My summer of sex with Cowboy

Chapter 42

After dropping Bruce off at the boardwalk cafe, I go back to the apartment, take some Tylenol to ward off a bit of a whiskey/wine hangover, and get back in bed wearing only boxer shorts. Falling quickly asleep on Bruce's pillow, smelling his subtle scent, I sleep until almost eleven o'clock. Dammit, I did not mean to sleep that long. Not when we'll be going to bed at nine tonight. Well, my hangover is gone, so that's good, but what isn't good is it's raining. 

Wondering how Bruce is doing, I get dressed in baggy shorts and a T-shirt, step into my sandals, get my keys, and go off to Target to buy a couple of paperback books. In the store, without taking much time, I chose a random detective novel and a nonfiction book about Alexander The Great. I'll see how great he was.

It's still raining, so with nothing better to do, I go back to the apartment, make a sandwich, and eat it with a Coke while reading the detective story. On the cover, it says it's a Robert B Parker Spenser novel, but written by someone named Ace Atkins. Ace? That's a little curious, so I Google the name Robert B Parker and find out he's dead, but he'd written thirty-two novels about someone named Spenser, who's a private detective, a private eye in Boston. The other guy, Ace Atkins, now writes about this Spenser guy. 

Huh, by the time I finished my sandwich and Coke, I had lost interest in the story. Looking outside, I see the rain has let up, so I go on the balcony and smoke a cigarette, thinking about having a beer while again wondering how Bruce is doing. It's only one thirty, and Bruce doesn't get off work until three thirty, but I will drive there early.

During the twenty-minute drive, the rain stops, and I try to determine if I'm horny and decide that if I need to think about it, I must not be horny. Plus, I'll be in bed with Bruce again in less than ten hours, which is encouraging. Yes, it is, and with Bruce being firm about having sex only once a day and me not being especially horny now, I might be okay with this arrangement after a week or two... hopefully. Bruce isn't going to change his mind; I know that, and I'm committed to making our boyfriend relationship work, so maybe that's all the motivation needed to accept that this situation is how it will be... for now, at least.

Perhaps I won't need a sex clinic after all. All I need is Bruce saying 'no!', thereby thwarting my oversexed condition. Can it be that simple, though? No, it can't be because I don't want to go the rest of my life being so horny by nine o'clock each night I cum in less than a minute. That's no way to live. What's so wrong with multiple sex acts each day anyway? Who says that's wrong?

Parking in the lot closest to the boardwalk ramp near the cafe, I pay the parking lot attendant, then go up onto the boardwalk and go over to the ocean-side railing to light a cigarette. People are drifting onto the beach now that the sun has burned off the gray clouds, but the rental booth for beach chairs is still closed. Turning around, leaning against the railing, I look down a few storefronts, and there is the cafe. It makes me smile, thinking that Bruce is in there waiting on tables, and, hopefully, he remembers smiling at the customers. That makes me smile again and rub my crotch. Oh, it seems my thoughts about Bruce are getting me horny, and without realizing it, I'm now looking further down the boardwalk at Richard's locker room business where Jon Scheyer works.

Yeah, Jon will be in there working the counter. Staying close to the railing, I walk up the boards until I'm even with the cafe, then try seeing Bruce through the big plate glass window. I see motion on the other side of the window, but with the sun's glare off the window, it could be anyone walking around. Slowly walking down the boardwalk, I stop across from the locker room and watch a few Atlantic City day-trip visitors going inside to rent lockers so they can change into bathing suits. I picture Jon's chubby, almost five-inch cock in my head. Okay, it's closer to four inches, but I remember he knows how to get the most out of it. Oh, yeah, he fucks me good, really well... whatever.

Damn, I was positive Bruce would jump at the chance to get back in the pussy boys, which is why, for two days, I became committed to being Jon's trainee in preparation for that. And, wow, he had the best form of dominance I've experienced from anyone. It's because he's so small; that's what made his dominance seem as hot as the hubs of hell. He got in my head, too. He can do that as well as Richard. HOT, HOT, HOT! 

Rubbing my crotch again, I realize I'm boned up thinking about those two days when Jon dominated me in an incredibly sexy manner. His arrogance is sexy and hot to me.  Yeah, I only realized after the fact that I was disappointed when Bruce emphatically rejected the offer to re-join the pussy boys. I wanted those three weeks when Jon would have run Bruce and me through the training schedule. My boner is throbbing now as I remember Jon dominantly pissing in my mouth and cutting my hair. He knew how to make me feel like a little kid... Jon is my big bad mentor. Jesus, That made me grab my junk! I'm so fucking horny now! What was I thinking? Only one fuck a day? Get real!

Adjusting my boner and moving it to the side, I walk across the boards and try to see Jon at the counter through the locker room's big front window. People are blocking my view, then they move off, and there he is! Holy shit, the way he moves is even arrogant. Guiltily, I look down toward the cafe as if Bruce can see me here. Well, what am I worried about? Bruce told me to wean myself. It's his idea!

I'm so nervous. My hand shakes as I open the door and then step back, and a woman and man come out wearing bathing suits and carrying beach towels and a large beach bag. The man mumbles, "Excuse us," and they brush by me. Then, Jon and I are looking at each other. He's smirking, then motions with his hand for me to come in. I take a few steps toward him, feeling that familiar submissive sense I always get when I'm around him. He says, "Get over here. Don't worry, Richard's in New York. I can't talk to you, though. All I can say is you need to call Eli to get permission to talk to me. New rules where you're concerned. That's it, period!"

Huh? My cock throbs, and when I swallow, it makes an audible gulping sound. I say, "Hi, Jon, why...?" with my voice unusually high and odd-sounding

Sounding pissed off, he snarls, "Goddammit, step over there so and look at the wall, or stand in the corner would be better while I can take care of these customers," and he points to a spot at the end of the counter. My standing-in-the-corner days are long gone! People came in behind me, so I stepped out of the way, and Jon nodded officiously to the customers. As he deals with them, I'm trying to figure out why I need permission from Eli to talk to Jon, but a bigger question is... Why am I here? 

Thank God for these people, though... it's giving me time to compose myself. Jon makes me nervous and horny in equal parts, and as I've said a hundred times, I'm seriously attracted to him. Yeah, it's a real thing, but I want to try doing what's best for Bruce, too!

It's two minutes of Jon collecting the fee and explaining to the people how things work, and then the man, woman, and two kids go into the locker room section. Jon wiggles his finger for me to come back over. Standing right in front of him, he asks, "What are you doing here? You don't have anything to change into, so..." 

Now that I'm calmer, I shrug and say, "I just wanted to say 'hi' and see that you're alright." 

He asks, "Why wouldn't I be alright?" I shrug again, feeling the submissiveness returning; he's so fucking nuclear hot!. It's the way he says things, the confidence, the arrogance; it makes my hard dick move in my underpants. I mutter, "I don't know." Then, sounding whiny, I say, "I miss you, Jon."

"Oh, for Christ's sake! Get your ass around behind the counter, Zach." I frown, "Wha...?" He snaps at me, "Now, get around here now!" 

I quickly go around the end of the long counter and walk over to him, asking, "Why do you...?" and he grips my junk in a tight hold. I yelped, "Ow!" He mutters, "I knew you'd be hard down here. I can read you like a book. It's okay, though; I taught you your place, right?"

"Ah, um, yes, you did..." He says, "Yeah, I did. Shut up and listen. I am only talking to you because Richard is not here. This is the last time I'll tell you this: you need to get Eli's permission to talk to me, and he needs to text me that you've done that. Now get the fuck out of here before you get me in deep shit.

I find myself outside the locker room, unsure how I got here. I'm in a trance of submissiveness to Jon, and now that I'm here, he said I'm not allowed to talk to him unless Eli says I can. WHY THE FUCK? 

Eli shouldn't be mad at me. It was Bruce who didn't want to rejoin the pussy boys. I would have if Bruce did. Getting my confidence back now that I'm out here on the boardwalk and away from that hot stud, Jon Scheyer, I take out my phone and text. No, I stopped texting and called Eli. I had his number from weeks ago when he helped Bruce train me. 

Eli, seeing my caller ID, says, "Yes, McMann, what do you want?" I say, "Hi, Eli. Why are you mad at me? It was Bruce who rejected Richard's and your generous offer to give us another chance. I was ready to jump right back into the program."

He asks again, "Bullshit. What do you want, McMann?" 

"Please, call me Zach. We're friends, Eli. There's no reason to dump on me. Um, what I'd like is your permission to talk with Jon Scheyer, please." 

He says, "You know my apartment. Come right over now and ask me in person." I hear a click as he ends the call. Glancing over at the locker room, picturing Jon at the counter, my dick gets stiff again. Goddammit, that feels good. I desperately want to hire Jon for sexual relief, so I'm doing what Eli told me to do. 

Those fucking bossy pussy boys, though! They're a tough lot!  Of course, that's part of the reason I'm so involved with them. I can't get enough of them dominating me. If only Bruce had maintained his full-throttle, tough mentor ways... Oh, fuck that. He didn't maintain much of it after the fun house, and that animal in Philly repeatedly raped him. 

As I jogged to Eli's apartment, I realized, obviously, I was bullshitting myself earlier about being fine with one sex act per day. I'm jogging to Eli's apartment because it's quicker than returning to the parking lot, getting my car, and trying to find a parking spot near Eli's place. It's only twenty after twelve, so there's plenty of time before Bruce finishes work at three-thirty.
The apartment is further than I remembered, and I'm sweating when pushing the button for Eli's apartment. I hear a scratchy-sounding "Who is it?" from Eli. I tell him it's me, and he buzzes me in. Now I'm nervous. I get nervous every time I'm ordered to present myself to a pussy boy authority figure, and Eli is an authority figure second only to Richard in the branch of the company Jon is in. 

I take the stairs two at a time and, standing in front of Eli's apartment, wipe the sweat off my face with my hand and knock lightly on his door. A pussy boy I've never seen before opens the door. Looking like trouble; he's a big one and strong-looking. He's polite, though,  saying, "Come in." Then, he points to a corner, saying, "Please stand in that corner until Eli is free to see you." 

Stand in a corner? What? My dick moves around in my shorts as I look at this young kid with the pussy boy uniform and haircut. I'm hesitating to do what he said because my brain is trying to process this totally unexpected request. I could hardly believe what I heard until, with a steel grip, the young pussy boy grabbed the back of my neck, me hunching down, whining, "OW! Ow, ow," as he pushed me into the corner, mumbling, "Nose touching," and then he slaps at the back of my head hard, "I said, NOSE TOUCHING!" 

I press my nose at the intersection of two walls, my cock a boner in my shorts. My boner never goes down as I stand here for a very long time. By the time the same boy grabs my neck again and pulls me from the corner, I'm as docilely submissive to him as a human can be. The young boy walks me to a bedroom door used as Eli's office. He knocks, and Eli mutters, "Bring him in, Sandy."

Sandy unnecessarily tells me, "Go on. Walk over to the desk and stand at attention."

Again, I'm paralyzed by what can't be happening but is happening. I can't be treated like this. My pussy boy days are way behind me. Sandy smacks the back of my head again, "Move it, recruit!" and I quickly take the five steps to the front of Eli's big desk and stand as straight at attention as I ever stood at attention in the Navy Seals.

Eli gets up and mutters, "He isn't a recruit, Sandy. Not yet, anyway. Here, mail these envelopes for me, and then take Carl outside to get him used to wearing a dog collar and leash in public."

Sandy says, "Yes, Eli," and goes out,  quietly closing the door behind him.

Still standing, Eli mutters, "Okay, what did you say you called for, Zach?" 

Shockingly, I realize I love this pussy boy shit. It's run like the military. I've been missing it like mad! Yep, it's like the Seals in some ways. I don't know how long I was standing in the corner, and I can't recall anything I was thinking when standing there with my nose pressed in the intersection, but now I glanced at the clock on the wall and saw it was almost two o'clock! I was in the corner for over an hour! Oh, Gawd, realizing how brazen that was of Sandy and Eli, I almost cum in my pants.

When I can't speak because I'm so aroused, Eli shakes his head, asking, "Why are you here, McMann? Is that question too hard? Christ, you're a pain in the ass. Why don't you go away and leave all of us alone?"

My dick is so hard it's poking my cargo shorts' zipper, but I don't care. I haven't been this sexually aroused since Jon dominated me and gave me this pussy boy haircut. I try to say I want to have a date with Jon Scheyer, but it comes out, "Ah, I would like, want, um..."

He sits at his desk again, frowning and asking, "Are you all right? What's wrong?" I'm still stiffly at attention, so Eli asks, "Do you want a third chance at the training program? Is that it, and you're too embarrassed to ask me to take you in?"

I nod and manage to say, "Yes, um, I mean, with your permission, I want to be Jon Scheyer's trainee, or I wanted to be that, but Bruce said no."

He's angry now, asking, "Are you busting my balls here? What the fuck are you talking about?"

I say, "No, Eli, I'm very nervous, but it wasn't my intention to upset you, so...." 

He gets up, walks to the door, opens it, and asks someone, "Is Sandy back?" I hear Sandy's deep voice say, "Yeah, I'm in the bathroom. "Eli says, "When you're through, get in here," then to me, he says, "If you think you can be a smart ass with me, you're sadly mistaken."

Sandy comes in, and Eli says, "Either walk this dork out the door or," then to me, "If you want to try making sense talking to me, you need to ask Sandy to paddle you, and then he'll bring you back here. Nobody fucks with me. I don't play games. Go ahead, Sandy."

I say, "NO, please, I know what I want to say..." but Eli dismissively waves his hand, and Sandy is killing the back of my neck, squeezing so hard I can't speak as he's pulling me out of the room and over to the apartment's front door, asking, 'What's it going to be?"

I'm hunched over so much in pain that my head is level with his waist as I struggle to say, "I want to talk to Eli. I'm okay now." 

"Ask me to paddle you, and I'll do that and then take you back to Ei." Without hesitating, "Please paddle me." Not thinking it's odd that someone asks to be paddled or not give a shit one way or the other, Sandy drags me into the second of three bedrooms, muttering, "Quickly, take your pants off and lie over the desk."

As I do that, Sandy picks up a ping pong paddle that's stained dark from ass sweat left over from many asses being paddled. He gives my ass four hard paddles, and I screech at each one. Then, roughly lifting me with a hold on my neck, without letting me put my pants on, he pushes me out of the room, my dick now flaccid swings in the breeze. At Eli's door, Sandy knocks gently. Eli says, "Bring him in. I heard his cries from here." 

I have tears on my face, but I'm not crying. Naked from my waist down, I stand stiffly at attention, mumbling, "May I have your permission to talk with Jon Scheyer, please? That's what I wanted to ask, Eli, but I got too nervous around you."

He says, "I like how you've accepted this treatment, Zach, so yes, talk to him, but you also need to get back into the training program. I was concerned that turncoat Dunlop influenced you too much, so I told Jon you're not permitted to speak with him. And I used to be good friends with Bruce, too. The way you handled yourself today made me realize that Scheyer is the one who influences you. Now I can see you were so nervous you couldn't speak at first. The paddling got you straightened out, though. Good for you! Will you sign up as Jon's trainee?"

"Yes, Eli. I'll follow Jon's directions for my review of earlier pussy boy training."

"Yeah, that goes without saying. I can't do the paperwork today, but you'll return tomorrow. Here's the thing, though. Um, you have caused our organization a lot of trouble, so to please Richard and get his okay for your return, I want you to report here each morning, and I'll explain this to Jon. Sandy will paddle you to start each day. Let's say for the first two weeks, and then maybe Jon can decide if you've learned your place yet. Okay?"

"Yes, Eli." 

"Okay, then! Sandy, you heard that. Get Mc Mann's telephone number and set him up for daily paddling. Get to it, fellows. Thanks for coming to your senses, Zach. I'll text Jon, and he can do what he wants with you."

Sandy grips the back of my neck, guiding me through the apartment to the front door, where he says, "Give me your phone." I do that, mumbling, "Can't you be a little nicer, Sandy? I haven't done anything to you." 

He puts my phone number on his phone, ignores what I just said, and tells me, "Eight o'clock every morning, you need to be waiting outside the building for me to arrive. You'll follow me into the apartment where you go directly to that bedroom I paddled you in a while ago, strip naked, and lie across the desk, pushing your ass up, and then wait for me like that."

"Yes, Sandy," and he pushes me out of the apartment. I loved saying, 'Yes, Sandy,' to that toad. He's a strong guy, though, and he'll be paddling me, so I want to be respectful and on his good side. That's why I said, Yes, Sandy,' as if he was an authority figure. Well, wait a second... to me, he is an authority figure. He's a full pussy boy, and I'm barely a trainee. Know your place, McMann!

Going down the stairs, I rub my butt cheeks, but I'm feeling oddly good about straightening that out with Eli, who I like. Yes, I like that hard-ass stuff and respect the pussy boys for not giving in to anybody or anything. I can take it. Not that they care one way or the other, or Sandy doesn't for sure.

I'm still in a very submissive frame of mind as I contemplate doing the refresher training with Jon. Oh, Goddamn, I'm more than contemplating it, I'm wildly sexually excited again. It seems I need a stressful situation in conjunction with sexuality to get my juices flowing, and nothing gets them flowing better than submissive/dominant situations where I'm the submissive one. 

Huh, why is that? Who knows!

I return to the locker room, smiling at the thought of Jon being in charge again. Standing inside the front door, I see Jon registering, then Jon sees me and shrugs as if bored but waves a finger for me to come to the counter. I can't keep a big smile off my face, saying, "I'm allowed to talk to you, Jon." 

He says, "Yeah, Eli texted me all about it. How do your buttocks feel?"

"No problem. I'll come directly here after being paddled each morning if that's all right with you."

He's looking at his appointment book, muttering, "I have a client later today, but come here at lunchtime tomorrow, and I'll give you escort service. Eli told me I need to add a surcharge to the services I provide for you. It's to cover the cost of your two weeks of paddling—a twenty-five percent surcharge. We'll do escort services here in the mentor's shower room or in my apartment, which will be an extra charge."

Listening to him, my eyes are big, staring at Jon like he's an adonis or something instead of a five-foot-seven, hundred and twenty pounds, nineteen-year-old who isn't especially good-looking or cute. He's a dominant personality, a little bit of a bully, too, but I'd follow him anywhere. I want to be his trainee and flunky if that's what he wants. 

I ask, "Can't I come here in the morning after Eli excuses me?"


Jon says, "What the fuck did I just tell you? Tomorrow you're to come here at noon. At lunchtime, but listen to this. Richard told Eli to assign another pussy boy to work the counter starting the day after tomorrow. I'll be retaining you and then taking you on full-time as a trainee. Happy?"
"I'm thrilled, Jon. I've reevaluated the pussy boy opportunity, and I'm going to do it. Um, if I can pass the training."

Jon says, "Eli will keep a tight rein on you, and so will I. You'll pass or end up like Bruce at the funhouse. I'll see you tomorrow. Be on time!"

Fuck the funhouse! Being a pussy boy for Jon Scyeser is going to be the other side of my world. I'm doing it! One-half of my world is Bruce and the boys, and that's sweet, warm,  and wonderful. Then, there is the exciting half for me, the thrilling insanity of being super-submissive to the pussy boys as I become one myself. 

Waiting for Jon to dismiss me, I didn't realize I was holding my junk, but I am. As he watched me taking my hand off my cock, and balls, Jon said, "You need to be more in control of your penis, but we'll train you about that, too. Get ready to turn yourself completely over to me, but for now, scat on out of here; you're dismissed." In a cool, submissive trance, I mumble, "Yes, Jon. Um, but can't I please see you before tomorrow?" He makes a face, energetically motioning with his hand for me to leave. 

"Oh, right away, Jon." I scurry out the door like a pathetic dork, but that's okay. It's part of buying into the program and taking it seriously, and I will do that! 

Shit, though, haha... right now, I'm having trouble catching my breath because Jon does something to me that Bruce isn't capable of. He turns me into a cunt who desperately wants him to please him and have him fuck my pussy. Oh, God, I'm excited! This exhilaration feels so good. I haven't felt like this since some dangerous missions for the Seals. I will learn to accept and embrace the humiliation inherent in this training program because I believe I need it. Eli and Sandy had me submissive this morning, and Jon barely had to try, and I was deeper into submission to him. Awesome day! I was a puddle of submissiveness for Jon. 

I was hyperventilating and sat on a bench against the beach-side railing and took slow, deep breaths until I could breathe normally. Lighting a cigarette, I said, 'Yes, live two lives. I'll lead a somewhat normal one for a gay young man and then a second life of craziness that excites me beyond belief. Oh, Christ, even Sandy seemed hot and sexy.

I gasp in the ocean-scented air, pushing at my Jon-caused boner that's poking out the lap of my shorts. An older woman walking with a cane mutters, "That's disgusting." 

Ignoring that old bat and in a trance, I walked along the railing, then leaned over it, looking at the vast Atlantic Ocean. I confronted my behavior during the last two hours and concluded that I did what was expected, what was necessary if I was going to succeed in my quest to be a pussy boy.

Pushing off the railing, I walk back down the boards to the cafe and sit on a beach-side bench, looking out at the beach, trying to understand why I want to do this. This is a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turnaround from my feelings when I was screwing around with the training under Bruce. And how can Eli and Jon make me incredibly submissive to them? I've done some pretty pathetic things around pussy boys, but the trio of Richard, Eli, and Jon pushed me to the delicious edge. What was I thinking agreeing to everything that was said this morning?  

Wow, that thing with Eli and Sandy was, um, I don't know what happened... haha, what an asshole I was! Standing in the corner for over an hour and then being so submissive I couldn't talk! Omigod! Trying to analyze that bizarre incident, I'm thinking maybe I need to wean myself off of my propensity for submissiveness in addition to weaning off my oversexed condition. The huge problem is that I don't want to be weaned off either thing.

Bruce is supposed to be in charge, but it has been a while since he has been particularly dominant. So, subconsciously, I must be craving a dominant mentor. Bruce was that for three weeks, and Jon was that for the two days I was with him. Without even breaking a sweat, Jon easily won the prize as the most dominant of the two. It comes naturally to Jon, and it's unnatural for Bruce to do it.

Okay, so I learned something about my subconscious mind, something that I need to be aware of, and it's, deep down, that I want to be a pussy boy. I knew that when I was Bruce's trainee, and I admitted it to myself, but I thought I'd just go through the motions. Now I want to do it for real as Jon Scheyer's pussy boy.

Jeez, I want to be trained by Jon to be his whoring pussy boy. Yeah, I do!! 

Hmm, I still have a while before meeting Bruce, but as soon as he gets off work, I'm going to talk him into stopping at a bar because I need a drink after what I've got myself into with Sandy, Eli, and Jon. Yeah, I need a drink, so why wait an hour?

The sun is blaring hot now as I leave the boardwalk, then walk three blocks to a local joint, Barney's Bar and Grill. It's dim inside and very air-conditioned. There's a TV over the bar of a horse race with the sound off. Three college-age girls are drinking and talking loudly at a table, plus three men at the bar. They're not together, though; they're drinking alone with empty stools between them. I sit at the end of the bar, and the bartender, an older guy with a large potbelly, asks, "What'll it be, pal?" Without thinking, I say, "Um, a draft beer and a shot of Jim Beam." Ha! That's Bruce's favorite drink. 

Pretty soon, I'll probably be drinking Jon's favorite drink.

Oh, great, all my best intentions about not doing anything with the pussy boys tomorrow is bullshit. That Goddamn paddling, though. Sandy really puts some effort behind each spank, but I can handle four without much problem. Hell, Bruce gave me six every morning. It's just being there at eight o'clock every morning that's the bigger pain in the ass, no pun intended. Still, I want the right to be with Jon, so I've got to do it, and I will do it!

Putting a twenty on the bar, I watch him pouring an eight-ounce draft beer, then a shot of bourbon into a shot glass. Flashing the shot down, I swallow some beer, and, damn, I feel better already. Okay, I have the same thought as earlier. Again, I realize I acted like a geek with all the pussy boys this morning. Still, that submissive sense I had from all three of them was the best I've experienced since, um, since Jon gave me this pussy boy haircut. It was all totally sexy to me. Being dominated by pussy boys is irresistible to me. To most people, my feelings are incomprehensible. Hell, they are to me, too. That doesn't change the fact I sincerely feel as I do.

Damn, stop thinking about this. Let's see, here's an idea. The Target store is ten minutes from here, so why don't I go there and buy bathing suits for Bruce and me? Then we can spend a couple of hours on the beach! Yeah, but where would we change? I know where we won't change, haha. Yeah, but that's not the only locker room on the boardwalk. Either I go to Target and buy some bathing suits or have another shot and beer right here. Hmm?

Nah, one more would lead to one more, and I do not want to meet Bruce drunk. He thinks I drink too much as it is. Leaving three bucks for a tip, I walk to my car. Bruce needs a spare bathing suit anyway, so what the fuck? That's what I'm going to do. At Target, I bought two bathing suits, one with a 32-inch waist and the other with a 30-inch waist for Bruce. Then, two large beach towels. 

Back at the boardwalk, I'm standing at the beach-side railing across from the cafe at three-twenty, waiting for Bruce to come out. Sucking on four Tic Tac mints, I try blocking that submissive experience with Sandy, Eli, and Jon from my mind, but the more I think about it, the more I think it is quite cool and sexy. Oh man, I tend to fuck up when I'm on my own, but I'm liking this two-lives scenario I came up with.  I'm thrilled and tremendously excited just thinking about it. Yeah, I'm positively going to be at Eli's for my paddling at eight tomorrow morning. I just am!

 When Bruce walked out the front door, he looked around. Looking for me, I hope!

 "Yo, Bruce!" He waves and gives me a little smile, then motions that I should go over to him. Well, of course, I need to go to him... haha. Huh, that was a bit dominant of him, and I haven't seen much of that recently. That's probably part of the reason I got fucked up and acted like a fool at Eli's. I wasn't used to the power of submissiveness. Whatever, I'm happy to see Bruce. 

I go over, and he pats my shoulder, saying, "There you are. I knew you'd be here." 

"So, how was your first day?" From habit, he puts his hand on the back of my neck, getting us walking as he says, "Kinda boring because it was slow, but it was an okay first day overall. And, even though Anne said we had half the normal customers today, I still made twenty-two bucks in tips, plus the forty bucks in hourly wage. It's Friday, so Anne paid me. Um, I do need to work tomorrow and Sunday, though. Sorry." 

It's always about the money with Bruce, but he sounds upbeat about everything. I go, "Yeah, I thought you'd probably be working this weekend."When I tell him about the bathing suits and beach towels I bought, he goes, "Awesome! Um, where are they." 

"They're in the car. We can drive to that locker room on 50th Street." Bruce makes a face, "What? No, we'll use the locker room down the block here," pointing at Richard's locker room. When I look hesitant, he goes, "You're not afraid of running into him, and neither am I. C'mon, let's get the bathing suits." 

What else can I do except say, "Yeah, you're right." 

I paid again to park in the lot, so it's a short walk to the car. As we walk, Bruce's hand on the back of my neck feels good. It makes me think of Sandy's strong painful grip, and I make a grunting sound, "Ah!" as my dick tightens up. After everything that happened today, none of it was sex. I had many boners but no climaxes.

Bruce heard my grunt and asked, "Are you okay, Zach?" I nod, "Oh, yeah, I'm great, thanks."

He tells me about the rude people he waited on at the cafe. I nod and mutter, "Jeez," but I'm worried about seeing Jon again because he might mistake me bringing Bruce here as dissing him somehow, and nothing could be further from the truth. I was disappointed Jon didn't bat an eye, hearing I needed to be paddled for at least the next two weeks and the surcharge I needed to pay to hire him. He didn't raise an eyebrow. It was like no big deal to him. I was hoping he'd stick up for me and try to get my discipline reduced.

Getting the Target bag from the backseat, we walk up the ramp again, and I watch the old guy opening the chair rental place on the beach. I'd rent chairs if Markie were there, but I am not renting them from that old bastard. We'll use the beach towels.

At the locker room, Bruce lets go of my neck and walks inside ahead of me. Initially, Jon appears startled. Then, he smiles and goes, "Bruce, no hard feelings?" and holds out his fist for Bruce to bump; Bruce bumps fists, saying, "There's no reason for hard feelings. We need a locker for a few hours." 

Jon fakes that he's surprised to see me, then brightly says, "Oh, hey, hi there, Zach, whassup? You're so fucking handsome, dude." 

Grinning at him, I nod, mumbling, "Thanks, Jon," feeling my nuts shrinking as a submissive blanket seems to drift down over me, and I feel my face getting hot. Damn, I tried conveying to Jon that changing into our swimsuits here wasn't my idea.

Jon stares into my eyes for a second, which feels like much longer, so I look down, breaking eye contact, rubbing my crotch. He says, "Here ya go, Bruce," and hands him a locker key, adding, "It's on the house." 

Bruce says, "Hey, thanks," and he looks at me, saying, "Scheyer's comping us on the locker." Then, turning back to Jon, he says, "Thanks again, and, by the way, that's an excellent haircut you gave Zach." 

Jon mumbles, "Yeah, it's the perfect haircut for him; you're right. You desperately need a haircut yourself, Bruce." The two pussy boys seem so comfortable talking together and comfortable leaving me, an underling, out of the conversation. They both make my dick hard.

They also make my eyes sting because I'm so in love with them. Oh, I just admitted I love Jon too. Well, I already knew that. Jon says, "Hey, Bruce, invite me over sometime, and I'll give your boy another haircut. You too, if you want." 

Bruce mumbles, "Yeah? I'll take you up on that when he needs a haircut. We'll both get haircuts from you, and thank you, Jon!" 

"Sure, no problem. It's a hundred bucks each, plus tip," Bruce mutters, "Jesus, I can't afford that. Jon mumbles, "Zach can... give me a call. Invite me over. After the haircuts, we can have a few drinks and get caught up. We're good, you and me, Bruce. There's no need for any animosity between us pussy boys."

Smiling, my eyes are shining from looking at these two hot shots. I grin at Jon and say as if he's a celebrity, "Ah, great seeing you, Jon." He smirks at me and then grins, giving me the finger." I grin back, my dick hard as stone.

As I follow Bruce toward the locker room section, I glance back at Jon, who mouths the words... 'Be here at twelve tomorrow.' Without thinking, I nod my head fast, agreeing with him. Oh shit, I'm going to do it too. That's after my paddling. 

It's not all that complicated. It's like this; I experienced a strong submissive sense during my earlier encounter with Jon, making me horny for him. I didn't think I was horny this morning, and then I was when I stupidly walked into the locker room and saw him. Everything that followed I liked, even the paddling, because it will get me back in Richard's and Eli's good graces. I'm all about positivity now when it comes to anything pussy boy related, 

I loved feeling horny and submissive today towards Sandy, Eli, and especially Jon. Eli is allowing me back in the game with Jon, which is worth getting paddled for. As I said, it's only four paddles daily, not six as Bruce did. And it's for two weeks before the last three weeks of training begins. Big deal. Two weeks being paddled, and then, as far as Richard and Eli are concerned, I'm Jon's concern. That's what excites me so much I'm shaking from thinking about it. Yeah, the amazing possibilities Eli opened up for me give me a thrilling, sexy, scary feeling in my nuts. 

On the negative side, I haven't had any sex today, and Bruce won't be fucking me for six hours. I'm horny as a mouse with no immediate relief in sight. Tomorrow, I will have paid for two or three sex acts with my mentor, so I need to get through today without acting like a sex maniac around Bruce.

Bruce uses the key to open our locker, and I put my arms around him, murmuring, "We didn't hug like boyfriends when you got out of work." I hug him and kiss him on the lips. He doesn't kiss back, but he doesn't get nasty about it either. He mumbles, "I need to work into the affectionate boyfriend stuff slowly, Zach. Don't be too pushy with it, okay? Please." 

"Okay, but can we do the bedtime sex as soon as we get back to the apartment?" Now I'm mad at myself for already breaking my self-promise of not acting like a sex maniac. Bruce chuckles and mutters, "No, we can't do that! It wouldn't be bedtime sex if we did it in the afternoon, would it?"


Getting myself under control, I say, "No, I guess not." We then change into our new swimsuits. Carrying the beach towels, my wallet, cigarettes, and lighter, I follow Bruce out of the locker room, and even though I shouldn't, I glance at Jon as we're heading for the door. He gives me a smirking look, pushing his tongue against the inside of his cheek. I gulp, imagining his cock pushing out the inside of my cheek. How can one guy be as sexy and hot as Jon is? HOW?

Bruce and I sit on the beach towels, smoking as he tells me more about his first day as a waiter. He screwed up more than a few times, mostly during breakfast, but talks about his screw-ups in a self-deprecating, humorous way. Seemingly simple things such as refilling coffee cups to overflowing or serving breakfast plates to the wrong table. Embarrassing stuff like that. He says, "It looks simple seeing waiters and waitresses doing it, but when it got busy for an hour or so, I really had to concentrate." 

I try being attentive to what he's telling me, try caring about it, but I'm horny and find myself staring at Bruce, wanting to jump his bones instead of listening to his restaurant/waiter tales. As we sit here on the beach, I can't keep my hands off him doing little things like finger-combing his hair off his forehead and rubbing his shoulder, telling him how much I missed him and how hot I think he is. As I've noticed before, Bruce doesn't do any of the boyfriend-type things I do. 

It's actually painful being this close to Bruce, whom I love, but I can't even kiss him. After a while, we lie back on the beach towels, and Bruce murmurs, "This is a nice idea you had, Zach." I go up on my side to look down at him, saying, "You make me horny, Bruce. You know how needy I am, so can't you take pity on your boyfriend and relieve my horniness when we get home?" 

He makes a face, saying, "We already discussed that. Look, I understand you're horny, Zach, but can't you take pity on me and realize I'm struggling to get over my lurid past? I like having sex with you, okay, but I'm stretching it as much as I can, even to do it every night. Please don't ruin that for me because it's something I look forward to. And it's only been a few days that I've felt any joy having sex, and that's thanks to you. Can you give me some time?"

Well, he's got me there. "Of course, I'm sorry for nagging you. I look forward to it, too." 

No need to add sarcastically... I enjoyed both minutes of it last night. Lying on my back, I look up at the sky, thinking how selfish I am. He's got a shit load of baggage he's dealing with psychologically, and I'm just oversexed-horny, which I suppose is some psychological baggage of my own, but small potatoes compared to his baggage. The thing is, I wasn't like this before getting involved with the pussy boys, so that's my excuse. It's their fault I'm oversexed; their fucking training techniques worked on me, so...

Now, I'm thinking of how Lee and Cowboy lie together on the beach. That's how I'd love to do it with Bruce, and maybe someday we'll be like teenagers in love. I hope so, but for now, Bruce is just barely into this new world existence of enjoying life a little instead of whoring and just getting by. 

So, yeah, I need to give him time to adjust, as he's told me ten times. He's also told me to wean myself from the need to fuck three or more times a day, so I'll try to do that. My best intention of going cold turkey for Bruce puts extra stress on him and me. The irony of this situation is the pussy boy training intentionally got me used to multiple sex acts per day to get me prepared for whoring on the streets, satisfying multiple clients daily.

I sure took to the training as I've continued having sex three or more times each day since dropping out of the pussy boys. Bruce can barely see his way to fuck me once before bed, but I climax in thirty seconds if I've gone all day without getting fucked. That's hardly having sex with my boyfriend. It's worse than a circle jerk. All I can do in the short term is augment Bruce's bedtime sex with one or two afternoon fucks with paid pussy boys and see if that improves our bedtime sex. 

Taking a deep breath, I nod my head at my conclusion. I'll hire Jon tomorrow and see if that takes care of my runaway horniness and thereby makes sex with Bruce better. or at least longer lasting. Grinning to myself, I flip over to lie on my stomach because I'm getting a boner thinking about tomorrow's afternoon sex with Jon. It's guilt-free because Bruce approved me hiring pussy boys as long as I don't tell him about it, which I won't. Whew, I feel better now that I've made a decision. I'm seriously into Jon Scheyer, so I can't pretend I'm upset about needing to hire him, and I seriously want to do the training with him. Jeez, no lie, I could see myself whoring for him if it weren't for Bruce. That's how much Jon has gotten into my head.

Bruce and I go for a swim, but a shorter one than normal, then stay on the beach until six o'clock. Jon is off counter-duty when we change back into shorts and T-shirts in the locker room, which avoids another awkward experience with him. I act silly in his presence. It's as if I want to impress him so badly that I act goofy, and he isn't impressed; quite the opposite, he thinks I'm a clown—a clown who has paid him a lot of money and who is anxious to be his trainee. See how I get from just thinking about Jon?

On the way home, Bruce asks, "What are we going to do for dinner?" I'm in my dream world, thinking about Jon Scheyer and muttering, "Huh, what? I'm sorry, Bruce. What was that?" He gives me an irritated look, then asks, "What's for dinner tonight?"

"I'm not sure, Bruce. I'm sorry; don't be angry. Ah, Cowboy and Lee will be home when we get there, so maybe they're working on dinner." Bruce asks, "What's wrong with you?"

I shrug, "Nothing," and bump against him, grinning stupidly." He laughs, and I tell myself, 'Pay attention! Stop dreaming about Scheyer!'

When we get home, you'd think the boys were away for a month, considering the greetings we get from them. Big smiles, hugs, and kisses from both Cowboy and Lee. Gee, that's really a nice feeling. Things calm down, and Bruce says, "Wow, you boys got another haircut!" Lee says, "Yeah, my dad sits us down for haircuts every ten days or so." Cowboy is drinking a beer; he swallows and says, "I tried politely begging off when I first visited, but Mr. Patrick can be very insistent." 

Thinking about how insistent Jon was about giving me this pussy boy military haircut, I mumble, "Yeah, I was at your dad's barbershop early this summer, and Mr. Patrick doesn't concern himself a whole lot with what his customers want." Lee says, "That's because most of his clients are from that military prep school across the street from his shop, and he gives them the same short haircut every time." 

Looking at beautiful Cowboy, I recall his long, girlish hairdo before he met Lee... this is way better!

After showering together and getting dressed in shorts and T-shirts, Bruce and I have a shot of Jim Beam and a Bud. I flash down the shot and ask the boys, "So, what'll we do for dinner?" Cowboy goes, "Well, I saw in the refrigerator that you guys bought steaks yesterday, right?" 

I nod, "Oh, yeah, that's right. Bruce picked out some primo-looking Angus beef strip steaks." Cowboy shrugs, "So, I'll grill them, and Lee can do potatoes." 

Lee says, "We've got baking potatoes, so I'll make twice-baked potatoes." I'm like, "Whatever they are, I'm sure we'll like them." Lee goes, "I bake them and then scoop out the potato and mash it like mashed potatoes, then put it back in the skins and bake them again." 

Bruce and I fuck around making a salad, Bruce doing most of it. We have two more shots and beers, then Lee's right; we like the potatoes he made. The steaks are grilled just right, and it's a damn nice dinner with Bruce retelling his first day as a waiter for the boys. Bruce insists on cleaning up after dinner, so, yes, that's another chore he does that I forgot. Ya know, he wants to carry his weight in every way, it seems.

Cowboy and Lee go to the boardwalk while Bruce and I stay in and watch the Mets' game until nine o'clock. I'm super jumpy by now, horny as a toad. Bruce seems anxious, too, but I'm not sure if he's that way for my benefit or is actually anxious to have sex with me. We're both naked in the bathroom, taking a piss, then washing up and brushing our teeth without much chit-chat. Done all that, Bruce grips the back of my neck, nodding at me, saying, "See how special this feels, Zach?" I mumble, "I'll say! It reminds me of our hot times together with you training me to be a better cock sucker." 

We laugh, and Bruce squeezes the back of my neck, saying, "I hope I was training you to do more than that." I murmur, "Thinking back on those three-plus weeks with you, I wish I had done better and tried harder. I liked being your trainee until Richard screwed everything up."

Using his strong hard on the back of my neck, Bruce got us walking out of the bathroom, murmuring, "I know I've told you this before, but you probably find it hard to believe that sex, for me, was just my pleasureless job. It was a means to an end until recently when your constant kindness made me think sex with you had pleasure involved. It wasn't totally a job. I thank you for that... it's a brand new experience for me in this brand new world you've made possible for me to live in."

"Bruce, you're an important part of my life, so it's wonderful hearing that." Yes, that was a weak ass endorsement, but a major one for Bruce to make.  Sex was ruined for him the past month or so, and he was never in love with sex to start with. If I can help him enjoy sex again, I'll be proud of that.

Letting go of my neck in the bedroom, he murmurs, "Thank you for helping me with that. I'm getting an inkling of what it's like being normal, and I like it a lot, although I know I've got a long way to go. I'm looking forward to getting more and more, ah, normal with you." 

Unless he's an outstanding actor, what he said there sounded completely sincere. I nod and ask, "What should I do now?" He grins, "Well, whaddya think?" I snort out a chuckle, "Oh, yeah, I'll lube up my ass for starters." I do that, then ask, "Okay, if I suck a boner on you now?" He grins again, "I've been waiting all day for that."

I don't believe he even thought about me blowing him even once today, but that was a considerate lie from Bruce. I could tell him there isn't any need for him to wait all day for it, but that would just be another needy way of indicating I'd like to have sex more often, and we've been over that already. 

With my ass gooey with lube, I drop to my knees and do my normal licking and sucking on his cock and balls until all around his groin is shiny with my saliva and his penis is hard enough to drive nails with. Whether a person is straight or anti-sex or whatever, if a person's penis is stimulated properly, it will get hard as stone. Penises have a mind of their own. 

Bruce backs up, going, "Oh, umm, yeah, that's perfect." Looking up at him nodding, I sit back on my ankles and rub my boner that's tight against my belly. He takes a few deep breaths and says, "Let's do it standing again." 

I get right up, and Bruce gets behind me with his left arm around my waist. I feel the big head of his boner hit and then plow inside me as familiar pain from my anus blows up in my head. I scrunch up my face, dealing with the pain by convincing myself it felt good. The um, 'good' feeling continues as Bruce pushes his boner up inside me, then he goes, "Ahh, um," and humps against my buttocks, murmuring, "It's so different actually kind of enjoying doing this, Zach."

It is hard for me to imagine fucking not feeling good even if you're doing it as a job, but then, he didn't say it didn't feel good when he was doing his job. He said he'd prefer doing without sex... except for me. I've been underestimating that point. Underestimating how special it is that he wants to want to enjoy having sex with me even after his life of whoring. I've been oversexed for only ten weeks, whereas he's been disliking sex for six years. 

Well, I think I understand that fact now. If I can stop nagging him for more, I'll demonstrate how I'm totally supportive of his position. Plus, he never said this is all he'll ever be capable of enjoying. With time passing, I believe he'll want more, and I'll need less, and we'll meet in the middle.

For now, Bruce makes a few slow, long thrusts as the pain fades. Then, his quick jabbing three-inch thrusts created the "Slap, slap, slap," sounds along with me going, "Um, um, um," as my boner tightened more and pulled away to stick straight out hard as wood and throbbed with the piss slit gaping open and closed getting ready to spurt out the load of semen that percolating in my balls.
Oh fuck, now it's fast, full seven-inch thrusting with pleasure sensations soaring to almost unbearable heights, my climax immediately screaming to a crescendo. I gasp, then squeal, "Eiiii! Ahhh..." and blow my load straight out four feet, shuddering and shaking in Bruce's arms as he's tightly holding me around my waist. 

Blowing my load in thirty seconds felt fabulous as it happened, but then disappointment set in that the sex was so short! Bruce grunts, humps against my buttocks, and fills me up with his jism. It was a hot orgasm, but like last night, it happened in less than a minute. I need it to last longer, not shorter. Tonight was shorter than the two-short sex we had last night. So does Bruce as he goes, "Oh, fuck. Too fast again!"

I've still got sexy shivers from the after-effects of that climax, murmuring, "Felt good though, Bruce." That's a better response than me bitching it was too fast. I'm determined to be more supportive. 

He mumbles, "Oh, I'm glad for that, Zach. Yeah, it did feel super hot. Well, hot. Maybe not super-hot." He's passing me Kleenex, adding, "It wasn't as fast as last night, right?" 

It was faster, but the poor guy. I lie, saying, "Yep, a little bit longer sex tonight." I'm holding the tissue against my asshole as Bruce puts his arm across my shoulders, saying, "See, it'll be a little longer each night. Gee, I feel awesome." I lie again, "Me too," and he hugs my shoulders.

We cleaned up in the bathroom without telling each other any more lies, although it did feel great for ten or fifteen seconds before I blew my load; that wasn't a lie. I get a hand towel from the hamper and wipe cum shot off the floor; then we get in bed to snuggle together. Bruce sighs and then hugs me, murmuring, "Ah, that was good; really good. Good night." I say, "Yes, it was," and kiss the side of his neck.

This morning, Bruce got up at five-fifteen and never had a nap all day, so tonight, he fell asleep quickly. His breathing is steady, and he's motionless. On the other hand, this morning, after dropping Bruce at the boardwalk, I went back to bed and slept until eleven, so it was maybe an hour before I fell asleep tonight. It was a pleasant hour, though, enjoying Bruce's subtle scent and the feel of his sexy body, but I found myself thinking about the promises I made to Eli and reporting to the pussy bot Sandy for my morning paddling. Shockingly, I'm looking forward to it because it means I get to be Jon Scheyer's client and trainee. I say it's shocking because I'm surprised I'm not regretting it, but I'm not.

Then, the next morning at five fifteen, the phone alarm goes off, and Bruce is up and at 'em immediately. He takes another unnecessary shower and shaves, and while he's brushing his teeth, I'm just now crawling out of bed. He's getting dressed, muttering, "Hurry up, Zach." 

When I put on shorts and a T-shirt, he had our coffee ready in take-out cups. We drink coffee during the twenty-minute ride to the boardwalk on this bright, sunny day. Bruce is chatty this morning, saying, "Everything was new to me yesterday, but Carla, the waitress working with me, was super helpful. Anne was, too, so today I'm feeling much better. Knowing where everything is will make today easier, totally different from yesterday."

It's going to be a totally different day for me too. I smile, then get a scary vibration in my stomach anticipating the paddling, but I'll be okay. When we're idling next to the boardwalk ramp, Bruce says, "Okay, here goes," and, taking me by surprise, he leans over to give me a quick kiss on the side of my mouth, then mumbles, "Thanks for the ride," and he's out of the car carrying his bathing suit in a plastic bag.

"Oh! Bruce, um, I'll see you on the beach this afternoon. Have a great day..." He waves and jogs up the ramp and out of sight, turning left at the boardwalk.

Sitting here, I'm pissed that I didn't remember the boyfriend kissing goodbye. Hell, it was me who made a big deal about it yesterday morning, and then I was in a fog this morning, acting surprised by the kiss. Christ, that probably confused Bruce, who is trying so hard to be, um, to be a normal person and boyfriend,  Yeah, except I don't know what 'normal' is or if it even exists. We're both from extremely unusual backgrounds, me being a lifelong trust fund baby and Bruce living on his own from age sixteen as a male prostitute. Neither of our backgrounds would the vast majority of people think was anywhere near normal. We'll make our own normal.

Feeling apprehensive but determined, I park on the street, get out, and walk to Eli's apartment. While walking, I strengthen my commitment to accept my paddling punishment. As I thought last night, I get back on equal footing with Eli and Richard. Then. I can move forward with Jon. I have this NEED to be Jon's submissive trainee and client. Oh, damn! I put being his trainee ahead of being his client. I wonder in my subconscious mind if that's my true feeling.

I'm standing outside the apartment building at seven fifteen, talking to myself. 'Idiot! Sandy said to meet him at eight o'clock! Why are you here at seven fifteen?'

Okay, it's my first day. I'm nervous! Walking here, I passed a cafe, and now I walk back to sit in the cafe, drinking another coffee, killing time until ten of eight. I jog back to the apartment building and wait at the front door, almost standing at attention because Sandy is a humorless, hard ass. I see him coming and make sure I have a pleasant, neutral facial expression. He says, "You're on time. Good!" and grips the back of my neck, pushing me toward the front door. I opened it, and Sandy used a key to get us past the next door and inside the building. 

I was expecting the grip on my neck and bent forward slightly, ready to move where Sandy wanted me to. He's an inch taller than me, so six feet three inches, and looks older than me, too. I'm not sure what his status is other than knowing he's above me. I couldn't be of lower status. Bruce's previous three-plus weeks of training are a big help. I know what to expect and offer no resistance. 

Sandy takes for granted that I'm cooperating. That's because he usually deals with real trainees in the program. I'm a prior trainee but not in the program, although I want to be. Yeah, I do. We're in the same bedroom converted to a discipline room we were in yesterday morning; Sandy says, "Take everything off and neatly fold the clothes on that counter."

 As I do that, I watch another trainee and mentor who got here first. The trainee looks about fifteen, but I know he's at least eighteen. He has a ball gag in his mouth and a dog collar around his neck with a leash that has his head secured to a hook on the floor as he lies across the desk. The mentor or trainer is a black guy about twenty who's got a squat body and looks strong. He's just picked up the ping-pong paddle, looks back, and sees Sandy and me. I'm naked now. Sandy says in a challenging manner, "I've got the eight o'clock time spot here, Johnson!" Johnson says, "I know, chill, dude! I'll be done in ten minutes. Snyder was late and took my seven forty-five time spot."

Sandy looks pissed but doesn't say more. He puts me in a corner, "Nose touching!" I do that, liking Sandy's manner. He's very authoritarian, and I feel submissive to him already. He also takes for granted that I'm overdoing standing tightly in the corner, my nose squished where the two walls meet. I hear 'SLAP!" the sound of the paddle connecting forcefully with the recruit's bullocks, and the trainee on the desk screams, but the ball gag muffles the scream. After the fourth paddle, I hear "SLAP!" and a louder, muffled scream. Sandy, in a conversational voice, asks, "What, you're doing six paddles now?"

Johnson says, "Look at the bulletin board. Richard's latest proclamation. He's pissed off at the number of trainees feeling free to talk back and complain about the training. He says it's an Atlantic City problem, and he wants it nipped in the bud. So, all four paddles are now six. Six are now eight and so forth." Then, "SLAP!" and a garbled scream, partially muffled by the ball gag.

As the trainee is paddled, screaming in pain, Johnson and Sandy casually talk about a party Richard had last week for his staff, and they get to chuckle about something Richard said. I hear what sounds like a spray can of something being shaken up, and then the hiss of a spray and the kid on the desks screaming a high-pitched wail into his ball gag, quickly sighing and moaning contentedly. Sandy says, "That sunburn spray works good numbing the butt cheeks after paddling," and I remember Bruce using it on me. It burns like mother fucker for ten seconds and then eliminates most of the pain, and the recruit is so grateful he forgives you for the paddling. At least I did. This poor kid, though, then I think, 'Wait a second! I'm going to get six paddles, too. Four I can handle; six gets me sobbing'.  Oh, fuck!

Johnson, who sounds like he's straining, says, "Up you go, Hall. You'll be fine—there are only two more mornings like this. Open wide. Wider, Hall! You can do it." 

I can't see anything, my nose pressed in the corner, but I'll see this trainee named Hall tomorrow, and I'd like to hug and comfort him. He looks so young. Now I hear a new voice, timid and very submissive, saying, "Yes, Samuel, thank you." It's trainee Hall, of course. He sounds sweet. I'm getting soft. 

Johnson says, "Breathe deeply. That ball gag is a bitch, right?" "Yes, Samuel. Thank you for taking it out." More rustling, Johnson said, "Stand still, for Christ's sake!" Then, "There, the dog collar is off. Stand in that corner, Hall. Hey, get in there tight!"

A steel grip on the back of my neck turns me around, and Johnson hands the used, saliva-dripping ball gag to Sandy, who says to me, "Open wide," squeezing my neck harder. I open my mouth so wide my jaw makes a cracking sound. Sandy pushes the ball gag in, and Johnson helps by tightly connecting the Velcro straps behind my head. I'm gagging, sweat breaking out on my forehead, totally unable to speak. I think this is a bigger silicone ball than Bruce used on me. I did not expect this! I thought I'd get four quick paddles and then report to Eli.

Johnson and Sandy pay no attention to my gagging, and Johnson helps put the other kid's wet-with-sweat dog collar on me and, in one movement, using the leash, pulls my head across the desk, me lying on it, my arms hanging over the far side along with my head. The leash is attached to the hook on the floor. I'm spread out like the kid named Hall was, except I didn't hear him gagging, and I'm gagging so much I'm afraid I'll throw up and drown in vomit.

Sandy says, "Thanks for the help, Johnson." Johnson grips recruit Hall's neck and pulls him from the corner. I turn my head and can see Hall hunched and humble, his penis a little shriveled thing looking like a ten-year-old's dick. Sandy says, "You can put him back in the corner. I'll watch Hall while you fill out the report." 

Johnson mutters, "Thanks, bro. Um, Eli doesn't need to see Hall, but will he want to see your recruit?"

"Yeah, Eli wants to see him after his paddling, but this guy isn't a recruit," and they babble on while I try breathing in between deep gagging. Then, the gagging stops as the ball moves a millimeter one way or the other. It's such a relief that my eyes water and I try to analyze how I feel about this. Strangely, I can't get pissed off about it. It's part of learning my place and accepting what my trainers feel I need.

Then "SLAP!" rings out in the room as pain soars, and I grunt, not scream. I screamed into the ball gag at the fourth, fifth, and sixth paddle, crying at the pain of the last one. Not boo-hoo crying, but silently crying with tears. Did that young kid cry? I couldn't tell because I was standing in the corner. Then I scream so hard; veins are sticking out on my neck and forehead when Sandy sprays my ass with the sunburn spray, and then, "Ahhh, oooh, ooh," the pain evaporates, and I feel so submissive to Sandy.

Johnson was gone when Sandy unhooked the leash and helped me get off the desk. Standing, I gasp, noticing my penis is shriveled up to no bigger than Hall's. Scared, I get at the 'attention' position, my head straight up as Sandy mutters, "Open wide! C'mon, I don't have time to fuck around with you." I open so wide I'm afraid I'll break my jaw. He easily pulls out the ball gag and drops the gag, dripping with saliva, on the counter for the next guy to use. As he removes the dog collar, he mumbles, "I'm taking you to see the boss, but I'm leaving after that, so when he dismisses you, get dressed and go right out the door. Don't talk to anyone, and be on time tomorrow morning."

I was startled when I heard my voice. I was so timid and submissively saying, "Yes, Sandy." I didn't recognize that voice as mine for a second. I sounded exactly like that kid, Hall. Again, Sandy takes for granted that I'm deeply submissive to him. He's handled a couple of dozen recruits in the discipline room, so knows what to expect. Naked, I'm dragged through the apartment to the third bedroom, converted to Eli's office. Still painfully squeezing the back of my neck, me hunched over, Sandy knocks on the door, and Eli mutters, "C'mon in."

Sandy stands me in front of Eli's desk, and I immediately get in the 'attention' position as Sandy says to Eli, "I need to take off, boss. Johnson used my time slot, and I'll be late for," and Eli cuts him off, saying, "Yeah, I know. Go ahead, take off, Sandy."

When Sandy is gone, Eli smirks at me, then asks, "Are you still feeling smart ass, McMann?" When I say, "No, sir!" I sound like a girl and feel like maybe I am a girl. I can't ever remember feeling this submissive and loving it. I'm groveling in the submissive sensation because it feels so incredibly safe, soothing, and good.

He says, "Okay, two weeks of this should ensure I have a respectful recruit to turn over to my buddy, Jon. He'll continue your refresher course of the first three to four weeks of training and start your last three weeks of training with you in a good way. I'm breaking even getting you as one of my pussy boys because you're Dunlop's replacement."

I'm so submissive I don't want to correct that ridiculous statement; instead, I girlishly say, "Yes, Eli. Thank you." He nods, then gets some paperwork out, muttering, "I'm going to keep a close watch on you and keep the pressure on, too. You want to be a pussy boy, right?"

"Yes, Eli."

"So, you agree I need to stay on top of you, right?"  "Yes, Eli," and I sounded like a guy that time. Whew!

"This contract is hiring you as an escort for our company for thirty months. That's your minimum commitment, two and a half years from the date of graduation. Sign here," and he points with a ballpoint pen where I need to sign. Dropping the pen, he adds, "There is no guarantee you'll stay with Scheyer, but it's like ninety percent that you will. Go ahead and sign it if you're serious. This is a binding contract." 

I signed it without hesitation, and then he said, "Sign here, too. Here and initial that you've read it all and have had all your questions answered." I signed and initialed wherever he pointed.

Stacking the six pages of the signed contract, Eli says, "You've got a way to go, but the longest journey requires the first step. Now, I want to be very serious, saying, no more fucking up, Zack. You will be with me every morning for the next two weeks, and then Jon will own you for thirty months. After that, it's between you two as far as a new contract is concerned."

"Yes, Eli, and thank you so much. I really appreciate you giving me another chance."

'Yeah, whatever. Now you're to report to Jon. I won't see you again unless you fuck up. Sandy is in charge of your discipline for the next two weeks. Six paddles a day. Don't do anything that makes me extend the six-paddling to four weeks. Do you understand everything I've said? Bottom line: you belong to the pussy boy organization now."

"Yes, Eli, I know. Thank you, I won't screw up."

"Good, now get out of here."

Doing what Sandy told me to do. I go back through the apartment, various pussy boy employees snickering that I'm naked with red buttocks and a very small penis. It shriveled up more, being submissive to Eli. He was nice enough, not to mention how tiny my dick is. Walking, I hunch my shoulders even though Sandy has left the building. Getting dressed, I tell myself, 'I don't care about anything except I want to be a pussy boy for Jon Scheyer. This is something I'm positive about. I don't know when I decided this, but I know it's real.'

Walking out of the apartment building, I took a deep breath, feeling wonderful. I liked that Hall kid, and I hope we can do some practice training together. 

Huh? Why aren't I doing my usual dialing back on a decision? Without a leader, and Bruce barely qualifies as leadership material after the beating he took in Philly, I made my own decision. It is that I'm going to be a real pussy boy whoring for Jon. As insane as everybody will say I am, I want to be Jon's whore. Not for the rest of my life, and fuck Eli's contract. I simply want to get a taste of how Bruce lived for a while. And I will...

To be continued...