Training Chris and Mark
Chapter Two
Bonerboy's Long Bareassed Ride Through the Night
With his jeans back up where they were when I met him, with the waistband encircling his hips and the rear pockets tight against the curves of his muscular butt, Chris followed as I walked across the room. The only giveaway that my new Bonerboy was already adapting to his new role was the thick bulge of cock clearly visible, arcing from mid-fly out toward his right pelvic bone.
When we reached the sofa where Mark was sprawled out, Blake was still going down on Chris's now shirtless, dark-haired roommate's more than good-sized piece of meat. As I motioned for Chris to stand beside the sofa, I moved forward, smiled at Mark, and slowly squatted beside Blake.
"I know Blake's a damn good, experienced cocksucker," I said, looking up into Mark's half-closed eyes.
"I bet you're in Heaven right now, right?" I teased the hot, half-naked, big dicked, supposedly straight 25-year-old with a little chuckle in my voice.
"Fuck yeah, man, he's fantastic," Mark replied, partly saying, mostly gasping his response as his head rolled to the side just a little so he could look at me as he spoke.
Knowing Blake was watching as he sucked on the big dick, I reached out and wrapped my left thumb and index finger tightly around the base of Mark's thick spit-wet cock and squeezed it tightly. That elicited a deep, rumbling moan from deep within the depths of Mark's being that even I could almost feel the vibrations of through my fingers gripping his throbbing cock.
Blake, hearing Mark moan like that, immediately began to lip-polish his throbbing cock's big leaking head. Mark went wild, thrashing around against the sofa as I held him in place by his cock as he endured Blake's pleasure torture.
I let that continue for a couple minutes, then I released his dick and stood up.
"Good to know," I said, looking down at Mark with a grin. "Maybe you can get together with Chris and me sometime soon. I know some other things you might enjoy, too, Mark. Blake will take good care of you tonight. When I bring him home later, Chris can clue you into some things you can look forward to if we do get together. I really hope we do, Mark."
Five minutes later, Chris and I were in my fully restored '74 Bronco, driving up La Cienega Blvd., heading to my place. Late at night, the drive from Blake's condo to my house in the hills took about fifteen minutes. I intended to make the ride last a little longer tonight.
"Lose your jeans and hand me your boxer briefs," I said without my eyes leaving the road as we crossed Santa Monica Blvd.
A few seconds passed with only the sound of the jazz I enjoyed playing before he said, "Man, there's no top..."
I interrupted his anticipated protest quickly with, "It's a full-size, mid-'70s four-wheeler with a lift. Get `em' off."
"I can't get bare ass while you're driving. Please..." Ah, so nice, a plea.
"Unless we pull up beside an 18-wheeler, no one is going to be able to see your hard, leaking dick, Chris. Your hard little cock's been leaking pre since early this evening. You're beginning to smell like the slut you are. Now give me your fucking shorts." This time, I did turn to look at him, and my eyes said it all.
I almost burst out laughing. Christopher Bowman blushed nicer than any guy I could remember. It never ceased to amaze me how so many of these big, built, hot as fuck studs rolled over like puppies having their bellies scratched when dolled out some customized humiliation.
Rather than the most direct route to my house in Nichols Canyon, I turned right on Sunset Blvd., then headed up to Mulholland Drive. I tossed Chris's boxers shortly after turning onto Laurel Canyon Blvd. I worried about littering for a moment but figured what the hell. They were mainly biodegradable. He complained, but a look silenced that quickly enough.
"I feel better now that we're off the main streets," Chris offered as we climbed up Laurel Canyon into the hills. "Do you live up here?"
"Yes and no, I live in the Hills, but not here in Laurel Canyon. We're taking a ride first. Why don't you sit there, enjoy the night, and play with your pretty little cock for me while I drive," I replied. "Any time I look over, I want to see it in your fist, hard and leaking. Do you understand?"
I waited for a few seconds.
"I asked if you understand, Bonerboy." A statement, not a question.
"Yeah...," A soft, grudging reply that would not do.
"That won't do. Yes, WHAT!?" He knew what was required, and I would have it from him.
"Yes, sir...," A pathetic effort.
"Not good enough. Again." "Yes, Sir." Said with more feeling.
"I want to know you mean it, Christopher."
"Now, pump that pretty cock and answer me properly."
"YES, SIR!"
As I swung the Bronco off Laurel Canyon Blvd. onto Mulholland Dr., Chris's fist pumped like a well-oiled machine, and the critters along the roadside finally heard him answer my question. I was pleased.
Mulholland Dr., a 55-mile long, two-lane, mostly high-end residential road, winds along the top of the Santa Monica Mountains through Los Angeles, Beverly Hills, Bel Air, and on nearly to the Pacific. As long as people have populated the Los Angeles basin, men have brought their dates up the ridge at night to take in the view on horseback, by buggy, or now by car.
"I suspect you're wondering where we're going," I mused as we cruised along Mulholland under the stars. Chris remained silent as I enjoyed the music, and he, naked from the waist down, his jeans bunched up in the passenger footwell, obediently beating his meat.
"Do you know this road, Chris? Almost everyone from anywhere new L.A. does. Have you ever brought a date to one of the lookouts along here to take in the view?" I asked.
"I'm not your date," Chris shot back at me, even turning to look at me as he did, but his fist didn't even slow down slightly.
"I think you are, " I replied evenly, not taking my eyes off the road. "I think that's what prostitutes call it when they hook up with a client, getting a date. And after all, Mark told Blake that you two were in the bar looking to make money tonight. Hustler...prostitute, a date's a date, right?"
This time, as I pulled the Bronco into a small parking lot beside a popular tourist lookout and shut off its engine, I did turn to look at him as I spoke.
There were people all around us. Young, old, couples, family groups, some tourists, some clearly on dates, some sitting in their vehicles, others crowded together on an elevated viewing platform.
I could tell Chris was freaking out to have people around with his nakedness and sexual excitement on full display should anyone come close and look.
"I have a great view from the house, but I've always liked to watch people enjoying Los Angeles showing itself off. And nothing beats being here with my bitch. You are my bitch, aren't you, Chris?"
"Fuck man, please, can we just go," I do really love how this guy whines.
"We can, right away. I'm only waiting for you to answer me. Then we can get the fuck out of here, go to my place, and you can show me how good a bitch you can be," I shot him a little smile.