Jeff Erno

This is a short story I've written, and it is part of a collection, soon to be released as a novel. The five stories within draw attention to the serious issue of teen bullying, and each are presented from a different perspective.

In Invisible, the bullying victim's voice is heard. Chase Devereaux is fifteen, and he's terrified when he has to give a speech in his oral communications class. To make matters worse, though, he has a really hard day when he falls victim to an episode of merciless bullying in gym class.Worst of all, his humiliation is witnessed by the boy of Chase's dreams.

Chuckie is told in the voice of the bully. David is a high school jock, one of the popular kids, and he's annoyed by the pathetic weakness and vulnerability of his classmate Charles. It seems natural to David to flex his superior muscle in front of the little wimp and remind him who's boss. When David discovers that Charles shares a connection with a mutual friend, David begins to see things in a whole new light.

Bryan Daniels is the narrator of Blending In, the story of a gay teen who stands idly by while one of his openly gay classmates is repeatedly bullied. Bryan feels sorry for Chris, but on some level he thinks perhaps Chris' openness and flamboyance make him an obvious target. Perhaps Chris is really asking for it and is just getting what he deserves. Bryan doesn't want to get involved. It's too risky, because if he speaks up in defense of Chris, he may be the next victim.

Saved: Jonathan goes to a Christian parochial school, and his best friend is Curtis. The boys have been best buds since the seventh grade. Jonathan tells their story in Saved. As he begins high school, Jon aspires to fit in with the guys on his soccer team. When he witnesses his teammates tormenting his best friend Curtis, he knows there really isn't much he can do. In truth, Jon has outgrown Curtis, and he wonders why they ever were close friends to begin with. Curtis just needs to man-up and stop being such a wimp. It's not up to Jonathan to protect or defend him. After all, he's not his brother's keeper.

In Shame,Terri Tyler is a single mother of two teenagers. Her son Cameron has always been her pride and joy. Cam is artistic and sensitive, and his sense of refinement has always been something she's regarded as special. She also prides herself on her open-mindedness. She has gay friends and acquaintances, and is not the least bit prejudiced, or so she tells herself. When Terri discovers that her son Cam is being bullied at school, she becomes very concerned. Of course she is worried about Cam's safety and well being, but more importantly, she fears that maybe Cam's uniqueness is something more profound than merely a matter of refinement.

In all honesty I really do like my name. Chase Alexander Devereaux. I think if there’s one thing that my mom did right, it was picking out a unique, cool-sounding name for her kid. Sometimes I really wish I was as cool looking as my name though, or that I didn’t always act like such a fag.

Really it’s not deliberate.  Sometimes I try really hard to be anything but gay. I watch the other guys—and I know what you’re thinking. You think I mean I check them out, and yeah, I can’t help but do that too. But what I’m sayin is that I watch the really normal guys, the ones who are into sports, who act all totally straight, and I try to copy them.  I try to lower the timber of my voice, not sound so nasally when I talk. I try to gesture with my hands in a manly sorta way instead of all limp-wristed and girly. I try to remember not to sit with my legs crossed, and I try really hard to avoid throwing a ball like a girl.

Sports just really isn’t my thing, though.  It’s weird ‘cuz you’d think I’d be all about sports. That’s where all the hot guys are. All the muscle. All the butt-swatting and high fiving, hugging on each other during the games. But I just know I’m not good at it. I suck at almost all sports, and like when I try to participate in sports at school, I just make a fool of myself. Then the guys see what a dork I am, and instead of them liking me and thinking of me as their team member, they ridicule me. They tell me to quit being such a sissy and man up.

I’ve been trying to man-up all my life, really.  I can’t honestly say that I’d ever wanna be anything like my older brother Daryn, but there are times I envy him. At least he was good at Little League baseball. No one ever called him a fag, and if they did, he’d kill them.  Daryn says I’m the cause of a lot of my own problems. He tells me to just quit acting the way I do and people will stop treating me like such an outcast. Sometimes I just hate him. He doesn’t really know anything about me, and he’s my own brother.

Today’s gonna be different. I hope. I’m so nervous that I think I might throw up. Maybe I shouldn’t wear this tie. See, I wanted to look nice because I have a big day at school. I’m giving a speech in my Oral Communications class, and like the whole class is going to be watching me. Nobody wears dress shirts and ties to school, though, so maybe I’ll just wear this polo shirt.  No, I can’t wear short sleeves. Then it’s even more obvious how puny my arms are, and how much a sissy I am when I gesture with my hands. I’m gonna wear this long-sleeve pullover. It’s casual looking but not in a slobbish sorta way. I can’t remember if I’ve ever seen any of the cool kids wearing a shirt like this. I don’t know. Definitely jeans, though. I gotta take off these khakis and find a pair of jeans.

It sucks because Oral Communications is right after lunch, and lunch is right after gym. I hate having gym third hour, right in the middle of the day. Our teacher is such a jerk. It’s like I know he hears the stuff that the other guys say to me, and he just like totally ignores it. One time I even heard him laugh when one of em made a joke about how I was running.  His name is Coach Schraeder, but most of the kids call him Schraeder the Masturbator behind his back. They’re probably right. I think he has like two brain cells.

Brad is the worst. He’s in my gym class, and he’s like the leader or something. He’s the one who always starts stuff. He says the first insult, and then the others laugh, and usually they join in. Even the other kids who are otherwise nice can’t help but snicker at some of the mean things he says. I’ve tried to defend myself, to talk back to him a little bit. That makes it worse, ‘cuz then he just mocks me. He like repeats back everything I say in a really overly-effeminate girly voice, and then everyone really does laugh. Ya know, I feel like I’m about two inches tall when he does that. I just want to die.

I really do hate Brad, but then on the other hand I can’t deny how hot he is. He’s totally a jock, and he has perfect hair. I wish sometimes I looked more like Brad. Instead I have this kind of hair that never looks good no matter how I comb it. When people look at him, immediately they want to be his friend. He has this smile that totally disarms you. He’s so perfect-looking that you want to believe everything he says. You wanna feel like you’re his best friend.

I’ll never be Brad’s friend though. Even if he changed and stopped picking on me, I’d still always hate him for what he’s already done. Once he flushed my head in a toilet. He shoved me into my locker and closed it. He’s knocked me down more times than I can count, and he’s called me every name you could even think of.

Nobody is ever gonna tell on Brad though. They’d be stupid if they did. It’d be like suicide. He’s so popular that even the teachers like him. Really I think even if the teachers knew all the mean stuff Brad did, they wouldn’t do anything about it.

My speech is about global warming. We had to pick a controversial topic and make an argument for it. I know it’s not really that controversial of an issue any more. Everyone knows global warming is happening. It’s so obvious, but still there are a few morons left in the world who are in denial. I’m so nervous about it—I’m gonna throw up!

Yeah, I like the shirt, and thank god, it’s gonna be a good hair day. Ugghh! Is that a zit? I have this big frickin zit right in the center of my forehead. Why does this always happen? Why today? I gotta get goin though. I can’t keep obsessing about this stuff. It doesn’t matter if I have a zit or not, nobody cares. It’s not like I have anyone interested in me. And nobody’s even gonna care about my speech either.

Mom’s already left for work, and Daryn gets a ride with his friends. I walk. It’s only like fourteen blocks, maybe a couple miles at the most. Sometimes my friend Shelly walks with me. She lives on the next block, but if her mom isn’t working, she gets a ride to school. Her mom’s pretty cool, and sometimes she swings over and picks me up. Not always though. Her mom’s like pretty much a scatterbrain, and she’s always running late.

Shelly didn’t text me, so I guess I’m on my own today. It’s strange how my one and only friend is a girl, and really I don’t even like girls—not that way anyhow. I told her last year—when I was fourteen—that I’m gay. She was cool about it, and she kinda acted like it was no big deal.  Even though she knows a little bit about the stuff with Brad and his friends, I don’t tell her everything. In fact, I never even told her about the swirly incident. It was too embarrassing.

Plus Shelly is kind of popular herself. She’s not popular like Brad, but she is definitely not one of the school losers…like me. She’d probably say something to one of the teachers if she knew all the times Brad tormented me. That’d just make things worse. Or like she might even say something directly to Brad, and that would be a catastrophe. But really I think she sort of likes Brad, well at least as much as all the other girls in school do. Brad’s really friendly to the girls, and it’s almost impossible for them not to like him.

As always, the school hallways are so crowded. Seems weird to be so invisible amongst all these people, but invisible is good.  An invisible day is a better-than-average day. Invisibility means no name calling, no fag jokes, no gut punches or pranks. On an invisible day, I make it out unscathed. Sometimes I’m even able to feel good about myself—about the A I got in geometry, about the positive comment Mr. Phillips wrote on my composition paper, or about the fact that Trent Richards smiled at me.

Trent’s my fantasy lover. LOL! Seriously, he is just the nicest guy. He doesn’t have the model looks or the muscle that a guy like Brad has, but he’s every bit as dreamy. Trent is more quiet, but he’s not nerdy like me. I’m like 100% positive he’s not gay, though. One time back in my freshman year I helped him with his Algebra assignment, and sometimes I wish he’d need my help again.

“Shelly, wassup?” Her locker is only a couple doors down from mine.

“Nice shirt,” she says, smiling at me. “What’s the occasion?”

I shrug. “Nothin… but thanks. Ya know, I gotta give that speech today.”

“Really? Cool… you ready?”

I sigh. “Oh my God, I’ve like rehearsed it a zillion times. I hate this… I hate public speaking!”

She steps closer to me, placing her hand on my arm, just above my elbow. “You’ll do fine. Chase, you’re so smart. I can’t wait to hear your speech.”

I laugh nervously, embarrassed. “It’s dumb really. Boring… global warming.”

Now she shrugs. “Better than mine. I’m doing Veganism.”

“Is your speech today, too?” I ask, closing my locker and holding a stack of books against my chest.

She nods. “Oh don’t worry, I’m sure I won’t outshine you. I could’ve done more research, ya know.”

“Wow, well I’m glad…” I stammer a bit. “Um… I mean I guess misery loves company, ya know. Glad we’re doin it the same day.”

Someone behind us tugs at her arm. It’s her friend Kelli. “Come on,” she says, ignoring me.

“Hey, I’ll try ta catch up with ya at lunch, okay? Don’t be nervous!” Quickly she turns to give her attention to her airhead friend.

“Okay, thanks,” I mumble. She doesn’t hear me. Well it’s cool. First and second hour are snoozers. Geometry and Biology. My favorite class is fifth hour Composition. Sixth hour is Spanish.

As long as I can get into my first hour classroom unnoticed, everything will be fine. Nothing ever really happens ‘til gym. That’s when I have to deal with Brad…and his friends. Maybe I should skip gym today. I hardly think the Masturbator would even notice my absence. I can say I’m sick, and I won’t be lying. I do feel like I might puke. No, that’ll ruin my attendance record, and I might get sent home. Then I’d have to do my speech another day and go through it all again. I’ll just stay invisible. Hopefully gym will be free period like it is half the time. Lot of times the coach doesn’t feel like conducting any sort of organized activity and just lets us do whatever. Shoot hoops, use the weightlifting equipment.  I can do what I always do—bounce a dodge ball against the wall for an hour.

Geometry’s boring. Who cares about axioms and theorems? All I can think about is the speech. I have it memorized, every last word. I’ve said it aloud maybe a thousand times. I can do it. It’s just like five minutes. Then it’ll be overwith. It’s no big deal really, not in the scheme of life. It seems big now, but it’s just another assignment. God, why can’t I be like Shelly? She has to give a speech too, and she doesn’t even seem worried about it.

The worst thing is that Brad’s in my speech class too, and so is Trent. When I mess up, which I know I will, Brad’s gonna laugh his ass off. It’ll just give him one more reason to abuse me—more ammunition. And I can’t humiliate myself, not in front of Trent. I’d die. I’d totally just die!

God I’m so glad first hour’s over. Two more hours, then lunch… then…oh man. I gotta get to Biology, but I’m gonna be sick. I head for the bathroom. I hate this. Oh God, I’m on my knees, puking into the toilet. Please don’t let anyone come in. Please let me stay invisible!

Thankfully I only get a stern look from Mrs. Dennison when I walk into Biology two minutes past the bell. I take my seat, opening my textbook to the page number she has written on the chalk board. She calls on me, asking me a question about photosynthesis. I guess it is my punishment for my tardiness. Thankfully I know the answer. She moves on. Invisible again.

My heart begins to race when the bell rings. Gym! Why does this one hour seem like ten? Sixty minutes… no really only fifty. Third hour is from 10:05 to 10:55a.m. I can do it. I can blend in for fifty short minutes, and then it’ll be over. Then my speech. I’m gonna throw up again! No, calm down Chase. You’re such a fag. Brad’s right. Quit acting like a wuss. Man-up, like Daryn said. It’s a frickin speech, for God’s sake. No big deal.

“We’ve got physical fitness tests coming up, and today we’re gonna start getting ready.” Coach Shraeder is addressing the class. We sit on the bleachers, hanging on his every word—Not! I hear what he’s saying but am only half listening. All I can think about is my speech class. He says something about four categories. Pull-ups, sit-ups, running, and push-ups… I don’t know. Whatever.

Coach has us count off into four groups. Shit! I end up in Brad’s group. Of course Coach selects Brad as the group leader. This totally sucks. Each group is sent to a different corner of the gym. We have to work on the particular physical fitness requirement, and the group leader then writes down our result. Running is the easiest, and that’s what we do first. We start at our corner and run laps around the perimeter of the gym. We have to complete a mile, and we run together as a group. Not hard to blend in. I go unnoticed. We don’t have any fat kids in our group, and everyone pretty much keeps up. You just have to complete a mile, that’s all. Doesn’t matter how long it takes.

I’m out of breath after the run, and I slink off to the corner. I sit on the bleachers, waiting for the whistle which will indicate that time is up and we must move on to the next category. Brad’s writing on his clipboard, checking off the names. “Faggot!” I know he’s talking to me, and I look up. “Get your lazy ass over here and quit slacking! I should make you run again.”

I look at him, bewildered. I try to speak, but there’s a lump in my throat. “Why you think you get to sit your lazy, faggot ass down, while the rest of us are out here participating? Did I say you could take a break?” I look around me. Several of the boys in our group are sitting on the gym floor. We’re exhausted from the run.

“Um…no, I’m sorry,” I say. I know what I sound like. I know he’s gonna mock me. He rolls his eyes and turns away. Invisible again.

The whistle blows and we move to the next event. It’s chaos for a few moments as the entire class changes places in the gym. Sit-ups. Another easy event. I can do a million sit-ups, I swear. We only have to do fifty, though. I get paired with a partner named Steve. He’s all right. He’s never picked on me, but I can tell he’s disappointed that he got stuck with me. Steve’s skinny like me, and we get done with our sit-ups early. Brad comes over and is holding his clipboard. He addresses Steve, ignoring me.

“You guys done?”

“Yeah.” Steve nods.

“You did your fifty?” Again we both nod.

“What about you, fag?” he finally speaks to me. “Did you do em all?”

He’s starting to piss me off. Why’s he always got to call me names? I feel my face redden. “I did em,” I reply.

“What?” he says, really loudly. “Speak up, queerboy!”

“Yes! I did them.” My voice is squeaky.

“Do twenty-five more. Now!” I stare up at him, disbelievingly. “You heard me! Do twenty-five more or I’m marking you ‘incomplete’.”

I look at Steve. He shrugs, and I know I have no choice. I again assume the position and do my extra sit-ups. It’s so humiliating, I think I might cry. My face is hot, but I don’t say anything. I remember what Daryn said. I gotta man-up. The hour’s half over, then it’ll be done.

I’m worried about the pull-ups and push-ups. I have no strength in my arms. They’re like twigs, really. I’m pretty sure I can do the push-ups though, but I’m already tired. The extra sit-ups didn’t help. The anxiety over the speech doesn’t help either.

Brad doesn’t even do any push-ups himself. He doesn’t need to. He’s already ready for the physical fitness tests, which is why he was chosen to be a group leader. He walks back and forth, first in front of us, then circling around behind. I’m doing my set, twenty-five total, and I’m on number eight. My arms are starting to shake. I doubt I can do seventeen more, but I press on.

I know he’s behind me. He’s stopped walking. “Count em aloud!” he orders. I think he’s addressing the group, but his remark is directed solely at me. “I said, ‘count em, faggot!’”

I stop, my chest pressed against the floor. I feel that same embarrassment, and I’m pissed. I push myself with all my strength. “Nine!” I yell. “Ten…Eleven.”

I feel his foot pressing into my back as he steps on me, forcing me down, “Five!” he yells, resetting my count.

This can’t be happening!  My arms are again shaking. As he removes his foot from my back, I continue. “Six…Seven…Eight.”

His foot slams into my lower back a second time, again forcing me flat against the floor. “Five!”

I feel the tears, and now I’m visibly trembling. “Please…” I beg.

“What?” he yells. “Speak up, Faggot!”

All the others have finished their set. They’re watching me, and I feel the tears streaming down my cheeks. I hear snickering and laughter. I’m mortified, but I can’t stop crying. The whistle blows. “Incomplete!” Brad calls out, checking the box on his clipboard and smirking at me. “You’re such a wuss.” He walks away from me and the group heads over to the final event.

I wipe my face on my tee shirt and head over to the corner which contains the pull-up bar. I’m last in line, of course. We have to do five pull-ups, and I’m terrified. I’ve never been able to do even one pull-up, and today is worse than normal. I’m already worn out, and the push-ups made my arms feel like jelly. As I watch the other group members, it seems so easy. A couple of them struggle on the last one or two, but they all complete their sets. Now it’s my turn.

I step into place below the bar. I wait for Brad to grab me by the waist and hoist me up like he’s done with the other guys. Instead he shoves a step stool in front of me. Leaning in, as if to whisper in my ear, he speaks real loudly. “I ain’t touchin you, faggot.”

Thank God for small favors. I don’t want him to touch me.

I step up on the stool and stretch to reach the bar above my head. As I do so, I notice how quiet the gym is. I glance around me. Everyone’s done with their events, and I’m the last one. I take a deep breath, hoping the whistle will blow and save me. “Hurry up!” Brad orders.

I look to my left and see Trent. He was in another group, but of course they’re done. As I grip the bar, I feel the step stool being removed, and suddenly I’m just dangling there. I look into Trent’s eyes. I gotta do this! I can’t let him see me fail. How mortifying!

I strain myself and pull against the bar, willing myself to rise. I can do it…just gotta get my chin up over this bar. Oh my God, it’s so hard! I’m trembling, my arms shaking. Please God, Help me! I get halfway up, but it’s no good. I fall back down, desperately clinging to the bar.

Brad bursts into laughter. “Come on, faggot! You can at least do one!” Now Brad’s not the only one laughing.

Trent is right there, standing behind Brad. He’s watching the whole thing, and I wonder what he thinks. He knows Brad is right. He can see what a wimp I am. He can see how much of a fag I am compared to everyone else.

I’m so emotional. The sting of my tears burns my cheeks. “He’s crying!” Brad announces. “He’s a faggot and a crybaby!”

My arms give out, and I release the bar, tumbling to the floor.

“Incomplete!” Brad says, and once more I hear the laughter. I look up from my humble position on my knees and see Trent staring down at me. He’s not laughing, but he doesn’t say anything either. He just turns and walks away.

The whistle blows.

I wait for the others to finish their showers before I take one myself. I’m the last one out, and as I head for the cafeteria, I know I can’t eat.  Instead I turn and go down to the bathroom, quickly scurrying into the back stall. I’m going to vomit again. I can feel it, but there is nothing left in my stomach. Dry heaves are the worst. They hurt worse than the sit-ups.

I take deep breaths, trying to calm myself, and sit on the toilet seat. Why am I crying again? Why do I always have to cry? I look up at the wall, and see the graffiti, and it really is the last straw. There it is—my name—written in bold black permanent marker:  CHASE D SUCKS COCK.

When did it all start? When did I become this victim? It must be something about me, some characteristic or defect that has made so inferior. Bad luck? Poor genes? Daryn isn’t like me though. It’s just weakness. The worst thing about it, though, is that most of what Brad says about me is true. I really am a fag. I really am gay, and even though I’ve never come out to anyone but Shelly, they all know.

They all know what I am, and they know I deserve everything I get. Of course they do, or they wouldn’t just stand there watching as Brad humiliates me. They wouldn’t laugh at my expense. Trent wouldn’t just stare at me, standing there like a statue. Certainly he’d say something in my defense…unless he felt the same as Brad. Unless I deserved it.

I know I can’t give my speech now. Brad is right. I’m a weakling. I’m a failure. I’m incomplete. I decide what I’m going to do. I’ll tell Mr. Frye that I’m not ready with my speech. I’ll take an F. It doesn’t really matter. My grades are good enough that I’ll still pass the class.

I sit there on the toilet seat for the next forty minutes, waiting for the bell. Finally it rings, and I go wash my face and head for speech class.

*********************

I slip into my seat right before the final bell, and Shelly leans over to me. “Where were you? I saved you a seat at lunch.” I don’t have time to answer before the bell rings.

Class starts immediately.

“We have a lot of speeches to get through and less than an hour to do it. Let’s get started.” He pulls a lectern over to the center of the room, directly in front of the chalk board. “Who’ll be first?”

Brad stands up, without even raising his hand. “I’ll go first, Mr. Frye,” he volunteers, and steps forward, sliding behind the podium.

“Very well, go ahead Mr. Davenport.”

Brad’s speech is on steroid use. Yawn. His delivery, though, is animated. He speaks confidently and with conviction, and Mr. Frye seems impressed. So do the students, and they give him a big round of applause.  The next volunteer steps forward, this time a girl named Mindy.

Shelly gives her speech about halfway through class, and she does well.  She’s so convincing that I debate committing to Veganism myself. There are only about four students left, none of them volunteering. Mr. Frye has to choose someone, and he picks Randall. I heave a sigh of relief, praying we run out of time before it’s my turn.

There is fifteen minutes left in class, and only two remaining speeches which haven’t been presented. Trent and I are all that remain.

“I’ll go next,” Trent offers. I cross my fingers and hope he’s long-winded.

As Trent steps behind the lectern, he looks down at his notes and then out at his audience. He seems nervous, and I think his knees are actually wobbling a bit. I feel for him, empathizing with his anxiety. I’d have never expected him to be the type to fear public speaking though—not Trent!

He takes a deep breath and then slowly lets it out. His sigh is audible, and it feels almost like time has stood still for a few moments. Then he speaks, his voice at first wavering.

“Teen bullying is an epidemic in the United States,” he says. I stare at him wide eyed as he looks up. His gaze locks upon my own. “And it’s got to stop!”

The room is deathly quiet, and I think I hear my own heart beating in my ears. Trent pauses, as if collecting his thoughts, and then he looks down at his notes. Quickly he picks them up and tears them in half, rather dramatically. He tosses them behind himself, and they cascade to floor.

“I have a lot of statistics. I can tell you how many kids have killed themselves in the past two years as a result of bullying. I can tell you how many of them were gay or lesbian. I can tell you which states they are from, and what hate crime laws we have in place in each of these states.

“I can tell you a lot of things about bullying and what it does to a person.” Tears are forming in his eyes as he continues.”But sadly, I can’t tell you that I’ve done my part to make it stop.”

“I’m so sorry,” Trent says, as once again he stares at me. “I’m so sorry that I stood there all those times and said nothing. I’m so terribly sorry…” He reaches up to wipe the tears from his cheeks as I feel the sting of my own tears running down my face. I wonder if he’ll be able to go on; he seems overcome, and the entire room is stunned by the weight of his emotion.

“I witnessed something today…a few minutes ago, actually.  Something happened right here in our school, and let me tell you, there are horror movies I’ve seen that were less scary.” He shakes his head and then looks out into the audience, making eye contact with several of his classmates.  “You see, there’s this person I’ve admired for a really long time. I have no problem telling you who he is, but I’m afraid that at this point to mention his name may only further add to his humiliation. Certainly he’d have every right to be ashamed of me now, because…well, I’m ashamed of myself.

“This person I’m talking about is so smart. He’s the kind of kid who seems to know all the answers… like a genius or something. I don’t get it really. I don’t know how somebody can store all that information in their head, but he does.

“He’s also a really nice guy. I’ve never heard him say a mean word about anyone. When all the rest of us stand around talking smack about one another, he minds his own business. He doesn’t tell cruel jokes. He doesn’t make fun of anyone, and he’s always very helpful.

“I remember one time this person helped me in one of my classes. I guess I was too dumb to understand the material, but he never treated me that way. He saved my butt, really. And I bet he’d do the same for just about anyone in this classroom.” Trent pauses and looks directly at Brad. “Well, almost anyone.

“I’ve been noticing for quite some time that he isn’t treated right here. I’ve heard a lot of people say mean and nasty things about him, call him names, mimic him mercilessly. They write things about him on the walls in the bathroom. They hurt him so badly that it makes him cry, and then… then they laugh at him for crying.

“I heard a group of guys bragging about how they’d taught him a lesson. They said they flushed his head in the toilet.” Trent continues to stare directly at Brad, who squirms a bit in his seat, in spite of the cocky smirk that remains plastered across his face.  “I guess they thought it was funny. I guess they thought he deserved it.

“But I have to ask myself, ‘What’d he ever do? Why does he deserve to be treated like this?’ I think all of us know the answer to this. He’s different. He’s quiet; he’s sensitive. He doesn’t act like a macho jerk. He just doesn’t fit in…and you know what that means. We all know what that means. You have to fit in around here in order to be accepted. God forbid someone could be their own individual. God forbid someone could be unique in any way!”

Trent pauses and takes a deep breath. I’m crying openly now, disbelieving the words I’m hearing. Trent rubs his forehead and looks down, as if ashamed before continuing. “What happened today was the worst thing I’ve ever seen in my life. I saw this kid publicly shamed and mocked. I saw him tormented and called horrible names. I saw dozens of other guys standing around laughing while it was happening. And I saw myself there too… doing nothing!

“When I think about it, there is so much I could have done. I could have intervened. I could have said, ‘Stop!’ I could have given this kid some support, some comfort. I could have stood up for him. Instead I remained a bystander.

“I remained silent and let it happen. Shame on me, and shame on all of you. Shame on you for knowing and doing nothing! Shame on you for ignoring what is happening right before your eyes. You all know it’s wrong. I know it’s wrong. Yet we all continue to allow it to happen.

“I want to make a pledge to this friend…well, actually I’m not sure I deserve to even be called his friend. But regardless, I want to pledge to him from this moment forward, it will never happen again. Never! Never in my presence, and I’d better never find out it has happened any other time. I don’t know if he can forgive me for being a bystander to his torture, but I swear … I won’t stand by silently any longer.”

Trent is no longer crying. He’s no longer shaking, and his knees have stopped knocking. He stands there confidently, seemingly enraged and passionate. “Thank you,” he says quietly, and then takes his seat.

Mr. Frye is leaning down to pick up the papers from Trent’s notes as the bell sounds. I turn to see Shelly’s tear-streaked face, and then I smile meekly. I step toward her but suddenly stop, as I make direct eye contact with Trent. He steps over and places his hand on my shoulder as I turn to him and find myself wrapped protectively in his warm embrace.

I suddenly no longer feel invisible.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

      The first time I noticed Petey Drinkell was back in the ninth grade. We were in the same algebra class, and I caught him staring at me one day before class started. It was sort of amusing, to be honest, because as soon as he realized I’d noticed him he got all embarrassed. He quickly looked away and pretended he hadn’t seen that I’d caught him looking. I could easily have fucked with him that day. Could’ve asked him what the hell he was starin at. It might’ve actually been funny to see him squirm a little, because I knew a little shit like him would be easy enough to intimidate. There was something about the kid, though, that I liked.

      Maybe it was those big brown eyes. Back then Petey wore glasses, and his hair was always a mess. He was sorta dorky looking, but in a way that wasn’t ugly. I think the fact that he’s so little made him seem boyish. Well I guess back in the ninth grade he really still was just boy…literally. We were both fourteen then.

      That was about the age that I was first starting to figure out who I was. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I’d been going through an identity crisis or anything like that. I’ve always been confident about who I am as an individual, but growing up the way I did, more-or-less just provided me a series of clues about who I was destined to eventually become. Once I hit my teen years, I started to put these puzzle pieces together and everything started to make sense.

      When I was ten years old there was this other kid in my neighborhood named Will who hung out with me quite a bit. He was a year older than me, but you’d have never known it. Will wasn’t exactly what I’d call shy, but he was certainly more of a follower than a leader. He was kinda unsure of himself, and he was the type who would pretty much go along with anything anyone told him. It didn’t take me long to figure out who was Alpha and who was beta in that relationship. It didn’t take Will long to learn the chain of command either, and it got to the point where he did pretty much anything I told him to do.

      Thing about Will was that I just got the sense when he was around me that he hung on every word I said. He sorta idolized me in a way. It was like he had no opinions of his own, and whatever I said that I liked, he liked too. If I disliked something, on the other hand, he hated it. Some guys might be a little annoyed by this kind of emulation, but to me it just seemed natural.

      I was in Little League at the time, and I also played flag football during the fall. I was already a pretty damned good tennis player, and my dad was teaching me how to golf. When it came to sports and physical fitness I was a role model not only to Will but to most of my other classmates. Everyone knew that my family owned a chain of fitness centers, and my dad stressed from the time I was a baby how important it was to always be physically fit and active. The aptitude I had for sports was something that seemed to just come naturally to me. It was inborn. Superior genes, I guess.

      Of course Will didn’t possess much athletic ability at all. He was too self conscious to play on a team sport. He embarrassed easily and seemed to put a lot of effort into staying out of the limelight. Even though I had no desire to hurt the guy, I found it incredibly amusing that it was so easy for me to humiliate him. I’d do little things like make him pick up a piece of ABC gum off the ground and chew it. He’d stop and look at me, his face reddening, “Do I have to?” I’d just nod and stare at him intently, fully aware of the stern and demanding expression I was giving him. Reluctantly he obeyed. He always obeyed.

      When I stepped in a pile of dog shit on his lawn one day, I was pissed. He kept apologizing to me, as if it were somehow his fault even though his family didn’t even own a dog. I let him take responsibility for it, though, and made him kneel down and scrape the shit off my heel with a stick. He then ran inside and got towels to use in order to finish cleaning my sneakers. That was the very first time another guy knelt at my feet to serve me, and I knew there would be many, many more to come.

      Will never sucked my dick though. His family moved away when he was twelve, and I never saw him again. But having known him the way I did for that year or so, I was awakened to a side of myself that many people would not necessarily understand. Some people may have considered me cocky or arrogant, and I can’t really deny that these characteristics were a part of it.  In truth, though, I realized that it was actually just a part of nature. It was survival of the fittest. The dominant members of any species rise to the top of the social system. It was about status. Some people were born to be leaders; others were naturally followers. I liked the fact that I was in the first group, and as I was initially discovering this reality of course I was a bit conceited about it.

      Even before I met Will I was aware that I had the ability to control people who were weaker than me. I used to have a cousin named Marcus who spent a lot of summers around our house. I remember when we were eight years old, I pinned him in a schoolboy pin, sitting on his chest with his elbows trapped beneath my knees. Staring down at him and feeling him squirm defenselessly underneath me gave me a feeling of tremendous power. I then tickle tortured him til he pissed his pants. He was too afraid to tell his mom what really happened, and so he lied and said he’d had an accident. I kinda thought after that incident that he would never want to come back for another visit, yet he practically begged his mom every chance he got.  Then when we were alone together it seemed he was almost goading me into dominating him. He never pissed himself after that first time, but there were several repeat performances of the tickle-torturing.

      I was fourteen the first time I got head, and it was from another guy. Tommy Guiness and I were on the same freshman baseball team, and he played right field. I was pitcher, of course. There was something I sensed about him from the way he looked at me. It was sort of the same feeling I got from Petey Drinkell that day in algebra class. Probably the reason something happened first with Tommy was simply due to the fact that we spent so much more time together. We were on the same team, shared the same locker room, and had a lot more opportunities to hang out with each other.

      When I invited Tommy to my house that Saturday afternoon, I already knew he’d be serving me one way or another.  I also knew that it would be strictly one-way service and that I would not in any way be returning the favor. In fact it seemed to me that just by allowing him the privilege of serving me, I was the one doing him the favor. When it was over with, I knew I’d been right. I could see it in his eyes. I could tell by the way Tommy looked at me that a need within him had been fulfilled. We had basically satisfied each other’s needs. He needed to serve, and I craved being worshipped.

      The first few times that I used another guy like that were a major rush.  I absolutely loved that feeling of total control over another person. I liked seeing the way he needed me. He needed to serve me enough to beg for it.  It was like he was born for that very purpose, and he’d do just about anything to feel that sense of gratification he got from pleasing me.  I found it exciting—a major turn-on sexually but even more than that, it was a rush of power. At fourteen I felt like I was totally the shit. I was some sort of god or something.

      Tommy was only the first of many fags that I used to get my rocks off.  Some were true subs like Tommy and Petey, but others were just gay guys who liked to suck dick. Regardless of what they were, though, the rules were always the same. They pleased me, and I never reciprocated. I wasn’t about to suck another dude’s dick, and that was non-negotiable. I never got a single complaint though. There was never so much as a suggestion that it ever be any different.

      It wasn’t long after I started getting head from guys that I tapped my first pussy. The chick’s name was Kristy, and she was sophomore. Being the jock that I was, it was just sort of expected that I have a girlfriend, and Kristy was the perfect person to fill the job. She was blonde and cute with nice tits, and she was very popular. Had I been anyone other than who I was she would have never dated me, simply because I was a freshman, but she knew the same thing that everyone else did. I wasn’t like the other dudes my age.

      Since Tommy was the first fag ever to suck me, I figured he should also be the first to get fucked by me. I knew what it was like to fuck pussy, and I wanted to compare the feelings. Of course, fucking another guy is in-and-of-itself an act of dominance, especially when they know they’re nothing more than a hole to be used for my pleasure, but there honestly were things about both pussy and boypussy that I liked. When fucking a pussy, the tightness surrounds my entire cock. The deeper I thrust the tighter it feels.  Fucking ass though is much tighter upon entry. Going in deeper doesn’t provide any better sensation, but fucking faster sure as hell does.

      The mere thought of the act itself being totally about my pleasure, and mine alone, was the biggest turn on. When I realized that the fag (or “bottom” as they call themselves when they’re getting fucked) ends up getting enormous pleasure from the experience, it sort of changed the dynamic a little bit.  When a guy gets fucked up the ass, the pressure of the cock slammin against his prostrate can actually stimulate him so much that he gets an erection and even has an orgasm.  I just found it to be so hot that I had the power to literally fuck the cum out of another guy like that.

      There were times, though, when I wanted the entire focus to remain solely upon me and my pleasure. Originally what I would do is order the fag not to cum. I’d tell him he was gonna be punished if he did. Then I resorted to some more severe tactics like icing down his privates. Making him lie flat with his dick sitting on a bag of ice while I fucked his upturned ass.  After I shot my load up his ass, I’d make him get dressed right away. When I finally discovered that there was such a thing as a male chastity device, I started fantasizing about locking up a sub and completely controlling his ability to achieve sexual pleasure or orgasm

      My experiences in high school were basically experiments. I dabbled into a little bit of this and a little bit of that. Spanking. Piss drinking. Tickle torture. Face fucking. Ass fucking. Even some bondage. What I really thought most about, though, was completely taking ownership of another person. I’m not sure you would really call it a Master and slave kind of situation that I desired though. I really didn’t want a slave. I wanted a sub like Tommy who I could tell craved serving me, but Tommy was not the type of guy who would ever be able to give 100% to me the way I desired. He was a jock like me, and he had an image of his own to uphold. His submissive side pretty much only manifested itself on the occasions that we were alone together, and it was not something that would ever be 24/7.

      The other issue that I faced was the fact that I honestly did love pussy. I loved having a girlfriend. I liked the idea that people looked at me and assumed that I would have a girlfriend simply because I was the kinda guy that I was. It was more-or-less a given that there would be a hot looking chick available at my beckon call. I didn’t see how owning a sub would ever fit into that reality on a long term basis.

      I mean I knew one day I’d get married. I knew I’d be taking over my dad’s business and starting a family of my own. I was not about to give up my birthright just because I liked to dominate other guys. Never for a second did I ever even entertain the possibility that I might be gay. I am no fag. I wasn’t then and I’m not now.

      It was in September of last year that everything really changed in my life. I had started at the community college, planning to take a couple years there before university. The plan that my dad and I discussed was that I just go to local college for the first couple years because he was in the process of a major acquisition of fitness centers in the area. He was planning to open three or four more stores and he wanted me to run one of them and assist in overseeing the operations of the others. Taking a light load at a community college would allow me to do this without completely forsaking my academic goals.

      At the start of the semester I was dating this chick named Tracy. Even though she was a couple years older than me, she was a really good fit as a girlfriend. She was hot as fuck, had money, had big tits, and was the one girl on campus everyone wanted to fuck.  Her best friend was this chick named Kathie, and when I first started seeing Tracy I found out that Kathie and her had a fight over me. I guess Kathie kinda had the hots for me for awhile. Kathie, as it turns out, ended up being the big sister of Petey.

      The first day that I officially met Petey was a crazy day to begin with. I’d dropped my car off at the body shop the night before to get some detail work done on it. My dad was using the SUV, and my mom had to out of town with her car, so I had no ride. I called Tracy and she had a hair appointment or some shit in the morning. She planned on swinging by and picking me up on the way in to class, but then I’d ‘ve had to either wait at the salon with her (not happenin) or go to class early (really not happenin). I just said fuck it, I’ll take a bus. She was pretty flippant about it, sayin “suit yourself”, and I just brushed it off. Big deal. So I’d ride the fuckin bus for once like half the rest of the college kids do.

      Well when I got to the bus stop, I noticed this kid standin beside me. I recognized who it was because I remembered him from clear back in my high school algebra class. It was Petey Drinkell. He looked up at me with that same sorta expression that I’d seen in Tommy’s eyes like a million times. “Dude,” I said, “why are you shivering?”

      It was like at least seventy degrees out, and I knew he couldn’t be cold. He was obviously nervous, and I suspected it was simply from standing next to me. Well the way he responded to me left no doubt whatsoever in my mind. He just stuttered and stammered, and I could barely make any sense of what he was sayin. Next thing I know, the bus pulls up and we both get on.

      Well then the kid takes a seat back towards the middle of the bus and pulls out some big Harry Potter book. It just about cracked me up, because if I could’ve predicted what a guy like him would like to read, that’s exactly what I’d have expected. I glanced back at him a couple times and saw him pushing his glasses up on his nose. He really was a Poindexter, but he wasn’t so much of a geek that he was homely. He just was sort of nerdy in a cute kind of way, if that makes any sense.

      When I overheard these two snot-nosed thugs starting to hassle the kid, I almost jumped in to intervene, but I instead decided to mind my own business. I wanted to see how Petey was gonna handle the situation, plus I knew the ride wouldn’t be all that long. When we got to the school I got out and headed for class, but decided to wait inside the main entryway for Petey to walk in. I was curious about him and wanted to try one more time to get him to talk to me. I waited for a few minutes, scanning the bulletin boards, but he didn’t come. I figured maybe he had a class in another building, but then I remembered those two thugs who were sitting behind him on the bus. There was just something that told me to go check things out, so I headed back out of the building towards the bus drop-off point.

      As I rounded the corner of the building I saw Petey on the ground. He was on his knees in front of one the two guys who’d been bullying him. Just as I began to approach them, I saw the guy who was standing there in front of Petey wind up his arm and smack Petey right in the face. He was holding something though, and it looked like Petey’s Harry Potter book. It was a thick hardcover. The impact of the blow was so loud that I heard the shattering of his glasses as they flew off his face, and I also heard what I thought was probably the breaking of bone.

      “What the fuck is goin on here?” I demanded.  At this point my adrenaline was pumping, and I was fuckin pissed. There was nothing I hated more than a bully. Sure, I was a Dom. I loved to control other guys, humiliate them, manipulate them, make them service me. But when I did this, I knew I was giving them exactly what they wanted. What they needed. That was far different than bullying.

      These two punks who were beating up Petey, were not Doms by any stretch of the imagination. They were just weak motherfuckin lowlifes who had to try makin themselves feel better about their pitiful existence by tormenting someone they perceived as being weaker. A shy, unassuming guy like little Petey was an easy target. Immediately I saw red, and as the fury welled up inside me I could easily have ripped each of them limb-from-limb.  As soon as that cocky bitch opened his mouth, assuming that I was there to join him and his friend in tormenting the helpless kid who was already lying on the ground with blood gushing from his broken nose, I momentarily lost control of my own emotions. I took a furious swing at him, nailing the bastard right in the jaw, and down he went.

      At the time I didn’t even realize how fuckin hard I’d hit him, but later I wondered for awhile if I hadn’t broken my own hand.  During that moment, though, all I could think about was rescuing Petey. I’ve seen some nasty shit before, but the way he was bleeding was pretty wicked. I crouched down beside him and grabbed hold of him, scooping him into my arms. He was crying and begging me not to take him to the hospital. His pleading didn’t last long though, cause within seconds he was out like a light. I ran quickly back towards the building. I was gonna take him inside and have someone call 911 or give us a ride to the ER. Just as I rounded the corner I looked towards the parking lot and saw Tracy’s car pulling in.

      She pissed me off, though, the way she was more concerned about possibly getting blood on her carpet than she was about the boy lying unconscious in my arms. “Shut up and drive!” I demanded. She glared at me furiously for a second, then obeyed. Not many people have the guts to challenge me when I’m being that demanding about something. Of course, as soon as she looked down and saw who was I was holding she recognized him.

      “Oh my god, that’s Kathie’s little brother!”

      “Yeah, it’s Petey Drinkell, and I think he has a concussion.  These two guys were beatin the shit outta him.” She stepped on the gas and gunned it out of the parking lot.

      “Get my phone out of my purse, would ya?” she asked. “Please… I think Kathie’s number is in it.”

      Kathie was absolutely frantic when I got her on the phone.  I guess her parents had both died only a couple years ago, and she and Petey were pretty close. She said she’d meet us at the ER. Tracy dropped us off and headed back to her class. She had a test that morning, and plus she and Kathie were still not exactly on speaking terms.  I stayed with Petey.

      It was when Petey came back around and stared up into my eyes that I truly saw his vulnerability for the first time. Seeing him stare at me in algebra class and watching him shake nervously at the bus stop while he tried to talk to me—those incidents were nothing compared to the way he looked it then in that emergency room. That was really the moment that I sensed there may be a lot more in store for us in the future.

      The days and weeks following Petey’s attack were pretty laid back. Even though I knew that Petey was sub and that he yearned to serve me, I also felt that it would really freak him out if he tried exploring this aspect of himself. It was too soon after his beating, and I didn’t want him to perceive me as being just another bully. I knew that if he were to submit to me, it had to be something that he did to fulfill a need within himself. Usually I’m not too good at waiting for the things I wanted, but there is such a thing as integrity. Taking advantage of someone as vulnerable as Petey at a time like that would have been about the lowest thing I could’ve done.

      It was like two months later when I saw him again after that week of his attack. Right after it happened he had a couple shiners that made him look like one of those bulldogs like on the little rascals. I told him he looked like a bandit, like Petey the dog on L’il Rascals. When he bumped into me two months later on the sidewalk, I was walking a dog that looked exactly like that. I’d gotten it from the pound, and of course I named him Petey.

      Petey was so excited to see the puppy, and he knelt there in front of me petting his namesake. It was when he looked up at me that I once again recognized that look in his eyes. It was like hero worship, as if he was in awe of me. I almost expected to see him start trembling again like he’d done back at the bus stop, but instead he just quickly looked down at the ground.  I knew the time was right, and I then invited him over to my house.

      Before Petey I’d never been with a sub who didn’t already know he was a sub, or who hadn’t at least already admitted that he was gay. A lot of times gay guys sense that they have a need to be dominated and seek out ways to explore fulfilling this desire, but in Petey’s case it just seemed far more natural than that. It never was a matter of roleplay or kink. It was totally genuine.

      It just seemed appropriate that I was the very first person Petey told about his identity. As I might have expected, it was an emotional admission. He’d struggled for the longest time trying to figure out who he was and what his attractions to guys had meant. He confessed to me that he was afraid he was a fag, and I told him it was cool. No matter what, he was still a chill dude.

      It would have been so simple that day for me to give him direct orders about what he was to do, but I knew there’d be plenty of time for that later. It was instead important for him to verbalize his own desires. In order for him to be my sub, he had to express to me that it was what he truly wanted. Once he made this admission and requested my ownership of him, then I’d take what was mine.

      And yeah, that’s what it was. Ownership. It was what he wanted. What he needed. And it was what I’d sought all along. In the months that followed we explored how far we were gonna take it. At first we started out with sexual domination. I made him service me on numerous occasions. It was always oral in the beginning. He was so young, just learning. Odd that I say that really, since we’re the same age, but emotionally and socially he had an endearing immaturity about him that made him seem so vulnerable. I wanted to push him as far as I could and test his limits, but I also knew it was my responsibility to care for him.

      That’s probably why I started calling him my pup. Sure in the beginning it was a nickname that I’d given him cause of his black eyes, but it was appropriate in a far more significant way as well. Petey was hyper emotional just like a little puppy. He craved attention and affection and needed reassurance. He missed me terribly when I was away from him. He was unfailingly faithful and loyal. And of course he would do anything to earn my approval.

      Never once did I have to teach Petey to call me sir. He was doing that before we’d even left the hospital. I really didn’t have to give him a lot of coaching on how to suck my cock the right way either. It just seemed to come naturally. He loved sitting at my feet, waiting for my attention. He loved my praise the same way a canine loves being petted. Yeah, he was definitely aptly nicknamed. He was indeed my pup.

      The issues and struggles we had during the first few months we were together were less about Petey’s training than they were about my life goals. I had never envisioned myself being in any sort of relationship which could be labeled “gay”. I guess in the beginning I didn’t really even consider what Petey and I had to be an actual relationship. In my mind I called it “ownership”. He was available to serve me. He got what he needed out of it, and so did I. Being as emotional as he was, he was quick to confess his love for me. It was cool, and I was fine with that. I expected that a needy and dependent sub like him would fall in love with his Master. It was only natural.

      I wasn’t about to allow this to change who I was though. I had a plan for my life. That plan included running a very successful business. Getting married some day. Children.  I honestly suspected that I would always have subs like Petey on the side, but they would just have to accept the fact that I was Master. I was gonna continue to be who was and do what I wanted to do. That is the dynamic of Master and sub. The Master makes the decisions, and he also bears the responsibilities.

      It was my status that entitled me to get the things I wanted out of life. If that included sex with women or even sex with other guys, it was my prerogative.  I knew that this was something that Petey initially struggled with, but I also realized that if he were to make any demands to the contrary, he would essentially be sacrificing my ownership. He wasn’t about to do this. I knew how much he needed me. I knew he needed me more than I needed him.

      Isn’t that the very essence of power? Need. Who needs whom? If a Master needs a sub, then he becomes a slave to that sub. I didn’t need Petey. My life would go on just the same without him in it as it did with him at my feet. He was the one who needed me. He was the one who was dependent. He needed my guidance, my reassurance, my protection, my approval, my praise, and my training. He needed me to the point of obsession. I became his reason for living. That is what ownership is.

      It was at the time of Petey’s nineteenth birthday party the following spring that things started to get a little murkier. It wasn’t that the rules had changed at all, and it definitely wasn’t that I had softened in any way. It was that my desires started to change. I began to rethink what it was that I really wanted. For all this time I had been so confident that I was gonna get what I wanted out of life, and that nothing was gonna stand in my path. The irony of it, though, was that the things I was really gunnin for were not even the things I truly wanted.

      If I were to get married and have a bunch of kids just to appear normal, how dominant would that be? If I were to allow someone else to impose their rules and expectations upon me when it came to the decisions I made about my lifestyle, who would really be in control? It sure as hell wouldn’t be me. It was one thing to go out and fuck a chick because it was something I enjoyed, but it was quite another to do so just to maintain an image. If I preferred Petey’s soft lips around my cock over Tracy’s big tits bouncing in my face, shouldn’t I be free to make this decision? Should there be any shame in it? Should I hide it?

      I was not at a point where I was ready to pledge fidelity to a sub. I’d never do that. It wasn’t Petey’s role to dictate to me who I could or could not see. If it is monogamy that Petey seeks, he needs a different relationship, because that was never the issue. Bottom line is that although I’m not gonna allow myself to be subjected to a label, I’m also not gonna deny what I want and how I feel. Truth is that I love Petey. He is my choice. Being his Master is my choice. Being his lover is my choice. Being his protector and friend and companion—all my choice.

      Making that choice to have Petey as the central person in my life was never the same thing as committing to monogamy. It was never a co-dependency. It was never a concession on my part.  I never said to Petey, “I love you and therefore want things to be a lot more equal between us.”  Anyone who thinks that doesn’t have a fuckin clue what a Dom/sub relationship is about. That is not the kind of confession Petey would ever even wanna hear from me. He needs me to be his Master, now and always. And I want him to be my sub, and I deeply love him.

      Perhaps the realization of the depth of this love was initially startling to me. I guess it did kinda rock my world a little. There was this voice in the back of my head warning me that love was gonna make me vulnerable. I thought maybe in a way I would start to need him as badly as he needed me. I felt it might cause a power shift; it might give him leverage that no sub should ever have. But then at a certain point it was as if I had this epiphany. As faggy as that may sound, it’s true. It was a realization.

      I realized that it was Petey I was talking about. Petey who loved me with his whole heart. Petey who would literally lay down his life to serve me. Petey who eagerly obeyed my every command. Petey who was honest to a fault. Petey who was incapable of lying or stealing or cheating. Petey who was loyal til the bitter end.  This is the one I was worried about giving up leverage to?

      I guess all the months that I’d been focusing upon teaching Petey about trust should have taught me a lesson as well. I absolutely knew that I loved Petey, and I simply had to trust that my honesty about this fact would not be something that he would use to ever attempt to manipulate me. Sure, every sub does in one way or another try to covertly influence their master, and I suppose this could be viewed as manipulation. But I know beyond any shadow of a doubt that Petey has no desire to shift the dynamic of our relationship.

      And the mere fact that I now refer to what we have as being both an ownership and a relationship is perhaps a concession in and of itself. So be it. I consider it merely semantics. It’s a relationship. Period. Not a marriage. Not monogamy. Not exclusivity. But there is no denying that it’s a relationship, and it’s one based upon love and trust.

      It was after I’d begun sorting all of this out in my head that I was faced with some other serious shit. I had come to the realization that I loved Petey and that I didn’t so much enjoy sex with chicks all that much. I knew that Tracy was gonna be history, but that is not to say I would never do the nasty with another member of the female species. It just was not something I wanted, at least not now. Right now it was Petey that I wanted. But then Tracy dropped her bombshell. She was preggo.  Fuck me!

      She decided on an abortion, and we went through that whole ordeal together.  I’ll admit that at the time I was a real prick about the whole thing. I really wanted her to terminate the pregnancy because I just saw the whole thing blowing up in our faces.  A baby at that point would have changed everything for both of us. Neither one of us felt that we were going to be together for the rest of our lives, but having a kid together would have connected us in a way that was irreversible.  Looking back I wish that I would have handled it differently. I wish I’d simply been supportive of whatever decision she made. To explain it all now would seem more like I’m trying to make excuses for myself.

      I decided not to tell Petey about any of it, and this is a decision that I don’t regret.  As his Master it is my job to decide what things are appropriate to tell him, and what things he doesn’t need to know. I felt that knowing about the pregnancy would be very hurtful to him. Knowing about the abortion would be even worse. He would probably blame himself for it in some way. He’d probably start having all these fears about whether or not our relationship was denying me the possibility of having children someday.

      This whole ordeal was something I was thrilled to have put completely behind me by the time Petey and I took vacation together.  Going away with him on a Caribbean cruise was beyond awesome. Seeing his face light up when we walked aboard the ship the first day—taking in the grandeur of his surroundings—made the trip worth every penny of the ticket price.  By the end of the first day we’d made the acquaintance of a couple gay guys named Evan and Ben, and we spent a good portion of the trip hangin with them.

      Evan was a middle-aged guy, probably about forty or so, but he looked and acted a lot younger, and his boyfriend Ben was closer to our age. At first it seemed that Evan was sorta like Ben’s sugar daddy, but after we got talking to them it became obvious that their relationship was closer to what Petey and I had. It was definitely Dom/sub with Evan being the Dom. After Petey called me “sir” a couple times out of pure habit, they understood we had more in common than we’d initially thought.

      I didn’t really think it was gonna be so cool to hang with a middle-aged professional guy like Evan. Come to find out he was a lawyer from some big New York firm, but after having a few drinks with him that first night I got a sense that he regarded us as equals. Let’s put it this way, he respected my status as a fellow Dom, regardless of my age. And I liked the fact that he didn’t try talking down to me or treating me like a novice because of my age.

      “Interested in doin a swap for the night?” he asked as he lit his cigar. We were sitting poolside on the deck at an umbrella table. I smiled at him and nodded, understanding full well what he was proposing.

      “Tempting,” I admitted. Ben was pretty hot, what I’d describe as looking sort of like a rent boy. Movie-star good looks, perfect boyish facial features and a rockhard solid gym body. “But I don’t think Petey’s ready for that yet.”

      Evan shrugged. “Why not? If you’re ready for it, he needs to get ready, right?”

      It was my turn to shrug. “I guess so, but I gotta trust my gut on this. I’ve been waiting for the right time, and there’s another Dom—my best friend Alex—he’s gonna probably be the first I swap with. No offense.”

      “Well we’re both here right now, and I think your boy is cute as fuck…but suit yourself. We could do it as a four-way—all of us together so he saw his Master was right there, if you think that’d make it easier.” He took a drag on the cigar and propped his feet up the empty chair beside him.

      “It’s not that really. Petey would do whatever I told him, whether he liked it or not. He’d do a good job of serving you too.” I looked down at his feet, probably about a size twelve or thirteen.

      “So what’s the problem?” Evan asked.

      I sighed and leaned back in my chair. I took a swig of my beer. “Well, I guess it’s not really a matter of Petey being ready, to be honest. I’m the one who’s not ready, and I’m not sure I ever will be. I just don’t like the idea of another dude fuckin my boy.”

      Evan laughed. “I can understand that, man. I hear ya, and ya know I’d respect whatever limits you set. If you don’t want me tappin your boy’s ass, there’s plenty of other shit we could do.” Almost unconsciously he rubbed himself, doing it in such an inconspicuous manner that it was like he was merely adjusting his junk, so to speak.

      “Yeah well I can think of a few things I’d like to do with your boy too,” I smiled, “but to be honest this cruise was a birthday present to Petey. I want it to be something special for him, something he’ll always remember.”

      Evan feigned mock indignation. “I see how I rate,” he said jokingly.

      “Not how I meant it,” I brushed off his comment. “I want the trip to be about us—Petey and me. I want him to remember it as our time for each other.”

      “No problem,” Evan said, “it’s cool.”

      Petey and Ben had taken off to tour some of the gift shops aboard the ship, and I heard them approaching as I went to take another swig of my beer. “Sir,” Petey chimed in excitedly, “you should see all the cool stuff I got.” He slid down beside me, kneeling on the tile at my feet.

      “Lemme see,” I said, smiling down at him. I reached down to take the bags from his hand.

      “Wait sir!... um, please,” Petey said. “There’s something in there I don’t want you to see yet.”

      “Petey,” I said with a scolding voice, “what’d I tell you about my pup buyin me presents?”

      He looked down at the ground in front of him. “I’m sorry sir, but I had to, and it’s not just for you. It’s for us. You’ll see, I promise…” He quickly pulled one of bags aside and set it beside him, then handed me the rest of his packages. As I removed each item from the bags he continued to prattle on, explaining whom he’d gotten each souvenir for—his sister Kathie, her boyfriend Carter, a couple of his coworkers, my best bud Alex, and of course his best friend Drew.

      The enthusiasm of Petey’s excitement was infectious, and the three of us were all smiling as he dramatically explained his choices of gifts. Literally everything about Petey is absolutely transparent, and this is probably the one thing about him I love the most.  In the beginning his emotionalism was at times annoying and sometimes challenging. It became difficult to gauge exactly how far I could push him in expanding his limits. But as much as I felt irritated when he overreacted to things, I also knew it was a part of his makeup. It was simply who he was. Everything about him is real.

      He really is like a pup, and I don’t mean this in the canine roleplay fetish sorta way.  I mean he is excitable and loyal, and he craves praise and reassurance. He really is in many ways like a human version of my canine pet. He needs to be petted, so to speak.

      And even though I say his emotionalism can be annoying, I honestly think that this was why I fell in love with him.  It was impossible for him to hide his love for me, and it just sort of rubbed off on me. He just has a purity—an air of innocence—which makes him so loveable. Sometimes just looking at him gives me a hard-on.

      And after my conversation with Evan, seeing Petey this way made me rock hard. Knowing that another Dom had just offered to barter his muscle stud boy for my Petey made me proud that he was my property. Seeing him kneel there beside me on the hard tile of the deck reminded me that being by my side was more important to him than appearances, more so even than his own comfort. And hearing his excitement bubble out of him as he innocently recounted the adventures of his shopping excursion made me wanna give the little guy something to really be excited about.

      “We’re gonna call it a night,” I said, interrupting Petey. “Let’s get together tomorrow and hang out if ya want,” I said to Evan. “I’m gonna hit the gym at about eight tomorrow morning if ya wanna join me.” Petey looked up at me, a look of disappointment crossing his face. I knew he was worried he’d embarrassed me. He probably felt I wasn’t interested in all that he was saying.

      “Sure ya don’t want another beer. Night’s still young…”

      “Thanks, but it’s been a long day. Gimme a call in the morning; you have our room number, right?” He nodded and I tipped my beer bottle towards him just before setting it down, then turned and nodded in Ben’s direction. “Nice meetin ya, Ben. “

      “Thank you,” he said. I noticed he didn’t address me as “sir” and thought momentarily how I’d like to teach him some manners.

      “Come on, pup,” I said as I stood up. Quickly Petey gathered up his bags and said his goodbyes and we headed back towards our room.

      “Sir,” Petey said as he hurried behind me, “is something wrong?” I didn’t answer him. I wanted him to worry for a little bit longer, and I knew my silence would drive him crazy. After a couple minutes he finally mustered the courage to speak again. “I’m really sorry if I did something wrong, sir.”

      “Quiet!” I said, “Can you just shut your mouth for once?” I didn’t turn around to look at him but knew he must be crestfallen. He’d probably be in tears by the time we were back in our room. My cock was throbbing in the confines of my Umbro shorts. I was glad Petey was behind me and couldn’t see. I suspected he probably was afraid I was genuinely pissed at him for buying me the gift. After all it was a violation of a direct order I’d given him.

      When we finally got to the room, I entered first and turned around to look at my pup. As I expected, his big brown eyes were welling with tears, but he was afraid to speak.  He froze in his tracks as I made eye contact with him, then shamefully looked down towards the ground.  “Look at me!” I demanded. That was all it took, and as he slowly raised his head to look me in the eyes I saw the tears streaming down his cheeks.  “Why’re you cryin?” I asked, maintaining an even tone in my voice.

      “I’m sorry, sir,” he whimpered. “I’m sorry I talk too much! I know I … I know I embarrassed you!”

      I laughed.

      And then I waited.

      After nearly two minutes of silence, in which time Petey had again looked away from me, wiping his eyes and trying to regain his composure, Petey finally spoke. “Sir, I don’t understand.” He was whimpering. “Why are you laughing?”

      “Cause you’re so damned cute,” I laughed. “Come here!” Bewildered and confused he stood there for a few more seconds frozen in his tracks, and then finally rushed over and wrapped his arms around me. I grabbed hold of him and pulled him into myself, hugging him tightly. “You were getting so excited down at the pool, just blabberin away, and seein you kneeling there at my feet… it got me horny”

      “Then why’d you tell me to shut up, sir?” Petey sobbed.

      “Cause I was tired of talking,” I said, then grabbed hold of his head and planted a powerful kiss on his quivering lips. He offered no resistance and reached up to place his small hands against my chest. I moved forward, forcing him towards the queen-sized bed, continuing to kiss him passionately.

      There is no denying that when I’m packin wood I love to make my pup take care of me, but what is really hot to me is when my pup is the one who gives me wood in the first place. At that moment he had me rock. All I could think of was being inside of him, feeling the smoothness of his tight little body, hearing him cry out and beg for more of me.  Just knowing that I had the power to snap him like a toothpick if I wanted, made me crave being all-the-more gentle and careful with him. I love to feel him beneath me, to make him squirm with delight and anticipation. To make him cry out in pleasure… and yes, even pain.

      I like that he endures pain for me. Not sadistic, torturous pain, but the pain of my throbbing cock ramming into his tight hole. The pain from my much bulkier body pressing against him. The pain as I pull his hair and smack his ass in the heat of passion. The pain of my teeth gently biting his tiny round nipples. The pain of his aching knees and ankles as he kneels before me to serve. The pain in his throat as I drive my cock in forcefully. And the pain of his breaking heart as he tries desperately to please me just a little more than he did the last time I used him for my pleasure.

      God I wanted him! I wanted every inch of his smooth, slender body.  I wanted to hear him gasp as I entered him. Feel his body tense and then tremble, and then hear him plead with me to fuck him and fuck him hard. I conveyed all of these desires to him not with pointless, endless nonsensical words, but with my actions. With my kiss. With my hands and body and movements. I pressed myself against him as we toppled onto the bed, frantically ripping his clothing. Tearing it away from his body—that body I had to have.

      His tears morphed into fits of laughter, then quickly turned to sighs of passion.  He was gasping and moaning and groping at my clothing.  And amidst this heated moment of frenzy I heard him cry out, declaring his feelings for me. “I love you sir! Oh god, I love you!”

      That was my pup, my Petey. He had to verbalize everything. Feelings had to be stated; it wasn’t enough to express them with the action of our lovemaking. He had to have assurances and the reassurances. He had to be stroked and petted and praised. He had to constantly be reminded of his worthiness.

      “Tell me what you want,” I demanded. “Say it!”

      “Oh sir, I want you… I want you inside me. Oh please!”

      “Beg for it!”

      “Oh please! Oh god sir, oh please! I beg you!”

      “Please what?” He was pinned beneath me as I held his wrists firmly against the mattress over his head.

      “Please do it sir! Please … oh please…”

      “Say it!” I demanded again. “Say what you want me to do to you, boy!”

      “Fuck me! Oh please sir! Fuck me!”

      I grabbed the lube from the bed stand and smeared a glob onto my fingers. Reaching down I slid them between his legs and found his hole, instantly driving two fingers all the way in. His pucker tightened , forming a hot suction around them. I wiggled them around, thrusting into him. He moaned as I used my other hand to tweak his nipple.

      “I’m gonna fuck you now, boy. I’m gonna fuck you like you know you need to be fucked,” I whispered.

      “Thank you, sir! Oh …oh…”

      I pulled my fingers out of him and slid my body down between his legs.  Grasping each of his ankles I lifted them up and rested them against my shoulders, then leaned into him.  Grabbing my now-pulsating cock, I pointed it towards his hole. Gently I eased in, then suddenly without warning I thrust myself forward, driving myself in balls-deep.

      That  look of ecstatic pleasure-pain flushed his face as he arched his small body in response to the impalement. He threw his head back and moaned. It sounded almost primal, a sort of groan. Then his eyes popped open and he stared me right in the face. His mouth was moving in a small Oh shape, like a fish out of water. Those big brown eyes seemed to be pleading for me.

      “You like that boy? You like being my little bitch? Takin my big cock up your tight little ass?”

      His eyes remained wide as he nodded. “Yes sir,” he whimpered.

      And then I drilled him! I rode his ass like never before, thrusting so hard the bed shook beneath us. His whimpers became cries which then became screams of delight. I was intent upon fuckin him so hard it drove the cum right out of him.  “Don’t cum!” I demanded. I’d trained him to hold off. I’d trained him to time his orgasm to coincide with my own, and I knew I was close.

      “Oh sir… I’m so close! Oh … aahhh… please!”

      “Don’t cum!” I panted, sweat dripping from my face and chest.  “Ah fuck!” I began to pant myself, moaning as I felt myself on the verge of nutting. When I reached the point-of-no-return, I thrust all the way into him, tensing every muscle of my torso, burying my face in his neck. “Now!” I cried as I moaned.

      The hot cum fired up my shaft and deep into him. I released myself completely, draining into my cum receptacle. My boy, my pup. I seeded him like I always do, and his small body convulsed beneath me. He fired his own load and I felt it splash violently against my abs and chest. My mouth was again on his, my tongue against his tongue, my lips against his lips. I inhaled his breath and he mine. We clung to one another, trembling and sweating, clutching each other. We were one. I was in him and he was taking all I had to give. Every drop. Every fuckin drop of me!

      Exhausted, I slid off of him, rolling onto my back. He was shaking and whimpering beside me. He was crying again, but this time his tears were those of delight. Tears brought on by the intensity of his emotion. He immediately sidled up to me, wrapping his arm around my chest. “Thank you, sir!”  he gasped, and then he began to lick his cum off my body.

      God, that was some of the hottest sex I ever remember having with Petey. I’ll admit we’ve had a lot of hot scenes, but there were none more intense. I just wanted him so damned bad. It was so incredible to control him emotionally the way I did—seeing him respond to my desires. Thinking he’d disappointed me, he was devastated, only to immediately discover I just wanted him to shut up so I could fuck him.

      We laughed about it as we lay in bed together afterwards, naked. Our clothes were everywhere, some of them in pieces. I’d literally shredded his shirt trying to get it off him. He curled up in my arms then, and I held him. He needed to be cradled, to cuddle after his orgasm. In some ways he was just like a chick.

      After a few minutes he asked permission to give me his gift. He was so excited, and the pleasure he got from giving to me nearly outweighed my reluctance to accept it. I never wanted gifts from Petey. I owned him already, and felt it unnecessary to take any more from him that what I already had. Petey’d had a rough life, being raised in a home of modest income. Then his parents had died when he was young. He really didn’t have money to spend on presents. I didn’t want a sub who paid me with material gifts or money. I wanted a sub who paid me with his entire being… with his soul. I wanted to own him, and this was how it was with Petey.

      But when I saw the gift, I understood Petey’s motivation. It was a small ceramic picture frame embossed with the lettering “Me &My Pup”. Obviously it was designed and marketed towards pet owners who were crazy about their animals, but it ended up being a perfect gift for me. We had our picture taken the next day by Ben, and I still have it displayed in Petey’s frame in my office.

      The trip was everything Petey had hoped it would be, and after that first night it got only better. When we got back to Florida, we rode with Alex and Drew back to Tampa, and nearly were involved in a horrible multiple-vehicle pile-up on the freeway. Being so small, Petey was able to heroically rescue a woman trapped in her car. He was the only one little enough to crawl through the window. I rewarded him that night with a blowjob.

      It was the first time in his life he’d ever gotten head, and I had this other sub named Ryan do the honors. Ryan is this dude who went to high school with us, and then he was in one of Petey’s classes at the college. We had run into him one night at a leather bar the first time I took Petey out. I knew immediately that Ryan wanted to start some shit. He was jealous of my pup, but I wanted to teach Petey to trust me. I also wanted to show him that no matter who else I decided to be with, he would always be my pup, and it wasn’t his place to be jealous.

      Of course Petey was naturally jealous in spite of my training. He could sense the way Ryan came onto me. All of his insecurities came bubbling right to the surface. I had to drag his ass off to the bathroom and scold him, remind him of his place. I didn’t want my pup being rude to anyone, and he sure the fuck wasn’t gonna tell me who I could or could not talk to. I know it frustrated him, but I made him apologize to Ryan, to get drinks for the other sub. But then when the night ended Petey of course left with me.

      It just seemed perfect to then use Ryan to later service my pup.  When we saw him at a party that same night of the accident, I called him over to me. I told him I needed him to serve me, and of course he readily submitted. Once we were back to the motel room, he learned that he’d be serving me by blowing my pup, and it was then his turn to be frustrated.  Petey and I left the motel room immediately afterwards, and I threw Ryan a pair of my boxers to keep as a souvenir. I didn’t see him again until a few weeks later when I was planning a surprise party for Alex’s graduation.

      I was at the fitness center down at the mall. We were planning a big grand opening, and I was in the office. As far as I knew I was alone because the gym was not yet open for business. We still had the windows covered with paper, in fact. Suddenly I looked up and Ryan was standing there in the doorway of my office. I was seated at my desk.

      “Hey,” I said. “How’d you get in here?”

      He smiled sheepishly at me, and then looked down to the ground. “I saw you come in, sir. I was in the food court when you walked by , but you must not have seen me. You left the door open…”

      “Did you lock it?” I asked.

      He nodded. “Yes sir.”

      “Why?” I stared at him and he looked up to return my gaze. He had piercing blue eyes and the face of an angel.

      “So we wouldn’t be disturbed, sir.” His voice was almost a whisper.

      “Look Ryan, it’s good to see you again, but I’m kinda busy,” I said dismissively.

      “I still have your boxers,” he said. His voice was meek, almost pleading.

      I raised my eyebrows as I looked at him. “What are you doing here, Ryan? What do you want?”

      He shuffled his feet nervously and hunched his shoulders slightly. “I just thought…um… I thought you could use some company… sir.” In that moment, he looked almost vulnerable.

      I stood up and stepped around the desk.  I saw his eyes scan my body, taking in every inch of me. I thought he might start to tremble. I thought he might drop to his knees.

      I moved closer.

      “Sir…” he whispered.

      “Why are you really here, boy?” I asked evenly.

      “Sir—“ he repeated.

      “Answer me.”

      “I want… I want to serve you. Please.”

      I stared at him and he lowered his eyes again to the floor.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

Puppy Love: Ryan's Story

I just get so tired of all the drama. It’s all just a silly game, and frankly it’s pretty fucking exhausting. Tiresome. But that’s the gay community for ya. These bitches aren’t happy unless they are dissing someone, fucking someone else’s boyfriend, or creating some sort of commotion to liven their otherwise mundane and meaningless existences.

      I’m over it though. I’m so fucking over it. I don’t need that kind of bullshit in my life. I absolutely know exactly what I want out of life, and I know what I gotta do to get it. And it’s not about being a drama queen, flitting around some fag bar in order to get fifteen seconds of fame. It is about getting the things out of life which are really important. Really meaningful and significant. Things like Matt drop-fucking-gorgeous-and-filthy-rich Porter!

      I’d seen Matt around campus, and I’d admired him for months. He has this air of confidence about him that is totally Dom. I chalked it up to the fact that he’s a jock. Everyone knows that his family owns some big chain of fitness centers in the Tampa area, so it’s no wonder he has so much money. What was really a surprise, though, is the fact that he is attending a community college. I’d have expected that Daddy’s money would have gotten Matt into the best of the best universities. From what I’ve heard, though, Matt’s dad never went to college himself. He is a self-made millionaire, and he wants his only son to take over for him some day. Why waste the money on some highfalutin education when you’ve already got more money than you can spend in five lifetimes?

      It isn’t just Matt’s money that is attractive though. Don’t get me wrong, I definitely plan to land myself a man who can provide me the kind of lifestyle I truly deserve, but Matt possesses qualities that cannot be purchased by any amount of cash. For one thing, he’s a walking, talking, breathing wet fucking dah-ream! He obviously is an expert on physical fitness, and his body makes him the perfect poster boy for his own business.  He also has a deep, resonating voice that booms confidently. Even when he’s just speaking casually, there is no question that he is a man of great confidence.

      It didn’t really occur to me when I first started fantasizing about Matt that there may ever be a real possibility that he had any interest in guys. I think everyone was aware of the fact that he had a bit of a reputation as a womanizer. Back in the beginning of the school year he was dating this chick named Tracey. Real cunt, but also an amazingly hot body—if you are into chicks, that is. When I first started noticing Matt I had pretty much resolved myself to accept the reality that the best I could hope for would be to possibly catch him at a party or something some night when he was drunk and talk him into letting me give him a quick blowjob.

      But then early this spring things took a major turn for the better when I happened to bump into the jock stud at a local leather bar. Holy fuck, it was almost too good to be true. There he was, the man of my dreams, in the flesh—and at a gay club! That was the moment I decided that I was gonna have him. Or maybe it’d be more appropriate for me to say, I knew he was gonna have me.

      I’m not the type of guy that grew up believing I was submissive. In fact, my history would indicate quite the opposite. Within my circle of friends I always was a bit of a leader. I always seemed to know how to get what I wanted when I wanted it. In some ways I guess you could say I was spoiled in that regard. Whatever. Life’s too short to worry about what other people think of me, though.

      The thing that sort of led me into this whole Dom/sub lifestyle was that initially I had this spanking fetish. I’m not exactly sure why, but the whole idea of being bent over the knee of some hot Dom guy was a major turn on. I delved a little bit into the whole scene, exploring what I could find on the Internet, and the more I “researched”  it, the more turned on I was. I started sneaking into gay clubs as soon as I was old enough to get away with it (which is actually not that old—I was fifteen the first time), and because I happen to blessed with natural boyish charm, I proved to be a big hit.

      To be honest, I’m surprised there are not more gay guys who are into the BDSM scene than there are. When you think about it, why would a gay man ever be attracted to a nellie-type femme? I am a man who is attracted to men, not women. If I wanted someone who looked, sounded and acted like a girl, I’d just go out and date a damned girl. I want a man who is a man.

      I guess it is this basic reality which led me into the lifestyle.  You’re not gonna find many Doms who act like sissies.  And although I myself may not be Mr. Universe, I’m no pansy either. In fact, the real hard-core subs are anything but wimps. The pain pigs, toilet slaves, foot fags, piss drinkers—you name it—they’ve gotta be at least somewhat tough. There’s got to be some inner strength and stamina to be able to endure the amount of abuse and humiliation that is dished out to them. Subs are not girlie-boys, not by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, some of the more extreme subs are the most masculine guys I know.

      For me it is about finding a sense of fulfillment. Pleasing my Master provides a sense of gratification unlike anything else in the world. Seeing the lust in his eyes as he uses me for his pleasure in turn fills me with pleasure. And the sweetest of all rewards is simply knowing that he’s found favor with me.

      What annoys me more than anything though, are these fags like Petey Drinkell and his wimpy college-professor friend Drew.  They don’t have a clue what it means to truly be submissive. Instead they’re too busy playing house. They obviously think they have the world by the tail cause they both have these hot Dom guys. Petey is the exact opposite of the kind of sub I was just describing. Instead of demonstrating toughness and inner strength, he oozes vulnerability. His whole existence is pathetic, and frankly it’s nauseating.

      Guys like that really do make me sick. He’s such a do-gooder, always trying to portray himself as being Mr. Innocent. He tries to use this dependency to manipulate his Master. He tries to get Matt to rush to his defense by acting helpless. Yeah, Matt is Petey’s Master. Hard to believe, but I can assure you it’s not a permanent arrangement.

      That night at the bar when I saw Matt there for the first time, Petey was with him. He had even tried to impress Matt by trying to dress like him. It looked absurd, too. He looked like a little kid who wanted to be a man. I kind of picked up a vibe from Matt right away that he wanted a little more from me than friendship, and I sensed that he was immediately aware of the fact that I was not the sort of wannabe his current boytoy was proving himself to be.

      I guess Petey sensed what was going on himself, and he got a little lippy with me. Matt dragged his ass off into the bathroom and apparently set him straight, cause when they returned Petey apologized to me for being such a shit stain. I was laughin my ass off at his humiliation. Well, laughin on the inside. Of course I wasn’t about to let Matt see how I really felt.  The two of em left together that night, but I knew it would only be a matter of time before I’d have my chance to prove to Matt what a real sub could do for him.

      A few weeks later I went down to visit a friend I’d met on the Internet. His name was Adam, and he invited me to this big gay bash over at his friend’s house. Adam was also sub, but he had a Dom friend named Eric that he was trying to hook me up with. Eric was kind of new to the whole scene, but it was obvious that the Dom side of him was beginning to emerge. Adam told me that he and Eric had talked at length through instant messaging about what it meant to be a Master. I knew that once I’d served him, he’d never go back to vanilla sex again.

      As it turned out Matt and Petey were at that party, and Matt pulled me aside for a little one-on-one.  I knew he was about to proposition me, and I couldn’t wait to see the look on Petey’s face when he learned that his “Master” had dumped him and chose me instead.  I was practically cumming in my pants when he asked me where I was staying that night. I told him I’d rented a motel room, and he informed me that he’d be joining me. Fuck yeah! He also said he’d have his “pup” with him.

      That’s what Matt calls Petey. Who knows why, really.  Probably some twisted fetish bullshit that the two of ‘em have with each other.  I wouldn’t blame Matt if he kept the little maggot locked up in a dog cage when they weren’t in public. I had no problem with the fact that Petey was coming, though. I kinda liked the idea that he’d be seeing me serve his Master.

      Poor little Petey was almost crying already when Matt told him I was leaving with them. I could see his big brown eyes welling with tears, and I just wanted to smack the little bitch. Now tell me, how pathetic is that? The kid knows that his Master is Dom. He knows that Matt has the right to do anyone or anything he chooses, so why would he get all pouty cause Matt wanted to spice things up a bit? If I’d been Matt, I’d have made the little faggot sit in the corner and watch. That woulda been hilarious.

      It’s not exactly how it worked out though. When we got to the motel room, Matt instantly ordered me to strip, and of course I obeyed without question.  I dropped to my knees before him, expecting that the pup would do the same. Matt had other plans, though, and ordered Petey to remain standing at his side.

      Then Matt ordered me to lick that little twit’s feet! Every fiber of my being wanted to spit on them. Fuck, I was tempted to bite off his big toe, but I had no choice in the matter.  If I wanted to please Matt and ever get a chance at serving him, I had to do what he said. I had to kneel there and submissively worship that little runt. The way he sat  there giggling, trying to act all modest about the whole thing, it was nauseating.

      When Matt reminded Petey that he was of higher status than me, that’s when I really wanted to bail from the scene altogether. Again, though, I to just accept what Matt said. It was not like I could protest under the present circumstances. There I was naked, licking the boy’s feet. What was I supposed to do? Jump up and say, “Wait just a minute!” I just kept telling myself throughout the whole ordeal that it would all be worth it in the end. I knew that when I was done serving his bitch, Matt was gonna wanna fuck someone, and most likely it was gonna be me. Then it would be Petey’s turn to sit back and watch.

      The worse part of the experience was when Matt ordered Petey to use me like a jack-off toy. First he undressed Petey and laid him on the bed, then he made me assume a submissive position between the fag’s legs. I had to lie there and lick his nuts while Matt French kissed him. Talk about degrading! Come to find out, the little bitch had never even been blown before.  He had literally no idea what it felt like to have a wet mouth around his cock! If I’d ‘ve been his Master, I’d a made sure he never, ever did. I’d a locked that bitch up in a chastity and thrown away the key.

      It surprised me, really, once Petey got hard. I was amazed how big he actually was. Judging by his physical size, I expected him to have a teeny tiny toothpick sized dick. He had nothing to be ashamed of, though. The size of his cock was actually pretty huge when you took into consideration the size of his small body. Proportionately speaking, he was built.  Had it not been for the fact that his dick happened to be attached to his body, I might have actually enjoyed the whole sordid experience.

      The only way that was even able to force my way through the ordeal was by imagining that I was actually sucking Matt instead of Petey. As any skilled sub will tell you, you have to be able to turn off your feelings when you’re placed in an unpleasant situation. You have to learn how to think about something else. You have to be able to block out pain, or embarrassment, or even fear.

      When Petey grabbed hold of my head and began rammin himself deep into my throat, I almost lost it. I started gagging for a second. It was Matt’s voice which brought me back, though. Matt was laughing. He was telling Petey it was okay, and he told him not to stop. He told him I was nothing but a hole. Use me like he was home alone in his bedroom jacking off.

      After what seemed an eternity, Petey finally was ready to cum, and of course Matt ordered him to shoot his load down my throat. I could handle it. Been there, done that. In fact, I was looking forward to it. It would mean the whole experience was finally over.  And even though Petey would never have been someone I’d have chosen to service, I knew that he would never have gotten better head than what he received from me. I’m good at what I do, and I was not about to do give a half-assed blowjob while a Master like Matt was standing there watching.

      Petey had such an incredible orgasm I thought for a second he was gonna literally pass out. His whole body was trembling and shaking, and he shot his load like it was a cannon firing. He was screaming and crying, and Matt was all over him, kissing him and shoving his tongue down the little bitch’s throat.

      Then instantly Matt shoved me aside. He threw me to the ground and climbed on top of Petey. I was right about the fact that Matt would want to get his rocks off after watching Petey, but to my horror, he chose Petey to use instead of me! The very thing I was certain Matt would do to Petey, he instead did to me. He made me just sit there and watch!

      And as if to add insult to injury, when they were done, Matt threw me a fifty dollar bill and said to use it for the motel room. It was as if he was saying I was nothing more than a cheap whore. Then he threw me his boxer shorts as a souvenir and left with Petey. They took off before I’d even had a chance to cum. Matt had said to Petey I was nothing but a hole, and I totally felt that way after it was over.

      It’s not so different than I’d felt on a number of occasions, actually. I just sat there on the floor, still naked, and wrapped my arms around my knees. I cried like a baby. It wasn’t fair, just like Petey had said. He was concerned when the whole scene started, and he’d told his Master, “It’s not fair”. Matt’s response to him was that it wasn’t supposed to be fair. I was beneath them, and therefore I existed for the purpose of being used by them. I just remained there, curled up in that fetal-like position for a couple hours until there was a knock on the door.

      At first I didn’t answer. I was a mess, and I didn’t want anyone to see me this way. I quickly grabbed the fifty dollar bill from the table, and headed for the door, still stark naked. It was probably Matt coming back. I looked around the room to see if he might have accidentally left something behind. I was gonna rip the fifty into tiny pieces and throw it in his fucking face. Master or not, he had no right to be so mean to me!

      As I peered through the peephole, I realized it wasn’t Matt on the other side of the door. It was Adam’s friend Eric. Fuck! “Just a minute!” I hollered. “Hold on!” I turned around and grabbed my pants, quickly jumping into them. I was still zipping up as I unlatched the door lock. “Sorry,” I said as I swung the door open. “I must’ve fallen asleep.”

      Eric stood there smiling patiently. He shrugged. “It’s okay, dude. It’s like the middle of the night. Of course you’re sleeping.” Then the smile slowly faded from his face as he looked at me. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He could apparently tell that I’d been crying. “Can I come in?”

      “Oh yeah… or I mean, Yes sir.” I stepped aside to let him by.

      “You’re crying,” he stated.

      I shook my head and grinned. “Nah… I’m all right. I must’ve been having a dream or something.”

      “You sure?” he asked. “Is everything all right?” He scanned the room and took in the condition of the bed and the floor. My clothes were strewn across the room. The bed was a mess with a very obvious wet spot on the dark-colored bedspread.

      “Yes sir, everything’s fine. I just… well, um… I had a little company earlier.”

      He looked disappointed.  “Sorry to hear that,” he said as he looked me sternly in the eye. I lowered my gaze instinctively. “I thought after our conversations that you planned to spend the evening with me, but you decided to just take off. You left without even telling me.” I could hear the anger in his voice.

      “I’m sorry, sir,” I answered meekly. “I meant no disrespect. It was another Master… he asked if he could come over and use my room…”

      “Use your room, boy? Or use you?”

      I’m not sure why, but his words just suddenly struck a chord in my heart. All of the emotions I’d been feeling welled up inside me and the tears again began to flow. “Both,” I whispered.

      For a few seconds he was silent, and then he placed his hand on my shoulder. “Why?” he asked. “Ya know, I ought to beat you for this!”

      I continued to look down at the floor. “Yes sir,” I whimpered.

      “Answer me boy!” he demanded. “Why did you leave the party with another Master? Who was it!”

      I sobbed.  “I’m sorry!” I cried. “I’m so sorry! I wish I’d stayed with you sir! I really, really do.”

      “Tell me,” he said. He now had both hands on my shoulders. “Tell me who it was. Is it someone I know?”

      I nodded. “It was Matt, sir. Matt Porter.”

      He slid his hand under my chin and forced me to look up at him. “Really?”  he asked. “Matt, the one who has Petey?”

      “Matt wanted to reward Petey. He wanted another sub to … well… to service him. To give him head.” I felt embarrassed by even saying it.

      Eric smiled. “Really?” he asked, and then he nodded approvingly. “Well I can understand that. Petey did an amazing job this morning—or well, it was yesterday. He saved a woman’s life.”

      “Yeah, that’s what Matt said,” I admitted.

      Eric slid his arm around my shoulder. “So why are you crying, boy? You should be happy. You served a Master, and you took care of your friend…”

      “Petey’s not my friend, sir. He hates me!”

      Eric then smiled at me affectionately, looking a bit puzzled as he thought about my comment. “Well, he doesn’t really seem like the hateful type to me, and even if did hate you, he probably hates you a lot less now…”, and then he laughed.

      I pulled away from him and turned toward the wall. “He told Matt to pay me! He made his Master pay me, as if I was some sorta cheap prostitute. A whore!” My voice cracked as I dramatically delivered this not-entirely-true recounting of Matt and Petey’s departure. “Matt threw down this fifty dollar bill along with a pair of his used boxer shorts, and then they just left me! They left me here alone, crying on the floor!” I waved the bill which I’d been clutching in my hand, holding it up for Eric to see. The smile was now again gone from Eric’s face as he stared at me sympathetically.  “Petey is not the sweet, innocent little boy everyone thinks he is.  He’s cruel and spiteful and mean. He gossips about everyone; he steals, he lies; he cheats. He’d do anything to get what he wants! And he’s insanely jealous of me!”

      Eric stood there listening to my rant. “But why? Why would he be jealous of you, Ryan? Not that there’s anything wrong with you. You’re a hot sub yourself, but Petey has Matt.  Isn’t Matt like every sub’s wet dream?”

      “That’s why he hates me, sir! He knows that Matt likes me, and it makes him feel threatened. He’s jealous every time Matt so much as speaks to me. He probably talked Matt into this whole thing just to humiliate me, and yet he tries to act so innocent…”

      “Well if that’s the case, then Matt’s not the type of Dom I thought him to be. I can’t see Matt allowing his sub to manipulate him.”

      “Oh no, I don’t mean it like that, sir. But Petey shouldn’t be underestimated. He is very deceptive. It’s not just Matt that he has fooled. Everyone thinks he’s this sweet little angel, but believe me, he’s not!”

      “Well come here,” Eric said, as he grabbed my wrist and walked me over to the bed. We sat down together, side-by-side. “I want you to listen to me, okay? No more crying. No more worrying about Petey or Matt or any of that bullshit. Just sit here and listen to me. Understand?”

      “Yes, sir,” I nodded. “I’m sorry sir. I’m listening.”

      “Okay, first of all, I want you to take that money tomorrow and go buy yourself something very special. I’m gonna cover the cost of the motel for tonight. I just want you to take some time to think about yourself. I want you to pamper yourself a little. Got it?”

      I smiled at him sweetly. “Oh thank you, sir,” I said. “It means a lot to me that you’d say that.”

      “All right, are you tired? Do you need to go to bed just yet, or are you up for a little bit of adventure?”

      “I’m not tired sir. I just woke up.”

      “Okay, now get dressed. We’re goin for a ride.”

      As I was In the bathroom getting cleaned up, I heard Eric call to me through the door. “Hey, I’m gonna wait for ya outside. Take your time, I’m gonna have a smoke.”

      It always seems ironic to me that so many EMTs smoked. They’re in the business of saving other people’s lives, yet they are killing themselves.  I didn’t bother to mention to Eric that I’d gotten a smoking room, because I sometimes like a cigarette myself, especially after sex. “Okay, sir. I’ll be out in a minute,” I said, and I heard him leave.

      As I stood there in front of the mirror I thought about the things I’d told him concerning Matt and Petey. I knew they weren’t exactly truthful, but what was I supposed to do? If I hadn’t been at least a little dramatic and hadn’t let him see me cry a little, he might not have forgiven me for leaving him at the party earlier. I knew that if he’d been a more experienced Master, I’d never have gotten away with it.

      I also knew that unless I started doing something about that fuck stain Petey Drinkell that I’d never really get my shot at serving Matt. As long as that bitch was in the picture I’d have no chance. The truly sad thing about it was that Petey really was this innocent, sweet little guy just like everyone thought. It made me sick. I can’t stand guys like that. I honestly couldn’t understand why Matt was attracted to him in the first place. To me Petey just seemed like a kid. Emotionally he was so immature, always whining and fretting and acting like a little lost puppy. I guess that was probably why Matt called him his pup.

      Well I’m not lost little puppy.  I might be sub, but I’m not a rube like Petey is. I know eventually I’m gonna get the things I want. There’s nothing gonna stop me from getting Matt Porter. Nothing. Although there are moments when I do sort of feel sorry for pathetic little Petey, I also know it’s a jungle out there. It’s survival of the fittest. His loss will be my gain.

      As I finished styling my hair and brushing my teeth, I picked up the pair of boxers that were with my clothes. They were Matt’s. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, looking myself directly in the eyes. “Matt Porter,” I said, “you’re gonna want me some day. You’re gonna want me worse than you ever wanted Petey!” Then I pressed the fabric of his shorts up to my face and inhaled deeply, breathing in Matt’s masculine scent. Instant hardon. I tossed the shorts on the counter and turned to head out the door.

      As soon as I stepped outside I saw him. It was Eric, but he looked a lot different. He’d apparently changed clothes, and was now wearing his work uniform. He was a paramedic. I stopped instantly in my tracks as I took in the sight of the hot EMT standing under the streetlamp. He was wearing form-fitting blue work pants, the kind the paramedics always wear with lots of pockets. He had on high-top Magnum boots, spit polished to a perfect shine. His neatly pressed pale blue uniform shirt was snugly tucked into his very narrow 29 inch waist, and the short sleeves accentuated his bulging biceps.

      “Well hell-o, Sir!” I said enthusiastically. “I think I’m having a heart palpitation.” Dramatically I placed my hand on my chest. “I just might need CPR in a minute!”

      “You like it?” he said, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

      “No, sir. I love it!” I answered honestly. “But are you sure you still want to go for a ride? We could go back inside…”

      “We’re goin for a ride,” he answered, cocking his head slightly and nodding to the vehicle parked beside him. It was an ambulance. I smiled even more broadly.

      “Nice,” I said.

      “Get in,” he said, and quickly I did as instructed, heading immediately for the passenger-side door.  As I climbed into the cab, I took in the sight of all the gadgetry and buttons on the dashboard. I noted that there was one long, bench-style seat that extended across the cab. It was like the inside of a pickup truck.

      “I’ve never ridden in one of these before,” I said to him as he crawled behind the wheel.

      “Shut up,” he said calmly. “You’ve done enough talking for the night.”  Quickly I looked down at my lap and realized what was happening. He was putting me in my place. He was establishing himself as being superior. I guess he’d had enough drama and was ready to get down to business. “So you like the uniform, huh?” he asked.

      I didn’t know if I was allowed to answer or not since he’d just told me to shut up, but I figured since it was a direct question I’d better reply. “Yes sir,” I said quietly, “very much.”

      He laughed. “You fags are all alike. You have a thing for a guy in uniform. Especially a guy that looks as hot as me.” Normally I’d find such a statement to be extremely conceited and narcissistic, but in his case there was denying that it was true.  The way he looked sitting there with his legs spread apart, the tight smoothness of those navy blue pants stretched over his legs and crotch, it was all I could do to keep from sliding my hand across the seat to touch him. I knew I’d better not though. I knew it was not my place to make such a bold move.

      As he put the vehicle in gear and pulled out of the parking lot, I watched his every move. His face was illuminated by the lights from the dashboard. The sound of the radio was a bit distracting, as dispatcher continued to make her announcements. I wondered how Eric had gotten the ambulance while off duty. It seemed to me that it would have been in use by others who were currently working. Maybe he wasn’t off duty, though. Maybe he was on call or something, but if that were the case, it seems he’d have had a partner with him.

      As if he were reading my thoughts, he offered an explanation. “This is my truck,” he said. “I’ve gotta take it in tomorrow morning for maintenance, so I drove it home. I’m not actually working tonight.”

      I smiled as I looked over at him, realizing fully that his conversation was not necessarily an invitation for me to respond. He’d already told me to shut my mouth.  I watched him intently as he slowly reached up under the dash and pulled a lever which allowed him to adjust the steering wheel. He repositioned it a bit, pulling it upwards. Then without a word he pointed to floorboard at my feet. “Down!” he commanded, and immediately I slid off my seat and crouched under the dash.

      On my knees I inched my way closer to him, as he continued to drive. He reached for the button of his fly, and deftly attempted to unzip himself one-handed. I quickly slid over beside him and came to his aid. Cautiously I reached up with both my hands and finished the job, peeling open the tempting package that was right in front of my eyes. I grinned to myself when I discovered he was going commando. He shifted a bit in his seat, pressing his shoulders back while at the same time thrusting his groin slightly forward. This allowed me to pull his tight pants down a bit in order to fully expose him. He spread his legs apart, and I inhaled his scent for the first time.

      There in front of me was the most perfect piece of cock flesh I’d ever seen, at least eight fat inches in length.  I didn’t waste a second, and quickly bowed my head as I made contact with his ballsac for the first time. My tongue slid expertly across his plump, sweaty testicles as he moaned enjoyably at the pleasant feel of that first contact. “Yeah, lick em, bitch” he said. “Lick my nuts!”

      As hot as it was to be kneeling there beside him in the confines of the tight-spaced Ambulance cab, I wished the damned steering wheel had not been in the way. I had to do a bit of maneuvering to position myself just right so as not to interfere with his driving yet also remain in my submissive kneeling position. With his right hand Eric then reached down and grabbed the back of my head, pressing me firmly into his throbbing erection. “Lick it, I said! Lick those nuts, bitch!”

      His aggressiveness was turning me on, and I continued to lap at his balls all the more eagerly. “Yes sir!” I moaned. “Oh god, sir!” When I felt his grip loosen just a little, I began to inch my way up his shaft. As I did so, I slid my left hand between his legs and cupped his balls. With my right hand I grabbed hold of the base of cock. I pulled it towards myself so that it was sticking straight up, and then I wrapped my lips around the fat bulbous head.

      As soon as Eric felt the warmth of my lips around his cockhead, he shoved me down, forcing me to take it all in one smooth thrust. “Oh yeah!”  he moaned. “Swallow it!” He firmly held me in place as he impaled my head mercilessly with his rigid spear.  I wasn’t about to gag this time, not like I’d done with Petey. He held me in place for a few seconds, and I made virtually no attempt to pull away. When I felt his grip on my head loosen just a bit, I began to bob up and down. I kept the suction nice and tight, and I concentrated on salivating enough to keep it slick and smooth. His moans of pleasure convinced me that he was enjoying the sensation.

      Another indicator that his pleasure was heightening was the fact that all of a sudden he reached over and flipped a switch. Instantly the lights began flashing and the siren started to blare. “Fuck yeah!” he declared. “Suck my cock, slut!” It was just as the siren reached a blaring crescendo that he bucked in his seat and thrust his hips forward. He pumped his load straight down my hungry and eager throat!

      I waited a few seconds, gulping every last drop of his man seed, before sliding away from him. I then slowly and casually resumed my position on the seat beside him, a little closer to him than where I’d originally been sitting. He had turned off the lights and siren and was staring straight ahead at the road.  Calmly he stated, “We were going through a major intersection when I came,” he laughed to himself.  “It was a climax so hot that it literally stopped traffic.”

      “Wow, sir,” I smiled. “I guess it really was hot then.”

      He didn’t say any more for awhile, and I still was unsure whether or not I should try to converse with him. I noticed we seemed to be heading out of town, away from the main roads. It soon became clear that we were headed out somewhere in the country, out in the middle of nowhere.  When he finally turned onto a dirt road and drove through a wooded area, I started to feel a bit spooked, simply because it was so dark away from all the streetlights.

      Finally he pulled the truck off the path into a clearing. Obviously he knew where we were and had been here before, but I had no idea.  He killed the ignition, and as he did so also turned off the lights. We were sitting in complete darkness. The red lights on the radio provided the only illumination. Then he reached up on the dash and pressed a button. The lights in camper section of the ambulance came on. I turned and looked through the tiny window behind my head.

      “Get out!” he said, “and get in the back.” Quickly I fumbled for the door handle and slid out as the door opened. I felt my way down the back of the ambulance by pressing my hand against the wall. The light seemed so bright, as I reached up and opened the door, jumping up quickly. Eric was right behind me, having come around from the other side.

      “Strip!” he commanded, “and get on the gurney.” I stared straight ahead at the bed-on-wheels that lay before me.

      “Yes sir, “ I said, as I began unbuttoning my shirt. Impatiently Eric grabbed hold of me and spun me around. He reached for the tail of my shirt with one hand while pulling my head toward him with the other. His lips suddenly were pressed against my own. Savagely he kissed me, driving his tongue deep into my mouth. I pressed my body against his, all the while continuing to try unbuttoning my shirt. Finally he pushed me away from him, forcing me against the gurney. I fell backwards, landing sideways on the makeshift bed.

      He was then on top of me, and by this time I had the shirt completely unbuttoned. His hands were rubbing against my chest. He was tweaking my nipples, burying his face into my neck. I moaned loudly, writhing against him. My hands moved down to undo the button of my jeans. Within seconds his hands were there to assist. He tore off my pants as I simultaneously kicked off my shoes. He pushed himself back up, away from me, and again unbuttoned his fly. As he exposed himself to me again, I now was finally completely naked on the cot before him.

      He reached up onto a shelf and grabbed a tube of something.  Hastily he flipped open the lid and squeezed out of glob of lubrication into his palm and started to stroke his fat, already-hard prick. In anticipation, I was already spread out before him, my legs stretched wide apart. He lowered himself over me, and slid his greasy, lubricated fingers between my legs. He found my pucker, and slowly slid his finger inside. I moaned.

      Oh god! This hot paramedic had me pinned beneath him, drilling his finger straight up my tight hole. It was just too fucking good to be true. I wanted him so badly. I had to have him inside me! “Oh sir! Oh god sir please!” I begged him.

      As he lowered the full weight of his body against my own, I felt his hot fuck-rod press against my hole. Then without hesitation, he slid in. Slowly at first, he eased into me, staring intently into my eyes as he did so. Then right at the moment he impaled me, he leaned in and kissed me once more. It was paradise! I was in a state of ecstatic bliss. The painful pleasure of his thrust tore through me, and I bucked wildly beneath him, wrapping my legs completely around his torso.

      “Fuck me sir! Oh god, please fuck me hard!”

      Eric wasted no time in obliging my request, as he began to drill my ass mercilessly. For the nest ten minutes he pounded me, having far more stamina than he would have had he not just cum only minutes previously. As he continued to grind deeply into me, the forcefulness of his thrusts jabbed repeatedly against my prostrate, and I knew I would not be able to hold off orgasm myself.

      “I’m gonna cum, sir! Oh god, I’m gonna shoot!”

      “Shoot it boy! Do it!”

      “Oh sir, fuck the cum outta me! Oh god! Oh please! Ahh! Ahhh!” I was so close. I couldn’t hold back one second longer.

      As I cried out in delirious pleasure, I felt the hot paramedic on top of me tighten his buttocks muscles as he drove himself all the way into me. He moaned loudly, “Ahhh, Fuck!” and he threw his head back and trembled just slightly. We both shot our loads at the exact same moment, mine erupting all over my chest and onto his crisply-pressed, pale blue uniform shirt.

      “Oh god, oh sir! Thank you sir! I love you sir! I love you Matt!”

      Did I just call my new Master by the wrong name?

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