My summer of sex with Cowboy

Chapter 13

So, we got our hair cut and had lunch. Driving back to Bruce's place, I have to smile because, after leaving the Navy Seals, I didn't get a single haircut in more than ten weeks; then, as a pussy boy recruit, I've had two haircuts in ten days. Bruce's favorite barber did an okay job with both our haircuts; then, during lunch, Bruce talked about his thirteen-month experience in this pussy boy operation. It was mostly a disturbing story, although Bruce doesn't appear to think so. He seems proud of what he's accomplished. 

It was enlightening for me, though. I had a general idea of what female prostitution is about, but I never connected the dots to realize male prostitutes operate the same as women. More to the point, although I've been gay forever, I've never thought about the topic of male prostitution... ever.

Going inside the apartment, Bruce says, "Look at us with our identical haircuts. Ain't we something?" 

He's been in an upbeat mood all day, which makes it even harder to drop the bomb on him that I'm quitting. I'll have to do it sooner or later, but not necessarily right now. I smile, saying, "Yeah, we look like twins, Bruce." 

"Ha! Not hardly, Zach. I look in a mirror every day, and I don't see a person with your good looks staring back at me."

"Don't put yourself down. You're a cute young guy, and, Goddamn, I wish I was nineteen again."

He's putting on his swimsuit, saying, "Sure. Hey, what are you waiting for, Zach? Get your suit on, and then rustle up the beach stuff." 

I say my usual, "Yes, Bruce," and change into my bathing suit. Then I get the sunscreen, beach towels, Bruce's sunglasses, cigarettes, and a lighter. I'm carrying everything; off we go with Bruce explaining what to expect at tomorrow night's inspection with Richard. "It's not just you who's being inspected. I'll be standing naked right next to you in the locker room." 
He thinks about that, then adds, "Ya know what? I'll bet Richard will have his latest recruit with him. Yeah, sure he will, and we'll see what he looks like, ya know?" 

I could give a flying shit what Richard's latest recruit looks like, but I go, "Yes, Bruce." 

Keeping up with his fast pace, I'm concentrating on hunching forward and keeping my legs wide enough apart so my butt plug barely moves against my prostate. Hunching forward also relieves the irritating rubbing of my jockstrap's cup on my crammed-into-too-small-a-space cock and balls. Ha, if I had a dick like Joe Smith's, the cup wouldn't be a major problem.

When Bruce picks a spot on the beach, he says, "Set us up here," and then he watches me spreading the towels while I'm juggling the other stuff, not dropping his sunglasses, cigarettes, lighter, or sunblock. 

He says, "Straighten the towel properly, Zach. C'mon, get with the program!" 

I do that, then hand him his sunglasses, put the cigarettes and lighter where they're handy for Bruce, and he lies on his towel, saying, "You can lie with me now." 

I get right beside him, and he says, "No, not like that." He puts his arm out, and I lie the back of my neck on his arm like we're boyfriends. He says, "Relax, Zach, as you did earlier on the balcony." 


Yeah, that was in private. This is in public." I'm fighting to get against his side, and Bruce mumbles, "Obviously, you still need to get better at doing what you're told. Don't think about what I tell you; just do it." 

"Yes, Bruce." 

He takes deep breaths, then mumbles, "Okay, that's good," and then, "I love the sound of waves breaking on the shoreline and the ocean smell." 

"Yes, Bruce." A minute later, he asks, "Are you psyched about what's ahead for you, or are you as apprehensive as I was going into my second ten days of recruit training?" 

That's right. We started midweek, so Bruce has been mentoring me for ten straight days, including Saturday and Sunday, but it's not like two straight weeks, fourteen straight days. He's rushed things though, so it's like we're entering my third week, actually.

But, oh man, I hate coming out and, BAM, telling him I'm quitting. Bruce can be a bitch about details sometimes and be too hard on me, but overall, I like him a lot, and I hate that I'm going to kill his dream. I can't deceive him forever about quitting, but I can do it gradually, easing into it a little. I mean, Christ, I just got this pussy boy haircut again, so I'll go on a few more days.
Feeling nervous, I take a deep breath and say, "Bruce, is it okay if I talk about something serious? Something I've been agonizing about." 

He says, "Sure, we're on break from your training. Feel free. You can confide in your mentor about anything."

After deep breathing, hating that I have to do this, I say, "It breaks my heart to do this to you, Bruce. Um, I think you're an excellent mentor, but I don't know if I can continue doing this to get qualified." 

He chuckles, then says, "Oh, hell, Zack, that's the most natural reaction after ten days. That's how every recruit feels, and it was my reaction heading into what amounts to my third week, too. You don't think you're good enough, you're afraid to fail, and you don't want to let me down. All of that is perfectly natural at this point in your qualifying training."

Hmm, he's misinterpreted what I'm saying, so I go, "Well, yeah, but, um, it's more than that. It's that..." 

He pulls my head against his shoulder, saying, "Stop it, please! Listen, I have faith in you. Forget what you think, and let me do the thinking. I'll guide you through this. I know what I'm doing."

He's misunderstanding what I'm implying. "Um, Bruce, but..." and he says, "Stop it!  Zach, you are a winner." 

I'm easing into telling him I won't be finishing his training, but when he snapped at me, 'Stop it!'. Well, a submissive buzzing started, and I gulped, and, well, that's enough for now anyway. This is a much better way than me saying, 'fuck this, I quit!' So, I at least introduced the possibility that I don't want to do this. Bruce is giving me credit for two weeks of training, two out of six, so I've got plenty of time to do more, easing into the definitive I QUIT part... 
Bruce talks in a calming voice now, saying, "Don't be afraid, Zack. Conquer your fear, and let me help you through the tough parts." 

Afraid, conquer my fear? Get serious! I'm indignant, but before I can say anything, he pulls my head against his shoulder again, asking nicely, "Are you okay now? Do you feel better?" 

He can be so caring and sweet. Jeez. I turn my head to look him in the eyes, mumbling, "Yes, but I have serious doubts about finishing the program, Bruce."

He rubs my head, grinning, "You're so honest with me, and that's exactly how you should be. I was in your spot, too, don't forget that. And don't be embarrassed, but I know how attached you've become to me. It's pretty obvious, so it must have been hard telling me you doubt yourself and that you're afraid you'll let me down. Your willingness to admit that shows trust in me. You can lighten up, though, because I will get you qualified!"

What the hell, Bruce's problem is, he can't grasp that a guy wouldn't want to do this. It's inconceivable to him that I wouldn't be jumping at the opportunity he's offering. Oh, well, all I can do is follow my plan of being more emphatic about quitting in coming days. Bruce looks at me and says, "You know what? No offense, but you're a little soft. I probably need to be harder on you. Toughen you up more, and we'll work on that starting tomorrow. For now, enjoy this afternoon break from training. 

"Yes, Bruce." Harder on me? Fuck that...

Well, I'm proud I had the balls to open the door to quitting. Obviously, I'll need to keep reinforcing that, but this was a good start. So, sure, in the meantime, I'll continue with it. Um, let me try one more full week. Whew, it's a relief getting the ball rolling on that and making a decision. That's something new for me: decision-making.

Whew, I'm relieved that's over, and now I have to smile to myself because I get to be with Bruce for seven more days. Sure, I started by telling myself I'd only do it for two or three days, and I've just committed myself to finish three weeks of the training schedule. Yeah, but it's mostly because I never expected Bruce to be as impressive as he is. I couldn't have known that after my first exposure to him on the beach the night we met. And, holy shit, that feels like a long time ago.

As I lie on his arm like his boyfriend, realizing I wouldn't mind being Bruce's wingman, as I was for Ronny. I mean, under different circumstances, of course. I have already admitted that I consider Bruce my leader. Yeah, I know he's nine years younger than me, but he has good leadership qualities, and he's fearless. I mean, the way he handled himself going through all that shit he was telling me at lunch. And, even though this is a lowly prostitution ring, the way Bruce advanced through the ranks at age nineteen is impressive. These past ten days, I've seen the side of Bruce that impressed Richard, and I've also seen the uniquely likable kookie side of Bruce as well. 

And, yes, it's very pleasant lying here, almost cuddling with him; hell, I wish we were boyfriends instead of mentors and recruits. That'd be awesome. I could bring him with me on my travels, get him away from an, um, less than desirable life of pimping. Ha, us being boyfriends is another of my pipe dreams.

We don't do a lot of talking after my almost opt-out partial confession of quitting. Then, abruptly, Bruce wants to swim in the ocean to cool off. I don't want to because of my jockstrap and butt plug, but Bruce doesn't ask if I want to. He says, "We're going for a swim now, Zach," I immediately do what I'm told. 

In the water, swimming around, I realized the significance of not hesitating to do what he said. It's new that I didn't even for a second consider not doing it. Until a few days ago, I'd have that second of hesitation, but that's been erased by Bruce's training technique. Oddly, I just now realize I stopped questioning what Bruce tells me to do, immediately doing what I'm told. Hmm, yeah, ever since that hard spanking, Bruce's training techniques have been working on me.  

What's the big deal about that, though? It's simply easier doing what he says. This is all temporary for me, so why question everything in my head? Just do it; what do I care?

After the swim, I'm very uncomfortable because my jockstrap cup is soaking wet, and my cock and balls are shriveling up inside it. Well, that's not all bad, but it isn't anywhere near good, either. Sitting on the blankets, we smoke cigarettes as Bruce tells me more about his life before he met Richard. Although he doesn't seem angry about his pussy boy prostituting on the street, it sounds very depressing to me. Anyway, he grew up with three siblings and a single parent, his mother, on welfare. His mother had a propensity to spend all the welfare food money on drugs, and blah, blah, blah. Holy shit, he's had a hard life, and I have the nerve sometimes to feel sorry for myself? 

Bruce wants to stay on the beach much longer than I do because of my wet jockstrap, so when he finally tells me to gather everything up, I'm relieved and do what I'm told quickly. He stands, watching me get the towels and other things in my arms, then I follow him off the beach hunched over a little, walking bowlegged.

Back at the apartment, I do the new chores Bruce assigned to me a few days ago. I take the beach towels and Bruce's dirty laundry to the apartment's basement and put them in a washing machine. Then, back in the apartment, Bruce is waiting for me to service him. I take off my t-shirt and swimsuit, then spend ten minutes rimming Bruce's ass, which has become one of the best parts of my day lately. 

Today, his asshole tastes salty from the ocean swim, but not for long as I lick it clean before getting my tongue inside his rectum, pushing and pulling it in and out, over and over, until after many gasping sounds and moans from my mentor, I hear, "I'm gonna cum, stop!" 

Sitting back on my heels, my boner sticking straight up, I'm waiting for him to turn around. When he does, I suck his hard cock, first just on the head, then licking up and down the hard-as-nails shaft, then lapping his balls. That's when I usually blow my load, being careful to position my boner so as not to get any on Bruce. 

After two seconds of catching my breath, I get right back to sucking and licking Bruce's cock until he goes, "Aawk," and shoots off. Sometimes he climaxes with his cock in my mouth, and other times while I'm licking and sucking on his balls. When that happens, his cum sometimes shoots up in the air, some of it coming down on my head. After climaxing, Bruce always walks around holding his cock and breathing like crazy, his chest heaving. I've never known anyone who gets off as hot as Bruce. I think he's even a level higher than Cowboy and me at being oversexed.

After we've both blown our loads, our routine the past few days is that we'll smoke on the balcony, maybe drinking Cokes, until he'll nod at me. I'll get up immediately, and we'll go inside, where he'll twist out my butt plug. Oh, what a relief that is. My asshole remains unnaturally wide open, with much cooler air flowing up inside, making me shiver. It takes a few hours for it to get back to its tight natural condition.

Quickly, I go to the bathroom and lube my anus really well. Then back to Bruce, I drop to my knees and suck on his cock for a minute, getting it hard again. When he says, "That's good," I get on all fours with my ass pushed up, and he fucks me so hard I'm walking on all fours shooting my cum load on the floor, shuddering and shaking so violently Bruce's cock came out of my ass yesterday. When he's filled my ass with more of his seed, he spanks me with his hand for a minute, splattering the cum that's leaking out.

Satisfied, Bruce will say, "That was a good training session reminding you of your place, Zach." 

And today, that's what he just told me. He gets me to lick his soft cock clean of cum and lube and anything else that's on it. When he's satisfied his dick is like new, he pulls on his shorts and goes out on the balcony to catch his breath. I get the sponge mop to clean the floor where I shot cum all over the floor, plus any of Bruce's that drooled from my ass. After that, I went to the basement and put the washed clothes and towels in the dryer, then went back to the apartment to see what Bruce wanted me to do next.


I like our routine, so I know what to expect. Bruce is good like that. Today, like the previous two days, Bruce tells me, "Good work, Zach. Use one of the water Fleet enemas to clean out your bowels of cum and whatnot; then you are dismissed for the day." 

I mumble, "Yes, Bruce," and he adds, "Remember,  Saturday's training, tomorrow's training, starts at four o'clock and goes until ten o'clock." 


Nodding, I mumbled, "Yes, Bruce," and he said, "You need to stop worrying about Richard's inspection! Let me handle it. I won't let him touch you. You belong to me exclusively until I turn you out on the street to earn us some money. Until then, nobody fucks you except me. And that includes Richard." 

Nodding again, I say, "Yes, Bruce." 

He says, "Do your daily cleansing enema, and I'll see you tomorrow. And don't take off your jockstrap except to wash it, or you know what will happen." 

"Yes, Bruce. I'll wear it right through until I see you tomorrow."

He nods his head, then points at the bathroom door. I squeeze most of the enema out in the toilet, using a little to squeeze up my ass. It takes ten minutes, and then I'm going down the stairs, thinking about the doggy fuck Bruce did on my ass. God Almighty, I'm really going to miss that. 

Getting in the car, I'm proud of myself for opening the discussion about quitting the program. That was a good start, even though Bruce brushed it off as normal recruit jitters. I do have some jitters about Richard's inspection tomorrow night, but Bruce says he'll be looking out for me, protecting me from any physicality coming from Richard. I have ultimate confidence in Bruce and then smile to myself, realizing I do, in fact, have great confidence in him. He's fantastic.

I can't imagine how someone at only nineteen can have the guts and confidence Bruce has in spades. I suppose being brought up in the horrible conditions he experienced has a lot to do with it. A guy either grows a pair of balls and guts it out or dies on the vine, so to speak. I admire Bruce even more now after learning about his childhood. 

It's too bad he dropped out of school, though. On the other hand, you don't need a high school diploma to be a pimp. That's a harsh word, but that's what a mentor becomes as soon as he qualifies someone to be a pussy boy and puts him out on the street earning money by sucking and fucking strangers. What's a male prostitute called, anyway? Gigolo? No, that's not it, is it?

Keeping to my normal routine, back at the hotel, I shower while cleaning my jockstrap. Using the hairdryer, I dry it and put it on. The washing has shrunk it some, so it's tighter than ever now. As always, I'm incredibly sexually satisfied and feeling good as I head for the beach to hook up with the boys. 

Damn, though, as I'm walking up to them on the beach, I appreciate their youthful appearance, their silliness, and the sheer joy they have been with each other. I wasn't like that at nineteen. I missed out on some things  because Ronny and I were all about being bad-asses getting in trouble while seeing how much we could get away with. I always felt tense doing that, too. I wasn't nearly as aggressive as Ronny, so I was almost always tense but never bored.

Well, with Bruce being my leader, I'm not bored now either. Did I admit Bruce is my leader, for real? Holy crap, yeah, but I admitted that some days ago. How could I not think of him that way? That prick, Richard, analyzed me more accurately than I thought. That doesn't mean I like him any better, but I suppose I need to admire his, um, ability to see where I'm most vulnerable. He grilled me that first night and somehow got me telling personal things about myself for an hour. From what I honestly told him, he realized things about me I didn't realize myself. As each day goes by, I'm discovering he's right, too.

Cowboy and Lee are seriously discussing Lee sleeping overnight at the suite. There are two bedrooms, so that wouldn't be a problem for me, although I would miss sleeping with Cowboy. After sleeping with him for two months, it will seem strange to sleep alone. Yeah, I get used to routines; consistency is my thing. 

Walking up to the boys, as a joke, I go, "I couldn't help but overhear you talking about the three of us in one bed." 

Lee looks like he just swallowed a golf ball as he gulps loudly. Cowboy goes, "He's kidding, Lee, Christ!" He laughs as Lee blushes. 

Huh, those two are so different personality-wise; interestingly, they're so seriously into each other. Is it an opposite attracts thing? Not that it makes any difference; they're getting along famously.

After the beach, I shower again, then Cowboy showers, and we have dinner at a little Italian restaurant two blocks from the hotel. Later, we meet Lee on the boardwalk, and I leave them to do their thing. I try a new casino. I'm playing blackjack, and I'm interested to see if my luck has changed for the better yet. Since I've had no luck, I walk by the big money tables and play twenty-dollar hands at a table with a handsome dealer. The dealer reminds me somewhat of Ronny. Good-looking, but it's more the way he moves. Like Ronny, when this guy isn't moving, he still seems to be vibrating. Ronny never was totally still.

Of course, playing with twenty-dollar chips, I start winning now, the opposite of when I played with hundred-dollar chips. Tonight is when I should be betting the hundred-dollar chips. Anyway, I stuck with the twenty-dollar chips playing for over an hour after the good-looking dealer was relieved by a woman dealer who turned out to be annoyingly officious—her voice grates on my nerves like fingernails on a blackboard. When I couldn't stand her any longer, I cashed in my chips, eight hundred dollars up for the night. Hot shit, not that I care all that much about money, but I'm competitive and want to win just because I want to.

There's no way I'm returning to the hotel completely sober, so I wander into the closet bar and order a Jack Daniel's with a splash of water. Since the beginning, whatever I'm doing with Bruce, I haven't been drunk once. The previous weeks, I was drunk every night, or close to it. And, after the other night, I'm careful not to look around at the other patron so as not to make eye contact with anyone, and after two drinks, I don't want another. That's unusual... it somehow is Bruce's influence. I don't want to be hungover and disappoint him.

Back in the suite, I'm restless as hell, feeling an unrelenting and absurdly strong desire to see Bruce. It's such a strong desire that it's almost a need, like a drug dependency. Christ, I'm obsessed with seeing Bruce and realize I'm squeezing my jock's cup; for God's sake, get a grip, Zach! Looking at my cell phone, I'm thinking, 'Do I dare call him?' 

Well, he's never said not to call him, and he gave me his cell phone number, and it's only ten-thirty. Hmm, my finger is shaking as I hold it over my phone and then hit his number. In the second ring, Bruce says, "Zach? Why the fuck are you calling me, and so late too?" 

Oh, yeah, he's got caller ID.

Swallowing noisily, I go, "I'm sorry, Bruce, but, um, I had this strong desire to, um..." 

He says, "This is totally against the rules! Goddammit, do I need to make another exception for you?" 

I go, "Um, I..." and he cuts me off, saying, "I get it. You realize you won't see me until four o'clock tomorrow, six hours later than usual. Am I right?" 
His voice gets me into a submissive frenzy, and I go, "Oh, Bruce, it is not, um.." 

He snickers, saying, " I know you. You're used to our morning get-togethers, and you're upset because Richard's inspection is disrupting our routine." 

His voice deepened my submissiveness as I went, "Yes, Bruce," and he said, "I told you on the first day of training that recruits get very dependent on their mentors, didn't I?" 

"Yes, Bruce." I hear a sigh, then he says, "Okay, come over right now, and I'll give you a hard fucking to hold you over until tomorrow after Richard's inspection" 

I'm like, "Thank you, Bruce. I'll be there in five minutes."

What a needy asshole I've turned into, but I don't care. That's right; I don't give a shit. I'm out of sorts, and Bruce is right about Richard disrupting our routine. Fuck it!

Now I'm giddy that Bruce easily gave in and broke the rules. It's more like ten minutes later when I push the button for his apartment, and he buzzes me in. Running up the steps and then looking down the hall, I see he has his door partially open. Forcing myself not to run, I walk quickly down to the door, feeling like a dork, but, as I said, I don't care!

Going inside, I see Bruce with a smug smirk on his face. "I told you that you'd become extremely dependent on me, didn't I, Zack?"

 Feeling incredibly nerdy, my dick tightens as I nod my head, mumbling, "You did, yes," and now I don't know what to do. He looks so cool sitting there with no shirt, baggy shorts, and bare feet. He's just chilling while drinking a beer and watching a Phillies game on TV. Just like a normal nineteen-year-old, but he's not normal; he's special.

I say, "I'm sorry for bothering you, Bruce. I feel like a dork for calling and, ah, coming over like this, I..." He goes,

"It's okay. You needed to hear me tell you everything would be all right, didn't you?"

No, that's not it at all, but it'll do, so I nod again, mumbling, "You're brilliant, you know that?"

He shrugs, "About some things I am, but not about most things. Take your clothes off, but leave your friendly jock on, then sit with me on the couch."

Stripping naked takes me no time at all. I like being naked. Bruce says, "C'mon over here."

Fuck, he makes me feel like a shy little kid. He's so cool and confident about everything. Adjusting my jock's cup, I go over, and before I sit, he says, "Hook the cup under your nuts."

I do that, snorting out a nervous chuckle, then sit with the cup pushing up against my balls. The jockstrap's straps don't have much give in them, so it's uncomfortable, but I'm with Bruce, so... 

He says, "Just as a preview, this is what a date could be like when you finish hooking on the street, and I get you an online job. I'll be setting you up on dates, and some of the dates will be guys who simply want to see you naked in person," and he takes my cock in his fist, adding, "Maybe they'll just want to jerk you off." 

He strokes my cock, mumbling, "All the information you'll need for in-person dates with clients you'll be dealing with will be provided in the fifth and sixth weeks, so don't worry 'cause you'll know what to do. And, starting the week after next, we'll be looking at videos showing you how to pleasure your clients; for example, a better way of sucking cock, although you suck cock pretty good already. There are secret pleasure zones where, while you're being fucked up the ass, you can work on your client's body to heighten his pleasure. All kinds of secret pleasure things."

A lecture is not what I'm looking for, but I ask, "Do you use the secret things on me?" Shaking his head, he goes, "No, all the fucking I do on you is basic corn-holing to reinforce that you're a bottom boy and getting you used to the idea that your ass is available to whoever and whenever I say it is.  You'll be used to multiple usages of your ass when you're finally qualified to be a working pussy boy, finally earning some money for you and me."

That's not happening, but what I want is for Bruce to make use of my ass right now. He goes on with his lecture, "Next week, I'll be fucking you three times a day instead of twice. The week after that, four times daily, mostly with big dildos. Of course, I'm not supposed to be telling you all this, but fuck that. You're worried you won't qualify, so I'm reinforcing that you can stop worrying. Leave everything to me. I'm a better mentor than what they claim a mentor should be, as described in the mentoring manual."

He's been stroking my cock as he talked, and my cock is now a massively hard boner. Letting go of it, he switches to his kookier persona, telling me, "Phillies are up 5 to 2."

"Huh, who? Oh, the game," and I glance at the TV. Bruce says, "So, get me a beer from the refrigerator and get one for yourself. I smell liquor on your breath. Sorry, but I don't have any hard liquor in the house right now."

What nineteen-year-old is expected to have hard liquor in the house?

The jockstrap's cup pulls up extra hard as I stand, and then I follow my boner into the kitchen. It's so odd I'm not feeling self-conscious about any of this. I'm really not, but that's because I'm with my leader. Seriously, I no longer feel self-conscious about anything when I'm with Bruce. 

Handing him a can of Bud, I sit down carefully and do a silly grin at him. He says, "Get two cigarettes out of the box on the coffee table and light both of them."

As I'm doing that, he says, "I saw an old-time movie once where the guy does that, he lights two cigarettes and passes one to this tight-ass bitch he's with, and she says, 'I don't smoke.'" Bruce laughs out loud at his own story, mumbling, "She says, I don't smoke, so the guy's left holding two lit cigarettes."

I chuckle along with him and then give him a lighted cigarette, and we both drag deeply, getting the ash glowing a dark red. Damn, now I'm smoking like him. He says, "So, you missed me and couldn't resist calling me, huh?"

Nodding, I mumble, "Yes, that's it exactly, Bruce. I had this friggin' extreme desire for you as you told me I would, and I did, um, I do."

He says, looking serious, "No offense intended, but how the fuck did you ever make it in the Navy Seals?"

"Whaddaya mean?"

He shakes his head, "Nothing, I didn't mean nothing by it." He holds his arm up, saying, "You can come over and snuggle against me. It's okay."

 Me and my boner slid over, and I leaned against him. He said, "You've lost your confidence, haven't you?" And he puts his arm around the back of my neck. I guess I have lost some confidence, but I feel safe and, well, good being with Bruce.

I mumble, "Yes, Bruce." He squeezes my shoulders, asking, "Feel better now?" Even as a little child, I never acted nearly as geeky as I do with Bruce. I have no explanation for it either, none whatsoever.

Snuggling against him, I do feel better. "Yes, Bruce." He gives me another tight squeeze as I inhale his unique scent and then embarrassingly do a sigh. Bruce says, "Okay, you feel better now, so sit up and drink your beer and smoke your cigarette."

I sit up, and he adds, "Put your boner back in the cup. I've seen your penis more than I've seen mine the last eight days."

Forcing my boner to bend a little, I get it covered by the cup, then gulp some beer, glancing at Bruce every couple of seconds. It's not love at all, but it's a strong infatuation I feel for him. Plus, I admire the hell out of him. He picks up the remote and clicks off the TV, saying, "Chug the rest of your beer."

I stub out my cigarette in the ashtray, then finish the beer in two long swallows." Bruce says, "Take our beer cans out to the kitchen and empty the ashtray, too. Wipe it out with a paper towel." 

I know he's reinforcing that I'm to do what I'm told, supposedly so I know my place. I understand why he's always doing that, but as I do what he says, it gives him the wrong impression of me knowing my place. I know my place, but it isn't the 'place' Richard and Bruce want me to 'know.' And, even though it is deceitfulness on my part to pretend otherwise, I'm hooked on Bruce, as I've mentioned fifty times, and that's why I do it. It's terrible being me, but I want more of him.

Back in the living room, Bruce is now standing, saying, "I promised you a hard fucking, but first, I want a rimming like you did this afternoon and then a good job of cock sucking."

He's staying on the couch, so I get on my knees, giving Bruce a silly half-smile. My boner had receded to almost a flaccid state when I was in the kitchen cleaning the ashtray, but this impending oral sex with Bruce has my dick quickly reactivating its harder state in my jockstrap cup. 

He turns on the couch, pulling his baggy shorts down. I see he isn't wearing women's underpants tonight; he isn't wearing any underwear. His groin is shiny and hairless after today's application of the MAN creme. His groin looks great in its shiny-hairless state, and mine feels great. I'll never have pubic hairs again.

For his rimming, he gets on his knees on the couch facing the back and pushes out his pinkish hairless ass. With his bare ass in my face, and I get right to it. Spreading his buttocks, I start licking over his tight asshole; I'm wondering how many cocks have been inside this hole during his prostitute months. That thought doesn't slow me down a bit, as it perhaps should. But, for the first time, I do sniff a feces odor and, for the first time in my life, taste shit remnants on my tongue. It's an acrid taste, but it's my mentor's, my leader's, so it's okay and lasts only ten seconds.

He wasn't expecting me, so he was less conscientious about cleaning himself than he'd been before. I've gotten good at this rimming exercise, and Bruce's grunts and moans, his body jerking, but he only lets me do it for three minutes before telling me, "You'll make me cum. Stop it."

I do what I'm told and watch Bruce swing his legs around to get in a sitting position again. I immediately get my knees on the floor between his legs and gobble his hard cock into my mouth, sucking and licking it, absolutely loving it. I'm totally into sucking Bruce's seven-inch cock, and what a beauty it is. His nuts, too, so when I feel the head of his cock throb, I pull it out and lap all over his nuts.

A minute of that, Bruce pushes my head away, saying, "You are going to be a star for me, Zack. I might never be able to get you off the street once you start. Your regular clients will be storming my house with pitchforks and torches when I put you inside doing online dates. Haha, you're going to be a hot one, alright." 

Sitting back on my heels, looking up at him, feeling pleasantly submissive, I mumble, "Maybe I'm only able to be a star for you, Bruce."

He says, "Nah, you'll get into it with the horny men too, and they'll be requesting you over and over. You're a natural. And a cock is a cock, right?"

NO, it's not! But I don't contradict my leader.

He tells me to get up and bend over. Then, he says, "I'll give you a good hard fuck before saying goodnight. Lube your asshole, Zack." 

 
Straightening up, I quickly go into the bathroom and push lots of lubricant in my ass. Back to Bruce with my asshole stuffed with KY lubricant, I ask, "Can I take my jockstrap off, please."

He says, "No, and do not ask again. If I don't tell you to take it off, assume you're to leave it on. Now, I want you bent over with your forearms on the coffee table, your forehead on your arms."

I do that, my boner throbbing in my jockstrap. He smacks my ass hard, saying, "That pussy boy ass of yours needs to be up a lot higher. Consider the height of the top fucking you, Zach. That's one of the things we'll be drilling into you in week four."

I go up on my toes, and he mutters, "Just like that. Good, now don't move."

Serious pain screams in my head when Bruce shoves his hard cock way in past my prostate, past everything, until his smooth groin is pressing against my buttocks. That took one second. I couldn't help screaming out, but the scream was muffled with my mouth on my forearms. I'm trying not to move, but the pain has me shuddering, so I get some hard stinging smacks on the side of my ass, "SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!" as Bruce is saying, "Stay still, recruit!"

It takes willpower to control the shaking, but I manage to do it. Then I endure very painful five or six thrusts of his long cock before things begin getting better, and soon his steady thrusting feels good, and then very good, and then I'm moaning his name-calling him my mentor, my leader, "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, Bruce. Ahh, ahh, oooh, Jesus, that feels so fucking good, mentor, yes..."

The pain and pleasure, in the beginning, were exquisite, and then just the pleasure with the pain forgotten has me gasping, and then, not thinking straight, I start doing what Cowboy does, humping back into Bruce's thrusting. He reaches down and smacks the back of his head, "Stay still!"

I hear that, along with the "Slap, slap, slap" sounds of his smooth crotch smacking against my quivering buttocks, and it's the best feeling I've ever experienced. It's almost impossible to be still with pleasure beyond belief, waves of it streaking out from my rectum, but I try and somehow manage to be still, sort of still. At least I'm still enough not to get smacked again.

My climax is almost as painful as Bruce's first thrust up my ass. My boner is bent painfully as cum gushes out into my jockstrap's cup, filling it up. Then Bruce is filling me up. His climax hits my bowels, all creamy with a second of extra warmth. Then I hear the extra wet sounds of his cock moving in the slipper cum he poured up my ass. He finishes me off with some after-climax thrusting... icing on the cake.

Pulling out, he does his normal scary breathing as if he is having a heart attack, but it only lasts a minute, and then he gasps, "That should hold you over until tomorrow at four o'clock." 

I'm still bent over, cum from the cup dripping on the coffee table, as I murmur, "Nobody fucks as good as you, Bruce."

"Yeah, well.." Then "Hey, what the fuck's wrong with you? You're dripping your cum on my coffee table. I've taught you better than that."

Bowlegged, I run to get paper towels from the kitchen to clean up after myself. Bruce puts his shorts on, and when I'm dressed, he pushes me out the door, saying, "Be here at three-thirty tomorrow with a clean shave. I want to inspect you before Richard does."

"Yes, Bruce," and then, going down the steps, I feel great. I can't help it; I feel great even though I should feel pathetic. I needed my mentor's cock in my ass, and I got what I wanted even though I was the geekiest dork imaginable. I realize that, and I don't give a shit because nobody knows it except Bruce and me.

My one tiny concern isn't so tiny; it's how am I going to satisfy Cowboy tonight after that fabulous climax I just had? Checking my cell phone, I see it only eleven-thirty, and, more importantly, there's a text from Cowboy that says, "Check your email."

Oh no, what has he gotten himself into? Nothing bad, as it turns out. His email says he and Lee are spending the night together at the hotel but not in the suite. Cowboy charged another room to my credit card because Lee said he'd feel funny knowing I was in the next bedroom. They told Lee's parents he's staying the night at our hotel suite because I'm taking them deep-sea fishing early in the morning. Good lie, guys! 

But, seriously, can I believe how well things are working out for me tonight? I won eight hundred dollars, and then I got away with an extra good hard fucking from Bruce, and Cowboy is busy tonight, so I don't need to lie about why we can't have our normal nightly buddy sex together. Hot shit!

Back at the hotel, I wash and dry my jockstrap, then wash and dry myself. Lying in bed, I think about Bruce and about what a fool I made of myself by needing him to have sex with me. I'm still glad I did it, even in hindsight. Hmm, I think I'm addicted to Bruce and his cock, and his asshole too. I wonder if it's a result of all the concentrated sex Bruce has with me that's got me addicted to it, or is it me saying 'yes, Bruce' fifty times a day? I know one thing: after that horrendous spanking with the paddle, I've been much more submissively willing to do what he says. The submissiveness I felt toward Bruce after that was extremely strong, but probably the other factor I've thought of also contributed to my Bruce infatuation is doing what I'm told. 

It's no lark. I'm seriously attracted to Bruce, but I'm still not finished with his program. Ultimately, Bruce's tactics, whatever he's doing that's made me truly attracted to him, will be a failure. I hate that I'm going to disappoint and hurt him, but there's no way in hell I'll ever be his prostitute. And that's the last thought I remember having before falling asleep.

In the morning, the first thing I do when I'm awake is reach over to feel Cowboy, immediately remembering why he's not here. Then, last night's meltdown comes flooding back with all its humiliations, and I feel my face getting hot. How in the hell could I let myself be so pathetic? What a total fucked up mess that was.

But, wait, I remember what I told myself last night... nobody will ever know about that except Bruce, and he half expected it to happen. After all that I've been through the past ten days, I deserve one meltdown, but not two—no more of that.

Still, I grin to myself as my dick stiffens because last night was really cool. That submissive feeling Bruce gives me and me playing it up as much as I did. Hmm, that's giving myself more credit than I deserve because I'm not so sure me 'playing it up' is what happened. It's much more like I have real submissiveness to Bruce; I'm not play-acting. It's best if I don't dwell on my behavior too deeply, especially last night's behavior. It's between my mentor and me and nobody else. 

I reach inside my jockstrap cup and adjust my stiffening dick so the head is pointing up past the cup. That's not ideal with the edge of the cup digging in a little, but better than my stiff cock getting bent. Thinking about Bruce and me, my dick continues getting harder and harder, growing a little longer until it's almost to my belly button. Lightly rubbing the head, I spend some time fantasizing Bruce and I are out of the pussy boys, and I'm his boyfriend, and we do everything together, and... Stop it!

Getting out of bed, taking off the jock, I walk into the bathroom, hanging the jockstrap on the doorknob. I take a piss, shower, and then brush my teeth. Bruce gave me an enema; I think it was Thursday, or was it yesterday? I forget, but I don't shit for a day or two after my enemas, so there's that. I don't know if it's good or bad. The water enemas I do on myself, per Bruce's orders, don't about too much because I don't do them the way I'm supposed to. Most of the enema's water goes in the toilet.

Anyway, putting my jock on, I take my time getting dressed, then text Cowboy asking if he wants to have breakfast. He doesn't answer with a text as he and Lee come busting in the door. They always do that. I go, "Hello, you two. Why are you guys always in such a hurry?"

Ignoring that, Lee says, "Guess what I did last night, Zach?"

"I can't imagine. What'd you do?"

Cowboy says, "I got a good taste of cowboy-cum, that's what," and they both giggle like gay boys. Yeah, Cowboy has adopted some of Lee's giggling habits.

"Way to go, Lee! You're officially in the gay club now."

He says, "I thought I was officially in it when I let Carson taste some Lee-cum."

"That too. Hey, do you guys want breakfast?" Cowboy goes, "No, thanks. My best friend here has a guilty conscience about lying to his parents, so we're gonna get the nine-thirty charter to do some deep-sea fishing. Can I have four hundred dollars, please? And I'm keeping count of everything you're paying for, Zach. I'll pay you back  when we're in New York again."

Giving him four of the hundred dollar bills from the eight I won last night, I mutter, "You don't need to pay me back."

He takes the money and says, "Well, I'm going to. This seems a lot, but I don't know how much it'll cost  to rent everything."

I mutter, "I don't know either."

Moving on, Cowboy excitedly says, "Lee's letting me ride his motorbike."

"Oh, Jesus, be careful."

Lee hugs me, saying, "Thanks for everything, Zach."

Cowboy says, "See ya later, bro," and he gives me the finger, plus his incomparable brilliant smiles as they go out the door. 

Ha, that makes me smile. Then I step out, yelling, "Cowboy." He stops and looks back, and I tell him I'll be out tonight, and they're on their own for dinner. Another wave, and they round the corner.

Great kids, those two. Omigod, though, Bruce would chew them both up and spit them out, which is why he's never going to meet them. I'm living in two different worlds, both interesting, although in entirely different ways. Nope, I'm not bored anymore.

I am not bored, but I am officially jittery now and wish I could be with Bruce. I'm not sure why I'm jittery, but the inspection tonight is part of it. In the last ten days, I'd be getting ready for my ten o'clock training session with Bruce, but today, I won't see him until three thirty.  

It's hard running with the jockstrap, but after two coffees, I run four miles and then work out in the fitness room for an hour. After a shower, I wash my sweaty jock, dry it, and put it on while daydreaming about Bruce again. He's almost as tall as me, and he's a cute, clean-cut young guy with a blond hair crewcut and those deep, big brown eyes.

Haha. Wow, I really have a thing for him. 

Sitting on the balcony wearing only my jock and shorts, I again fantasize about being Bruce's boyfriend. Free of the pussy boy bullshit, he'd still be my leader and probably bossing me around as much as he does now. I'd expect that and like it. Then there's our sex. Gee, it's not love, but I have developed some affectionate-type feelings for him, or why the fuck am I fantasizing about being his boyfriend?

Oh, Christ, I need to think about something else. That leads me to think about the inspection by Richard, and I get jittery all over again. Fuck!

To kill some time, I accumulate Cowboy's and my dirty laundry put it all in the hotel's laundry bag, and then fill out the form. The maid cleaned the place while I was exercising, so I'll put the laundry bag out tomorrow morning. Looking at my cell phone, I see it's almost one o'clock, so it's time to get something to eat.

Going up on the boardwalk, I have a beer and a cheeseburger, then walk on the boards, trying not to think of anything until three o'clock. Back at the hotel, I shaved even though I didn't need to shave, but my mentor specifically mentioned a clean shave. Hmm, I then stupidly examine myself for any random unwanted hair on my body, and, of course, I don't find any because Bruce used the MAN creme all the fuck over me yesterday, just to be sure.

Anyway, it's time to go. It's a five-minute drive to Bruce's apartment. When I'm in the foyer, I wait until it's three twenty-eight, then ring his bell. He buzzes me in, and I run up the stairs so my knock on his door will be at exactly three thirty. 

Bruce opens the door, looking a tad nervous, which gets my jitters acting up big time. If Bruce is nervous... oh shit!

On the other hand, he also looks sparkling clean, and his haircut is as sharp as mine. He says, "Right on time. Good start, recruit. Take everything off, including your jock."

Sure, I'm nervous, but I'm grinning now, too, because I'm happy to be with Bruce. I can't explain it even to myself, but he makes me feel good. I trust him and have confidence he'll know what to do no matter what comes up. I felt that same way about Ronny.

Naked, holding my jockstrap, I stand at attention just as stiff as I stood at attention during Navy Seal inspections. Oh, yeah, we had inspections, but in uniform. I like being naked better. 

Bruce takes the jockstrap and looks at it, mumbling, "This thing is ten times cleaner than it was when you first wore it. Good job." Then, as he always does when inspecting my body, he rubs his hands all over me. When he first did that, I didn't like it because I felt it was unnecessarily intrusive of my personal space, but now I like it. The feel of his hands with Bruce so close to me makes my dick get hard. Bruce knows that by now and ignores it.

He says, "There's no way Richard can find anything to criticize you for, not that I can see, Zach. You're perfect," and he pats my ass, adding, "Put your jockstrap on and then twist; in your butt plug."

As I'm squeezing my cock and balls into the undersized cup, Bruce handing me the butt plug, says, "Sorry, but it'll need to be the big butt plug that Richard used. Only for the inspection, though. I'll continue using the smaller one for your training sessions."

I say, "I understand, and thank you, Bruce." He dips the big butt plug in the KY jelly, and I bend over with my hands on my knees. Twist, twist, twist, and I groan, Ow."

Bruce says, "Stop it! It's only half in." The last four or five twists bring tears to my eyes, but I keep my groans as quiet as I can. Bruce says, "Wow, that's a tight motherfucking plug. You're spread wide back here, so you'll need to stand up slowly, working up to a full standing position little by little." 

He stands back as I lift with the plug digging into my prostate, but not in a good way. After trying a few times, I'm mostly standing, asking, "Could you back up one or two twists, please, Bruce."

He says, "No, stop complaining. Get dressed quickly; we do not want to be late."

The butt plug is painful and extremely uncomfortable to such a degree I don't even think about my privates crammed into the jockstrap cup; it's all about the butt plug now. We take the elevator down to the first floor. Then, I walk in an exaggerated bowlegged way to the car. 

Sitting in the driver's seat, I need to stifle a scream. I manage to sit on one butt cheek as Bruce is rattling off things I need to remember. He goes, "But above everything, Zack, do not say a fucking word unless Richard asks you something, which he most likely won't do anyway."

It's a short drive to the street closest to Richard's locker room business. Luckily, there's a parking spot next to a fire hydrant that I pulled into. Bruce says, "Nice move, Zach." I feel so close, so tight with Bruce it's as if we've known each other for years. I look at him, and I guess my eyes give me away because he pats my shoulder, murmuring, "I know, Zack. I know how you feel about me, but c'mon, we need to hurry."

Getting out of the car, the butt plug digs into my ass, and I grunt. Bruce says, "Stop it, Goddammit! Richard will know we aren't used to this size plug, and we'll both get in trouble." 

Okay! Bruce is right again. I'm just going to have to deal with the pain and discomfort. I've done it in several situations with the Seals, so I sure as shit can do it for Bruce.

Walking almost normally is a killer; it's the type of pain in my ass that feels as if something is broken in there, but I manage to walk the block down the boardwalk to the lockers almost normally. Inside at the counter, a pussy boy with the same haircut Bruce and I have said, "Hey, Bruce, wassup?"

Bruce says, "Hey, Dean, not much." Dean holds out an envelope, saying, "Richard's recruit dropped this off for you ten minutes ago."

Bruce takes it, and, with a tight grip on the back of my neck, he pushes me into the locker room and then over to the office. In the office, he lets go, saying, "That grip on your neck was for Dean's benefit. He's one of Richard's spies." 

Ripping open the envelope, he mumbles, "It's from Richard saying he'll be a few minutes late. He wants us both naked and standing tall when he comes in for the inspection." 

We both get undressed; I hunch over, my legs spread. Bruce, naked now, says, "When he gets here, you better be standing tall. None of that self-pity-look on your face with you all hunched with your legs spread. That shit won't float with him."

At exactly four o'clock, Bruce gets me standing straight, at attention. Sweat breaks out on my forehead at the pain caused by the huge butt plug. I didn't say anything, but I think this plug is larger than the one Richard used on me. I didn't want to hurt Bruce's feelings that he got it wrong. Now, I wish I had said something.

Standing here like this is torture, but we're still standing like statues at four-twenty when Richard finally saunters in. I'd forgotten how short he is and how good-looking. There's some cute mixed in with his exceptional good looks, and the Japanese heritage gives him an exotic look; to me, it does.

Wow, handsome, cute, and exotic—that's a rare combination, and it captivated me initially. His body is hot, too, but it's smallish. Now that I look at him standing there, Richard is no more than five feet five or six inches. He's also all business, saying, "My lateness is inexcusable, and I apologize to you, Bruce. Your recruit is, um, Zachery McMann, right?"

Bruce says, "Yes, Richard."

What the fuck? Richard had to think who I was. It's only been ten days since he recruited me out of that bar.

Standing behind Richard is a guy about six feet tall with the familiar short military-style crewcut we all have. He's probably in his early twenties, but he could pass for thirty. He was very mature-looking, but Richard wouldn't waste his time on someone thirty years old. He told me I was too old, but he'd make an exception because I'm good-looking and appear to be a few years younger than twenty-eight. 

I suppose, to be honest about it, some would call Richard's recruit handsome, but I don't care at all for his looks. A square chin with that cleft indentation is something some guys are born with. I call it an ass-chin because it looks like buttocks. Some guys have an ass-nose with a cleft at the end of their nose. Hideous and unfortunate. 

This guy has a squarish body, too, and a squarish-shaped head with small dark brown eyes... and, hmm, a smug expression as he stares at me. Richard will knock that smugness out of him soon enough. The new guy and I had eye contact for a second, and he raised his eyebrows, so I looked away. He's probably only a week behind me as a pussy boy recruit. I'm glad I was assigned to Bruce! This recruit is stuck with Richard...haha. Tough tittie, ass-chin.

Richard gives Bruce a cursory glance, and that was his inspection. He walks around me, stopping behind me, saying, "Yeah, Bruce, good to see you've increased his butt plug size. Nice initiative on your part because, this one," and he thumps the back of my head with his knuckle, "He's going to needs some extra encouragement to learn his place. I remember now that he's got a very high opinion of himself. An ex-Navy Seal, am I right?"

Bruce says, "Yes, Richard."

Walking around before me, Richard reaches up to rub my chin and says, "Uh-huh, nine or ten days ago, I assigned this stud to you for an hour or so at the bar. A couple of hours later, you actually made progress, bringing him down a peg or two—better than Art or I did with him."

Bruce says, "Oh, I don't think I did better than you, Bruce."

Richard goes, "No, that's okay. You've always been a quick learner. You learned from me and my manual, so..."

Then he stares at me, frowning, for a few seconds. Turning away, he mumbles, "You've still got a way to go with breaking his attitude. I can see it in his eyes. He thinks he knows more than we do about everything."

Bruce says, "Yes, Richard. You're right."

Wow, Richard detected something in my eyes, but he got it wrong. He must have picked up that I wasn't sincere about wanting to do this and misread it to me, thinking I knew more than they did. Well, I do know more about what I'm ultimately going to do than them. 

After his pronouncement, Richard grabs the new guy's arm, yanks on it, saying, "Get moving," then to Bruce, "Bring your recruit to the bar. I've got some questions for you."

Off he goes, yanking on the guy's arm with each step.

Waiting until the office door closes, I slump forward and spread my legs, relieving the pressure of the butt plug significantly. Letting out a long breath, I look at Bruce for instructions. He's getting dressed, saying, "Get dressed quickly, Zach; Richard doesn't like to be kept waiting."

We're both wearing shorts, sandals, and a polo-type pullover shirt, so we're dressed in twenty seconds and heading out the door with Bruce saying, "Wait. I've got to do the hard neck grip on you for Dean to see."

He grips the back of my neck, squeezing hard enough that I'm grimacing, going by the counter with Dean staring at me, mumbling, "See ya, Bruce."

Bruce relaxes his grip, lightly leaving his hand there as we walk up the short distance to the hotel bar. Richard always uses this bar because it's the closest one to his locker room business. I'm hunched over, my legs spread wide as we walk to the bar, but at the door, Bruce tightens his grip and, sounding nervous, says, "Don't give yourself away. Deal with the plug walking like it doesn't bother you, and don't say a fucking word." 

Richard's latest flunky/recruit is inside the door, delivering another message from Richard. With a weird, high-pitched voice, he says, "Richard is at a table on the other side of the bar. Follow me, please, sir."

Bruce is a 'sir' to a recruit. Huh, it looks like this guy just got his pussy boy haircut today. He's overly tan, except now his neck and sides are white, with the hair shaved off. It's like Bruce's and my hair; it is crisp-looking and short.

Bruce tightens his grip, doesn't speak to the guy, gives him a nod, and then pushes me behind him as we follow him to the other side of the bar. Richard's at a table for four, and when we sit, he says to Bruce, "This newbie's name is Brent Kinder, by the way."

Bruce nods, mumbling, "Thank you, Richard," but doesn't even look at the guy. A waitress hustles over, and Richard says, "Two tequila and Cokes."

She opens her eyes wider, like, 'Will there be anything else?' He says, "That's it," and off she goes to get the two gross-sounding drinks.

Brent openly stares at me, but I'm not paying him any attention or paying attention to anything else because my butt plug is killing me. I'm also not listening to Richard talking to Bruce. I'm in a world of discomfort, praying this will be a short meeting. And one I have no part in. Then I hear Richard raise his voice, "That's you, I'm talking about, Zachery?" 

Huh? I didn't hear what he said before that; plus, I'm dealing with the aforementioned pain and discomfort, but whatever my facial expression was, he misinterpreted it as arrogance. The look on his face kind of scares me as he points and says, "You're still an arrogant motherfucker."

I was so startled I said, "Yes, Richard, um, I mean no, Richard. I mean, I'm not arrogant!" and I raised my voice near the end of that.

Richard's face turns dark red as he tells Brent, "Get your ass to the lockers, strip, and wait for me." Then to Bruce, "Park your recruit, Mr. Smart Ass, in a corner and get back here so I can tell you a few facts of life about how to mentor a troublemaker."

What the fuck is going on? Bruce grips my neck and pulls me up, then marches me completely across the room to put me in a corner near the door to the kitchen. Through gritted teeth, he says, "Keep your nose touching that corner. Richard never asked you a question, did he? Don't answer that. Keep your mouth shut, I told you. That was the one thing above all others I told you to do? And you couldn't do it." 

As he hurries back to the table, I'm literally shaking at how mad Bruce was. Fuck Richard, I only care about Bruce. But, come on, that was so fucking unfair. I'm not arrogant; Bruce knows that. Richard baited me because he has it in for me, and I don't know why.

In no more than ten minutes, I feel the hard grip of Bruce's hand on my neck as he, without saying anything, drags me out of the cornering, pushing me all the way across the room, past the empty table with two untouched drinks and a fifty-dollar bill. We go out the door, down the boardwalk, and off the boards to the car, Bruce squeezing my neck as hard as he can while I'm hunching my shoulders, 'Ow, ow, ow, Bruce, ow. Stop, please."

At the car, he says, "Drive straight back to my apartment, and don't you say a word."

In his apartment, he slams the door behind us and says, "Take everything off." I'm not afraid of Bruce. Christ, I can kick his ass any time I want, but the thing is, I don't want to lose him.

When I'm naked, he takes out the butt plug, and what a relief that is!  I'm thinking since he took out the butt plug, maybe everything will be alright. I'd like to explain how unfair Richard was, but I'm afraid to say anything. Bruce isn't saying anything either, so I stand at attention as Bruce takes some deep breaths, lights a cigarette, then visibly calms down.

He sighs, then says, "I'm sorry I put in the wrong butt plug, Zach."

I'd like to tell him it's okay, but I'm still afraid to speak after he so emphatically told me not to say a word and, um, after I couldn't stop from shouting back at the dick-head Richard.

Bruce rubs his face and then says, "I told you not to say anything to Richard, didn't I? Didn't I tell you to let me handle him, huh?"

I sort of purse my lips, and he goes, "Yeah, at ease, or whatever the fuck I'm supposed to say," and I relax a little, still feeling cold air going up my wide-open anus. I lift my hand, and he goes, "Yes, say anything the fuck you want. I don't care."

Naturally, I start with, "I'm sorry, Bruce. Really, I am." He shrugs and mumbles, "I know you are. Richard's an asshole, I know that too, but he's the boss."

I don't know what else to say. I'm concerned that Bruce is so distraught. He sort of waves a hand, muttering, "Get us a couple of beers."  

I go into the kitchen and come back with two cans of Bud. He says, "Sit down with me, but don't do your normal snuggling with me. Not now, anyway." 

I do that, and he drinks some beer, then says, "Okay, here's the deal. Richard wanted to place you with another mentor. Take you away from me. Then he wanted to take you on himself along with that Brent dip-shit because he says I'm too easy on you. He says you've conned me into going easy on you, and he claims he's dealt with your type before, and blah, blah, blah. He likes me, though, so I was able to talk him into giving me another week. That's all I've got. One week with you to prove him wrong. Then, if he sees marked improvement, I can continue being your mentor, or, if not, you go to Richard, which I think is what he wants."

That is never happening, obviously.

Bruce shrugs again, mumbling, "If that happens, it will devastate my chances of getting another recruit. And, inconveniently, this week needs to be what's called discipline week in Richard's mentoring manual. It's designed for tough cases like he claims you are, but tough cases worth trying to save."

Oh boy, I ask, "What's that mean? Discipline-week." 

He says, "It means you'll be paddled a few times daily. First thing in the morning, after lunch, and just before I dismiss you. Four whacks each time. Only four, but you know how bad they hurt."

"Yes, Bruce?"

It'll be very hard on you; hell, on both of us as I hate doing it. At least it'll give us a chance, right?"

I nod, "Yes, Bruce," as my balls shrink up because that paddle scares me. I can't think of anything I've experienced in the Seals that hurt as much as that paddle.

Bruce stands and paces, saying, "Each session needs to be on video using my cell phone and emailed to Richard's office. So, that means we'll need to do them all, and I won't be able to go easy on the whacking either. Oh, but at least I've got a fairly clean ball gag that you'll need to wear during the, um, discipline. I hate this, and there's no reason for it, but weeks from now we'll forget all about it."

He takes another deep breath and blows his cheeks out, exhaling.

I'm so concerned about how upset Bruce is, so the impact of his saying hasn't sunk in yet. The reality is that horrible paddle, a total of twelve whacks a day for a week. Bruce says, "Finish your beer. We need to do it right now. The video must be emailed to Bruce's cell phone in the next ten minutes, or forget it. I'll get the paddle and ball gag." 

Am I doing this, though? Holy shit, why do this and quit a week later. I'll have to quit on Bruce right now.

He comes back from his bedroom and says, "Stand up so I can get this ball gag on you."

I stand like I'm in a trance. He says, "Open as wide as you can," and I do. He fastens the strap in the back, saying, "C'mon, you'll need to lie on your chest on the kitchen table, holding my cell phone and pointing back, showing me paddling you. We'll get it over with real fast, and then you can lie with me on the couch until the pain fades, okay?" 

I nod and follow him into the kitchen, where he's laid a towel on the table. He bends me over the table, sets his cell phone for video, and hands it to me. "Hold it like this, Zach. That's good, just like that. Whatever you do, keep it that way so Richard sees it all, or we'll need to do it over again." 

He picks up the paddle saying sternly, for Richard's benefit, "Get your ass up higher." I do and, "WHACK!" and I scream, "Ooowww!" into the ball gag, my handshaking like crazy, but I keep the phone pointing back. "WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!" all four in less than twenty seconds.

A few tears from my eyes watering, and some mucus and spit from screaming are on my cheeks and chin as Bruce takes the phone and punches on some keys. I'm lying limply on the table in some pain again, but not like that first paddling. 

After he sends the video to Richard's phone, Bruce says, "I've erased it from my phone, Zach. I'm sorry, but if you could have just kept your mouth shut. C'mon, get up," and he helps me get off the table. Jesus, I'm shaking like a leaf, but intense pain will do that to you.

He takes off the ball gag and leads me to the sofa, saying, "Lie on your stomach. I'll get some pain relief spay that should help. It's for sunburn but should help your burning buttocks a little. Then, the spay hurts like a motherfucker at first but quickly becomes a relief. 

Bruce says, "Lift a little," and I push up on my arms so he can sit on the couch at my head. Between us, we get me on my side so I can lay the side of my head in his lap without lying on my ass at all. He says, "Someday when we're rich, we'll laugh about this hell-week coming up, Zack. For now, though, it's simply awful for you," and he rubs my head, murmuring, " You handled that okay, don't you think?. If it means anything to you, I'm proud of you. And believe me, I'm going to get you qualified or die trying."

I'm not thinking about much. The pain, and I've had worse, has already faded a lot, and I guess, mostly, I'm enjoying Bruce comforting me. He hears a beep on his phone and picks it up off the coffee table; they mumble, "Um, Richard says you did a good job with the discipline. He says he's calmed down some, so maybe if I keep doing the discipline properly, he'll consider making it a four-day discipline period instead of seven. I'm to check with him after your discipline day four. Today is Saturday, so after your third paddling Tuesday, I'll text him, and we'll cross our fingers.."

I don't feel like dignifying that horse shit by speaking, but Bruce sounds hopeful as he goes, "How about that, Zach? That's good news, huh?"

I like listening to Bruce being naively encouraged, so I mumble, "I'm in this for you, Bruce. Whether it's four days or seven, you can count on me."

He says, "I could kiss you for that." 

I mutter, "Go ahead," and he chuckles. He kisses the side of my forehead and rubs it off with his fingers, murmuring, "We're a team, a winning team of two. You and me, Zach."

Why the fuck did I say that four or seven days nonsense? I had no intention of taking the paddling tonight, never mind four or seven days of it. It sounded good hearing me say those words, though. Those were like Ronny's tough Navy Seal words coming out of my mouth. What I needed, though, were my wimpy non-Navy Seal words coming out of my mouth, clearly pronouncing... I quit this shit! That's what I should have said, but then I wouldn't have gotten Bruce's kiss, would I?

We stay like this for ten minutes, Bruce telling me what he thinks are funny stories about his days doing tricks on the street for money. I think they're unfortunate stories, and I feel horrible that he doesn't. Bad that his earlier life sucked so much he thinks blowing guys in their cars was an improvement.

Finally, Bruce says, "Well, we still have a full routine day of training to do, and two more paddling disciplines, so let's cracking, recruit.

"Yes, Bruce." I'll stick with Bruce for a few more days. I wouldn't want him to think I quit because of some paddling. I was a Navy Seal, for chirssake. When I quit, it'll be for the true reason... I'm not the prostitute type.

To be continued...