Date: Sat, 24 May 2014 15:09:11 -0700 (PDT)
From: Rob Roth <eighty.eight@rocketmail.com>
Subject: Dylan's Summer Vacation Two, Chapter 67

DYLAN'S SUMMER VACATION TWO

Chapter 67

by Donny Mumford

As I walk back into the restaurant I'm rubbing
my smacked ass that's still stinging, but feeling awesome at the same time. Why
wouldn't it feel awesome after being fucked about as good as an ass can be
fucked. I'm thinking, 'Holy shit, what incredibly lucky random sex that was!'.
John, a redheaded kid sitting at the table next to ours, who I thought it'd be
cool to flirt with, turned out to be as dominantly and sexily hot as the
surface of the sun. He smoothly and effortlessly took total charge from our
first eye contact to the smack on my ass a minute ago telling me to get back
inside the restaurant after he deliciously gave me the hottest quick fuck of my
life. It was like being in a wonderful sub/dom dream where everything went
dreamily and perfectly the way it should, highlighted by a spectacular fireworks
display sending sexual pleasure through the roof, and then he tells me I'm
perfection, gives me one last smack on my ass and here I am. Oh yeah, do I ever
want more of that! The size of his huge cock, his cute face, and his charming
way of dominating while being nice, but firm, was the way I dream about sub/dom
sex. He simply and casually assumed I'd know my place, and of course accept
that he'd be in charge of everything from 'A' to 'Z'. He was right about that,
and I thought our short time together was basically breathtakingly perfect.
There wasn't a second of awkwardness as he led us from a few kisses behind his
van, them back inside for dinner with our respective families, then a head nod
from John and I dutifully scurried out of the restaurant and gladly allowed him
to completely control the next ten or twelve minutes of naked cock sucking and
hard fucking in the back of his van. My shoulders shudder just thinking about
it, but like I said, it was over too quickly. I wanted John to take me with him
on some unknown adventure with me obeying his every command and him telling me
over and over what a excellent submissive buddy sex partner I am. Why it worked
so perfectly is unexplainable, I guess, but he was just as perfect for me as he
says I was for him. John was full of compliments, and seemingly not dangerous
at all, and it was like he and I simply just knew our roles and were completely
comfortable with them. He didn't treat me as an inferior, he treated me like I
was the perfect submissive sex partner for him and I could tell he appreciated
it. In other words, he thinks I'm as special as I think he is. How can we get
together again though? This might be the first time I'm not going
to wait to be invited, but instead humble myself to ask him to please come up
with a way we can do it again. This isn't about love at all... it's about
following the perfect blueprint for sub/dom buddy sex. It went the way sub/dom
buddy sex is suppose to go... both partners equally important, with the
dominant partner fully in charge, but very appreciative of his submissive
partner.

My thoughts are interrupted by a loud rendition
of the goofy birthday song, obviously being sung to Chubby. With a grin on my
lips, I turn the corner and then walk around the bend to see a dozen waiters,
including Arturo, lined up in front of that big plate glass window serenading
Chubby, who has a smirk on his face. I think he's enjoying the attention, which
is kinda the opposite of the away I felt Wednesday night when I was in his
place. It seems Chubby's comfortable in any social situation, where I find some
of them awkward, so it's probably a self-confidence thing. I've got more self
confidence then I used to have, but still in certain weird situations, where
everyone's staring at me, I'll want to crawl under the table or be someplace
else. It's not a major problem though, it's just getting though occasional
uncomfortable situations in life the best way I can. For me it usually involves
a lot of red-faced blushing with some sweating thrown in. Chubby gets through
these kind of life situation easier than me, and I'm happy for him. I pat
Chubby on the back as I sit down, and he looks up, muttering, "This
sucks," under his breath. Hmmm, maybe Chubby doesn't enjoy this sort of
thing anymore than I do, but he just covers up his discomfort better than me.
The song's mercifully over and everyone claps, including strangers near our
table. A number of strangers call out, "Happy birthday, Jeffrey."
Chubby waves at the room of diners, but he does it in a way that sort of says,
'Enough already,' getting a few chuckles from those around us. Maybe everyone
feels the way I do about this sort of thing and they totally understand
Chubby's feeling of, 'Enough already.' There's louder than normal mumbling in
the room for a bit as people kibitz about the birthday scene they just
observed; it's like they've just watched a short floor show in a night club,
and then the final act takes place with Arturo rolling over a serving table
with a huge birthday cake on it, candles blazing away. When the cake is next to
Chubby, he blows out the candles, then creates another stir by announcing in a
loud voice, "Cake for everyone, let 'em eat cake," and there's a
splattering of applause before things settle down and more or less get back to
normal. Rick tells Arturo, who's cutting the cake now, "We'd like to share
this cake with our fellow diners, if that's okay with you, Arturo." Arturo
says, "Yes, sir, I'll get more plates."

A bottle of champagne in a bucket magically
appears along with champagne glasses. There are also half filled glasses of
wine still on the table, so I go, "Hey, where was all the wine and
champagne at my birthday dinner?" Everyone chuckles because of the way I
said that... it's obvious I was joking. Ron says, "Yeah, your birthday
dinner was merely a practice run, Dylan, so we could get Jeff's just right.
Rick and I evaluated how your dinner went and decided we need to pump up the
volume for Jeff." I mutter, "Yeah, I get it, the baby brothers of the
world are always the spoiled ones." Rick grins, "So true, Dylan. Ron
was born ten minutes after me and he's always been our parents favorite."
I'm like, "I hear ya, Rick," and Ron says, "That's such a crock!
Ha ha. What this dinner is tonight, Dylan, is a combination of Jeff's birthday
celebration plus our vacation-ending dinner. That's what all the wine and
champagne's about." Tris says, "And what a wonderful vacation it's
been, Ron! You and Rick have been so generous we all want to thank you so much.
You really made it special." For the next ten minutes everyone exchanges
glowing compliments for each other, all helped along considerably by all the
booze we've had tonight. I keep looking over at John, who sat down at his table
about the time Chubby was announcing cake for everyone, but John's isn't
looking at me. A minute later my eyes travel to John once more and this time he
subtly shakes his head 'no', meaning I suppose, I'm being too obvious. He's
seemed very concerned from the start that his parents not pick-up vibes there's
anything going on between him and me. I wonder what the story behind that is.
An older waiter pours a half glass of champagne in each of our champagne
glasses as Arturo passes out slices of cake. It's Chubby's and my favorite
cake, yellow/white cake with white icing. This one has butter cream frosting.
At Ken's steak house the icing's not butter cream, it's Crisco and confectioner
sugar. This is butter and confectioner sugar and both have vanilla extract
added, and both are, Yum!

Now that we've all got cake, Arturo is rolling
the serving table around the restaurant passing out slices of cake to whoever
wants a piece, so everyone seems to be a part of Chubby's birthday celebration.
It's kinda neat actually as strangers call out, "Thank, for the cake,
Jeff, and happy birthday to you." Rick swallows some champagne, chuckling,
"I imagine the owner of the restaurant is less than thrilled we're
providing free desserts for everyone." Mom chuckles, "I hadn't
thought of that, Rick, that's funny." Ron says, "By the way, we did
not order that huge cake, so I don't know what that's all about. We paid in
advance for the cake and champagne and the cake we paid for was a regular size
cake. Don't know what happened, but what were we suppose to do with all the
left over cake except share it?" They talk about that with everyone
slushing their 's' sounds as they talk because of all the booze. When we're
done our cake, Chubby mutters to me, "Let's go outside and have a
cigarette." I'm all for that, but this time I really do need to take a
piss first. We get up, with me looking longingly over to John, but he won't
look at me. He's eating a piece of Chubby's birthday cake, and he looks so cute
and sexy I unconsciously rub my ass remembering how awesomely he fucked me. I
look back at him just before we turn the corner, but he still won't look up.

In the rest room we both take long pees, as
Chubby's saying, "I'm feeling a bit hammered. How 'bout you, bro?"
Actually I haven't given it much thought, but now that I do, I am a little
tipsy, although I didn't drink my last glass of wine or the champagne.
"Um, yeah, Chubby, I'm a little drunk I guess, but not so bad I can't
drive. You gulped down twice as much wine as me." He goes, "Heh heh,
yeah, I'm a glutton alright." I go, "Glutton? Not a word ya hear all
that often." Chubby goes over to wash his hands, muttering, "I'm
expanding my vocabulary, bro." As I'm washing my hands looking in the
mirror I notice Chubby's fly isn't zipped-up. Hee hee, should I tell him? Yeah,
I should, "Check out your zipper, bro," he chuckles, "I know
it's not zipped, I'm giving little Jeff some air," as he zips-up. I go,
"Uh huh," and we walk outside and light a cigarette to share. We're
not alone out here as there are about twenty people having a smoke sitting on
the benches along the front of the restaurant. We don't want to sit with them
so Chubby and I walk around to the dock of the bay. It's another beautiful
night with a sky packed full of stars and a bright moon. None of which I
noticed when I was out here with John. Chubby and I talk about Rick and Ron admitting
we can't find much to complain about them, so we concede they're good for our
moms. We're not sure if the moms will ever marry though, and we conclude that's
because they seem very happy and contended with their lives as they're
presented constituted, and you know, change is hard and probably harder the
older you get. Here's a saying that you often hear that makes a little more
sense than most: You can't teach an old dog new tricks. Actually you probably
can, but it's a lot harder for older dogs, or people.

Sharing a second cigarette, we wander along the
dock looking at the tied-up boats and enjoying the smell of the bay. We're both
in a bit of a sentimental frame of mind telling each other how lucky we are to
be living the lives we're living, and to be brothers, as well as being the best
friends the world has ever known. We do a little reminiscing, something we
always seem to do when we've had too much to drink, but it's so damn much fun;
both things ... drinking too much, and reminiscing. Done our second shared
cigarette I try to copy the way Chubby flicked the first butt over the boats
into the bay, but my butt gets flicked into one of the boats and Chubby and I
hop down to retrieve it giggling like ten year old boys after hearing a fart
joke. I pick up the butt and give it a mighty flick off the outboard motor and
it bounces right back at me. "Follow through with your arm, Dylan,"
Chubby encourages me, so I pick up the butt and flick it keeping my hand moving
forward and the butt flies out nicely, just like it should. We climb out of the
boat as Chubby mutters, "You got it now, bro," and on the dock, I go,
"All my spastic flicks are for laughs, Chubby. I do them on
purposes," and Chubby uses one of my favorite, "Uh huh,"
responses. I chuckle muttering, "No, I really mean it." He says,
"I gotta meet Jen tonight, how about keeping me company and the three of
us can go on some thrill rides." I ask, kiddingly, "Can I sit in the
middle?" Then I explain to Chubby that I hope to run into Danny later
tonight to say goodbye. He goes, "I think I know how you're going to say
goodbye and it involves more than your mouth." I go, "Well, my mouth
will definitely be involved, so ya know..."

We walk inside the restaurant and I see the back
of John disappearing into the rest room, so I mumble, "Um, I gotta do a
little more peeing, Chubby." He says, "Yeah, okay, I'll see you at
the table," then he adds, "The adults are probably enjoying an after
dinner drink. Do you want one?" I go, "Oh yeah, see if you can wangle
a couple of Irish coffees for us," and Chubby's like, "You got it,
bro." Chubby continues around the corner as I try to figure out if I'm
actually going to ask John to fuck me again. Then decide to do what I do in
most situations, play it by ear. I'm strangely nervous with a funny feeling in
the pit of my stomach, or the funny feeling might actually be buzzing in a spot
lower than my stomach. With a little trepidation I push open the door and see
John at the sink washing his hands. No one else is in here but me. I go,
"Um, hi, John, ah... Um, I saw you come in here. Me and my brother were
just coming in after getting some fresh air and, um.... ya know, I saw you
and..." He smiles as he dries his hands, then looks at me grinning,
"Come over here, Dylan." I stare into his eyes, feeling so weird.
Actually I'm feeling a little like Ryan and Willie used to make me feel... like
I'm a little kid. I walk over to John, shy all of a sudden with my head down
and my dick squirming in my pants. He cups my chin with his hand pulling my
head up as his other hand cups my crotch, "You want me to do it again,
huh?" I nod my head and he hugs me to him, muttering, "So do I,
Dylan. You're something special. A guy like you comes along so rarely I never
expected to encounter one like you. I knew you'd be special when we first
exchanged eye contact because your eyes told me you were." I quietly ask,
"What were my eyes saying to you, John?" He squeezes my ass with both
hands pulling my crotch tightly against his. "Your eyes said, 'Fuck me,
please,' but it's more than that. It's that you somehow convey a willingness to
follow, to be submissive in a sexy way, or something along those lines. It's
the message I picked-up on anyway and to test it I took you outside and
discovered I was right. The way you became docile to me is such an attractive
quality in my mind, and that's because it tells me you're perfectly comfortable
in your skin. So many are not and they try pretending they're someone they're
not. You're refreshingly open and honest with yourself." My forehead's on
his shoulder and my arms are around him as I try to follow what he's saying,
but the idea of me saying something doesn't even enter my mind. He says,
"And added to the mix, you're probably the cutest boy I've ever seen, as
well as the sexiest, and you border on perfection, like I told you
before."

I lift my head from his shoulder to look at him
and his head comes down for a sweet kiss that gets blood hurrying into my
penis. After the kiss he says, "I've gotta get back to the table now, but
I'm pretty sure I can meet you later. I mutter, "How 'bout thirty-seventh
street on the Wildwood boardwalk." He kisses me quickly, "Well, okay,
I'll be there between eleven and eleven-thirty." Then he says sternly,
"Don't change into another personality, Dylan, don't try to impress me or
prove to me you're not actually who you are, 'cause if you do we'll just say
goodbye. I want to fuck this Dylan version, the Bay Restaurant Dylan. Got
it?" I nod my head and he cups my chin raising my head so we're looking
each other in the eyes again. After we stare for a couple of seconds, he says,
"Just so you and I understand each other, tell me what you want from
me," and I gulp, then says, "I want to have sex with you again."
He nods, "Okay, then ask me for it," and I go, "Um, please fuck
me again, John." He goes, "Good boy. You want me to fuck you
dominantly, is that correct? I go, "Un huh," and he says, "Okay,
we understand each other. I'm going back to my table now, you wait in here a
minute after I leave," then he pats my cheek, mumbling, "This is my
lucky night. The luckiest night I've had so far and it's because of you, so
thank you." He runs his fingers through my hair and says, "If you
were my boy I'd make damn sure your beautiful hair grows out and you'd wear it
pulled straight back in a ponytail. You'd wear it that way if I said so,
wouldn't you?" Completely under his hypnotic personality, I mutter,
"Yes, John," and he nods his head with a cute smile, "Of course
you would. See you later, Dylan," and he leaves. I'm blinking my eyes,
thinking that I'd like to have a ponytail. After a minute, I'm calmed down some
and able to walk back to our table reasonably under control. As I get there,
two Irish coffees are being served. I sit down nodding at my mom, "Are you
feeling alright, Dylan?" my mom asks, "You're looking pale under your
tan." I go, "I'm awesome, mom, never felt better in my life."

The twins are paying the check as we sip our
Irish coffees, while Chubby and me are both wearing a whipped cream mustache.
"Ready to go, guys?" Rick asks everyone at the table. Everyone is
ready, so Chubby and me wipe our mouths with napkins and we all mutter thanks
for the great dinner one more time. Walking outside, Ron asks our moms,
"How about we walk off this dinner on the boardwalk tonight?" The
moms think that's a great idea, so Chubby says, "Okay, Dylan and I might
see you on the boards tonight," the moms give Chubby and I a hug and a
kiss goodbye for now. We head to the right for our Jeep and the others go to
the left for Rick's BMW. "Awesome birthday dinner, don't ya think,
Dylan?" I go, "I can't imagine a better one. We gotta give it up for
Rick and Ron, they're awesome." He goes, "Yep, and they're ten years
older then us too, so there's hope that when we're that old, we won't be
complete stiffs, ya know?" I say, "No way we'll be stiffs no matter
our age, we're too cool for school, dude." He gets in the passenger seat
without arguing that he wants to drive. I drive especially cautiously because
I've been drinking, and even though I feel in control, booze can give you a
false sense of security. My control could be an allusion so I take nothing for
granted while driving under the influence. Chubby's talking about getting laid
again, and I go, "Did ya ever feel you might be oversexed, Chubby? You
seem to do a lot of chirping about sex lately." He's like, "Well at
least I'm honest about it, getting anything out of you about your sex life is
like trying to pry information out of Bill Belichick about injured Patriots,"
and this gets us talking about the Pats, our favorite national football team,
and we mean football, not soccer. Why Europeans insist on calling soccer
'football' is beyond me.

At the boardwalk I refuse to pay for parking and
so I'm driving around trying to find a free parking spot, but on a Friday or
Saturday night it's nearly impossible to find one because not only are the
vacationers for the week on the boardwalk, but also those who came down just
for the weekend. Chubby finally says, "I'll pay for the damn parking,
Dylan, we're wasting the night trying to save ten bucks." I agree to split
it, mumbling, "You're a spend thrift, Chubby, two jobs for the summer and
you spend twice as much." As I'm passing ten dollars to a hot looking kid
about eighteen, who probably has his dream summer job at the shore, Chubby's
telling me, "That's why I have two jobs, so I'll have money to spend! I
like buying stuff." The hot parking lot attendant points to the back of
the lot, muttering, "There only two spots left," and I go, "Are
you Jeff Daniel's brother, you look just like him?" The kid mutters,
"Just park the fucking car and cut the shit." Chubby laughs out loud,
and the kid walks into his little booth at the entrance of the parking lot and
sits down. It looks like he's reading something. I say, "Some kids have
zero personality, ya know?" Chubby chuckles, "Some kids don't want
you trying to pick them up," and as I squeeze the Jeep into one of the
remaining parking spot, I say, "That's bull shit, Chubby, I've never picked-up
anyone in my life." He goes, "Well it's not for lack of trying."
I go, "You're the pick-up artist, hitting on every cute girl you
see," and he squeezes my hand, "I didn't say there's anything wrong
with trying to pick up someone cute," so I go, "I'm glad you finally
agree with me." We get out with Chubby chuckling again, "Thanks for
straightening me out, my double-talking brother," and he gives me a hug,
asking, "You gonna walk with me to where I'm meeting Jen, Dylan?" I'm
like, "I'd be delighted to do that with you, little brother, and have I
wished you a happy birthday recently?" He fingers the necklace I gave him,
and says, "You wished me an excellent birthday for years to come. I'm
referring to this awesome brother's necklace you gave me. I don't think I
expressed to you how much it means to me." I go, "Yeah, you have,
Chubby, and it makes me feel good all over." We hug, then walk up the ramp
to the boardwalk.

We walk in silence for a bit while savoring the
unspoken brotherly love we feel for one another. There's no better feeling for
me. Then I hear my name being called and look over to see Danny working the
grill at Grant's restaurant. I thought he had off tonight. He's waving for me
to come over, and when Chubby and I are close, Danny says, "I had to work
tonight, Dylan. Two of the guys are sick, everyone's coming down with flu-like
symptoms. We're passing it around I guess. Anyway, I wanted to say, um, it's
been truly awesome knowing you and I hope we'll see each other again."
He's so cute! I say, "We have each other's cell phone numbers so we'll
stay in touch and see what we can work out. You sure helped make my vacation
awesome." He grins, "Yeah, I won't ever forget our, um, walk on the
beach," and the boss man, pervert Grant, calls over, "Danny, get the
hell back to work!" Danny drops his eyes, mumbling, "I'll text you,
Dylan," I go, "Sure, Danny, see ya," and we drift away. Chubby
says, "I'd still like to fuck up the Grant guy somehow." I don't
pursue that because I don't want Chubby getting into trouble. We come up to the
double shot thrill ride, and I say, "One last ride for old time sake,
Chubby," and he's like, "Yeah, the line's not too long." We buy
ticket and while we wait in line Chubby flirts with two girls who look about
sixteen. When it's our turn and we're getting secured in our seats, I go,
"Did ya ever hear of jail bait, bro?" and he says, "You can't be
sure they're under age, some girls look younger then they actually are." I
go, "What, you check their IDs before sex." He says, "My sex
outside MJ and Gina is almost nonexistent, which is why I'm so enthralled with
Jen." The ride is about to hurl us a hundred yards straight up in the air
so fast most peoples sandals don't make the trip with them. They're left behind
on the floor. I mutter, "All you talk about is sex," and he goes,
"That's because you keep bringing it..." but gets cut off as we're
rocketed upward at a dizzying speed. It takes my breath away, but apparently
not the girls' breath who screech high pitched screams enough to wake the dead.
At the top, the machine hesitates, and those with a fear of heights pee their
shorts. The view is amazing and then we're plunged downward so fast you think
you'll crash, the machine hisses and stops ten feet from the floor. People on the
ride for the first time assume we'll slowly return to floor, but no, there's
another breathtaking ride up and then immediately down to stop two feet from
the floor with the screaming from those on the ride that can be heard for a
couple of blocks. Now the ride drops down and that's it. Workers hurry around
to release our safety belts and we shakily get off and step into our sandals.
Walking away, Chubby says, "That fucker never gets old. It's enough to
sober a person up."

We walk and talk with Chubby pointing out hot
chicks, which I don't get, and me pointing out random cute guys that Chubby
claims he doesn't get, although his glance lingers on the guys longer then my
glance lingers on the girls. It's almost eleven o'clock when Chubby meets up
with Jen and her sister, Julie, plus Julie's macho boyfriend, who's name I
can't remember. Chubby and Jen kiss quickly as Julie, in a flirtatious manner,
says to me, "Hi, hot stuff, wha'cha been up to?" I go, "Hi,
Julie, I'm mostly just trying to stay out of trouble and mind my own
business." She wraps her arm around mine, like she usually does, and bats
her eyes at me, saying, "Oooh, that sounds boring," and her boyfriend
says, "Jesus, Julie, why don't you take your blouse off for him," and
she goes, "Ooh you, Arnie, I have a crush on Dylan." Arnie says to
me, "Don't let it go to your head, Dylan, she's got a crush on about
ninety percent of the guys she sees." Julie lets go of my arm and puts her
arms around Arnie's waist, saying, "Including you, ya sexy hunk." He
rolls his eyes at me, muttering, "Lucky me," and I go, "I gotta
meet someone, see you guys later," then ask, "Chubby you gonna be
alright, um, you know, driving? Or do you want me to drive the Jeep home?"
He says, "I'm good, Dylan, I might need the Jeep later, heh heh," and
Jen says, "Oh you," to Chubby. Why do females says, 'Oh you,' so
much? I bump Chubby's fist and then saunter back down the boardwalk the way I
came. After a block I look back and don't see Chubby, so I start jogging, trying
to avoid the walkers. It's five minutes after eleven right now and I'm on
forty-fourth street. I don't want to miss John. I get to thirty-seventh street
about ten after eleven, but no John. I hope to hell he hasn't come and gone.

Sitting on a bench with a clear view of people
coming and going up and down the thirty-seventh street ramp, I light a
cigarette and then grope my crotch trying to figure out why I got the hots for
John to the degree I do. He's cute, but not as cute as, say Danny, and
certainly not as cute as Robby or Sonny. There's something else about his
appearance in addition to him being cute, and I think his pale red hair is part
of it. Very nice hair, fine and straight without any wave. He's recently had a
haircut that leaves the hairs on top long, but the sides and back are very
short, burr cut short. The contrast in lengths is a recent style I've seen
being worn by hollywood movie star types. It use to be an indication of a
poorly done home haircut, which is kind of funny because it probably cost a
hundred dollars to get the poorly done home haircut look for the hollywood
actors. Anything to be different I guess, but I like it on redheaded John
because I can see his pale scalp through the short hairs and it's sexy somehow.
It's more than his cute face and hair though, there's another element of his
appearance that has me very attracted to his looks. His blue eyes are bluer
than blue for one thing, and he has a sexy grin. Yeah, it might be his grin! A
grin of such confidence without a trace of meanness, or the slightest sense of
superiority. It's as if he grins when something strikes him as worth grinning
about, where as I grin half the time from nervousness. Well, it always comes
back to the same thing: self confidence and living without self doubt. He knows
what he wants and he makes no excuses for it. If I don't like what he wants,
then he's not going to throw a fit or get tough, he'll just politely say
'goodbye'.

Checking my wristwatch again I see it's eleven
twenty-five so he probably got here at eleven, waited ten minutes and said.
'Fuck it'. I know he was serious when he said I was perfection, perfection in
his opinion, not necessarily in others' eyes. I thought we had perfect sub/dom
sex... like I said before, it was a blueprint for perfect sub/dom sex. Others
think differently, but I don't care about 'others' right now. Huh, I haven't
even been checking out cute guys the past twenty minutes, only looking for John
who isn't coming. Dammit! I should have left in time to be here by eleven!
Shoulda, woulda, coulda ain't worth shit! Lighting another cigarette, I'm
pissed-off at myself and pissed-off at John too. He said between eleven and
eleven-thirthy and I got here in plenty of time. Oh fuck him, something more
interesting probably caught his eye and so he forgets about me and so much for
all his talk about how lucky he feels about us meeting. At quarter to twelve I
give up and wander over to the ocean side of the boardwalk feeling like this
vacation started with a bang and is ending with a sputtering fizzle. I had more
luck with sexual escapades this week than I had any right to expects so why
dwell on this night. Hell, I had a great fuck a couple hours ago so it isn't
like I struck-out today. Heh heh, I'd like to compare notes with my Italian
friend, Adriano, who chalked me up as his conquest number one in America.
Actually I'd rather his brother, Fabio, be gay. He was cuter, but Adriano had
something very sexy about  him too, and I hear, "Dylan, I knew you'd
still be waiting," as a familiar strong hand grips the back of my neck,
with John adding, "Walk with me on the beach." It was a command, not
a question, as he leads me to the closest steps going down to the beach. Going
down the steps, I mumble, "I was worried you, um, couldn't make it."
"Just go down the steps, please," he says, still gripping the back of
my neck and without apologizing for being late.

On the beach, he says, "We'll walk near the
boardwalk where we can't be seen from above because I want you to take your
clothes off. Take everything off now." As I'm pulling my sleeveless
t-shirt over my head, I'm wondering why I'm doing this, then notice John's
carrying something that turns out to be a small backpack. He says, "Here,
put your clothes in the backpack. Take your wristwatch and necklace off too,
and your earrings." I hesitate, and he says, "Now, Dylan," but
not in a particular stern way. I go about doing that, interested to see what
this is about, as John talks on, "Walking on the beach naked while people
are twenty feet above you on the boardwalk should be a rush for you. Walking on
the beach naked is a rush no matter the circumstances, ha ha." I should be
thinking how odd and nuts this is, but is it any crazier than fucking on the
beach and almost being dragged out to sea by the undertow while having sex? I
don't think so, but both things are crazy, and one doesn't excuse the other. I
put my clothes and jewelry in the nylon, lightweight backpack, along with my
sandals, and then John slips the backpack on me, mumbling, "You carry it."
There are a few of John's things in the backpack too, but it doesn't weight but
maybe two pounds at most. I feel geeky being naked wearing a backpack, then my
eyes fix on John adjusting his huge cock with his hand down the front of his
shorty-shorts, as he's asking, "How long would you have waited for me on
the boardwalk?" I mumble, "Awhile, you weren't that late and, ya
know, the traffic and all." He rubs my head, "You'd probably wait for
me all night." I shrug, not feeling much like talking for some reason. He
clamps his hand at the back of my neck again, pulling against him, as he says,
"You're so cute, and you're body, oh my God, it's perfect." We walk
awhile with John maintaining an uncomfortably tight grip on the back of my neck
and it's giving me that little boy sensation again as John talks to me quietly,
his head bent slightly so he's looking at my body. He's saying, "Just
seeing you naked like this gets my cock firm, can you believe that?
Jesus." I mumble, "Yes, I get like that too," and he says,
"I don't doubt that for a second. Oh, I stopped at the motel to get a dog
collar for you to wear, I like my boys to wear one, so tonight you're my boy
and you get to wear it, but first I want to take your picture without the
collar." Then he says, "Stop," he looks up, and mutters,
"Move a little closer to the boardwalk supports," as he roughly pulls
me to where he wants using his too tight grip on my neck. When I'm where he
wants me, he says, sternly this time, "Just stand there for me, Dylan, and
stand up straight."

When I'm basically standing at attention, he
rubs his hand across my belly and then up my chest and shoulders. Finally he
takes hold of both my biceps and lifts my arms, saying, "Spread your legs
and keep your arms up and out to the side. Spread your legs a little
more." I do what he says and he steps back to gaze at me. Then he
 mumbles, "Okay, you're in the Vitruvian man's pose. That's a drawing
by Leonardo da Vinci who, of course, superimposed an additional position for
the arms and legs on the drawing, which I'll duplicate when I draw you. Do you
know the drawing I'm referring to?" I shake my head no, already feeling
totally captured by John and I stand here in the sand as a twelve year old with
my legs spread, my arms straight out from my shoulders in as open a stance as
the human body can be put in, and naked too of course. My dick is slightly firm
lilting to the side rather than flaccidly hanging straight down. John says,
"Stay exactly like that, don't move a muscle!" He walks behind me and
smacks my ass, "SMACK" seems to echo in my ear as her rummages around
in the back pack I'm wearing. The voices and sounds of the boardwalk are quite
clear and seemingly closer than twenty feet above us.

I'm standing on a spot of beach that's lit-up,
so I my eyes look up without moving my head and I see a boardwalk light fixture
that somehow got bent sightly towards the beach so we're in light spilling over
from the boardwalk. The light reaches us, but a person would need to hang over
the side to see us. John comes around in front of me with his cell phone and
takes my picture, muttering, "Probably not enough light," and he
takes two more, then walks behind me saying, "Don't move," and I hear
him take a few pictures of my back side. He says, "Set the backpack down
and  then get back in this exact position." I do that realizing I'm
feeling that trance-like state of mind again, and like I said, as a twelve year
old this time. I'll probably stay in this position as long as he wants me to
because I want to be a good boy for John. His demeanor indicates he knows I'll
do what he says, and while that's so weird it's fact too. He comes around front
taking some more shots of me from different angles, as he's telling me,
"You'd be Leonardo's Vitruvian boy, not man, because you look too young.
You'd also need a lot more hair to duplicate the drawing. I'd have your hair
curled to replicate the picture. In the drawing the man has curly hair
extending evenly about four inches from his head, Afro style, although not
African type hair. If you were my full time boy I'd have you grow long hair,
then like I said, have it curled at a salon, and then take your picture like
you are now. Hell, if you were my boy I wouldn't need a picture, I'd merely
have you model for me while I drew you. After I drew you, I'd then take you
back to the salon that curled your hair and have them straighten it and then
cut it to a reasonable ponytail length, and you'd wear it like that till I
tired of it. Leonardo's drawing is founded on the correlation of ideal human
proportion, which you have to perfection. Even your penis is in proportion. If
you had a salami like my cock, it would fuck-up the proportion. Your facial
features are perfectly in proportion too. I'm an artist and have studied this
sort of thing for three years now at Yale University, where there's an
excellent art program.

He puts the camera away and comes over to feel
parts of my body again, muttering, "Maintain this position until I tell
you differently." He rubs my buttocks, then squeezes them, then another
hard smack, "SMACK!" that can surely be heard on the boardwalk. My
butt cheek quivers as he's asking, "Do you remove hairs on your ass like
you do with your pubic hairs?" I mutter a squeaky, "No, John,"
and he goes, "Normally I wouldn't believe you, but you're one in ten
million so I'm not even surprised you don't have a hair on your ass. I like the
smooth groin look, and of course you'd be electrolyzed under your arms and
around your groin area if you and I were lucky enough to come together."
Still feeling different parts of my body, he murmurs, "Unbelievable,"
then says, "I'm going to draw you from the pictures which is why I stopped
you here where there's at least a little light." He picks up my penis and
stretches it out, saying, "You can drop your arms now, Dylan." I do
that, and only then do I realize they're aching a little. Holding your arms out
isn't as easy as it looks, not if you need to do it for five minutes or so.
John pulls on my cock, saying, "I'm still fantasizing what I'd do if you
were one of my my boys. You'd have a Price Albert, of course, and the piercing
would go right here,' as he draws his finger along my dick until he's at the
spot where someone would pierce my penis with a fat needle. He goes on to say,
"Sometime later I might have a Dolphin piercing on your penis too, but
only after the Prince Albert piercing heals." He lifts my nuts explaining,
"Here's where I'd have your scrotum pierced. It's called a Hafadu. Metal
jewelry down here is quite sexy to look at, although I'd never get it for
myself. The only other piercings for you would be a small ring through both
your nipples, and that one hurts most of all, but you'd get over it. It only
hurts for a little while, but that's relative I suppose. What's a little while,
ya know? Ha ha." Dropping my privates he says, "Put the back pack
on," and when I do he rustles in it again and comes out with a leather
studded dog collar and fastens it around my neck, asking, "Have you ever
wore one of these before, Dylan?" I mutter, "Yeah, sure," and he
says, "I'm not surprised at that either. Come on, lets walk," and we
do with John telling me much more about the art program at Yale then I need to
know. I'm surprised he isn't using a leash like Ryan did.

We walk for awhile and then we turn around and
walk back the way we came, with John asking, "Are you feeling more
comfortable about walking naked on the beach?" I shrug, not at all sure
how I feel about anything. He says, "Well, being naked is how you'd be
almost all the time if you were my boy, and I keep saying, 'if you were my boy'
because I'm trying to work something out in my head that would make that
possible. I live in Alpine, New Jersey, with my parents, but I also have a
studio in New York city where I do art work. You live someplace in
Massachusetts and it's quite a drive from there to my parent's house in Alpine,
New Jersey, so you'd need to drive six to seven hours to get there. I'll make
you this offer: if you can manage the drive on weekends to my New York studio,
which should be about four hours, which seems doable, if leave your place
about, say four o'clock in the morning, you'd get to my studio by around eight
o'clock which is when I start my boy's day. If you can handle that I'll
introduce you to some extraordinary sexual fun. You can be my boy for the
weekends and we'll be staying in my studio at night, but we'll visit the big
apple during the day. You'll need to immediately begin growing out your hair,
no more haircuts, okay? The first Saturday as my boy I'll take you to an
upscale piercing parlor in New York city and get you all taken care of in one
afternoon. You'll be sore, so that night we'll stay in and I'll comfort you.
What do you say?" As we're approaching the spot John took pictures of me,
I've lost the little boy sensation and I'm thinking, 'Hmmm, I better not say
what I'd like to because after I've gone through all this bull shit on the
beach I should at least get another taste of his big salami', so I give him a
little white lie, saying, "Boy, that's tempting, John, but I'll need to
think it over." He says, "Very wise. I'll give you my cell phone
number and you can call me when you're ready to get started. Maybe after
waiting a few months until your hair's a lot longer, you know, so we've got a
head start on that. Okay, you may get dressed now." I take the backpack
off and get my clothes out. After putting them on, he has me sit on one of the
steps and he takes each of my feet and brushes the sand off before putting my
sandals on. After that he puts my little hoop earrings in my pierced ears,
saying, "As my boy you'll be pampered like this, and bathed by me, and
generally treated like a prince." I buckle the leather strap of my
wristwatch as John hands me my necklace, saying, "Put this in your pocket,
Dylan, you'll be wearing the dog collar tonight." A picture of Willie
flashes through my brain and I wonder what it'd be like to do what John said,
minus the piercings of course. Treated like a prince and fucked really good
too. Nobody's ever treated me like a prince even though I think Willie thought
he was. Unfortunately there was so much other shit going on in his head he
never came close to treating me the way a prince should be treated.

We climb the steps and at the top we're back in
the real world again, back from never-never land. It's past midnight so the
boardwalk is thinning out as people shut it down for the night. John says,
"This way, Dylan, my van is in the thirty-seventh street parking lot. I'll
drive it to a more private spot and fuck you slower then I was able to at the
Bay Restaurant." He doesn't have a leash with him apparently, so he has
two fingers inside my dog collar leading me that way. As he walks and I
struggle to keep up, he says, "You already have an excellent submissive
way about you, so your breaking in period will go quite smoothly I should
think, and I like the fact you say very little when with a dominant sex partner
like myself. I respect that because it shows that you respect me and at the
same time it shows that you know your place. You'd probably be surprised how
rare that is as most submissive guys cannot grasp that their submissive role is
at least as important as the dominant one. They don't get it and therefore
can't allow themselves to go deeply into a submissive posture... instead they
babble on talking themselves into rationalizing why they're being submissive to
me. It's a bit of a pain in my ass so I discipliner them until they shut the
fuck up. You won't require much discipline, which I'm happy about." The
more John babbles himself, the less I like him, but I'm kinda committed to this
last fuck in Wildwood so I'm not going to complain until I see how it goes with
our sex. At the van he unlocks it and opens the back door, saying, "Up you
go. Get undressed." He watches me undress, then climbs in and gets his
fingers in my dog collar again pulling me to the side of the van, then he
roughly pulls my head down where he can now attach the ring hanging from the front
of my dog collar to a hook that has a movable piece that closes once the ring
is attached. THe hook is two feet off the floor so I need to rest on my knees
with my head below my waist. He says, "Hands behind you," and when I
put my hands behind me he puts on handcuffs, and says, "It gives me a hard
dick seeing my submissive sex partner helpless like this," and again he
smacks my bare ass hard, "SMACK!" muttering, "You'll stay put
until I'm ready for you," and leaves, slamming the door behind me.
Goddammit, when will I ever learn? This is totally not what I expected from
John. I know from experience there's no sense complaining when I'm in a
helpless situation because that just turns the dominant types on more. I'll be
docile until it's over and then voice my displeasure. If John knows what's good
for him he won't hold his breath in his studio waiting for me to call.

Even as I bitch about this to myself I'm still
aroused sexually by being handled in this manner, especially by this confident
dominant personality. I'm not worried that John's dangerous, but someone I run
into might be so I simply need to wise-up with this sort of thing. John started
going off the track with his Vitruvian man shit on the beach. Up till then he
was awesome, but I guess the more submissive I acted to him the more he pressed
the dominant stuff, so I more or less bring this situation on myself. I'm aware
of that, but can't seem to help myself because, like I said, it's a turn-on
sexually for me. It's not something I want all the time or even frequently, but
occasionally it is so hot and I've got a boner going for me right now that's
feeling good. There a mat, like a wrestling mat, under my knees so I'm not too
uncomfortable, but when the van makes sharp turns keeping my balance is an
issue so my hands are on the floor helping with that. It isn't a long ride and
the van soon comes to an abrupt stop. A minute later John gets in, and staying
on his knees, says, "No talking at all now," as he begins getting
undressed. I glance back in time to see his huge cock swinging between his
legs. It looks tight already, but he did say it gets him aroused seeing his
submissive sex partner incapacitated. He opens a toolbox that's secured to the
side of the van and takes out a short strap, saying, "As I mentioned, you
only need a little discipline, mostly just to give you a taste of the
discipline I use," and he lashes the straps across my butt cheeks, getting
both of them stinging, "SLASH!" I scream "OOOW!" and then,
"SLASH! SLASH! SLASH!" "OOOOH, OOOOW, OOOOW, NOOO!" from me
as I move around as much as my dog collar secured to the side of the van will
allow. He calmly says, "All done, Dylan, but I can see you're not use to
real discipline. Well, now you know, and so you've learned something."

My ass burns like fire, and unlike a slap on the
ass, this burning from the strapping persists. He gets his fingers in between
my collar and my neck to jerk my head, then he releases me from the hook,
pulling my head around to press my face against his crotch. My face is buried
in his thick pale pink pubic hairs and now a scent has appeared. It took all
evening for his body to work up a scent, but now I can smell him and it's not
unpleasant, but not particularly sexy either. Kind of a stale scent with traces
of an ass smell. It's faint and probably from my ass when he fucked me earlier
this evening, like five hours ago or so. He reaches over my back and takes off
the handcuffs, then says, "Get my cock in your mouth," so I pick it
up with my fingers, but can't get it in my mouth because he has my faces
pressed against his groin area. His cock is fairly hard already and obviously
his control over me is arousing him. I slide my face to the side on his pubic
hairs until I can get the head of his cock, along with a mouthful of pubic
hairs in my mouth, and I begin sucking the head and hairs making slurping
sounds as saliva builds up in my mouth. His pubic hairs become soaked with my
spit as I suck and lick the big head of his cock. It's not a mushroom head like
Ray's, but helmet-shaped although just as big as Ray's. As his cock gets harder
more of the shaft slides inside my mouth until the head is at the back of my
throat gagging me each time his hips do a small hump with John now breathing
noisily, with an occasionally quiet, "Mmmm." Even with a mouthful of
wet pubic hairs the licking and sucking on his cock gets me turned-on sexually,
as it always does. My cock tightens up further until it's a hard stone against
my belly. Just like the first time I sucked John's cock a large drool of precum
signals the end of the cock sucking. He pulls my head off his cock, and as I
swallow the mouthful of precum and wipe drooling saliva off my chin, he goes,
"Mmmm, it is so awesome the way you suck cock. Really first class. Ooooh,
that felt good!" He strokes his uncut cock a few times, then wipes my
saliva from his cock off the palm of his hand in my hair. "Get on your
hands and knees now, and then get a condom out of the left pocket of my shorts
there on the floor next to you." I do that and rip the packet open with my
teeth, thinking the burning on my butt cheeks has dulled to almost nothing.
That was a damn quick recovery. John's says, "When I'm mounting you, try
keeping the screaming down this time." I say nothing as I roll the condom
on his hard cock and he rubs my hair, muttering, "Can't wait until your
hair's long and silky. It's a beautiful blond color and naturally two shades of
blond, right, Dylan? You don't color it, right?" I nod that he's right, as
he leans down to get his fingers in my dog collar again to pull my head up so
he can kiss me and get his tongue in my mouth. My hands come off the floor for
long wet kiss with the collar coking me. He follows the kiss with a rub on my
head and then he roughly pulls on my dog collar getting me back on all four, as
he mutters, "Stay just like that.". He stands, bending over me as he
lines the head of his cock in the lubricated condom at my asshole, then presses
against it hard. His hairy calves are brushing against my thighs as the pain
builds and then I scream as the head presses past my sphincter ring sending
pain signals to my brain. He clasps his hand over my mouth, muttering,
"Goddammit, keep the yelling down!" He's pulling my head back
stretching my neck as he forces his enormous boner up my ass stretching the
walls of my rectum more than he's stretching my neck.

He grunts a few times, then mutters,
"Deliciously tight ass, Dylan, but your screaming is unseemly. You sound
like a girl and that'll get you disciplined. You'll learn to take this once
I've broken you in, which means first breaking you down, then building you up.
And maybe that's gonna require more discipline than I initially thought would
be necessary, but I know you'll think it's worth it once I've trained you to
take my cock more easily. Then you'll be savoring everything about your
submissive role with my big cock plowing your ass regularly." He takes his
hand away from my mouth, saying, "See if you can will yourself not to
scream as I push in further. I know you want to impress me, so see what you can
do about the girlie screaming for starters. Hell, I'm only impaling you with
half my cock so far." I put my own hand over my mouth and when he pushes
in I stifle my scream by hissing into my hand and holding my breath. It feels
like something is broke in my rectum as John cups my shoulder and gives a hard
thrust with his hips and I'm screaming again, but into my hand this time with
John muttering, "Pussy," and now I feel his pubic hairs tickling my
strapped red ass cheeks. One last thrust and scream, and that gets his crotch
tightly against me with pain emanating outward all up and down my rectum with
my anus aching in it's stretched state. This feels worse then last time,
possibly because he's more aroused now that he's got me in a dog collar and
he's treating me roughly. His cock's a bit larger and harder because of it. At
least he leaves his big boner up my ass until my rectum becomes compatible with
this rude intrusion, and once again I think how important the lube on the
condom is.

John drops his hairy chest to my back and licks
my neck, then mutters, "You smell and taste delicious. Are you enjoying
yourself yet?" I answer with one word, "No!" and he asks,
"Do you want me to pull out and we'll call it a night. I don't want to do
this if you don't want to. I thought you'd be enjoying yourself being very
submissive with me dominating the hell out of you. Um, was the strapping too
much? I only strapped you four times, just so you'd know what it's like. Some
submissives enjoy corporal punishment." I say, "Well I'm not one of
them and I didn't like being being tethered to the side of your van
either." He says, "Actually it's my mother's van, my car's back home.
Drove this here because we brought a lot of stuff with us for our two week vacation.
What's it going to be, Dylan? You call it." The pain's faded a lot by now
and I've gotten through the hard part, so I say, "You're being normal now,
not like earlier, so I don't know what to think." He says, "Hell, I
thought you wanted to experience a sub/dom sexual experience. That's what you
said in the Bay restaurant's rest room, so I purposely built up the dominance
little by little. It's not for everyone, I understand that. We'll stop."
I'm like, "No! I've gone through the bad part so give me the good
part." He reaches under me and strokes my cock, that's barely hard now
because of the pain. He goes, "Sorry I didn't come across for you like I
wanted to, but that comes with learning what you like. I know you like being
submissive to a dominant sex partner because it's obvious you like it, so your
bitching about the treatment has got me confused too." Yeah, me too, but I
don't say it. I liked Ryan's rough stuff and Sonny's too, but maybe that's
because they're smaller than me and I know I'm doing it willingly and could
kick either one of their asses if I chose to. With John that's not the case so
it's different. Huh... ya learn something new every day. John asks, "So,
do you want me to fuck you or not?" I go, "Yeah, I do," and he
withdraws with me sucking air in between my teeth because it still hurts, but
not nearly as much as earlier.

John pushes his big salami back up my ass with
pain still the prevalent sensation, but by the fourth time it's pleasure
sensations overriding the hurt and then the hurt's just a fading memory as I
squirm with pleasure. John grunts and then lets out a moan, "Mmmm, this
feels good, Dylan. Great, great ass. You okay?" I moan, "Mmmm,"
myself, then, "Yeah, it feels real good, John, thanks. Sorry I was a
whiner there for a minute, but this is awesome now," and he picks up the
speed of his penetrations, tightly and smoothly driving his huge organ back and
forth in my ass and I'm soon moaning constantly as sensations of sexual
pleasure erupt in my prostate and my anus feels spectacularly alive. My cock is
very tight and hard against my belly as a big drool of precum slides from the
head of my cock to drool down to my swinging nuts, and a long moan escapes my
throat, "Oooooh, gawd, mmmm." The van is filled with the "Slap,
slap, slap," sounds of his wet pubic hairs and crotch slapping against my
ass. "Slap, slap, slap, slap," with John grunting as he squeezes my
shoulder pulling me back into each thrusts, "Slap, slap, slap, slap,"
for quite awhile with me moaning, "OOOhhhh, mmmmm, yeaaah, fuck me John,
mmmm aaah, aaah, mmm," "Slap, slap, slap, slap, slap," faster
now with my shoulders shuddering and my cock getting even harder as it's moving
away from my belly to stick straight out, pointing almost straight down at the
floor in my current doggie fuck position. John's hairy calves brush agains my
thighs with each fast hard penetration and I'm in an ocean of sensual
sensations of pleasure. "Slap, slap, slap, slap, slap," very fast
with John grunting, "I'm gonna cum," and me screeching, "Eeeee,
aaaah!" and with my shoulders shuddering and my back arching cum explodes
from the gaping pee slit of the dark pink head of my iron cock splashing spunk
on the mat spraying my thighs with cum. My whole body shakes as two more shots
of cum hit the floor then two thin streams as John humps into me pushing me
forward. He lays on my back doing little humps without withdrawing, filling the
condom with his sperm mixture. My head is shaking as sensations fly around my
groin area and outward to my stomach and the inside of my thighs. My cock
quivers trying for more spunk and then everything recedes and leaves me weak
and quietly moaning, my eyes half closed as a final shudder shakes me, and then
it's done. John's like, "Oh my God, that was awesome. What a climax, holy
shit what an orgasm. One to remember." He pulls his cock out as I go,
"Aaaah, dooon't, oooh," and he sits on the floor with the condom
still on his enormous cock. He looks as dazed as I feel.

My anus probably won't close until sometime late
tonight and I know I'll be walking bowlegged for the next hour or so. I felt
soreness after our earlier fuck, but this one on top of the first one has left
my ass really sore and in need of a rest. John coughs, then mutters, "Oh
man, that was choice," as he pulls off the condom and ties a knot in the
end. "Seriously, Dylan, there's something special about your ass. Your
anus does something when I'm fucking you, it grips the shaft or something, and
your rectum is perfect for fucking, just the perfect feel on my cock. Your ass
is a freak of nature, I'm telling ya, it's special. I've fucked maybe two dozen
different guys of all ages and nothing compares to your ass. Do you have a
boyfriend?" I nod my head as my hand's exploring my asshole. Jesus, is it
ever open wide. I mutter, "Yeah, Robby's his name. We've been boyfriends
for awhile." No need to mention the other guys who think they're my
boyfriend too. John strokes his cock as he asks, "What do you think of my
suggestion that you drive to my place some weekend?" Using my handkerchief
I'm wiping the lube from the condom that's drooled around my buttocks, melted
by my body heat, mumbling, "Nah, John, it's too far and I don't want my
dick and scrotum pierced with all that stuff you told me about." He goes,
"Really? Dude, that's my gift to you for being my boy. It's expensive if
done by the best like I'd take you to. I'm really surprised to hear you don't
want that." I pull on my underpants, muttering, "Well, what can I
tell ya, it don't do it for me." He begins getting dressed, saying,
"Well, I had fun thinking you'd like being my boy, but it's gotta be with
the piercings, that's the minimum actually. I'd probably have your back and ass
tattooed too so I can look at it when I fuck you. Oh well, it's your loss, ha
ha, mine too I guess." I'm dressed now, standing up bent over so my head
doesn't hit the roof. I ask, "Do you have much trouble getting your, um,
boys to go along with you on all that shit?" He shrugs, still sitting,
"Well, I've got two regulars, but like I said earlier, while they go along
with all my shit, as you put it, they do a lot of complaining too. And, ya
know, they spend a lot of time rationalizing why they're going along with all
my so-called shit, so that's a pain in my ass, and as a result I put some pain
on their asses by strapping them. One guy gets a boner from being
strapped." I've run into a couple of guys like that myself, but I don't
mention it, as John adds, "Neither one of my boys can hold a candle to you
though. One of them has acne and the other one I'd like to put a paper bag over
his head so I don't need to look at his face."

I chuckle as we climb out the back of the van.
"The least I can do, Dylan, is give you a ride home," so I tell him
the street our duplex in on and then get in the passenger side, easing my ass
down on the seat. It's sore, but still tingling with left over memories of
being fucked really good. I'd do it with John again, but without all the other
shit, which reminds me I'm wearing his dog collar. Unbuckling it, I'm asking,
"What should I do with this?" and John's like, "Toss it in the
back. I use it with my boys. I've got a number of dog collars and they wear
them all the time. I take them on walk with a leash too and I was really
looking forward to showing you off." My mind's eye flashes back to Willie
on a leash. I'd be lying if I said the idea of being walked, skimpily clad, on
a leash doesn't seem hot to me. The big problem is the doms always seem to take
everything too far. I mean, come on, get my balls pierced, or my dick? OW!
Still, as I look at John and think about his big cock, the thought of being his
boy for a weekend makes me adjust my junk, and ask, "Any chance I could be
your boy for a weekend without the piercing and tattoos?" He shakes his
head, "Nah, that stuff is what makes you my boy. Ya gotta have your cock
pierced at the very least and then we can talk about the rest, but the cock
piercing is mandatory... at least the cock. I'll let you pick out what goes
through the piercing." I adjust my cock again, then ask, "Where do
you walk your boys on a leash?" He goes, "Gay neighborhoods, like
Chelsea in Manhattan. In nice weather I usually only allow the boys to wear
skimpy jockstraps and when I've got them both on leashes they need to hold
hands as they walk. For their walks they wear choke collars." Damn, haha,
I'd like to do that just once. I'd probably spring a boner. He asks, "Are
you thinking about it, Dylan? It'd be awesome having you for a weekend and I
promise you the pierced penis isn't nearly as painful as it sounds. Not when
it's done by a professional. You on a lease with me holding the other end, we'd
turn some heads, dude. What do ya say?" I go, "Actually I'm amazing
myself by actually considering it, John. Sounds sexy and man, you fuck good
too." I'm thinking maybe John does just the right amount of wrong to be
right... maybe. He goes, "That's my boy. I give you my word, no more than
three or four strapping on your ass at a time, not the first weekend anyway.
We'll sleep together and I'll make you feel like a prince." As he pulls up
to my place, I say, "Well, I've got your cell phone number, John, so, ya
know, maybe I'll grow a set of balls and call you." He smiles, "I
hope you do, and I'm pretty sure you will. It'll be fantastic, you'll see."
We do a quick kiss goodbye and I get out, slamming the door behind me, then
wave as he drives away. Yeah, just the right amount of wrong... maybe.

to be continued...  Donny Mumford     thinat20@yahoo.com

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