"Take your clothes off," he ordered me. "Everything!"
I hesitated a moment, but the look in his eyes warned me that I shouldn't resist, I couldn't resist. So I pulled
my shirt off over my head, exposing my furry chest and erect nipples. A flicker of approval crossed his
eyes but his face remained inscrutable. I lowered my eyes, ostensibly to see what I was doing but it was
really because I couldn't stand the directness of his eyes that seemed to see inside me; to see all the way to
my submissive core. I unbuckled my belt, unbuttoned my jeans and slid them down over my muscular
thighs. I inserted my thumbs into the waistband of my white cotton briefs and they followed my jeans
down to my ankles. Then I pulled my jeans and shorts off over my shoes and stood before him, my hands
covering my genitals, glancing up at him to see if I could read his expression. Did he approve? Was I
acceptable? Did he want me? Would he use me until he used me up? My cock was pressing against the
palms of my hands in an urgent need to rise and salute him who I hoped would take me. My heavy balls
swung against the tips of my concealing fingers and a slight tingle ran through them and up into my
abdomen at my own touch, eagerly awaiting his touch. His eyes narrowed and I instinctively moved my
hands behind my back, realizing that I shouldn't be covering myself in front of this man to whom I'd just
submitted myself. His look called up long-dormant memories and I instinctively spread my legs and stood
at parade rest, hands behind my back, head down.
"I said everything", he growled. "What didn't you understand? Why do you still have your shoes on boy?"
I pulled in a sharp breath. It was one thing to strip in front of a man and stand before him with no clothes
on. But my shoes too? My mind flashed back to those old westerns I'd seen on television when I was a
kid. Sometimes, the bandits forced the hero to take his boots off and left him there in the wilderness. I
realized that meant the cowboy hero was now truly helpless because you couldn't get far with bare feet: you
had absolutely no covering. You were completely naked without shoes, even when you were clothed. Of
course, if the bandits stripped the cowboy's shirt off him, as they frequently did in my favorite western
about the post- Civil War era secret agent, it was even better. Especially when the hero had a well-furred
chest. How I'd wished they'd take his pants too. But that wasn't done in those days.
My cock surged and bounced off my belly.
"Yes Sir," I mumbled. "My shoes... I'm sorry Sir."
"Sorry? I don't give a shit for sorry. Especially for a sorry shit like you! Get 'em off or you're gone!"
"Yes Sir," I said, hurrying to comply with his orders, hoping he wouldn't think I was being obstinate;
hoping he wouldn't send me away.
How had I gotten into this? What was I doing here? Was I nuts? I didn't even know his name. I'd gone
into the bar looking for a little recreation; just wanting to get my rocks off and let off a little steam. I work
the everyday nine-to-five job in a suit-and-tie grunt factory that used to be called an office. I'm a mid-level
manager and considered pretty competent. I guess I've done alright for a guy in his early 40s. But the
pressure takes its toll and I went to the bar looking for a little relief from the boredom; for something that
might get me interested in sex again. I sat on a stool, nursing a wheat beer, checking out what was going
on around me. I'd never been in this bar before and was surprised to find that it was a bit rougher than I'd
expected. But the other patrons interested me and really interested my cock. Still, I couldn't bring myself
to get off the stool and circulate. There was a hollow well of fear in the pit of my stomach that held me in
place. I was doing my casing, checking out the possibilities when my wandering eyes were drawn to him
like light to a black hole. How had I missed him before? I couldn't take my eyes off him.
He wasn't particularly tall; maybe five-ten and not particularly built. But I could see the taut muscles and
sinews beneath his shirt, which had the first few buttons open. His clothes weren't "just so"; it was more
like he just hadn't bothered because he didn't give a shit. He'd dressed and as his clothes went on, so they
stayed. They fit his body like the pelt on a wolf. He was entirely self-possessed. His eyes were black and
bottomless, giving no hint of what he was thinking. But they scanned my body like an MRI and, even
though I was still clothed at that point, I felt as though he were looking at my body layer by layer, starting
with my clothes, then my skin and working his way in.
I was mesmerized by him and, as he looked me over, I suddenly felt like a rabbit in the crosshairs. If he
pulled the trigger, I knew I was dead meat. When his eyes finished their inventory and came back to my
face and met mine, I dropped my gaze to the floor. I was embarrassed and ashamed to look directly at him.
And I was scared shitless. Something made me want him but I was too intimidated to let him know it. In a
moment he made a move that called my attention back to his rugged face.
My breathing became shallow and I began to feel the damp trickles of sweat in my armpits. I saw him set
his jaw with its day's growth of beard and cock his head. Using his foot, he pushed off of the wall against
which he was leaning. As he turned and walked toward the back room, my eyes were on his back and I
marveled at the way his gluteals flexed beneath his jeans as he walked. Then he stopped, turned his head
and looked at me, giving me the slightest motion with his head, ordering me to follow. I couldn't have
stopped myself if I'd wanted to. I climbed off my stool and went after him, following him down the dark
hall lined with private rooms. I saw a partially opened door and stepped through it. Once I was in the
room, the door closed decisively behind me.
I felt his hand on my shoulder, pushing me to the floor. As I went down on my knees, I had the strangest
feeling in my stomach that this was where I belonged. I'd never done this before and had no idea where
this would go. But my cock told me I belonged on my knees before this man.
As I knelt there, he circled me. He brushed his hands over my short hair and felt my ears with his fingers.
I raised my head to get a better look at him as he came around in front of me and cried out, more out of
surprise than pain, when his belt lashed across my butt. I hadn't realized he'd taken it off and looped it
around his hand.
"Head down!" he ordered. "You keep your head bowed when you're in my presence unless I give your
orders otherwise. Is that clear?"
"Yes," I gasped with surprise. My butt was stinging slightly but I didn't realize then how much I had to
learn about pain. Suddenly the whoosh of the belt and another blow to my butt.
"Yes what?" he demanded. "You will call me Sir. Understand?"
"Yes Sir," I said. It was all beginning to make sense to me and part of me was taken aback at my
acquiescence to someone I didn't even know. But I understood: he would give the orders; I would obey.
Pretty simple; pretty straightforward. I'd done my stint in the service so I understood the dynamics. He
was the sergeant; I was the grunt. What he said went. And my hard dick and the flutter in my gut told me
that I liked this. A picture of me and the other grunts, doing push-ups on the hot parade ground flashed
through my mind.
He lifted my shirt, exposing my chest and felt my nipples with the pads of his fingers. Then he grabbed my
nubs and pinched them hard, making me cry out.
"Aahhh! Please Sir. Please stop!" I cried.
"I'll stop when I'm good and ready," he said, twisting my tits and pulling a distressed groan from me as I
clamped my teeth together.
He grabbed the hair on my chest, pulling and twisting it, making me groan and squeak. Then he bent to
feel my cock and balls, squeezing them and rubbing them through my jeans. He put a hand on my ass and
felt my glutes. As he bent over me, inspecting my body, I could see the fur on his chest where his shirt
opened and I could smell his sweat and sex. My mouth began to water. I needed for him to want me
because I wanted him so badly. It had been far too long since I'd been with a man. What I needed was
some fucking and sucking and I needed it tonight. Had I only known that I'd get just what I wanted but not
the way I thought I wanted it.
"You're new to this aren't you boy?" he asked me.
"Yes Sir. I'm sorry. Does it show Sir?" I ventured.
He just snorted.
"If you weren't, I wouldn't have to keep telling you what to do and you wouldn't be crying and whining like
a baby," he said, an edge of disdain in his voice.
That disdain made me nervous. What if he decided he didn't want me after all? I really needed to get off
and he had a thrilling air of authority that called to something deep inside me.
"Do you live alone?" he asked.
"Yes Sir," I answered hopefully.
"What do you do?" he asked and I told him.
He asked just enough questions to ascertain what he wanted to know. Then he tilted my head back and
pushed my jaw open, inserting his fingers into my mouth. I gagged and started to choke and he pulled
back.
"Easy," he said. "Just take it easy. You can do it," he urged and moved his hand in again.
I willed my throat to relax and he was able to get his fingers in up to the palm of his hand, feeling my
tongue and teeth.
"Good boy," he said, pulling his hand out and wiping it on my tee- shirt.
He put his hands on my face and manipulated it, pushing my jaw this way and that, turning my head left
and right, tilting it to the back and to the front. Then he pulled me against his crotch and I mouthed his
jeans, chewing his denim-covered treasures. How I wanted him!
"I think you'll do," he said as he held me against him. His voice was quiet but deep and resonant, sending
vibrations through my body and soul. "I'm satisfied I can train you to be the boy you were born to be. But
maybe you're afraid of that. I'm going to leave now. You will follow me, staying four feet behind me the
entire way. Or you can stay here. It's your choice. If you stay here, I'll never speak to you again. It's up to
you." And with that, he turned and walked out the door, leaving me with my mouth agape, saliva smearing
my face.
I thought about it for about two seconds and scrambled to my feet, wiping my forearm across my mouth.
No man had ever made me feel this way before. God knows if I let him leave without me, I might never
have another chance. I wanted to know where he would take me. I was also deeply afraid of where he
would take me. But I had to know. I had a wet patch on the front of my jeans and I had to know how and
why he'd awakened this hunger inside of me.
I walked through the bar, my tee-shirt hanging out of my pants, the wet smears from where he wiped his
hand across the front. The wet spot on my jeans was gradually growing larger, my midriff was exposed
where my shirt hadn't fallen back in place after his inspection. I looked a mess and I knew men were
looking at me, but I didn't care. I had to catch him before he could leave me behind. When I got to the
street, I quickly looked around, trying to spot him and saw him striding down the street, a half block away.
I raced after him and slowed to match his pace when I was four feet behind him and continued on, drawn
by an invisible, irresistible leash.
When we got to his apartment, he went through, leaving the door open. I breathed deeply and stepped over
that threshold, quietly closing the door behind me; closing the door on the life I'd known to that point.
