My summer of sex with Cowboy

Chapter 46

The next morning, standing beside Bruce at the kitchen counter, I had scary chills thinking about the paddling I'll get in two hours. I'm in agreement that this discipline paddling has changed my attitude for the better, but before the paddling my dick shrivels up as I worry about how I'll handle it. After I've had the sunburn spay numbing the pain, and then Jon's pain and swelling-reducing cream spread on my butt, then I'm a leading proponent that corporal punishment produces positive benefits and is worth the pain.

At this moment, though, I need to endure the seven paddle smacks, and I was a crying cunt yesterday morning getting the seventh, losing control of my bladder and shedding some tears. I'm exaggerating slightly, but it was pretty bad. It's that heavy paddle and Sandy swinging his arm from way back like he's angry. He's not friendly, but he has nothing personal against me. He's equally a sadist to everyone. In my old persona, I'd have found a reason to kick his ass.

Yeah, well, that's one of the reasons I'm getting paddled; to eliminate those kinds of thoughts and actions I exerted onto certain pussy boy personnel. Not pussy boys; I like them. It was management types that I was unkind to. Anyway, I imagine English sailors in the seventeenth century would chuckle at this paddling compared to what they endured from the cat and nine-tail whippings. I shudder just imagining fifty of those. How did anyone survive?

Pouring coffee into take-out cups, Bruce snickers and mumbles, "You look, um, sexy in your pussy boy uniform." I blush, feeling self-conscious about wearing the pussy boy's familiar white polo shirt and light tan khakis shorts. I mutter, "I like this uniform." 

And I do like wearing it. I like anything to do with pussy boys now, which is a one hundred and eighty degree turn around. I add, "I bought five more uniform sets, so I won't need to do a wash load daily. They only cost fifty dollars a set."

Bruce is being obvious about staring at my head. He rubs it and says, "Yep, just like it looks, it feels fuzzy. Your hair is fuzzy-feeling, not crisp. Heh-heh, pussy boys don't have fuzzy haircuts." 

I mumble, "Stop picking on me. Jon said next week, I'll need a fresh haircut. Your hair looks nice, though. Oh, I forgot to tell you I got a text from Cowboy yesterday."  

"What'd he say?" I shrug, "He's sick of New York and showing Lee all the sights that Cowboy has seen all his life." We both laugh, and Bruce mumbles, "Spoiled brat, huh?" 

I gave Bruce my cell phone and he read Cowboy's full text, complaining about all the sightseeing Lee had insisted they do. Cowboy was born and raised in New York City. Going down to our car, carrying our take-out coffees, Bruce murmurs, "He's a funny dude. I will miss those two when they go to college in a few weeks. That's another new thing for me. I mean, having a friendship with both Cowboy and Lee and missing them when they're gone." 

It's a sad thing to hear. That's how his life has played out so far, but I can't think of anything appropriate to say about it, so I pat his shoulder and don't say anything. 

Sipping my coffee, I drove us to Atlantic City. Then, sitting in the car idling at the ramp leading to the boardwalk, Bruce said, "Thanks for the ride, Zach." He bumps fists with me this morning rather than a quick kiss goodbye like he did yesterday. Then, out of the car, he jogged up the ramp to the boardwalk, hurrying to be at the cafe's front door when the owner arrives. A real go-getter, that's what my Bruce is. 

Now, I've over an hour to kill before meeting Sandy at the apartment building's front door at eight o'clock sharp. I drive to the street I've been parking on, near the apartment. Getting out, I smoke a cigarette, leaning on the car and thinking about how disappointed I am that Jon isn't going to service me as a pussy boy escort anymore. He's still going to be reviewing the first weeks of pussy boy training for Billy and me, but only mornings because Eli has set Jon up with escort service for two freelance clients. Jon needs more money than he can make off of me. Anyway, Richard doesn't want mentor/trainers also acting as escorts for their recruits. 

It all means that I'm not going to have anywhere near the exclusive time alone with Jon I thought I'd have as recently as three days ago. Things change quickly. I'm happy that his financial situation has improved greatly because I'm crazy about him and want him to succeed wildly, taking me along with him like Ronny did for years.

I'm not delusional, so I'm very much aware that with Jon Scheyer it's very different from what Ronny and I had, but now I have someone to follow again. I'm very excited and anxious to be working for Jon even if only for half days, and down the line him watching my back as I whore for him on the street. It's an adventure like no other. I'm not sure how long I'll do it, but maybe a year at least because I want to do the date part, where people call in to set up dates for me in hotel rooms. That's after I earn my way off the street. See how many clients ask for me.

Thinking those thoughts, I flick my cigarette butt into the street, then go to the nearby cafe for another coffee, which I don't need, but I need to kill some time, so... It's good coffee, and I like coffee. 

As I'm sitting at a table, I see an unmistakable pussy boy in uniform with the haircut walk in looking scared to death. He doesn't see me. After buying two take-out coffees, he hurries out the door, and I get up, curious about who his mentor/trainer is. Oh, it's that short, husky black mentor who I've seen before. The black guy takes a coffee, gets a tight hold on the kid's neck, and pushes him up the street toward the apartment building.

Like that young street recruit the other day, this one hasn't done anything wrong, but he will get two paddles. It's so he'll be good, wanting to avoid another paddling. Before I understood the benefits of hard paddling, it seemed cruel and unfair to me. It's like the corporal punishment that this society is too cowardly to impose on children. If they would, it'd emphasize there are consequences for your actions. 

Before I saw the benefits of paddling for myself, it seemed sadistic. Not now, though! I understand how Richard was the innovator and Eli, an advocate of paddling, helping individuals understand themselves. It forces self-reflection to try to justify why you put up with it—that's a very clever technique, genius. Now I'm a big fan of corporal punishment when doled out intelligently, although I'll be glad when my two weeks are up. I'm learning my lesson, learning how to act in every situation; to know my betters. In that regard, I agreed with Jon to keep the seventh paddle to help further self-improvement. 

I've grown to respect Richard tremendously and admire how he's shaping me up step by step. Yes, it's getting revenge on me for my past triumphs over him, but he's not like a rabid dog about it. Yes, I'm being punished, but it's improving me as a person and getting me in the proper frame of mine to be a good pussy boy prostitute.

I smile, changing from self-improvement and awareness to self-care, treating myself to daydreaming about the sexual thrills Derick's been providing me. Yes, I need to pay for it, but I'd be in trouble without it. Bruce isn't having sex with me anymore, and neither is Jon Scheyer, so Derick is on my mind. He knows about me being disciplined and wants to do some paddling on my ass, too. 

Jeez, Derick paddling me seems so different... I drop that thought, seeing a clock indicating it's five of eight. Holy shit, I do not wasn't to be late meeting Sandy. I run up the block and down the next, seeing Sandy sauntering along. Catching up with him, I mumble, "Good morning, Sandy," and feel my dick shrinking. Dammit!

Sandy nods and mutters, "McMann," and that's it. At the apartment building's front door, he grabs the back of my neck tightly, and the worst part of being a pussy boy begins. I immediately get this incredibly docile persona, slumping and moving where Sandy wants, responding to his slightest extra pressure left, right, straightforward, and so on. Up the stairs and into Eli's apartment/office. Sandy parks me in a corner, muttering, 'Stay," and I press my nose where the walls meet. 

Sandy talks conversationally with two other mentors/trainers who had parked their recruits in corners of the little breakfast nook that has no furniture, only pussy boy recruits in corners, none of us daring to whisper to another. I don't dare glance to see who it is, but one of the recruits is taken out of the corner into the bathroom/locker room, and soon we hear muffled screams. Then it's my turn, and Sandy has my neck painfully gripped as we walk past a bored-looking mentor squeezing the neck of a tall, skinny, just-paddled recruit with tears in his eyes who is another one I've seen lately looking older than me. 

Oh, I'm not next. I'm next after the chubby pussy boy who hasn't gotten his pussy boy haircut yet. He looks to be nineteen or so with a smirk, muttering, "Nope, I can't open my mouth wide enough to get that fucking ball in my mouth. Sorry, boys..." I've never seen the recruit's mentor before, but he looks about sixteen, although he's a stocky, strong-looking kid. He tightens the recruit's dog collar until the kid's face is dark red, and he looks panicky, squawking, "Augh, augh! No, I can't..." Open wide," and they get the ball gag in his mouth, loosening the dog collar, then dragging the kid over the desk, fastening the collar's leash around the hook on the floor, immobilizing the previously smirking recruit.

There are no smirks from him now. Strangely, I didn't relate to the recruit but to the mentor. The very young-looking mentor asks Sandy something I couldn't hear, and Sandy says, "Oh, yeah. Thanks." He parks me in a corner, pushing the back of my head as if I forgot to get in a corner. Sandy mutters, "Thanks, Philp. Your smart-ass recruit had my attention. You handled it well."

Philp paddles his recruit, "SMACK! SMACK!" with nothing from the recruit, and then I begin to hear the muffled screams. There were the normal six paddles for him, replacing the normal four by decree from Richard. During the fifth paddle, I heard and then smelled the guy losing control of his bladder. The piss stream hitting the bucket made an unmistakable sound, and his piss had a strong urine smell.  

Sandy turned me around to be ready to take the ball gag, and I saw a very docile, tear-streaked face on Philip's recruit, whose penis was as shriveled up as mine was yesterday, as was the kid's penis who was paddled before me then, too. This recruit has pee drippings splattering on his legs as his youthful mentor yanks out the sloppy, saliva, and mucus-dipping ball of the ball gag and hands it to Sandy. 

I already have my mouth opened as wide as I can, my jaw making the crack sound telling me no more. The ball is slippery with disgusting bacteria-laden fluids from the now-docile recruit. As the other mentor asks Sandy, is it supposed to rain today? I want to get some beach time in with my recruit here. Would you like that, Parker?" Parker timidly says, "Yes, Philip." Sandy tightens my dog collar, saying, "Sorry, bro, but it will supposedly be thunder and lightning this afternoon."

There was some other chatter, but I was getting hooked up on the desktop and wasn't paying any attention. My dick, hanging loose in front of the desk, is shriveled up already, my heart banging away too quickly, and the strong smell of Parker's urine in my head; I marvel at how routinely these mentors paddle their recruits and how we keep coming back for more. Even that kid, Parker, in a week or so, will be like me and have a lot of respect that Richard has the guts to see this through, knowing he's improving many otherwise lost boys' lives. 

Involuntarily, a scared sound comes from my throat. Embarrassing, except no one notices. There is some normal chit-chat among the mentors, and someone else interrupts, asking a question that no one has an answer for. I think it was Eli, but my heart was making too much noise hammering out of my chest to be sure it was his voice, and then, "SMACK!' and we started; it takes ninety seconds at the most to get seven smacks of that brutal paddle. "SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!" and then pulling on my leash, amazingly, Sandy unhooks me and pulls me off the desk, saying, "Open up!"

What? Four paddles? Only four? Out comes the disgusting ball gag, and Sandy hands it to the stocky black guy I saw earlier. He asks, "Four paddles, Sandy? What the fuck?" He chuckles, but 'What the fuck?' is my exact question. One, I'm not going to ask! Off comes my dog collar, and it never cloaked me this time because Xandy didn't tighten it. He says to the black mentor, "Only following instructions, Smith."

Sandy, with a grip behind my neck, walks me to the front door and says, "See you tomorrow. Same time," I'm outside Eli's apartment, my buttocks stinging like mad because he didn't bother with the sunburn spray. Nothing was the same today. Down the stairs, I'm outside on a cloudy day, lighting a cigarette and smiling like mad. I mutter, "Goddamn, that was a neat surprise. What happened, though?"

Instead of being grateful, my first real thought was, 'Goddammit, why in the hell didn't Sandy use the pain relief sunburn spray? Only four whacks, but my ass still hurts like a motherfucker.' Goddammit, why didn't Sandy spray the pain relief sunburn spray? Walking only five steps, I get real, and I chuckle, 'Think positively, you ungrateful dick!' and I laugh, adding an out loud question, "Goddamn, when was the last time I had a positive surprise like that?"

I want to be more positive about this, except my buttocks are very sore and swollen-feeling. I'm hurrying to Jon's apartment, anxious to have the pain-reducing cream, which felt so wonderful yesterday. The pain isn't anywhere near what the seven paddles did to my ass, but without the sunburn spray, it hurts almost... Then I say out loud, "Stop it! Stop whining and appreciate fewer paddles! Jeez!"

Knocking on Jon's apartment at eight-fifteen, another one of the four young men who share this two-bedroom apartment opens the door and says, "Hey, you gave Benny sixty dollars because he let you suck his cock. I want that, too. Jon said it was okay with him. I can use the sixty bucks and Peanut, too. We'll all let you blow us for sixty bucks each."

Benny, wearing only jockey underwear, comes up behind Corndog and says, "Next time, I want extra for letting you drink my piss." I hear Jon yelling from the bathroom, "Don't talk to him! Goddammit, I said I'd talk to him." He comes storming out of the bathroom and I know he didn't wash his hands because they're too dry. They couldn't have dried this fast. 

I say, "I need the pain-reducing cream on my ass. My punishment guy omitted the pain spray today." Jon says, "You only got four paddles, right?"

Nodding, I ask, "Yeah, why...?" Jon smiles proudly, saying, "At my request, last night Eli and I reported to Richard in his locker room office to discuss, among other things, your excellent progress, and Richard remembered your inspection with him ten days ago. What can I say? They're giving me a lot of credit for putting you in your place, and I talked them into only four paddles, but we agreed to extend it to daily paddling until I start your final three-week training program, which will take six weeks if I keep my present half days with you and Bill."

"Thanks, Jon! Can you remind them to use the sunburn spray?" He shrugs like what's the big deal, and Corndog says, "I asked you first, so can you suck me off now? I need to buy some joints." Benny asks, "Why do you 'need' to buy some joints?" Corndog says, "Because I got a date tonight with that slut, Rose from CVS. She's a guaranteed blowjob bitch, plus with weed, she'll put out."

Jon said, "Ah, what do you say, Zippy? Blowing Corndog is practice." I nod, "Okay, but first somebody needs to spread the cream on my ass." and Peanut says, "I'll do it. How much will I make doing that?" I say, "Jon, you did it yesterday for nothing." 

"Yeah, but that's because you had the seven big bad paddles. Give Peanut twenty bucks, okay?" I nod and follow Peanut into the bathroom for the cream, then into his and Corndog's bedroom, which is amazingly clean and picked up. It smelled fresh, too. It's much nicer than Jon's and Benny's bedroom! Not even close...

Peanut closes the door, then mumbles, "How much for pissing in your mouth?" I as, "Do you mean, how much will you pay me if I swallow your piss?" He mutters, "What?"  I say, "Do the cream, and then we'll negotiate." He sounds angry, "Hey, fuckhead, I'm not some Einstein, talk plain English. Not French."

Haha, I chuckle, then say, "I like you, Peanut. You were nice to me a few weeks ago when I was looking for Jon. Okay, spread that pain-relief cream on my butt cheeks, and I'll do some urine play with you and give you three twenties. How's that?" He nods, "Okay, what's that? Um, sixty bucks, right? And how about you swallowing my pee? How much for that?"

Oh, fuck, Peanut's funny! I say, "Do the cream first," drop my uniform shorts, then my underpants, and lie on the closest twin bed. Peanut me mellow tasting cutters, 'That's Corndog's bed. Use mine. I'm the one making the money." I switch beds and lie on my stomach. Peanut says, "Oh, shit. I never touched a guy's ass before."

I'm getting impatient to be done with the stinging pain and say to myself, "Fuck it. I'll get someone else, or what the hell... I can do it myself." Immediately a plop of cream hits my right butt cheek and is spread around using a Kleenex under his fingers as he makes a sound like, "Eewww." It's hard not to laugh, but Peanut will never be a pussy boy, and that's for sure. 

That cream is awesome, and I'm buying a tube of it when Jon excuses us this afternoon. Peanut takes his time, but finally, both butt cheeks are covered and feel good. I mumble, "Good job, Peanut. Would you rather I blew you than swallow your pee?" I know from seeing it unintentionally that Peanut is the correct nickname for him because his penis is, at the very most, almost three inches long and skinny. It's not his fault; that's how he was born. Most guys would be humiliated, but not Peanut. When I was here a few weeks ago, he whipped it out on the way to taking a piss.

Anyway, he says, "I've gotta take a piss so bad I better do that first." As he did weeks ago, without seemingly giving it a thought, he drops his underpants and holds his little dickie at the base between his thumb and forefinger, mumbling, "Hurry."

His balls are regulation-sized, and he has a normal pubic hair patch, but his penis is tiny. He's standing next to me, and I'm still lying on his bed with my buttocks feeling nice. Sweet!

I lean my face over and lip his penis fully in my mouth, his pubic hair all around, not smelling like anything. When I licked across the head of his little penis, he scrunched up his face, and a second later, out came a warm liquid that I'm guessing is urine, or at least I hope it is. Benny took twenty seconds to drain his bladder, while Peanut took twice as long, maybe because his dick is half the size of Benny's. Also, no piss ran out the sides of my mouth. 

Done that, Peanut said, "Now suck me off," and the way he said it gave me a shiver because it had a little authority sound to it. Way to go, Peanut! I never felt submissive, but I have a desire to please, please even Peanut; I do a very good job sucking him off with the whole thing in my mouth the whole time. I could have got him off in a minute or less, but for him, I drug it out until he let out a squeal, his eyes wide open as he humped his hip and blew quite a lot of sperm into my mouth. I had to swallow the first load quickly and then swish my tongue in the smaller second shot.

Peanut pulls his dick from my mouth, doing a little dance, groaning, and then laughing, saying, "Holy shit, that was great. Oh, man! A first time for me...cool!"

Well, I feel good making him happy. I gave him a hundred-dollar bill because I liked him, and we left our bedroom when I immediately saw Billy, who came over to me. "Hi, Zip. Listen, tomorrow I need to join you getting paddled. What's it like?"

I tell him, "It hurts a lot, but it's been tremendously helpful to me. I've learned a lot about myself and feel I'm a better person than before the paddling, so I'm anxious to experience more paddling and more personal growth." He makes a face, "I'm already contented with who I am. Um, what do you mean it hurts a lot? What's it hurt like? Six tennis paddle smacks don't sound like a major deal."
Jon says, "You two, get in my bedroom. I'll be there in a minute." Billy and I do what we're told, sitting on Jon's bed beside each other, Billy saying, "Jon told me you'd be open to paying me for fucking you." He grins, "I'm open to it, too. How about after training, we go to your place and I'll fuck you. He said something about a hundred and fifty, um, plus tip."

"That's for experience pussy boys like Jon, not someone without as much experience as me. And, anyway, I have a couple of fuck buddies,  but if one of them drops out, I'll ask you."

He nods, "So, how much?" I say, "If I need you let's say a hundred for a blowjob and a fuck." Squinting, he mumbles, "Just to be sure, you mean you'll give me a blowjob, and I'll fuck you. That's a hundred dollars, right?"

"Exactly," and Jon comes in. We reviewed everything from yesterday's kissing and making out the lesson, then practiced it for an hour. Jon joined in a little, checking our techniques and having us take turns reading about kissing from the manual. I had a roaring hard boner kissing with Jon. Then, we do what the pussy boy trainers call familiarization with others exercises where naked, you get used to feeling others' bodies, Jon pays his roommates to participate, and I got another boner snuggling with Corndog, who has a seven-inch cock.

We watched a video on oral sex, and I paid Benny fifty bucks to blow him and lent Billy fifty bucks to pay Corndog for Billy to blow him. Then we both blew Jon, and I almost ejaculated. There was boring manual reading that lasted an hour I forced myself to pay close attention to. I'm positive Billy dozed off when Jon left the room and had me continue the reading. There will be a test each week, so I'm paying attention. 

Then that was it; at ten, Jon dismissed us, and we went our separate ways; it had rained, but no thunder and lightning, so that was an incorrect prediction. The sun is out, and it feels steamy and muggy.

I drive the short distance to Derick's hotel on Ocean Street. After locking the car, I got two thousand dollars from the truck, plus the bathing suit I put there yesterday, and walked to the Boardwalk of the hotel Derick was staying in. I and one or two other clients have been keeping Derick in cash. He's living pretty well as a pussy boy and mentor. My role model... haha. I go to the second floor, room 222, and knock on the door.

Derick opens the door, wearing only underpants, "Get in here, Zippy," then chuckling for calling me my new nickname thanks to Richard. He then is serious, "So sorry, but I only have fifteen minutes for you. Um, why do you have a swimsuit." I'm like, "Fifteen minutes? Why?" 

He's taking a fresh uniform out of the bureau, muttering, "Don't whine! I know you're disappointed, but Richard texted me to meet him at the locker. I don't know what he wants."

Well, this blows! I'm doing oral sex but no fucking. Gawd! I'm so horny! He says, "You can give me a quick blow job." What's new?

Still, without a word, I drop to my knees and pull down his underpants. Umm, as soon as I do a long lick up his cock from the head to the root, continuing the lick on up to his belly button, the taste and smell of his body are all I'm thinking about now. Yeah, I'm slightly addicted to Derick, but in a sexy way only. There's no relationship other than hired pussy boy and me as his client. In other words, no love. I'm a paying client of his. I'm sucking and enjoying his body's scent and being with him.

Sounding exasperated, he says, "C'mon, Zach, speed it up." I tried unsuccessfully to hear that as a dominant command, but he wanted to get this over with. Quickly I do lots of licking on the head and sucking on the shaft, soon realizing that I'm hurrying instead of forming a dreamy submissive trance. Well, hurrying or not, his cock doesn't care. It's being stimulated, and therefore it does its job... it gets wicked hard. I push it up against his belly and lick his balls, but Derick pushes my head away, mumbling, "Good job, we don't have time for extras," and holds a condom packet down to me, saying, "Roll this on." A condom? Omigod, he's going to fuck me! I didn't understand...

Ripping the condom packet open, I roll the heavily lubed condom onto his boned-up penis as he mumbles, "Doggy style." I have nothing against doggy style, but it is the least intimate and least bodily touching of almost any position for fucking I can think of. He's short, though, so with him standing and me on my hands and knees, my asshole and his dick line up pretty well. Derick doesn't plow it in the way Bruce does; he gets the head at the center of my anus and exerts pressure, pressure, pressure until, "Ahhh!" the head of his hefty cock is now tightly inside my body, "Oooh!"

I'm taking deep breaths in and out, in and out, trying to embrace the pain, which, compared to the recent paddling from Sandy, isn't all that bad. That's another reason I've come around, and now I like paddling for other reasons as well. I slide into a shallow, submissive frame of mind and enjoy feeling Derick pushing his hefty boner up inside me. It hurts as he's doing that, but it feels good, too. It's like rinsing with mouthwash after brushing. The burn of the mouthwash makes you think it must be doing some good, and therefore, even though it's unpleasant, it's a good burning.

There's something wrong with that simile, but I'll need to figure it out some other time. Right now, Derick has pulled his boner back and pushed it right back in, getting my prostate involved now. It's beginning to buzz with early sexual pleasure vibrations. Derick does a few more long steady thrusts, and I hear him go, "Mmmm..." Yeah, he's in a hurry, but his boner's nerve endings don't care. They function the same whether he's in a hurry or not... they radiate pleasure. That's especially true for the first fuck of the day. For me the first one in a few days.

Soon, I hear the slapping sounds as Derick gets enamored of the pleasure coming from his hard penis, and the two of us quietly moan and groan as he humps his hard cock back and forth inside me. It'd be tough to stop now that this constant flow of pleasure is being exchanged between the two of us. "Slap, slap, slap," and "Ahh, ahh, ahh," and, "Um, um, um..." It feels so good, Derick's fingers gripping my hips tightly, pulling my ass back into the thrusting of his hard thick cock, up and back, up and back,  "Slap, slap, slap."

We leave all earthly concerns behind during this sexual endeavor, thinking about nothing except how good it feels for five, six, seven minutes until the inevitable happens. I felt my climax building as I expected it would, and then it didn't disappoint; my body jolts violently as "Ahhhh!" cum explodes from my hard cock hitting the floor between my legs. Derick grunts humping his load into the condom. All climaxes are special, and this one was, too, but there are degrees of special.

Derick pulls out, and says, "Oh, man!" As for me, I'm trying to catch my breath, my heart pounding, then I grunt, "Nice, that was good." And it was good. I can't complain, even though everything was rushed. Derick drops some tissues next to me, muttering, "Please wipe that up." Nodding, I do that, and standing, I drop the tissues in the trash can next to the desk, mumbling, "It always feels like a river of cum when it's shooting out, but wiping it up it's like a big smear, ya know?" Derick is in the bathroom flushing the condom, ignoring my observation.

Putting my cargo shorts on, I say, "You can still service me as a client because I'm not yet Jon's official recruit. I need to do this review period first."

He nods, "I was thinking that same thing, but right now, I need to get to the locker rooms." Huh, Richard has his boys jumping when he tells them to. Dressed, standing here in my sandals, I ask, "How much are you charging me for this quickie" 

He grins, pats my cheek, and says, "It's on me... no charge. Does that surprise you?" Shrugging, I mumble, "Slightly, yeah, but thanks." He mutters, "Sure, no problem, but let's get moving." We walk out of the room together. As the door locks behind us, I mutter, "You've got fifteen minutes to walk six blocks. What's your hurry?" 

He shrugs, "I don't know. Richard makes me nervous." Chuckling, "Would you like me to beat him up for you?" 

Outside, he says, "I'll text you when I know if I'll be able to see you sometime tomorrow. Why don't you have Richard set you up with a pussy boy?" Sorry, I gotta run."

Nodding, I mumble, "I'll keep my fingers crossed that you can fit me in tomorrow. Recently, I'm not getting fucked at all. Bruce and I stopped doing it, and..." He's gone. That quick fuck with Derick felt like a pity fuck, but it should keep me from dying of horniness. It's quarter to one, so I could take the free sex with Arnold at one o'clock or maybe try hooking up with a street pussy boy. I've got nothing better to do except have lunch. There's an idea! I'll see Bruce. And that's what I do, which tells me how little I wanted to See Arnold again.

Walking on the boardwalk to the cafe, I find it's still a bustling lunch crowd. Bruce comes to the small table I was seated at and put a cold Coke and a menu on the table, saying, "Sometimes it startles me how good-looking you are. I'll be back in a minute." I grin, "Thanks, best friend." I still love Bruce but it's not a romantic love anymore. How do loves change like that, I wonder.

As I peruse the menu, it occurs to me that I might end up depending on Billy to service my sexual needs. I'll need to pay him the same money I pay Derick, which sucks. No, I'm not paying for Billie's amateurish pussy boy sex. Hell no! Returning to the menu, I decide I'll have the egg salad on white bread with potato chips. 

Bruce returns to take my order, then says, "I can't get over the change in you, Zach. You seem so calm and happy." Nodding, "I am, Bruce, but I miss our sex. No pressure on you, just saying... He smiles, touches my shoulder, and says, "I know. It'll be all right. You'll see."

Leaving a stupidly large tip, I wave at Bruce as I leave and, on the boardwalk, realize I don't know what I want to do now. I miss the beach time with Cowboy and Lee, who will be back tomorrow, I think. Wandering down the boards, I'm soon at the locker rooms. Well, it's only a block and a half from the cafe. Leaning on the beachside railing, I light a cigarette and stare at the locker room's front door. Maybe the perfect pussy boy will come out and beg me to let him fuck me.

Stepping on my cigarette butt, I shrug and walk off the boardwalk to Markie's rental booth, but he's not here today. It's the grumpy older man who's waiting on a married couple. I rent a chair but not an umbrella because I don't want this old codger struggling to embed it in the sand for me. Taking the chair to my normal spot, I open it and think about Derick. He looked so cute, this morning. He was nice, but maybe a little too condescending. 

Two young guys walk past me, laughing about something, one carrying a beach blanket. They stop about twenty feet down from me and spread the blanket. The way they were walking closely and how they were doing everything tells me they were boyfriends. Straight guys don't bump against one another, giggling. Plus, they have some gay affectations moving their arms, the hand on the hip pose, the tilt of their heads. Yeah, a couple of our gay-swishers bros who aren't harming anyone, just being themselves. 

They're probably Bruce's age. He turned twenty-three a few weeks ago. That makes me realize something: very few pussy boys are 'obviously' gay like these two gay guys are. Huh, I wonder if that's on purpose or if some of the pussy boys aren't gay. The guy Bruce spent a winter with and gave him that job in Philly wasn't gay, but he survived living on the street doing gay sex.

The two gay boys are spreading sunscreen on one another the way I spread it on Derick, meaning under the legs of their swimsuit, with lots of giggling. Well, I'm not a giggler. They're not cute, but they're not terrible-looking either. I wonder if they'd be interested in a three-way? That's a joke, but it's fun watching them. The taller one is a light-skinned African American, and the other a white blond-haired guy with long hair, but not as long as Cowboy's long hair was before Lee made him get a haircut. Cowboy's hair is the opposite now... it's as short as Mr. Patrick wants to cut it every ten days or two weeks. Haha, now that I think about it, in many ways, I've turned into an older version of Cowboy this summer.

If Cowboy wasn't traveling with me this summer, would any of what's happened to me have happened? So much has happened during this summer of sex, a summer of sex like none other I've ever had. No, I don't think it would have happened without him. Well, I'm positive it wouldn't have been like this because I wouldn't have stayed in AC for more than a night if Cowboy hadn't met Lee and asked if we could stay here a while longer. Nope, I would never have done the things I did here if I were by myself. God forbid I'd be alone this summer! I don't even want to contemplate that.

Ha, the two gay guys just went down the beach for a swim, holding hands. Brazen of them, but good for them! Holding hands is a sexy thing to do, something I can't ever imagine Bruce doing with me, or Jon. His version of holding hands is gripping the back of my neck and walking me where he wants me to go. All pussy boys do that, and I guess it's a hard habit to break. It sure is dominant, while holding hands isn't.

A little later, I go into the ocean, out quite far, and do a leisurely mile swim, half a mile down and back. Walking back to my beach chair, I pass the two gay boys but resist saying anything to them. It'd be fun talking with them, but they deserve their privacy. They're up on their elbows, closely facing one another, talking and giggling, unaware of the world around them. It looks like love to me.

Checking my cell phone, I see it's only one-thirty, so should I knock on Arnold's hotel door and see if he's still there? Fuck, no... I'm not doing that. He's got all that red course body hair, and that turns me off. The hairless pussy boys have spoiled me. Hmm, well, why don't I see if I can find a pussy boy? I tried that one pussy boy here in AC on the street a few weeks ago, and he wasn't too cool. There aren't many around during the day anyway, but...

Well, hell, I'll go to the locker rooms and see what's up with Derick, and if he's not there, maybe a pussy boy will be hanging around. Getting up, I smile, thinking what Richard will say if he sees me. He smacked my face the last time I saw him there, then acted as if we were even. Maybe we are. I know I have a lot of respect for him now, and I'll show him that respect if we bump into one another. Sincere respect, not bull shit I was putting out prior to this week of being disciplined

Glad to have decided to do something, I leave the beach chair where it is and walk to the locker room. Going inside, I see Derick leaving Richard's office. We smirk at one another, bump fists and I ask, "Um, can I have a date with you now, later, or tomorrow?" He shakes his head, "No, I need to do recruiting work for Richard through the weekend, and I might be getting yet another recruit. Richard's seventy-five percent convinced that this guy who just got out of the Navy will commit, and he's giving him to me. A hot stud, supposedly, but shy. Haha, shy like you."

Shaking my head, I say, "I'm not shy. Listen, even if you get a recruit, you can still fit me in. For Christ's sake, trainees are only on a six-hour schedule." 

He says, "We'll see. Anyway, Richard is in his office. Go over and ask him to hook you up with someone. He'll happily take your money."  

"Seriously?  Is he still mad at me?

"What don't you understand... hooking guys up with escorts is Richard's freakin' job! He doesn't hold a grudge when money is involved. Plus, he's not as bad a guy as you think." 

I say, "I know he isn't. I tried making up with him. Seriously, I respect him!" Then, "Would he, um, let me hire him?" 

"No, don't be stupid. He only recruits and he'll fuck a recruit to get him interested. He did that for you way back. He'll absolutely provide you with one of his online guys. You'll need to pay the online massage fee, and then whatever else you do with the escort, as you know, you'll pay extra. You know how it works."

Tapping my foot, looking at the office, trying to decide, Derick says, "Go ahead and, um, tell Richard I referred you to him. Maybe he'll slip me a finder's fee. And, text me Monday. After the weekend, maybe I can fit you in. 

Nodding, I mumble, "Uh-huh, okay." Then, "Yeah, I'll text you, 'cause you're not too good at texting me." 

He shrugs, "You're the one who wants what I can provide, so reach out for it." I mutter, "Yeah, yeah, okay," and I wander over to Richard's office feeling horny. Derick made me horny.

The door is open to the outer office but there isn't a pussy boy manning his station. Shrugging, I walk into the outer office and tap on Richard's door. Surprising me, he opens the door and I murmur,  "Hi there, Richard. Derick suggested I see you." 

Looking like he was expecting someone else, he says, "Well, look who it is. I'm hearing positive things about you, Zippy." He raises his eyebrows as if he expects me to complain about the nickname he insists all the pussy boy's personnel call me."

I smile, "I like my new nickname. Um, I was wondering if you could hook me up with one of the pussy boys in your, um, stable or, ah, your group."

Rubbing his nose, he looks even more handsome than the last time I saw him. He's even shorter than Derick and Jon. He shrugs, "Save the two hundred dollar escort fee and drive to the circle. I've got two working there right now." 

Shaking my head, I'm like, "I'd rather not spend all day chasing one of them on the street. I'll be happy to pay the fee, Richard, and may I say how much I appreciate your pussy boy organization now that you and Eli have done the proper discipline to get me to understand the many things I need to work on to better myself."
He says, "Normally, I'd tell anyone who said that to me that I don't care for brown-nosing, but I believe you're sincere and not trying to do that."

"No, I'm not. I admire and respect you, Richard. I've already apologized for mistreating you and your organization." He shrugs. "And I slapped your face a few days ago. Aren't you afraid I might slap you again?" 

"I probably deserve a few more slaps on my face." He appears to be tired of our conversation and sits at his desk. saying,  "Okay, it's two hundred upfront for an escort massage, but you were throwing a lot of money around in NYC, so you don't mind, do you?" 

Shaking my head, he turns his laptop around so I can see the photo of a pussy boy. Pointing at a handsome, mature Hispanic-looking guy, Richard says, "Manuel is very popular. He could meet you at your place in two hours." Shaking my head, I mutter, "He's too old and masculine. I go for young and cute." 

As he's scrolling down his laptop, he mumbles, "Manuel looks mature and handsome, but he acts and sounds like a girl. Okay, here ya go," and he points at a cute girlie-looking young guy with a huge smile on his face, "This is a real cutie. He has a big dick too, and he uses it really well." 

The guy looks like a girl with eye makeup and, so... no. I roll my eyes at Richard, mumbling, "I'm sorry, but no," and he says, "It's okay. Take your pick," and he scrolls down some more, stopping at Billy's picture, saying, "He's not fully trained yet, but I'd give you a discounted date with this cute kid." Ha, I could get Jon in trouble telling Richard I've already had an amateurish date with Billie.

Instead, I mumble, "Who else do you have?" He looks frustrated, saying, "Why the fuck don't you go to the online site and do this yourself?" 
Smiling again, I'm like, "I'm enjoying the personal touch of doing this with you." Taking an exasperated-sounding deep breath, he mutters, "You're always trouble. aren't you?" I don't have anything to say to that and he clicks through more photos, then stops at a photo of a pussy boy I know. 

Keeping my face blank, I ask, "What's this pussy boy's story?" 

It's Dickie. The kid from outside the pussy boy club in Brooklyn. He fucked me in that steaming hot van in the club's parking lot. Dickie and another pussy boy, Matt, I think it was Matt, were having a smoke when I stumbled on them.

Richard says, "He's a tough little hottie who was working for Brian Day out of Philly. Brian was in a car accident and has been laid up since June. I'm running a few of his escorts, and Dickie's one of them. I've got three of his boys living in a dump on Water Street." 

I'm like, "He looks a little weak, and I go for the dominant type." Richard chuckles, "Yeah, I know you do, but this kid is a firecracker, and, as a matter of fact, he was probably one of our boys being disciplined at the club when you busted up the place." I mumble, "I didn't bust it up, Richand. Um, but yeah, I'll give this, um, escort a try."

Snapping the laptop shut, he says, "Give me two hundred bucks, and I'll set it up for you. You get a nice body massage, and after that, you can arrange with Dickie anything else you want. I'm only responsible for the massage and, um... Well, I'll make sure Dickie will keep you company for an hour-long date." 

Chuckling, "I guess, after the massage, Dickie and I can just talk for the rest of the hour, huh?" 

He shrugs, "I don't know or care what you do after the massage. That's what the $200 is for. It's three hundred dollars in NYC and it's where my responsibility and my interest ends." He holds his hand out, and, making a face, I dig two hundred-dollar bills out of my pocket and hand then to Richard, mumbling, "Thank you, sir."

I don't see Derick as I'm leaving the locker room thinking, Holy shit, this will be fun! Well, yeah, Dickie's dick is less than four inches long, just like Peanut's dick this morning. I was thinking it would feel good getting fucked by Peanut and Dickie shows up. Amazing! I'm to pick Dickie up at the dump Richard set the kid up in. This pussy boy gave me a good fucking with his three-plus-inch cock.

It's a five-minute drive and Dickie is standing outside the dumpy apartment building, smoking. Jeez, he was sharp-looking at the club. Clean and freshly barbered, and now he's not. His dark hair is long enough to comb it if he wants to, which he obviously doesn't. His hair is disheveled as if he just got out of bed, and looking like it hasn't been washed recently. His pussy boy uniform is wrinkled, the polo shirt has food stains on the front, and his tan cargo shorts have what appears to be piss or cum spots dried around the zipper.

He's about five-foot-eight and maybe a hundred and twenty pounds with, as I mentioned, a small penis which I tried convincing myself was four inches. It's not that long, though, and it's proportionately thin with a mushroom head instead of a pointy head that you see on most small penises. Still, as I said, he gave me a pretty good fucking with that little dick. I need a good fucking because, as I said, I'm not getting much and I'm horny. Also, I'm interested in what Dickie has to say about what went on after I left the club with Bruce.

After flicking his cigarette butt out on the street, Dickie asks, "Why are you dressed the same as me, and you have a pussy boy haircut, too. What the fuck?"

I mutter, "I like the look. Other than that, it's complicated."

Shrugging, he asks, "Where the hell will we go?" I say, "Not far. I'll rent a room at a hotel I stayed at when I first got to AC." His eyes are closed as he mutters, "That'll be a nice change for me. Two o'clock this morning, a fifty-some-year-old man was fucking me in the back seat of his Mini Cooper that smelled like ass." I make a face. 

Yeah, I'm renting a room because it's twenty minutes each way to my apartment, and that would only leave twenty minutes with Dickie during his escort two-hundred dollar hour. I ask, "What time did you get in last night?" He mutters, "Seven o'clock this morning, and then Mike wakes me up fifteen minutes ago and gets my ass off the couch because Richard don't care how much sleep I had and you chose me to service your sexual needs. Thanks a lot!" I mumble, "And you slept in your clothes, didn't you?" 

"Yep," then he sarcastically adds, "But I brushed my teeth." I mumble, "Hilarious. Um, does the concept of tipping hold any interest for you? You're almost falling asleep, plus you're giving me a lot of shit." 

He shrugs, "You'll get your money's worth." I say, "As soon as we get in the room, you take a shower." He mumbles, "Fine by me."  

With Dickie sitting in the lobby, looking like he's going to fall asleep, I rent a room, not a suite. Motioning for him to meet me at the elevator, he strolls over and says, "Give me the key card. I've gotta take charge of everything because you're what we call an 'S' type client." Gee, I wonder what the 'S' stands for? Rolling my eyes, I sarcastically mutter, "Yes, Dickie."

The elevator doors open on the fifth floor, and Dickie lazily reaches up to grip the back of my neck; his fingers dig in as he sighs like it's just another tedious obligation of the job and mumbles, "Get moving." The arrow on the wall indicates room 525 is to the left, so that's where he pushes me. Walking down the corridor, I ask, "Tell me something... have you ever heard of pussy boys who include mandatory fifty dollars paddling?" 

He says, "Of course, for clients who enjoy being extra submissive, like you. Mike didn't say anything about paddling, though. It's not routine here, but it is in Philly and Delaware." I ask, "Do you have a paddle?" 

"All pussy boys need to pay for one, but no, I don't have one now. Somebody stole mine when I was at the funhouse. Why? Are you saying you wanna be paddled?" 

He sounded eager. Do I want more paddling? I say, "You're in charge, so..." 

He goes, "There's room 525." He opens the door, and we go into a generic hotel room with two double beds, a desk, plus an armchair. Letting go of me, he says, "No paddling. Too much trouble
 When we're naked, he has a hotter little body than I remember, but then, it was so dim in the van I couldn't see clearly. Dickie's hairless, of course, but his dick looks even smaller than I thought it was. 
He seems perfectly comfortable with it, pulling on it, saying bossily, "Get the shower running. And, um, I don't want the water too hot." I'm purposely not staring at his dick, but it has to be the smallest one I've ever seen. It's smaller than Peanut's dick. Well, I never saw another guy's dick until prep school. Then, as a thirteen-year-old gay boy, I looked at a lot of dicks in the gym showers without ever seeing a penis as small as Dickie's. He sure has the right nickname... Dickie. His name is probably Richard, so I wonder when he got the nickname. Probably the first time another kid saw Dickie's dickie.

I'm holding my hand under the shower's flow of water as I ask, "Your real name, Richard, right?" He mutters, "No, it's Erick," and I leave him to shower. There's a small balcony hanging out over the parking lot. I stand on it, smoking a cigarette and thinking about Dickie's hot little body. I dump my cigarette butt over the railing, then get a beer from the minibar and drink half of it. Hearing the shower turn off. I go into the bathroom, horny, seeing Dickie getting out of the tub and lifting him off his feet, and putting him down on this side of the tub. He goes, "Hey!" but that's the extent of his protest.

He stands here and lets me dry him, as he mumbles, "Money is due upfront." He can hardly keep his eyes open, but he remembers his pussy boy training... get the fucking money before anything else! 

"Yeah, sure," but walk him to the bed, pull back the cover, and get in bed. I take ff the clothes and get in bed with him. His eyes are closed, but, from habit, he puts his arm out like every pussy boy I've ever slept with. I lie against him, and without saying anything, he falls asleep with his arm behind my neck.

Snuggling against him, my arm across his tight chest, I fall asleep too.

Some internal clock in my brain wakes me. I glance at the digital clock on the nightstand and see it's four-thirty as I slide away from him and off the bed. Padding into the bathroom, I piss, wash my hands, and then splash water on my face. Okay, I'm feeling good, although, after napping with Dickie, I'm horny as a buzzard. I mean, it's been four hours since that fast fuck with Derick at noon.

I shake Dickie's shoulder. He wakes up with a start, his body jerking as his eyes snap open, and he's immediately alert. He says, "Okay, then, let's get to it." Crawling out of bed, he says, "It'll be upfront money. The way I see it, it's a hundred for sleeping with me, fifty dollars for the two-minute make-out you mentioned, and I expect you'll want to suck a boner on me, so that's fifty bucks, then a hundred for a good fucking on your ass. That's, um, round it off to three hundred dollars." He holds out his hand as I try not to laugh. You know, the audacity of these pussy boys!

Getting three hundred bucks from my shorts pocket, I hand it to him, saying, "You gotta kiss back during the make-out." He makes a face, muttering, "Duh! It wouldn't be a make-out if I didn't, would it?" 

I really like this little pisser. As soon as he puts the money in the pocket of his stained, wrinkled cargo shorts, I put my arms around him and lean down to kiss his bow-shaped, pouty lips. He kisses back, putting his arms around my waist, although they don't make it all the way around me.

Taking two steps backward, he falls back on the rumpled bedcovers, his feet still on the floor. I don't want to crush him, so I'm not fully lying on him; my arms on the bed partially support me. Dickie's arms are now around the back of my neck as his tongue moves on mine smoothly. Wow, he's a hot make-out, almost making me think he means it. I know better, though, as his little dick stays flaccid even as my much larger one is getting hard... again.
There is soon mixed spit around both our mouths, and then Dickie wraps his legs around my waist, my boner poking his belly. He sucks on my upper lip, then sucks on my tongue before doing sucking kisses. My full-fledged boner touching him, my eyes closed, as I'm making low, "Umm," sounds in my throat. Then, his legs drop off me as his arms come away from my neck to push up on my shoulders, his head going to the side, sliding away from my mouth, smearing our combined saliva on my cheek as he says, "That was more than two minutes. Stop it, or it'll be another fifty."

It's not that I care about another fifty bucks, but the abrupt stopage makes me feel silly for getting aroused. He's good... I almost thought it was real. Standing, Imumble, "Hey, you're a pro, ain'tcha?" 

Sitting up on the edge of the bed, he says, "It didn't take much acting 'cause you're maybe the most attractive client I've ever had, and I'm surprised you need to pay for it." I mumble, "Thanks, everybody says that. But, hey, do you tell all your clients the same thing?"

He gets off the bed, "Not that, no. Other lies though, yeah, it's part of the job to make it a pleasant experience for clients... obviously." He walks away, saying, "Let's see what's in the convenient bar." 

Every pussy boy I've had in a hotel room or my apartment brazenly wants something to drink or eat. Dickie kneels and opens the door to see what's available in the room's little refrigerated convenient bar, then he looks over at me and asks, "How about a beer?" Shrugging, "I'll finish the one I started."

We put on our shorts and then take our nine-dollar cans of beer out on the balcony, where we light two of my cigarettes. Dickie says, "You're an excellent client, um, what's your name?" 

I tell him, "Zippy Scheyer," and he says, "And, yeah, Zip, we tell all the clients they're excellent, but in your case, I mean it. The shower and a nap were considerate of you. Um, but you're supposed to be an 'S' type client, and you're not acting submissive." 

I shrug, "Aren't you supposed to make me sense submissiveness somehow?" Gulping down some beer, he goes, "But you want me to be nice too, so that makes it hard to be both things."

Exhaling smoke, I mutter, "Actually, this is fine. I'm enjoying myself. Don't worry about it." 

He snorts, "I'm not worried about it. I've got three hundred dollars in my pocket... what, me worry?" I chuckle, "A Mad magazine reference, eh?" 

He drinks some beer and goes, "Ya know, there was a lot of improvements made at the club after you pulled your stunt of kidnapping that guy. Most of the guys didn't even know what happened; they had no idea you did that. All they knew was life got easier. Not easy, but easier."

Huh, I thought I wanted to hear about that, but I don't. That club should be burned down with the clients in it. Well, the pussy boys need to escape first, then burn it down. I put my arm across Dickie's slim shoulders and pull him against my side, asking, "Can I hire you for tomorrow?" 

He says, "Probably, but you need to go online or go through Richard again. I'm not allowed to freelance." Balls, going online is stupidly expensive; that extra two hundred bucks. We finish our beers and cigarettes, and, inside again, he says, "I want to get the massaging out of the way, so take your shorts off and lie on the bed." 

That sounded slightly dominant, so I do what I'm told. Dickie climbs on the bed and straddles my hips, a knee on each side of me. Sitting on my privates, he says, "I should have asked you earlier, but do you want a jerk-off climax to the body massage? That's another fifty bucks." 

"Yeah, sure. It's either that or I'll blow my load sucking a boner on you." He gets off my body, saying, "Give me the fifty bucks then." 

Jesus!

Making a seriously annoyed face at him, I get off the bed, pull a fifty-dollar bill from my shorts, show it to him, then stuff it in his shorts' pocket. He nods, "Good, c'mon back and get on the bed." I do that, and he straddles me again, inching up until he's on my chest. He starts by massaging my scalp, and that feels good. I also like that his tight albeit skinny body is right over my face. I can smell his personal scent through the scent of the bath gel, and he has a normal male teenager's scent... nice!

Dickie is conscientious and does a hell of a job massaging all parts of my body, leaving my private parts for last. He has strong hands and was trained well as a masseur. When done with the front parts of me, he has me turn over, and he really relaxes me doing my shoulders and back, then moves down each leg squeezing and whatever leaving me tingly all over. He gives a lot of attention to my buttocks, even rubbing my anus until I have a roaringly hard boner. When he gets me to turn over, except for my boner, I'm as limp as a wet noodle. 

His hands moving around my groin, pushing and squeezing, make me moan, 'Umm, ahhh." Finally, he strokes me off. It takes only three strokes up and down my boner that's sticking straight up. I groan, scrunching my face and lifting my hips as a long stream of cum arches to the left and lands just past the side of the bed to make a dull splat on the rug. 
Holy shit, I've got shivers all over me. He's off me and then off the bed and into the bathroom to wash my cum off his hand. He didn't even spring a boner, his three-inch flaccid dick moving from side to side as he walked into the bathroom, saying over his shoulder, "Just a reminder, we're down to the last twenty minutes of this date." 

Damn, we wasted too much time drinking beer and smoking, and then he took almost ten minutes for that fantastic body massage, but that was time well spent. I'm so loose feeling. Jesus, I'm not sure I can stand right now... and that orgasm felt awesome!

He gets another nine-dollar can of beer from the hotel's little money-maker refrigerator, and we share it while sharing a cigarette on the balcony. Jeez, I can't get over Dickie saying he's the right pussy boy to give my ass a good fucking. He left himself open for a person, not me, but some crude person to mention he's got a three-inch penis... seriously, a good fucking? Well, he did give me a decent fucking in the van that time, but for him to brag about being a stud-man, that's a bit over the top. 

As I said, I like this kid. He was hot shit in Brooklyn but kind of mild and friendly here. I guess that has something to do with his lack of sleep. Well, we've got ten minutes left, so I say, "Can we do it now?" He nods his head toward the sliding glass door, and we go inside, closing the sliding door behind us because it's hot outside.

"Drop to your knees and get me hard, but stop sucking when I drool precum." Forcing a cough, my hand going over my mouth to hide a grin. Damn, I looked at his little wiener as he said that and almost laughed out loud. It's just that, well, he has to know it's tiny, right? Why doesn't he ever refer to his startling undersized penis? It's just, um...
Anyway, I don't want to laugh at him, and as I've said five or six times, he gave me an okay fucking with that little prick of his. Getting on my knees and hunching over, I get the grin off my face and mumble, "Sure, okay." Obviously, I know he's clean since he shower a couple of hours ago, so I don't hesitate to do my normal long licking, starting at his dick's head and going up from there to his belly button. His stomach is hard, so he stays in shape somehow, and he has a nice scent, and he's a young man, so I get into it and give his private area, especially his normal-size balls, a good tongue licking before picking up his dick. His penis firmed up a little during the tongue bath, so I put all of it in my mouth. The head doesn't reach the gag reflex area at the entrance to my throat, but I think it will as it gets harder.

Sucking and licking on his entire cock for fifteen seconds or so, I feel it getting a little longer and fatter. What I notice the most, though, is the growth of the head and especially the swelling at the bottom of the head that's already quite hard. That's what I'll notice in my ass, and I'm looking forward to it.

Backing my head off a little, I concentrate on just sucking and licking the swollen head that, from experience, I feel has gotten almost normal size while the shaft remains, um, less than in the normal range. Dickie is making lots of grunting sounds, rubbing my head, then holding my head, his scent is really noticeable now, and I like doing this even though, for the second time during sex today, I'm not the least bit submissive. Then, there's the unmistakable spurt of precum, and Dickie is pushing my head away.

He says in a breathy manner, "Get a condom from my shorts." It occurs to me that he's just as dominant as he was in the van, which is to say, not very, and yet it affected me back then. It's not having an effect today, though, so what's up with that? Anyway, I reach in the pocket of his shorts that he put on the bed and pull out one of the same condoms he had in the van. The packet says they're for smaller penises. So there's that...

"Put it on my boner," he tells me. I rip open the packet, anxious now but still not in a submissive way, then roll on the condom. Without being told, I drop to my hands, so I'm on my hands and knees, accommodating the difference in our sizes. He mutters, "Good," and gives my ass a hard spanking for like thirty seconds until I go, "Hey! What the fuck?" When I turned my head to say that, I was looking right at his boner, and I swear it got harder during the spanking, so that gets him off, I guess. The little perv...

Whatever, he thrust his cock inside me all the way with one BANG. Yeah, it hurt! I go, "Oh, ow," and he smacked my ass again, then begins a hard fast fuck, and I'll be damned if I don't sink into a pleasant submissive sense with pain and pleasure vying for my attention. God, this feels good as the pain takes a hike, and I'm getting waves of pleasure. His cock feels a lot bigger than it is. That's because of the head, plus he's fucking me so fast I can't tell if his thrusts are seven inches or three as his cock swells up to a hard bitch of a boner.

My back arches as I go, "Ah, ah, ah, Ummm..." the slapping sounds of Dickie smacking his groin area against my buttocks, "Slap, slap, slap," happens fast as the thrusts are less than four inches long., "Slap, slap, slap," relentlessly.

No matter how long or, um, short his thrusts are, that swollen head on his boner is playing havoc with my prostate although not nearly as much with the tight lips of my asshole, though, because the boner's shaft isn't that wide, but the constant stimulation on my prostate more than makes up for that. With a screech, I blow my load faster than I did a few hours ago. Second, orgasms this close together should hold off longer. Not so, though, as I gasp out, "Ahheeeii," cum blasting from my steel cock that's been pointing straight out, meaning straight down in my doggy-fuck position. Oh man, swarms of sensations, waves of sensations of pure sexual pleasure spread out from my cock and balls, making me shudder than again as Dickie immediately pulls his wooden pencil stub of a boner out of my ass, smacks my buttocks, and mumbles, "That should do it," and he off to the bathroom to flush the condom without even climaxing.

I'm still on my hands and knees, shivering at the sweet after-effects, my dick still vibrating. Looking at the splat of cum under me, it's a miracle that an ounce or two of semen can cause so much pleasure when leaving my body. Taking a deep breath, a big smile breaks out on my face as I shake my head... hats off to Dickie. Ya know, he gives a damn good fuck considering the equipment he needs to work with, and he knows he gives a good fuck too. He's cocky, no pun intended.

Shakily, I stand up and, starting to go into the bathroom, I bump into Dickie as he's coming out. He says, "Hey, watch where you're going," and I realize I've got a nice little submissive sense going for me, muttering, "Yes, Dickie." Ha! That makes me smile again and step aside to let him by, patting his shoulder, saying, "That was really good." He looks me in the eyes, saying, "Show me your appreciation with a good tip, save the words for someone else." 

Oh fuck, yeah, he can pull off the dominant prick stuff. I knew I felt some of it in the van. Today, starting with Derick, everything was just a crazy start and stop escort date. Still, not bad at all.

I clean up quickly, then use a wet washcloth to wipe up my cum splat, saying, "So, I'll arrange a date with you for tomorrow. Is that okay?" He's dressed, standing there waiting for his tip, mumbling, "I don't have much say in the matter. My main man, Richard. arranges all my dates." Quickly getting dressed, I take a hundred-dollar bill from my pocket, hand it to him, and without a thank you, he heads for the door. I stand here and say, "It's only five o'clock, so, um, how about if you freelance another date with me. Just between you and me. Um, say, a quick suck and fuck for, ah, like one-fifty."
That gives him pause, and he stops at the door that's half-opened. Holding onto the doorknob, he goes, "Hmm, you mean like a ten-minute quickie?" Nodding, I walk over to him and hug his shoulders, muttering, "Or quicker, if you want." I'd really like to stay with him and nap and snuggle again. I won't do that, but, jeez, I get attached to my pussy boys.
Still standing at the door, he says, "I got caught holding back on Richard's cut once already, so I'm not going to cheat him again. You call him and set up another date with me. That's the proper way to do it. 

He grins, mumbling, "I can tell you sincerely like me, so I won't charge you for this hug and kiss," and we hug and kiss. He says, "Call Richard," and goes out the door, saying, "See ya soon..."

To be continued...