll get started, except I first wanted to, but, oh, never mind." He smacks the back of my head, saying, "Get on your knees now. You'll be sucking my cock, and I'll bet you know how to do that, at least, right?" I look down again and mumble, "Yes," and he says, "I'll bet you've sucked a lot of cock." I can't catch my breath again, and he won't let up on me, which doesn't give me time to think. I need to think! He says, "Zachery! Look at me!" I move only my eyes, looking at him, and he says, "I'm going to fuck you silly."

By now, I've fully accepted that he's psychologically got me by the balls, and, therefore, he's totally in charge for now. The best thing for me to do is tip my hat and accept my fate. I'll regroup later, be more on my guard for his tactics. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and I know giving in to him is the lazy thing to do, but fuck it. He's made this happen so quickly I never had a chance, but I don't even care anymore. Even worse than that, I think I want this.

He's distracted by a cell phone call, so I finally work up the balls to take a glance at Richard's cock, and, oh no, holy shit! It's eight inches long, looking incongruous between his short, stocky, strong-looking legs. It's too long for the rest of his body. A body, by the way, that is as hot as he is good-looking. Oh, and he's hairless, too, including shaved pubic hair. How could I not have noticed all this before now?

Yeah, well, that's how much Richard's got on top of me! Can I believe I was scared to get a good look at his naked body? I'm fucked up, but this is as intriguing a situation as I've ever been involved in without Ronny leading the way. It was never a sexual situation when Ronny was involved, but we've been in some hairy experiences. I'm embarrassed about how I'm handling myself, so I'm glad nobody except this Japanese dynamo is the only person who will ever know about it. I'll figure everything out later and exact some revenge on this prick.

We're still both totally naked, of course, and I'm wondering if I'll actually get on my knees for him. Richard ends his phone call and says, "Fuck, my counter guy needs to get something he left here after his shift," and he grips my balls in his fist, adding, "So, we'll wander back to my locker and continue; there."

He pulls, using my scrotum as a leash. I stumble along behind him, hardly believing I'm going along with this. Then it occurs to my brain that I'm not going along with this so much as I'm helpless to do anything about it. I'm not letting him do whatever he wants; I can't do anything about it. Richard has physiologically gotten into my head and neutralized my best asset, my physical superiority.

And, as I said a minute ago, I don't totally hate this. I'm beginning to like being in this position of submissiveness. I know, yeah, I've told myself I'd never let anyone make me submissive to them, but it's so totally different from anything I've experienced the past four-plus years, so I'm curious. My submissive experiences started way back at prep school. But, I've been a rough and tough Navy-fucking-Seal, and not the submissive type after becoming a man. I was still a boy in college and became a man as a Navy Seal.

Yeah, yet I'm letting this pint-sized Japanese hottie have his way with me. Is it that I've become bored with the same sexual stuff I've been doing for years. Ronny and I never had sex together, obviously. Other than that, though, I pretty much did what he wanted for the past fifteen years.

I don't know if that's analogous to me doing what this guy, Richard, wants me to do. I can't think why I'm going along with Richard because he keeps things moving along too fast. It is interesting, though. Interesting in the weird way a scary movie is interesting, or a death-defying thrill ride at the amusement park is interesting.

At his locker, he gives my nuts a final squeeze making me squeal like a girl. Giving him a dirty look, I mutter, "You really do not want to press your luck." He chuckles, mumbling, "Nooo, I wouldn't want to do that now, would I?" This guy is as cocky as Ronny was, although I don't know how the hell he expects to back his cockiness up. With what? A gun?"

He tosses a dirty towel to me, saying, "Kneel on this; who knows what germs these pigs bring with them when they're walking around in bare feet?" Feeling as if I'm in some kind of sexy, dizzy trance, I simply can't concentrate on anything. So, as I realized a few minutes ago, the easiest, less complicated thing to do is kneel on the towel. He has a neutral expression on his face, then a small smile as he nods at the space in front of him.

Damn, I gotta give him props for confidence. He isn't going to need a gun because what the hell? I drop the towel on the floor at the spot he nodded at and slowly got on my knees in front of him. Even on my knees, my head is level with his smooth, well-developed, hairless chest. And he definitely has the tight body of a gymnast.

Richard murmurs, 'That was so hard, was it?" I frown, not knowing what to say to that. He lightly lays both hands on my head, his fingers ruffling through the longest hair I've had in over four years. I shrug my shoulders, feeling so strange. Richard gently bends my head down, so I'm looking at what has to be an eight-inch penis. It looks skinny, but it's not. The length makes it appear thinner than a normal penis.

Richard says, "Please, Zachery, feel it," and when I touch it and then lift it, I see it's bigger around and heavier than a normal penis. Frankly, it's a fantastic penis, but much too large for the rest of Richard, a freak of nature, but quite impressive just the same.

And, as I said, it's not like I've never blown anyone before. In my early sexually active days, when I was twelve or thirteen, I started sucking cock and had my cock regularly sucked, continuing all through prep school and even during my years at Yale. So, yeah, I've blown about the same number of guys who blew me, and I liked it either way. I've been a bottom many times as well, but not once have I had a cock in my mouth or ass in the last four-plus years, and I never expected to as a man until now.

Giving a blowjob is like riding a bike; once you learn how to suck cock properly, you never forget. Anyway, it's not that 'effing complicated to start with, but not doing it for years, I won't do it as well.

Richard rubs my head, muttering, "I can tell from the way your hair has grown out that it was cut in a military-style a few months back. Am I right?" I'm still holding and staring at his amazing cock as I mutter, "Yes, I was a Navy Seal." He goes, "You do need a haircut badly, though. That's easily rectified, and you are handsome, so an excellent prospect to maybe qualify to be one of my pussy boy bottoms."

Looking up, I'm like, "Pussy boy? Fuck dude, you're walking a tightrope here. I wouldn't want you to fall off." He pats my cheek, murmuring, "Lick my dick, Zachery." We look into one another's eyes. Wow, he is so fucking attractive. His looks distracted me, and he wins the staring contest. I drop my eyes, and he murmurs, "Do what you're told," and I lick across the head of his cock, feeling a touch of something I haven't felt in years... submissiveness. And it felt kinda good.

In a quiet, soothing voice, he says, "Good, now lick its entire length." I shiver feeling funny, then do what he said and then do it again. With his now hypnotic voice, he murmurs, "Push your tongue out as far as you can and slide my penis in on your tongue. You know how to do it; I'm sure you do." I do that, and then, wrapping my fingers around it, I rub the head against the inside of my cheek and up over the roof of my mouth, then rub it on my other creek, then suck on the head with my lips. I can do this.

Obviously, I need to hunch over with him being so short, then hunch over even more as I suck down the shaft. I only reach halfway down toward his shaved groin when the fat head hits the back of my throat. I gag, and he smoothly murmurs, "You're doing fine, um, perhaps out of practice, huh?" I feel as if I'm floating, but his cock tastes good. It's getting larger too.

Yanking on a fistful of my hair, he grunts, "Ump," then says, "I'm really going to fuck you up good, Mr. Navy Seal." I'm getting into some serious cock sucking, making him squirm and pull my hair, grunting and shuffling his feet a little. He grunts, "As I told you before, after I fuck your brains out, you'll want me to do it again. Hell, I'll probably want to do it again too. Cherry boys are the best." Why does he think I'm a cherry?

I'm not cherry material and haven't been for many years. Whatever, I'm concentrating on doing a good blow job for him, concentrating hard. His cock's head feels huge, and it's getting larger. And, although I don't mind it, he has a strong body scent down here, almost a body-odor scent... BO.

His cock gets so big it's hard to manage, and I gag every couple of seconds. Yeah, I've lost a lot of technique. I guess it's the gagging that makes him say, "Jesus, take it easy. Don't turn into a pussy. I'm not going to deep throat you. Is that what you're scared about?"

I take that as a signal I can relax a little, but he smacks the top of my head, adding, "I'm not fucking around with this either. I didn't tell you to stop. Get your lips and tongue moving so I can feel you sucking it as though you can't get enough of its taste." Every time he smacks me, and I don't do anything about it, he gets in a stronger dominant position. What's it matter now, though? I mean, he's totally in charge, and I've lost any inclination of doing anything about it, so...

With his strong scent swarming around in my head, I begin doing the best cock-sucking moves I can remember. I'm going full tilt sucking and licking and stroking his big cock, spit drooling down my chin as I slurp and suck and lick his ever-growing cock. It gets harder and harder, growing alarmingly fat in my mouth while stretching out in length as well. It has to be nine inches long now and much fatter. This is definitely the biggest cock I've ever seen in my life. Seriously, for a practical matter, it must be a bitch having this obscenely big penis stuffed in his underwear all day, every day, and him being smallish too.

I'm beginning to understand Cowboy a little better too. I say that because, unbelievably, my cock has become a boner. I'm sexually aroused submissively sucking this little fucker's huge cock. A boner from getting aroused sucking on Richard's obscenely big cock. Cowboy springs a boner sucking me off.

I'm so aroused my boner is sticking straight out from my groin. A hard six-inch boner that's beginning to throb. He sees it and chuckles, Richard's chuckling, then mumbling, "You're getting off on this, huh, Zachery? It looks like I scoped out another pussy boy candidate."

I'm too embarrassed to do or say anything, and, I guess, because of that, I get another swat on my head, as Richard says again, "Aren't you getting off sucking my cock, pussy boy? And look at me when I'm talking to you!" Why won't he let up on me? I lift my eyes to the top of their sockets, gagging again on his huge cock, and nod my head agreeing with him.

He says, "Oh, hell, you're doing okay," and, without thinking, I wrap my hand around my throbbing hard boner, and Richard immediately slaps my head again, saying, "Don't touch yourself!" He never stops getting on top of me, and he's already totally won, but he keeps the pressure on!

Quickly letting go of my cock, I hug my arm around his buttocks and suck his cock with a fury. With my other arm, I've been slowly stroking his big hard-as-a-brick cock, and a lot of pre-cum has just drooled all over my tongue, making me shudder. He goes, "Swallow all of it," and when I do, I feel a powerful submissive sense completely take over my brain. This is much more intense than the earlier stabs of submissiveness I felt. It's an almost paralyzing submissiveness to Richard... and it's kind of a soothing sensation too. A 'just let it go' sensation, an unconditional surrender. A feeling of relief...

He finally says, "Okay, you did that pretty good. Now take my cock out of your mouth and drop to your hands and knees." Right away, I do what he said. He strokes his long hard boner, then gives my ass a few hard smacks, mumbling, "See, you're already my big strong pussy-boy. I'm teaching you to know your place, accept your fate. You see now that I was right, don't you? It becomes easy for you to do what you're told when you know your place, right, Zachery?"

Feeling strangely calm now and relaxed now, I nod my head agreeing with him, and he says, "Don't nod at me! You need to say, 'Yes, Richard.' Turn your head to look at me and say 'Yes, Richard'."

See what I mean? He continues pouring it on until I'm cowering. It becomes confusing, though, so I hesitate, and he smacks my ass again, "Do what you're told!" Turning my head to look at him, I murmur, "Yes, Richard." That was one more little thing he got me to do. He continues strengthening his dominance over me until I'm convinced he actually is better than me, more powerful, so I'm submissive to him. It makes sense. With each new thing, he gets me to do is a building process he's relentlessly following.

By now, it's impossible to imagine how I ever thought I was going to be in charge of this pick-up. Yes, until now, I have always been the one in charge of pick-up guys for sex. The few times it didn't work out, I walked away from it. Not with Richard. I waited too long to walk out of an undesirable pick-up situation, but he overwhelms me from the start. Richard's technique has proven to be so successful I'm sexually aroused by all of it now. So why not look positively at this whole deal and appreciate its uniqueness. See if this submissive part is as good as Cowboy said his experiences with Ricky were. Glass half full kind of attitude.

Yeah, thinking back on it, I used to get very excited and aroused during my prep school years. Less so in college, but even my college sex included me being a bottom for some dominant guys and was a lot hotter than the sex I've had since then. And now, this change has got my juices flowing again. Huh, I guess I'm not exclusively a 'top' after all.

Yeah, it was better when I was versatile, switching off getting fucked as a bottom, and then sometimes doing the fucking as a top. And, yes, sometimes I was definitely dominated, even embarrassingly humiliated, but those were more exciting days, certainly more so than the sex I've had the last five years. No, that's not completely true either. There have been some scorching sexual encounters over the past five years, especially recently with Cowboy, but there hasn't been a helluva lot of them. I've limited the possibility of insisting I was a top only.

And when the hell did I turn into a stuck-up top-only kind of guy anyway? I guess it was a conscious move on my part because I was, in my mind, a bad-ass Navy Seal, a gay one, but still bad-assed. Probably, but that was just more posturing on my part. I'm certainly not a bad-ass with Richard, and it doesn't feel that bad being docile to him. It's not all that bad being on the other end of things again! Just do what you're told, Zach. That's not so hard to do.

Thinking those sensible thoughts, I've been on my hands and knees pushing my ass up the way Cowboy does, just waiting for Richard to fuck me. He's been moving things around in his locker. Finally, after a few curse words, he finds what he's looking for and pulls it out from the debris in his locker. I don't want to piss him off by looking back, so I don't know what he's holding, and damn, it's not all that easy pushing my ass up like this. Cowboy doesn't seem to strain to do it as much as I'm straining. What the fuck's his secret?

After slamming the locker door, Richard sits on my back, which puts a lot of extra strain on me. He sat on me as if I'm a pony or a large dog, his sloppy-with-my-spit-boner lying on my spine feeling really long and heavy, giving me chills. I shiver so hard my body's shaking. Richard, reaching behind, smacks my ass twice, hard, as he's saying, "Give me a second to roll on this condom for Christ's sake! Don't be so impatient."

Damn, those smacks stung like bumble bee stings. Looking back slightly, I see his leg is hairless like the rest of him, whatever that means. I'm not altogether thinking straight, but, duh, that's obvious.

He lifts his long hard cock off my spine to roll the condom on, and... I'm so ready for this. Richard, however, is in no hurry as he gets off my back and rubs my head, saying, "A cherry pussy boy like you is understandably scared, but I see you're anxious as well. Unfortunately, as I already told you, there is pain associated with taking a hard cock as large as mine up your ass, so for precautionary reasons to protect us both from, heh-heh, I don't know, being assaulted by a police swat team or something from you screaming, I need to put this elastic band around both your wrists."

An elastic band? That doesn't make any sense. Richard kneels next to me and lifts my arms, one at a time to shackle them together, although the elastic cord between my hands is ten-or-twelve-inches long. Well, this isn't very restrictive, but it is one more little thing I did that he wanted when I could easily have prevented. It's a series of seemingly unimportant moves by Richard that has me in this untenable position.

The thing is, I now want to do this submissive bottoming thing. I want to experience getting fucked again because, if I remember correctly, and I'm sure I am, this is a sexual rush almost as good as a topping one. Hell, it might be better than topping, and I can't understand why I suppressed the memories of bottoming when they are positive memories, good memories.

It's horrendous bad luck that Richard has Gonzilla's cock instead of a normal one. Bad luck is an understatement because his big cock could totally ruin my return to being a happy bottom. He says, "Now, one last thing. You need to open my mouth." Huh? Does he want me to suck his dick again? No! He's got the condom on. I can't keep up with him, but why is he making this so complicated?

When I open my mouth, he says, "Wider!" I stretch my jaws stupidly wide, and he pushes in a ball, then fastens the ball's strap behind my head. Duh, yeah, a fucking ball gag. I should have known that's what it was. This is another first-time experience and not a pleasant one.

He says, "It's a little uncomfortable being fucked up your ass with a ball gag in your mouth, but persevere through it." I try to swallow and start gagging. Then, for some reason, I'm feeling frightening claustrophobia that overwhelms me, making me gag harder with sweat breaking out on my forehead as I desperately say, "Please, I won't scream. Take it out..."

That's what I thought I said, although only a low-volume series of garbled sounds and some saliva spray got past the ball gag. I'm panicking now; lifting both hands off the floor, I try taking the gag out, but with my wrists tied together, I can't reach behind my head. Panicking, I try standing as Richard yells, "Stop it! What the fuck's wrong with you? It's a little uncomfortable, but ten million guys have had a ball gag in their mouth without throwing a tantrum. Jesus! Calm down..." Well, what else can I do? And I'm getting sick and tired of being accused of being a pussy even though I guess I'm acting like one.

Thinking about the times during hairy situations in combat, I had to force myself to get a panic attack under control; I'm able slowly to calm down and stop trying to move my jaws. I take steady short breaths taking one second at a time. I'm barely okay with this side of panic. I'm doing little panting breaths, my head hanging, swaying slightly on my hands and knees.

Richard shakes his head, mumbling, "Start acting like the man you think you are." I ignore that, realizing that this is the shit he got from his locker, a ball gag, and arm restraints. I've never had one of these things in my mouth before and to say it's uncomfortable is a huge understatement.

Ignoring my continuous little gagging, panting sounds, Richard slowly walks from my head to my ass dragging his fingers along my body which gives me chills, and I shiver and shudder thinking about his fingers instead of the ball gag. He calmly says, "Sorry if I got a bit frustrated there for a second or two. You'll be fine. I keep forgetting this is your first time." Listening to his voice, I shudder with submissiveness. No, I've never dominated a sex partner nearly to this extent... not even close!

And being honest with myself, I'm impressed how Richard's gone about dominating the hell out of me. He started by being confident, bossy even, and then increased his in-charge status further in little increments by getting me to do little inconsequential things. None of those moves was a huge deal by itself, nothing I couldn't accept to satisfy my intrigue, my curiosity. So, one by one, I did what he wanted, and now I'm powerless and completely under his control.

I'll never get used to the ball gag, but I still want to get fucked, so try not to show the distress I'm in, right on the edge of an uncontrolled panic attack. I'd never let someone do this to me if he was the slightest bit less cleverly dominant than Richard is. My gung-ho attitude would normally be to punch someone out who thought I'd bottom for them. This guy, Richard, though, has done everything perfectly, much better than I could have done it. And, now my point of view is the same as Cowboy's.

He said Ricky dominating and humiliating him felt good after a while. I'm starting to think the same thing.

Right now, I could stand up and get this elastic band off, take out the ball gag, and shove it down Richard's throat. Physically I could do that, but mentally I can't because the submissive sense I feel toward Richard is too strong. My willpower is nil, making me think I don't want to do any of that physical shit in my head. I want to be Richards, whatever he calls me, his pussy bottom boy. I'm still intrigued with him, but also, I want to again experience the other end of males fucking. It's been too long. My best bet is to continue being subservient and submissive to my dominant top. And, motherfucker, it's wicked strange to think that thought.

As I've been rationalizing my situation, Richards has been sort of gloating, smirking as he's lightly rubbing my back the way someone would calm down a frisky pony or dog. He says, "There, you go. You got yourself under control. I knew you could," and he uses both hands roughly gripping my butt cheeks, spreading them painfully apart. A second later, I feel the wet nipple of his condom at my asshole, and, with a grunt from Richard, pain explodes from my anus in angry waves, one after another.

Red is the only color I see as I scream a gargled scream into the ball gag. He's holding my hips tightly now, steadily forcing his fat, long, boned-up cock inch by inch up my ass as I struggle and try walking away on my hands and knees, screaming a non-scream into the ball gag. He's as strong as his tight body indicated he might be, and he's managing to hold me in place while at the same time forcing his cock up inside me.

It's an excruciating pain back there, but Richard has the strength and the leverage to prevail. It goes on forever, but it probably was no more like ten seconds of actual time. Now that he has me fully impaled by his huge boner, he lies his stomach partially on my back and takes a deep breath, then chuckles as constant pain inside me as I've never experienced before continues. I never stop screaming into the ball gag, the screaming making only unrecognizable noises, and not very loud ones at that, none of which sounded to my ears like screams.

My face feels hot, and I know the veins in my throat and face are bulging prominently. Richard gives my ass a surprisingly hard and stinging slap, saying, "Stop screaming! Be a man and take it, for God's sake." My cock is limp as a noodle now. And, further complicating my situation, I have a humiliating fear I'm going to piss myself. What he just said about being a man, though, that resonated with me and, with my teeth clamped on the ball, I mostly stop struggling but can't stop shaking. He goes, "That's a little better. I didn't expect you'd turn into a pussy on me. Have at least a little pride in yourself."

He's standing up straight behind me now, saying in a conversational voice, as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening, "Hey, Navy Seal boy, can you keep your ass at this level? It works best for me, considering I'm height-challenged and all that." I lowered my ass, trying together away from his hard cock like a dominated dog will lower its hunches.

The pain is continuous as he murmurs to himself, "Nice and tight like a cherry's ass ought to be," then he humps against my buttocks a few times, mumbling, "Well, would you look at us now. You're acting like you want to be one of my pussy boys, ain't ya? Hogtied and ball-gagged, your pussy ass filled up with my hard cock, and all can do is whimper being dominated like a motherfucker; good news though, I'm gonna let you try qualifying even though I'm guessing you're past the normal age I spend much time recruiting for pussy boy status."

The pain inside me is massive, but it's mostly the throbbing pain all around my pathetically stretched anus that has most of my attention. His ridiculous fat cock may have ripped my asshole, but I'm determined not to complain because of what he said about acting like a man. What'd he just say? His pussy boys, plural, meaning other guys have been brave enough to handle this? That's hard to believe.

He humps against my buttocks, muttering, "What do you say? Do you want to try to qualify to be one of my pussy boys?" I try asking what he means," and he goes, "I couldn't understand a fucking word you said, plus you said too many of them. Don't talk; I already told you that. Plus, when I tell you something or ask a question, you only needed to say 'Yes, Richard.' Learn how to respond properly."

Not sure if I should say anything to that, I take a chance and say, "Yes, Richard," but it comes out in a series of wet unintelligible nothing noise. He snorts out a laugh muttering something I can't make out, then he humps against my ass again. I'm grateful he's giving my rectum time to get used to his huge cock. That nine-inch cock up my ass feels like it's in my stomach, but, mostly, I'm apprehensive about what the pain will be like when he decides to pull that gigantic boner back over all the damaged areas inside me that he caused when he forced it in.

The pain continues, but it's leveled off some, so, taking a deep breath, I try convincing myself I can handle whatever comes next. Then, when he pulls his cock back, I scream into the ball gag just as hard as I did when he forced his cock inside me. He chuckles at my screaming attempts, and, with his cock mostly out of my ass, only the huge head remaining inside spreading my anus and hurting like a motherfucker, he says, "Okay, you've never been fucked before, I get that, but come on man, learn to take it better than this."

Pushing his cock all the way in and withdrawing it immediately gets me doing a series of screaming-non-screams, my teeth digging into the foul-tasting ball. Then, the next time he pulls back and thrusts it up inside me, I'm so grateful it didn't hurt quite as much I hear myself moaning a long whimpering moan, "Ummm, ooh, ah, ahh. Un, un, ooh." Of course, that's not what came out because the ball gag made my moaning sound like wet unintelligible noise. Spit is all around my mouth; so much of it by now I'm inhaling some of it, trying to breathe.

Richard got the gist of my noises, assuming they were more like pleasure sounds, and he says, "There ya go. I've finally got this tight virgin ass of yours broken in for you, so now it doesn't hurt as much, does it? Here's the thing, though, I could have done that sooner if you weren't such a cunt crying and screaming, struggling and making it hard on me. Am I right?"

I'm learning, and since that was a question, I say, "Yes, Richard." He chuckles, then mutters, "What was that? Man, look at the pussy you turned out to be," and then he starts steadily fucking me but using only about three inches of his boner. In my mind, I'm like, oh, that is so considerate of him. Yeah, I stupidly get this insane feeling of gratitude. The thrusts still hurt, but nothing like the pain a minute ago.

Richard's making humming sounds; pleasure sounds while still gripping my hips tightly. Now that the intense pain is gone, I sop my struggling and cautiously look forward to the coming thrusts from Richard. One, two, three, and a longer thrust, and it occurs to me I'm not feeling any pain at all, none at all, and, in fact, there's a pleasant sizzling sensation beginning to build in my ass.

Finally, relief! My head's been hanging down between my arms, but now I lift it as my face scrunches up, enjoying an extremely pleasant feeling inside me, and I let out another long low moan of pleasure, although again, the moan doesn't sound anything like what the moaning in my head sounds like. My moans of, "Oooh, Ummm, oooh, it feels good, Richard," all come out unintelligible.

Now, the pain is only a scary bad memory, and I'm concentrating with all my might on that big cock traveling up and back in my rectum. I've given up completely any hope of being cool about this. Nope, I'm doing my unintelligible moaning into the ball gag being totally wimpy, but it's feeling so good I can't stop moaning. All those vibrating sensations coming off my prostate and the inexplicable itchy sizzling from my incredibly stretched anus lips have me squirming with pleasure. It's um, it's an overwhelming kind of sexual pleasure I'd forgotten existed. Maybe it feels this extraordinarily good because I haven't felt this type of sexual pleasure, the pleasure of being a bottom, for years, and it's new all over again.

That, plus I've admitted Richard has totally dominated me, which relaxes me and allows me to just concentrate on the awesome sexual pleasure and begin to be grateful, Richard insisted. I'm grateful to him now and forgetting about the earlier other stuff. Admitting my submissiveness to him is actually adding to the sexy sense of, um, of everything. Admitting that Richard is my dominant top somehow increases the awesome feeling of his nine-inch boner thrusting back and forth in my ass. He's the man! Each fat inch of his boner moving hard and fast, and very tightly up, up, up until in my mind the head of his cock is hitting my lungs. I'm thinking how fantastic he is, and now I'm glad he has a Godzilla-size cock.

I squirm and moan at how impossibly good it feels to be Richard's submissive bottom. Not only because his cock is perfect but because of the way he's handled everything. I'm embarrassed I didn't handle myself better, very embarrassed, but this was my first time in a very long time. Next time I'll do a lot better as a growing sense of deep respect for Richard grows stronger in my brain.

Everything is so perfect I can't stop the garbled moaning or the squirming side to side that I'm doing now. His long fat cock never stops moving, and it feels so good I could scream with the pleasure of it all, um, except the ball gag would prevent me from doing that. Thrust, thrust, thrust, and now there's the slap, slap, slap sound as he hammers his cock inside me, slamming against my buttocks with his shaved groin, slamming against me so hard both buttocks quiver at each slap.

Now I feel wetness on the inside of my left leg and look down. Christ, I didn't even realize I have a raging hard boner again, one that's stretched so tight it feels as though the skin will split. The wetness I felt is dripping pre-cum from the hardest boner I've ever had. Holy shit, the last time I checked, my flaccid dick was flopping around with me, trying to get away from Richard's monstrous but now fabulously huge hard cock.

Richard's grunting now, no more humming. He grunts with every hard hump of his prodigious cock up my ass. I can't imagine how; at first, I thought his penis was thinner than most. It grew a lot of heft when it got hard in my mouth, and it's been getting fatter, seemingly, with each nine-inch hump up my ass. By now, it has to be as fat around as my fist, and all of it is going up my wide-open asshole with every thrust.

Nine fat inches of hard cock. I can't imagine what it looks like going in, in, in taking a while to get all of that huge cock up inside me, although in actuality, it's probably only one second per thrust. Now I hear, "Ahhh!" from Richard with every thrust, and I'm almost delirious from the immense pleasure. Unfortunately, I still sound pathetic with my constant moaning, the ball gag still making my moans sound alien. Pleasure is pulsating not only from my rectum but from my throbbing boner as well. Why the fuck have I avoided bottoming the past five years?

I'm guessing Richard's been fucking me for about ten minutes when my climax flashes on the scene. Oh, yeah, it's such an intense feeling when your climax is right at the tipping point, and you know it's going to blow at any second. And then it does blow, and my head explodes. I lift my hands off the floor, straightening up partially, gasping, and then I'm making a squealy sound around the ball gag as my cock, an iron rod sticking straight out, blasts a stream of cum in a hard fast line that splatter against a locker door.

Omigod, I'm delirious from the indescribable sensations of that climax, shaking at the sexual pleasure that's a mighty powerful pleasure, top or bottom. I stare, almost dumbfounded at my stream of cum drooling down the door, still creamy and white as milk. That's until Richard smacks the back of my head, saying, "Get back down on all fours or, when I'm done, I'll spank the shit out of you."

I'm used to him telling me what to do by now, so I immediately drop down on my hands, but I'm shuddering so hard my head goes all the way down onto my forearms, still keeping at the proper level for Richard the way Cowboy does it for me. Richard fucks my ass for another minute before making a breathy exhale as he unloads his orgasm into the condom. He makes another gasping sound, then stops for a few seconds before thrusting his cock for maybe another minute. Then, with another breathy exhale, he pulls his cock out completely, and, stepping back, he sits on the bench in front of his locker.

Still taking deep breaths, he says, "That was fast." Going up on my knees, I hold out my wrists, and he snorts a chuckling, mumbling, "Oh, yeah, haha, I'll get the elastic restrain off for you." He does that, and I unsnap the ball gag strap. Pulling out the ball, I gawk at it. What a nasty-looking thing it is too. It's not even round. All the jaw pressure from bottoms like me have flattened it ever so slightly, and there are about a hundred deep teeth imprints, some of them mine.

I look at Richard, and he chuckles again, then mutters, "Yeah, that's a snarly looking thing, alright. It's not mine. I found it on the floor in here last year and tossed it in my locker. You are the fifth or sixth guy I've made put that disgusting thing in their mouth. God only knows how many people had it in their mouths before I found it. Oh, fuck, heh-heh, it always gets me off hearing the sounds you pussy-boy bottoms make while I'm fucking you with that nasty ball in your mouths."

Well, I could have refused to put it in my mouth, but I didn't. Resigned, I mutter, "Gross." He motions with his hand, saying, "You can get up off your knees now." I nod, then stand, reaching back to touch my buttocks because my asshole feels like it's opened as wide as the grand canyon, and now I'm noticing it's very sore too. He goes, "Never mind that, sit the fuck down on that bench over there."

Feeling slightly faint, I do that but sitting on the wooden bench makes it feel as if my asshole is opened wider than both butt cheeks. That's nonsense, but that what it feels like. Richard takes another deep breath, pulls the condom off his limp penis, and holds it out to me, mumbling, "I just told you to sit down, and now I'm telling you to get up and flush the condom. Watch out for the streak of what looks like your shit. I'll deal with that situation later."

Wondering what he means by that, I take the condom, then stand here frowning, so he adds, "The toilets are down to your left; get moving, boy." Nodding again, I walk toward the lavatory because I can't think of anything better to do.

After a few steps, I stop and turn around, timidly saying, "Um, Richard, excuse me, but, ah, a minute ago, you said that was a fast fuck. I thought it was like ten minutes." He snorts out a laugh and goes, "What the fuck are you talking about? You shot off, squealing like a cunt in less than three minutes."

That was harsh, but, Goddamn, he's so attractive and cool! Not intending to say more, I can't help myself and go, "Do you think you could do me again later? I'd really like to do it again so I can prove to you I'm not a pussy." Seriously, I can not fucking believe I said that! What's wrong with me? And I'm blushing like a snatch, or like Cowboy's friend, Lee. Richard's smirking as he says, "Christ, I told you you'd want me to fuck you again. Yeah, okay, maybe in an hour or so. If I do, it better be for longer than three minutes."

Nodding my head, I squeeze my dick, telling myself to shut up, but I don't shut up; I murmur, "Ah, I want to say something if you let me." Then I tell myself, DON'T YOU DADE SAY THIS!

He shrugs, muttering, "Well fuck, go ahead, what is it?" Why am I feeling so timid around him? Forgetting what I just told myself, I make another humiliating gulping sound before saying too quietly and too fast, "It's just that I admire the hell out of you. I'm not sucking up with you or anything, but, um, you were a fabulous stud the way to topped my ass. It was by far my best fuck ever."

He snorts out another loud laugh and says, "Well, thanks, but I thought I was the first one to top your tight ass." As I'm shaking my head, he makes a shooing motion with his hand, muttering, "Whatever the fuck. Get moving, do what I told you and dump that condom in the toilet."

Christ, that was by far the nerdiest I've ever been in my life. I was never a nerd before meeting this guy, never! And you know what, as horrifically stupid as that was, it gave me a thrill being obsequious to him. And the way he shrugged it off as though he expected it, that was so perfectly confident and cool. But fuck, I feel like such a friggin' geek! No one I've ever fucked in my life has ever geeked out on me the way I just did to Richard. I should be humiliated beyond belief, but I'm not. He's got me so deep into him I'll probably never get out. Never get out from under his control, I mean.

Thinking that geeky thought, I walk naked to the bathroom carrying Richard's cum filled, shit-streaked condom. With every step, my asshole feels weirder than it ever has before as in my life. It's like there's a fan blowing cool air up inside that wide-open orifice that used to be a normal asshole. What an experience this has been and continues to be. I mean, hell, I'm taking his sloppy condom to the toilet. I've never taken a condom that wasn't mine anywhere.

Flushing the condom, I get the shivers, and my whole body shakes a little from the trauma it's been through. Looking back on everything, against all reason, I sort of liked every part of tonight; even the humiliation and the pain seemed just right, sort of an important part of the experience probably because most of the pain has faded from my mind.

Oh, wow. I'm now remembering a period in my life that lasted a year of Tommy Gilmore dominating my ass like a motherfucker, and, in time, I learned how to love it. Huh, yeah, I did, but what I'd like to know is why the hell these memories became suppressed in my memory banks? As I said before, I haven't thought of those old days for years.

Then, I again think about Cowboy and how he told me how much he enjoyed the hell out of his time being dominated and humiliated by Ricky. I'm basically telling myself the same thing about my dominated time with Richard. Before this, I could never understand how Cowboy could think like that. Now I'm beginning to understand because Richard has opened up a whole new avenue of sexual possibilities for me.

Back at Richard's locker, I find him smoking another joint. He holds the joint up to me, saying, "Sit your ass down, and we'll share this fucking joint." We do that, and when he takes the last drag off the roach, he hands it to me, mumbling, "Flush that fucker and then pick up my clothes." I hop up and do both things.

Back from the bathroom, I'm handing him his clothes as he tells me, "You get dressed too, and we'll have a couple of drinks at the bar as I try to decide if I feel like doing Zachery again?" Huh, what? He said he was going to do it a couple of minutes ago.

As we're dressing, my asshole is feeling sticky from the lubricant, and, yeah, it's sore too, really sore. I don't care that it's sore, though; I want to do it again. Richard's reintroduced me to being a submissive bottom, and it was pretty fucking hot. I'd like to see if it was just the novelty of it, or if me being submissive and taking it up the ass is as special as I think it was.

As we walk from the locker room building, Richard begins to oddly hold me close to him with an arm around my waist. That's very awkward for me because, first of all, I'm a head taller than him, and secondly, this makes me feel like I'm his girlfriend or his possession. This is obviously another step in Richard's technique of putting me in my place.

And, yeah, he's pretty fucking good at that. I realize by now that I'm an amateur at getting on top of guys compared to him. I'm not sure if I'm going along with this embarrassing way of walking because I want to feel his cock up my ass again or if I'm putting up with it because I can't do anything about it. I'm almost afraid to try doing something about it for fear I'll discover I can't and that I actually am powerless with him.

People are gawking at us, and I blush because it's embarrassing being led around like this by the much smaller Richard. Then I blush even harder imagining Ronny or Cowboy seeing me doing this. Well, fuck, Ronny abandoned me, so I don't need to worry about that, do I?

Thankfully, the hotel/casino is close to the locker rooms, and as we approach the hotel, Richard says, "I'm having a hard time deciding if I want to fuck you again, and I'll tell you why. You were almost too much trouble how you acted like a cunt who wants it but pretends hard to get. On the plus side, though, you've got a wicked tight ass, and you grovel really well, plus you're so fucking handsome. And, if I decide to give you another chance, do I use the ball gag on you again." I'm like, "I'll put the gag in my mouth if you tell me to."

Jesus H Christ, I can not fucking believe I just said that! And I sounded like a timid, whining cunt while saying it too. It's pathetic of me, but I can't help acting dorky around him because I want us to do it again. Still, I don't know why he's intimidating me this much since he's already gotten me to do everything he wanted. He actually snorted when I said I'd put the ball gag in myself, and he said, "I know Goddamn well you'll put it in your mouth if I tell you to. Um, but right now, get the door for me." I open the hotel door for him and follow him inside, where he finishes by saying, "Do you promise not to scream like a pussy if I don't use the gag?" I say, "Yes, Richard." He mutters, "I'll think about it."

What he doesn't realize is I've had a lot of gay sex, and, therefore, I know my anus won't close up for quite a while, not after the way he opened it up. That means his big cock won't hurt as much going in if we do it again, so I can honestly say to him, "Richard, seriously, I swear to you that me acting like a pussy is over and done with. I won't scream next time, and I'll stay perfectly still for you." He goes, "Yeah, I was kind of shocked you acted like that. I expected more from you. Okay, I'll take a chance and see how it goes without the gag next time."

We sit at the bar, but the way he said next time didn't sound as eminent as saying 'later tonight.' I hesitate, but I'm getting pissed because it's as if he's breaking my balls with a tease of he might do it, or he might not, blah, blah, blah, so I ask right out, "Are going to do me again tonight or not?" He snaps at me, "Watch your tone of voice when speaking to me!

That puts me right back in my timid frame of mind, and I murmur, "I'm sorry, Richard." He sucks his teeth, then muttered, "I probably will." I nod my head encouragingly as he puts a fifty-dollar bill on the bar, then orders two shots of tequila. I hate tequila! When the shots are poured in front of us, Richards nods at the one in front of me, so I pick it up, we tap shot glasses, and I swallow it. Ghastly! Richard says to the bartender, "Again," and I swallow that one too.

Then Richards orders us bottles of Dos Equis, and I drink it, although I don't like Mexican beer all that much. As I drink, I'm admiring Richard for not asking how much I liked the fuck he laid on my ass. Most tops can't resist asking, expecting compliments. Hell, I do it myself, but Richard is too confident for that. He knows damn well I was totally enamored by his fucking ability. I mean, I asked him to do me again, so I suppose there's no need for him to ask how much I liked it. I admire the confidence he has in himself. He reminds me of Ronny in that regard. Hell, I've always felt confident too, um, until I met Richard.

As I'm thinking about that, he says, "Zachery, have you ever thought how weird it is that the curse we humans must suffer is one that no other living thing on this fucked up planet needs to deals with. And, do you even know what that curse is?" I say, "You can call me Zach. Everybody calls me that, and what you're referring to is the fact that we humans know we're going to die." He says, "Bingo, that's it, and I'll call you whatever the fuck I want to call you." I say, "Yes, Richard," and then hate myself for saying that. I mean, during sex, I need to say that because I'm submissive to him, right? But this isn't sex. He's obviously gotten into my head even more than I thought. Swell.

He goes, "Every other living thing not only doesn't know it's going to die but doesn't even know it's alive. Cattle, pigs, whatever, they just are. The most popular meat in the world is chicken, and chickens don't know shit about anything except pecking for food." I'm looking at the side of his face thinking he's the best-looking young man I've ever seen in my life. Not just best-looking Japanese guy, any guy of any nationality or race or whatever. Can that be? I mean, I've always thought. Cowboy was the best-looking guy in the world.

As we drink the skunky beer and talk, he maintains physical contact with me at all times. His hand is on my leg, or he rubs my head or pats my back or squeezes the back of my neck, giving me chills. I'm not complaining about it, I like to be touched, but constant touching is very unusual. He also asks me many personal questions for which I give honest answers 'cause I'm afraid not to. No matter how embarrassing my responses are, embarrassing to me, I tell him the truth, and, consequently, he's learned a great deal about me while I know almost nothing about him. It's as if I'm applying for a job. Well, except I wouldn't be so forthcoming applying for a job.

After an hour of grilling me, he goes, "It's a bitch and totally unfair that dude Ronny got killed like that, but, bro, he was leading you around by your nose, and he wasn't even gay, meaning he wasn't even servicing and were his loyal flunky. Christ, I gave you more pleasure in one night than he gave you in fifteen fucking years."

I don't know about that. Sexual pleasure, sure. Richard is right about that, but there are other forms of pleasure like the pleasure of a loving best friend of a lifetime and so forth. I wasn't Ronny's flunky either. I'm not inclined to argue with my dom, though. And, oh shit, I just admitted he's my dom, which must mean I'm the submissive part of a sub/dom relationship. Not that we have a relationship, not yet we don't.

I'm again thinking; I really shouldn't need to continue acting submissive to him after the sex. He appears to want it that way, though. And I don't have much choice if I want to have sex with him again. It's not fair, but there are many unfair things in this world.

We have another beer, and I'm like, "Richard, do you mind if I try defending my, um, poor behavior tonight?" He goes, "You mean there's a defense for it. You've been a submissive, whiny pussy all night." I nod my head, saying, "I agree with you, but you're, um, a tough dude, and you know how to get in someone's head. You got in mine, but, honestly, I swear to God I haven't been myself tonight. It's so alien for me to be submissive to anyone, and, as I admitted to you a little while ago, this is something I haven't done for years. And, seriously, come on, nobody has a cock like yours. The other guys you've fucked, the other pussy boys you mentioned, must have had a hard time taking your cock up their asses as much as I did, at least initially."

Richard gulps down some beer and says, "Some of them had a hard time at first, yeah, but you were the worst. Just because you do bodybuilding and have a great body doesn't mean you're not a pussy." Oh, fuck. Shrugging, I mumble, "Well, I'm sorry I acted the way I did, but I hope you'll give me another chance. It was new for me, but good too, and I've been in a sexual rut for years and desperately in need of a change, so..."

He shrugs, "Sure, I'll give you another chance, Zachery. I've been busting your balls a lot, but that's been necessary. It doesn't work for me if my bottom thinks he's equal. You're inferior to me in many ways, let's face it. But that doesn't mean you can't still be a hotshot in other aspects of your life. It's just that, when you're in my life, you'll do what you're told. As long as you can do that convincingly, we'll be good. Actually, I had a blast fucking you, and I fully intended to do it at least once more tonight, but I enjoyed watching you grovel for it. I'm a prick, sure, but most doms/masters are, not just me."

I'm like, "Master, um, what?" and he shrugs again, saying, "That's my preference, slave/master relationships. I'm betting you'll qualify for a job with my outfit, but you do not interest me as the slave part in my slave/maters relationships. You're too old for one thing. Don't worry about any of that shit right now. Let's go."

When we walk out, he doesn't put his arm around me this time. Instead, he has a hand reaching up and gripping the back of my neck, making me walk faster than I normally would. Once again, it's extra weird because he's so much shorter than me, but I don't object. I actually like the feel of his small strong hand on my neck. I didn't convince him I'm not a pussy, but I gave it a try.

Outside the hotel, he drops his hand, and his arm goes around my waist again the way a boyfriend walks his girlfriend, so I put my arm around him. He says, "Take your 'effing arm off me," which I do immediately. Then he says, "Depending on how well you behave this time; I might make a date with you for tomorrow night." I start to say, "Oh, that. would be.." and he goes, "It's not necessary for you to comment on that. We both know you'll jump at the chance should I decide to do it." I murmur, "Yes, Richard," and he says, "Good, you're learning."

When we're back at his locker, he mutters, "Get undressed." As I'm quickly doing that, he holds up the ball gag, asking, "You going to be a good boy?" I nod, "Yes, Richard, " and he mutters, "Okay, we'll see how it goes without this dirty piece of shit in your mouth." I'm totally naked in fifteen seconds, and Richard goes, "Stand there and let me feel your body. You've got the best body I've seen on anyone in maybe a year, maybe longer than that."

I stand here naked, and he yells, "What the fuck do you call that? Will you fucking stand up straight, for Christ's sake! You do remember how to do that, doncha? Fuck, you just got out of the friggin' Navy."

Getting in a stiff attention position, my arms stiffly at my sides, he rubs all over my body with both hands, squeezing my buttocks and then pulling my cock out, I guess, to see how long he can stretch it. I make subtle grunting sounds, keeping them as quiet as I can. His hands feel good as he rubs them over me without ever changing his expression. It's as if he's deciding whether or not to buy me. Frankly, his touching is giving me thrilling chills that make me shudder noticeably, so he reaches back and smacks my ass hard four times, muttering, "Stand still, or I'll spank your ass red."

This is the sexiest thing I've ever been involved with, and I think that's because I've formed an extremely high opinion of Richard. No, I don't mean in a romantic sense at all. It's totally sexual. And thrilling is the right descriptive word for everything he's doing now, plus everything he did earlier. After four years in the Navy Seals, I'm used to a superior yelling at me and doing what I'm told.

Done with the body rubbing, he begins stroking my cock, mumbling, "Don't move," and when he has my dick bone-hard, sticking six inches straight out, he nods his head, saying, "Nice looking penis, bro," then he gets undressed, and when he's naked, he grins, saying, "At ease," and then he laughs. I didn't even realize I stayed at attention. It makes me blush and think, Whoa, I'm deep into this shit, deeper than ever.

My boner throbs when I think how his hands felt on it, and I want to touch it myself, but I don't dare do that. Richard gets a condom from his locker, saying, "Sit on the bench in front of my locker." He points where he means, "Sit right there and suck my cock into a hard boner." I sit and immediately take hold of his penis. After stroking it four times, I put the big mushroom head in my mouth and hum on it, remembering doing that way back when. He slaps my head, muttering, "Stop that nonsense, and suck it," which I start right in doing with lots of saliva and tongue action.

He smells sexy and manly even with the BO, and I really like that he shaves his pubic hair. It makes cocksucking more civilized. I remember how nothing was as annoying as getting pubic hair stuck in my mouth, or worse, in my throat. I'm really into sucking Richard's cock now, and it quickly begins expanding at an alarming rate. It's a challenge keeping my teeth from scaping it, but all my concentration is on doing this properly, hoping to please him. He shuffles his feet a little and says, "Nice cock sucking, Zachery. That'll do," and reluctantly, I take that huge cock head from my mouth.

Richard hands me the condom, saying, "Lick my balls a little; I like my pussy boys to do that occasionally, and then roll this condom on, and then bend over holding onto the bench." I'm repeating the three things he ordered me to do in my head as I lick all around his hairless balls. Then I do half a dozen full licks on his balls, starting almost at his asshole and licking up and over his scrotum continuing all the way to the root of his hard cock that slides against my cheek, sloppy with my saliva. I expected him to appreciate the enthusiasm I put into licking his balls, but he says nothing, so I start rolling the condom on his huge boner.

Jeez, my fingers are jittery 'cause I'm worried I'll screw this up somehow and piss him off. I don't screw it up, but the condom barely reaches halfway up his boner. Wow, it's hugely fat now, and I know it'll grow bigger inside me. I shudder with the anticipation of feeling it up inside me again. And no, I'm not dreading the pain, just the opposite. I know what to expect now, and I'm looking forward to experiencing it again. It's an intricate part of being totally dominated by Richard, plus I also know the pleasure that awaits me after the pain is gone. It's new, challenging, and exciting, that's why I want to do this again, and I don't mind the cock sucking or ball licking either. I would have thought I'd hate doing it, but that hasn't proven to be the case, and I'm remembering that I liked doing both things in my distant past as well.

Bending over for him, my hands holding onto the edge of the bench, I get my ass lower and wait. I don't need to wait long to feel that monster in my ass. Richard does it the same way he did it the first time. I thought I knew what to expect, but my mind blew up at the awful initial pain when he thrust that huge cock head past my sphincter muscle. It felt as though my sphincter was ripped out of my rectum.

It was just like the first time, but the memory of it had faded from my mind. But, no, it wasn't just like the first time. It hurt like hell, but not as bad as the first time because, as I expected, my asshole hasn't closed to its normal tightness. Still, it hurt worse than I can recall any other time I've been fucked, the second worse pain I've ever experienced. The first time was the worst.

I take the pain better than the first time because I'm not a pussy. Keeping my jaws closed tightly, I'm groaning in pain as anyone would! Then I try pretending the ball gag is in my mouth to see if that, psychologically, might help, but it doesn't. Richard, of course, is completely unconcerned about the pain he's causing me. His only interest in it is my reaction to it, and that my reaction isn't annoying to him.

I've managed not to scream, but I am making a lot of low groaning sounds, and sucking air in noisily and exhaling just as noisily, and doing that quickly over and over. Richard doesn't stop pushing his hard huge boner up my ass until he's tight against my buttocks. This time it was a quicker trip, but it still seemed like a lifetime. Now that I'm fully impaled, he humps against me, asking, "Do I need to get the ball gag? It's close by, Zachery, and you're making a lot of noise."

Shaking my head, I'm continuing my heavy, noisy breathing/groaning, so he gives me a hard, stinging slap on my ass, saying, "Stop it, Goddammit!" I'm shaking now too, so he spanks my ass again, saying sternly, "I said stop it!" Somehow, I force myself to reduce my noise-making, changing it into pathetic whimpering sounds, so he goes, "That's a little better. Whimpering like a little girl getting her twat stretched."

Preparing to deal with the pain of his first withdrawal, I think I'm ready for it, but when it hits, I go right back to the noisy breathing and groaning, plus I'm shaking again. Now I realize I've greatly underestimated the soreness of my rectum. All this has taken place in the first minute. The next three thrusts are full nine-inch thrusts but not fast ones. What he's doing is methodically opening my rectum more quickly than last time to allow for his pleasure of steady fucking.

Grinding my teeth, I get myself under control, but it's not until after the fourth pull back and thrust that I notice a significant lessening of pain. This is truly an eye-opening experience at the other end of two males fucking. I'd forgotten all about it and become callous to the pain my bottoms put up with. Well, some of them like it, and I'm starting to see why. The contrast between pain and pleasure significantly increases pleasure. Um, just as Cowboy has always said it did. Still, I believe I'd willingly forego the noticeable increase of pleasure to do away with the pain.

Like last time, the fact that the pain has diminished doesn't fully register until I feel the first breakthrough of pleasure sensations in my rectum. First, it's the prostate gland beginning to sing, and then the strange stretched sensation of my asshole feeling something like the good feeling you get when you scratch an especially itching itch.

Now Richard begins doing faster thrusting and, Omigod, that starts feeling so good tears of relief roll down my face. I start doing my stupid whining moans of pleasure, "Umm, umm, ahh, ooh, ooooh, Richard; it feels so good," and, without the ball gag, the words coming out of my mouth sound as they should.

Then, a minute later, I'm sensing euphoria as he begins fucking me continuously using his entire incredible boner, continuous nine-inch thrusts coming faster and faster with slapping sounds as his shaved groin smacks against my butt cheeks, rocking me with every thrust. His thrusting has me swaying to and fro on my arms. It's a damn good thing I outweigh Richard by fifty pounds, or I'd be flat on the bench by now; that's how hard he's thrusting his cock and smacking against my body.

Nothing that happened earlier matters to me now. My cock is again a raging boner as pleasure flows from my rectum and spreads out all over me. Euphoric, I moan, "Umm, ooh, Richard, fuck me hard, Richard." After a minute or two of listening to my moaning, he snaps out and screams, "Shut the fuck up!" and I do, but the pleasure keeps rolling on for, well, I don't know how long but a lot longer than three minutes. Only later do I realize how much I sound like Cowboy the more Richard fucked me.

Then, I suddenly realize I do not only sound like him, but I'm also doing the same thing Cowboy does; I'm humping my hips back at Richard's thrusting in perfect rhythm with his thrusts. I'm Cowboy now, haha. The pleasure of Richard's boner plowing my ass becomes hypnotizing, and I close my eyes to block out anything but the pleasure of this perfect fuck.

Finally, interrupting my fabulous trance, my climax comes roaring up on me, and for a second, I can't breathe. Then BOOM, just that quick, my orgasm flies from my boner, sizzling hot and causing intense streaks of pleasure. I'm leaning over this bench with my cock sticking straight out, meaning it's level with my stomach, so the cum stream streaks out level with my torso, cum spray hitting my chin as the cum flies by. What a magnificent climax, though! It leaves me limp, my arms bending as if I'm going to lay my chest on the bench, and then I do just that.

With after effects zipping around my groin and Richard still driving his big cock down into my ass, my rectum is continuing to pump out pleasure beyond description. Then Richard finally humps against my buttocks and sticks there, almost lying on my back as he's firing his climax load into the condom. I feel his hot breath on the back of my neck as he gasps oxygen in and then noisily blows it out. With his cock still in my ass, him lying on my back, I feel his heart hammering against my shoulder blade. Then, with a deep breath, he lifts off me and pulls his cock out and says matter of factly, "I like fucking you, Zachery. iI feels as if your ass has never been fucked before."

Wow, it's great hearing that. My ass has been fucked probably fifty or sixty times, although not in the last five years, and it's certainly never been fucked as good as this. I push up from the bench and say, "This is the best sex I've ever had, and that's no bullshit line. I'm totally serious; you're a fantastic top, Richard." He makes a 'face' like, whatever, and pulls the condom off. I reach for it and then trot to the bathroom to flush it.

Hmm, I'm in the lavatory anyway, so it's tempting to wash up in one of the sinks, except Richard didn't tell me to, so I better not. Anyway, he's not much for the cleaning up process after sex. I'm used to his scent by now, although it is a kind of a BO scent, so I'm guessing he's not a slave to the hygiene concept either. His is a sexy kind of BO scent, though.

The back of both my legs are greasy with the drooled lube from both condoms, and inside my ass, it feels itchy with lube, plus I'm wicked sore back there, but I don't mention any of that to Richard because it might sound like I'm complaining. I also haven't had enough of this yet. I'm hoping big time that Richard wants to see me tomorrow, and complaining about anything now won't help my cause.

With that in mind, I say, "I know it sounds like I'm going for brownie points again, Richard, but I seriously think you're the hottest guy I've ever had sex with." He makes another 'face' muttering, "Okay, okay, that's enough already. Get dressed, and we'll have a goodbye drink at the bar. And, by the way, just so you're clear on this point, I enjoyed fucking your faggy ass. So there, I said it, okay?"

That's more than promising, but did he say a goodbye drink? What's he mean by that? I get dressed quickly and ask, "Do you want me to put the ball gag in your locker?" He gives me a 'look' like, what the fuck? Then picks up the gag from the floor in front of him and tosses it in his locker. I'm overdoing it, I know, I know! He says, "Don't try so hard, okay?" Nodding, I say, "Yes, Richard," and he snickers at that. I'm blushing again, blushing just like Lee whatshisname blushes.

He orders the same beer we had earlier, and I insist on paying for it. Richard shrugs like he doesn't care one way or the other. Then, after a minute of silence, he turns to me and says, "Okay, I think I'll invite you back." I nod my head too fast, and he says, "But, there is one condition." Nodding again, I go, "Sure, okay, um, what is it?" He goes, "It's a goofy phobia I have about my bottom pussy boys not having any body hair. I want their bodies, ideally, as hairless as mine."

Well, I don't have much body hair to start with, and I tell him that. He goes, "I know, and that's a plus for you, but your pubic hair needs to go. Do you have a problem with that? If so, I'm..." but I jump in with, "Fuck, no. I don't care about that. It's a sexy look... shaved pubes."

After swallowing the last of his beer, he says, "Okay then, let's go back to the locker room. I've got body sculpting clippers, and we'll take care of it right now." My dick quivers as I say, "Sure, absolutely, Richard. Um, are we? I mean, should I meet you here tomorrow night, or..." He shrugs, "Yeah, that's what I just said two minutes ago." He can't help himself, I guess. He's a prick like he said.

I sort of look down, muttering, "Sorry, I don't know why I say dumb things." He says, "Yeah, well try not to, okay." By rote, I say, "Yes, Richard," and he goes, "And, who knows? If you keep getting better at knowing your place, maybe I'll let you try out to be one of my pussy boys and turn our unexpected chance encounter into a lucky one for you." An unexpected chance encounter is redundant, but I'm probably not going to mention that.

Anyway, I'm excited that we could maybe form a relationship of sorts, so I go, "That would be great, you're so.." and he holds his hand up, interrupting me, mumbling, "Yeah, you already told me all that. Let's go."

This time, as we walk back to his locker, he holds onto the back of my short's waistband, the same way he did when we first met, and he sort of pushes me along. I keep glancing back at him, hoping for some indication, a smile or grin, that we're bonding a little, but he continues looking straight ahead. After unlocking the door, he pushes me at the swinging door, and we go to his locker. Without looking at me, he says, "Get undressed again." I do that just as quickly as I did it last time, and then I stand here at attention, naked, and wait as he rustles through many things in his locker, eventually coming out with what appears to be barber clippers.

Seeing me stiffly at attention, he chuckles, mumbling, "Christ, you are a piece of work, Zachery Mc Mann." Jeez, he remembers my last name from like two hours ago when I said it one time fast... I'm Zachery Mc Mann. I do take a little offense at the piece of work comment because no one ever treated me as if I was a piece of work. I've never before thought of myself as a goof. Yeah, but to be fair, that's how I've mostly acted with him because it's been so long since I've done anything like this; it's like new. So, I am acting like a goof, a nerd, something like that. Swell.

Still, I don't care because, as I've said, this has been an eye-opening experience for me. It also has eliminated any pretentious idea I may have had that I was somehow special. Richard proved to me I can be as submissive and controllable as anyone. He got inside my head and dominated the shit out of me, and he did it without much effort on his part.

The clippers are battery-operated, and when he turns it on, it makes the same buzzing sound barber clippers make. He says, "You don't need to be at, ah, at attention or whatever position you're in right now. Relax, but spread your legs a little." I do that, and he begins clipping off my pubic hair, doing it in the same methodical way he fucks. Steadily, but as if he's in no particular hurry. He lifts my balls and moves my dick while casually running the clippers around my groin. There's a slight vibration associated with the clippers, and I soon have another boner.

Richard mutters, "Good that small boner of yours makes this job easier," and he chuckles so I'll know he's kidding about the small boner remark. I do not have a small boner. When he's done all he can with the clippers, he says, "Okay, that all I can do for you with the clippers. I want you to buy a hair depilatory cream and use it all around your groin, on your calves, around your asshole, and on any area of your body that has hair. You can exclude your armpits from that, and, of course, not your head. Do that before tomorrow. Oh, and yes, I will inspect you to see that you've done a good job of it, so don't miss any areas. Even eliminate small, almost invisible hairs, like on your arms, for example. Your arms look hairless unless you look closely."

I've been nodding my head, agreeing to do it all, mumbling, "Yes, Richard, yes Richard," until he goes, "Don't, yes Richard me to death, just do it." I almost say yes, Richard again but catch myself. Instead, I say, "I'll get the cream tomorrow morning." He nods, "Yeah, I know you will. Um, CVS carries the brand called MAN. There are Japanese symbols, words actually, on the tube but English too."

I'm nodding my head again as he says, "Your leg hair isn't much, so there isn't any sense using the clippers. The cream will do the job easily. Now, turn around, bend over, and spread your butt cheeks." I open my eyes wide, like, What? He says, "Jesus H Christ, will you ever learn just to do what the fuck you're told?" I do that, and he is using the clippers on whatever hairs there are around my asshole.

When I straighten up, though, it feels like forty tiny needles are sticking me around my butt hole. I frown and start to say something, but Richard interrupts, "I purposely left little sharp stubble so they'll prick you until you use the depilatory cream. That'll encourage you to buy that stuff. Now, get dressed, it's wicked late, and I need to be here at work by ten tomorrow morning."

I quickly get dressed, muttering, a quiet "Ow' every time I move in a way that moves my butt cheeks, then the sharp stubble pricks me. We walk outside, where Richard stops and says, "It's been real. I'm glad to have met you, Zachery. Get that cream; I will inspect your body closely, so your best bet is not to leave anything to chance. Be here at six tomorrow night with your body smooth and hairless, and I'll buy you dinner before we have some fun in the locker room."

Nodding my head for the fiftieth time tonight, I go, "I'm so looking forward to that, Richard. You're the coolest...," and he gives me one of his disapproving 'looks,' so I finish with, "Well, I already said all that, didn't I?" He finally smiles at me, a very nice smile, pats my back, and starts to walk away but stops and turns around. "Another thing, Zachery, um, get a haircut before I see you tomorrow night. I noticed you'd probably had a military hairstyle, but it's wicked overgrown now, don't you think?"

Running my hand over my head, I say, "Yes, of course. It hasn't been cut since my last day with the Seals. Um, how should I, ah, do you mean I should get a military-style haircut?" He goes, "That's exactly what I mean," and he turns around and walks away in the opposite direction of where I need to walk to my hotel.

Well, I've had very short hair since I was six years old, although I was considering changing that. I guess I won't. That's no big deal, and tonight was so unique I can't begin to process all that happened. My behavior was totally unknown to me, as in... all wrong. I didn't recognize myself, not that I'm going to change the way I act around him. And, of course, I can improve my pussy behavior, but there's no way around it; I'm inferior when I'm with him. He made that clear, and I'm okay with it. Not that I have a choice anyway. I think this could be really sexy and cool. You know, having a secret life.

As much as I admire how Richard handles himself, he is a major prick, but even so, I noticed little bits of niceness sneaking through the cracks a little bit, and I'll bet we become friends when he's satisfied; I really do know my place. It's been an unbelievable night, really!

When I walk off the boardwalk, without planning to do it, I just jump in the air pumping my arms, yelling, "Yes!" Holy shit, a million needles prick all around my super-sore asshole. Whoa, that was random. I feel wicked self-conscious now, but glancing around, I don't see anyone. That's good.

But, seriously, what an amazingly fantastic night this has been. And I've never in my life felt this sexually satisfied, ever! It's never been more obvious to me that I've been in a sexual rut for years, but now new horizons lie open for me.

As I walk off, I realize the necessity of keeping my legs as far apart as possible, walking almost bowlegged because of my very sore asshole, plus the needles sticking me. I'm going to drive around to see if there's a pharmacy that's open all night. Hmm, sitting on the car seat, it becomes obvious that sitting isn't going to be pleasant until I buy the cream. Would a pillow help, I wonder?

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

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