Chapter 3 – Chapter 3

After tennis I was a bit spaced out and, despite, or because of, the previous night, a little keyed up sexually, so I went home to contemplate. There was work to do—illustrations for a gay Kama Sutra book a publisher was doing—and I was in the mood for such work. I diddled around with that for an hour after I got home, but that didn't lessen my tension, so I went into my bedroom, opened the bottom drawer of my nightstand, pulled out the Fleshjack I kept there—a "realistic experience" foam-lined masturbation aid I kept for emergencies such as this—and worked myself while thinking of Chet from the previous night, the sensuality and interest that this Jack Dorsey I'd just met exuded, the issue of the marshland, the developer who wanted to destroy it, and all of the people in Maple who supported him.

"Fuck it," I muttered after I'd relieved myself. I didn't feel like going back to the illustrations, though, so I grabbed a couple of beach towels, slipped on flip-flops—the only clothing items I was wearing—and headed down to the beach. I had my private slice of Coinjack Bay beach below the bluff and across a wide expanse of marshlands that my parents had built a wooden walkway over in as unobtrusive manner to the natural setting that they could manage. I had the luxury of swimming and sunning in the nude.

I powered out beyond the surf line and swam laps back and forth over the expanse from one end of my property line to the other. I saw the wooden monstrosity on stilts the developer had built down at the beach line on the south side. He'd left a good bit of the marshland around the house untouched, but it would only be a matter of time until what he'd done would destroy the ecosystem there and leave him with a rotting, smelly mess. And then to the north I saw that the marshlands had already been bulldozed and that landfill dirt was being brought in to raise the land a couple of feet and level it for the coming house development.

Frustrated and angry, I swam back to my own beach and lay on my back, with an arm thrown over my eyes to blot out the intruding world of "progress." I was panting lightly. The swim had been exhausting. At one time it would have been cleansing too, but that was before I saw with my own eyes what was happening at either side of my property.

I think it was the feel of the change in the sun beating on my body that made me pull the arm away from my face and look toward the sun. The very-nicely cut body of Jack Dorsey—the naked body of Jack Dorsey—crouched down on his haunches beside me and looking down at me was putting me in shadow. A horse-hung cock swung between his spread knees, reaching for the ground, but that was hardening up even as I watched it. I jerked to full consciousness and started to sit up.

"No, don't. Lay there like that. Your body is gorgeous stretched out like that." He placed a palm on my belly, as if that would hold me in place. Psychologically it worked. I stayed where I was, feeling myself start to pant shallowly again, my cock beginning to rise. He already was in full erection in the time between I'd opened his eyes and he'd spoken, his beefy balls hanging low between his spread thighs.

He was wearing the thick chain-link necklace and now I could see that there was a medallion hanging from it—a heart shape with crossed rods behind it. One a whip and the other a phallus. On a scrolled ribbon across the heart was the word "Daddy." I let out a moan.

"We set up what was going to happen between us back in the club locker room, right? That I'm going to do you?" he asked in a low, strong voice.

"Yes, I guess so." When he put it that way, a dominator's command, all I could do was agree.

"You're going to let me play with you, aren't you? Rough. Jesse rough. I'm going to be your daddy and you're going to be my bad boy, needing to be punished. Am I wrong?"

"No, you aren't wrong," I whispered. His hand had moved down to encase my cock and he was stroking it. I arched my back to him and ran my hand up his arm to that thorny tattoo encircling his bicep.

"Yes, that means what you think it means," he growled.

He leaned over for a deep kiss, which ended in him taking my lower lip between his teeth. He lingered there a long moment, the anticipation building up in me, before he bit down, drawing a bit of blood. I yelped. And then I yelped again when he dipped his face to my chest and bit a nipple. All the time his hand was stroking my cock.

"It means what you think it means," he repeated.

"Where did you come from? How did you know where I lived?"

"Avery told me where you lived. Interesting house you have up on the bluff. You'll have to show it to me."

"Yes," I answered with a whimper.

"I'd heard rumors about you. Jesse bragged about what he did to you, what you took. I asked Avery to introduce us. You don't mind, do you?"

"No," I answered in a whisper.

"I'm going to make you come now."

"Yes. Please."

He moved over my body in a 69 position and took my cock in his mouth. I was uncut; he cut. I went straight to sucking on his bulb, while he played with mine by running his tongue under the foreskin and rimming the bulb—and listening for me to yip yip as he teethed and bit on the rim of the foreskin. Soon, though, my cock had filled out to where the foreskin pulled back from the bulb of its own accord, and he went to deep-throating me and sucking on the bulb, forcing the tip of his tongue into my piss slit.

"You ever been sounded?" he asked.

"No."

"Well, well."

A shiver of fear and anticipation ran up my spine.

I gave up on sucking his cock and threw my head back, looking directly up into the sky, mouth yawning open and groaning deep in my throat as he relentlessly pistoned my shaft in his mouth and reached under a thigh with one of his hands to get a good grip on my balls, lacing them in his fingers, distending them, crushing them.

I writhed under him, trying to pull away, begging him for mercy and relief and screaming to the sun, setting off sea gulls to reel about overhead and harmonize with me, but he was too strong for me and held me tightly. My testicles tried to withdraw into my sac in preparation for an ejaculation, but he followed them up into the sac with probing, pinching fingers. With a cry, I shot my load in his mouth.

Holding the wad of cum there, he quickly reversed on my body, still holding me in an embrace and went into a kiss that shared my cum between us. I was whimpering from the assault and also from the relief.

"You didn't come," I whispered when I was able to. "Sorry, I couldn't continue—"

"I want you to show me your house. Then I'll come. You'll come again too. Multiple times."

"Yes. Yes, of course," I answered.

He was sitting on the edge of my bed when I came out of the bathroom, where I'd showered and taken the time to clean myself out. There wasn't much question what was coming—what had me keyed up was not knowing how it would be done and what would accompany it. Could he possibly be as cruel as Jesse and Chet were in their own ways?

When Jesse had gone, I thought that the kinky sex phase of my life that Jesse had refined was over. He wasn't the first one to take me in a manner that heightened my release, but he had been the cruelest one by far. Northeast North Carolina was such a backwater, and I hadn't found anyone even close to Jesse's style at Andy's. It had been more than a month of drought. Although offers were frequent, Jesse had tuned me to certain needs. Was that hiatus what made me fall so easily into it again?

Jack was giving me a sloppy grin as I emerged from the bathroom. He held the Fleshjack from my nightstand in his hand. And he'd found and pulled out the restraints at the four corners of my bed that had been tucked under the mattress—the ones that only Jesse and I had used before.

"Shall we play?" he asked in a mocking voice.

The first time we both came—almost simultaneously—Jack was sitting on the side of the bed, with me crouched in his lap, facing him, my legs bent, my feet being used for leverage to rise and fall, him supporting the small of my back as I was cantilevered over the bedroom rug, my hands dangling at my side. Our cocks locked together inside the Fleshjack, the rods stretched alongside and throbbing against each other, and Jack stroking it down as I stroked up into it, his cum mingling with mine when we both had ejaculated.

"Ever been double penetrated?" he whispered.

"No."

"My, my, we have such a lot of new games to play."

Chills up my spine again. Panting. Was he going to be as cruel as Jesse, just in different ways?

After a rest in the kitchen, where I drank beer and Jack drank bourbon with a, "Sorry, I don't drink beer," we returned to the bedroom and to the restraints at the corner of the bedposts.

Jack was under me, sitting up. I was in his lap, all four limbs restrained and stretched out toward the four corners of the bed. His cock was up inside me, deep and churning. One of his arms embraced my chest, rubbing across clips he'd attached to my nipples, making me gasp and groan. The hand of the other arm held my cock captive in the Fleshjack, which he was pumping vigorously up and down on my cock. He'd found the ball gag in my nightstand, and I was huffing and puffing and sounding off around that as I could, my neck resting on his shoulder, my eyes glued to the freestanding beams overhead, as he bent his face down and bit down the side of my neck and onto my shoulder.

I came in great globs of cum over and over again. So did he, deep inside me, filling me with his cum—barebacking me. Both of us living on the arousing edge.

He released me from the restraints and we lay stretched out against each other, me in his close embrace.

"Tell me that was good for you."

"That was good for me," I answered. "Hadn't had that in too long. I don't know, guess I need the intensity, the lack of control." Had Jesse ruined me for more normal sex? I wondered. One thing was for sure, it helped me in drawing my special collection book illustrations. The porn publishers were coming to me for all their kinky sex illustrations. Positions I could draw, because I'd been in them. I knew what expressions to put on the model's face.

"Call me Daddy," he growled, as he reached down, laced my balls between his fingers, and squeezed.

"Oh, God. Oh, shit."

"Do it. Call me your daddy. Tell me you love this."

"I love this, Daddy. Oh, fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"You're my bitch. Say it."

"I'm your bitch!" He released the pressure and turned away from me, putting his hand in the lower drawer of my nightstand, coming up with linked wrist restraints.

"We're going to have a lot of fun, you and I. You're going to be my bitch and I'm going to beat you down to where you'll do anything I want." He had pulled my arms around to my back while he said this and put my wrists in the restraints.

"Anytime, anywhere I want it, bitch. Say it."

"Anytime, anywhere you want it, Daddy."

I was exhilarated. A replacement for Jesse. Not as cruel as Jesse . . . yet. But it was early days.

He lay on his back. His erection had returned. "It's time for you to take care of me again. I want you to ride my cock. Tell me you want to ride my cock."

"I want to ride your cock, Daddy."

He pulled me onto his lap, straddling his hips, facing him, screwing my channel down on his hard cock again, my wrists bound behind my back. I started riding the cock in churning back and forward, side to side, revolving motions. He raised his torso to me, grabbed my butt cheeks—squeezing them, separating them, kneading them in the same motion I was making in riding his cock. Slapping them, digging his claws into them.

He took my lips in his, brutally kissing me. biting my lower lip when pulling out of the kiss. Laughing at the yelp that produced from me.

"Tell me you want me to punish you."

"I want you to punish me, Daddy." I whimpered. And, fuck help me, I did want him to punish me.

He laughed, leaned down, and chewed on my nipples, one after the other.

"Oh, fuck. Oh, shit. Oh fuck," I whimpered as his teeth chewed on my nipples, his claws dug into my butt cheeks, and I rode the cock, and rode the cock, and rode the cock.

An hour later, after he'd left me moaning on my back on my bed, the telephone on the nightstand rang.

"Hello," I answered groggily.

"Got you up?" Larry Heger asked cheerily.

"Already been up. Now I'm down again," I answered.

"Just wondered if Jack Dorsey had contacted you yet about upping the offer for your land."

"What? Who?"

"Jack Dorsey. He's the developer trying to buy your land—the guy who's built that pile of wooden crap on the beach to the south of you. He's offering four mil now."

"Son of a bitch," I yelled when I'd put the telephone down. "Interested in me, was he? I should have seen that coming. No way in hell that man's going to get my land—or anything else from me. Son of a bitch! Anything he wants me to do? I'm his bitch? Screw that."

But why did I feel I'd lost something I only now had refound?