I let my cock do the thinking for me and found myself upstairs in the loft over the garage floor. I stripped down and rather self-consciously turned to face him. I was just over 6 feet, a rather skinny 155 pounds—really a bit too thin…  I had sort of a shaggy-haired, fog-brained surfer dude look…without the board or Scooby Doo. 

He stripped off fast; I was still struggling with my socks and undies as I glanced up.  His large hands on his hips and quite proud of himself. (Oh Man! The size of his chest, I could breast feed for weeks! A man with cleavage.) I guess if I had a body like that, I’d be proud too, though also a bit self-conscious.  He didn’t have a lot of body hair, though I learned later he was really big into bodybuilding and competition.

(I know up to this point it all sounds like bad soft porn, but wait, things are about to change.)  You know how some guys are well, “bigger” than others? He was, a penis is supposed to get longer, though he was similar to a Tom of Finland drawing, though it was ½ the length, but twice the width, so it looked like he was sporting one of those tall, wide, beer cans-you know those ones that similar to those little kegs? – Hamm’s, I don’t drink so maybe they don’t make them like that anymore.  Of course I have a photo!  Sorry it is of the can.)  {Sidebar:  Mom collected things that had unusual designs, she appreciated the form,.  Beer was considered the poor man’s choice of alcohal}   

All I could think was that was not going into my mouth unless one of us had some major surgery.  A python can dislocate its jaw to swallow its prey whole, and then slowly digest it over time.  In a bit of foreshadowing Officer Evens was doing just that to me.

He picked me up and flattened me out on the mattress—quite literally, as he was 100 pounds or more than I was and he had another 7 inches on me in height. I was having trouble breathing, especially after the one kiss where he seemed to be sucking the breath out of me. I was flipped onto my stomach without any kind of consultation.

 Austin slide his forearm around my waist, repositioning my ass upwards  and vulnerable. I don’t know what he used for lube, but he was in quickly and with little effort; it was a moment before I realized what he had asked me: “Wanna fuck?”

 “Gee, I thought we were.” (How kind of you to ask before doing anything).

 “Naw, that’s just two of my fingers.”  Then it was three and then the fourth.  What?  Did he loose his car keys in there?

 We had come this far, why not? I’ll skip the fumbling part where I believed I was getting a phone book shoved up my ass.

 I was about to ask if he could please stop when he changed angles and slide in. I asked if he could wait a moment before we continued, or tried to. He let go of my hip with his left hand and reached around grabbing my pubic hair, using it like a handle to guide me in and out. He brought his right arm up and wrapped his forearm and biceps around my throat and pulled me up to my knees. I was very firmly in his grasp and was not letting me up till he was done.  He quite handily managed to tilt me into a position that suited him.  I was simply along for the ride.

 I always try to be very polite and accommodating, “You can let go, and I know what I’m doing.”

 “Come on, it doesn’t hurt, it feels pretty good don’ it?” was the response I got.

 After “stuffing” me for 20 minutes, he came. “Thanks! This was great,” he muttered, and then added, “with a guy.”

 I didn’t dare ask what he’d been used to before this, but I think it was a mechanical bull. (If this cowboy stayed on more than 8 seconds, he got a prize and a chance at the semi-finals.) I was left feeling rather stiff, tight and greasy.

 “We” used the pool’s shower downstairs. He washed up and proceeded to lube me up again with hand cleaner. Now I didn’t mind the orange scented liquid goo, but it contains little hard sand-like scrubbers that hurt like hell.

The lubricating effect did overcome some of the gritty texture and I came all over his hand, stomach and thighs. “What in hell are you doing?!” He snapped. A nasty grin broke over his face as he pushed me down lower, smearing me with my own cum before shoving my mouth onto his somewhat shrunken, but no less intimidating cock. (I do remember washing and soaping him up, so I wasn’t concerned with any bitter aftertaste.)

 It was easier than I thought it would be; the trick (Though I thought I was the trick) was to let him grow inside me rather than trying to go down on his dick as a solid whole. This time when he finished he patted me on the ass and told me I was a good boy, kinda like those football players after a game.

 I’ll have to say he enjoyed what he did and was in no way about to quit now. The next day I got a phone message at the motel, asking me to call him. We met the day after for dinner. He made a proposition for me: if I wanted to stay longer in California, I could stay in his loft, it wasn’t much as it didn’t have a stove and just a small beer fridge on the garage floor.

 I took him up on it. As it did offer me more time away from home and it would really piss off my ex-boyfriend Bob, who was flaunting his new younger, cuter, blonder, dumber boyfriend. At that time, that was so important to me, as I’d got such a shitty deal in our divorce: Bob got everything and that included all of our “close friends”, most of whom would not even give me the time of day, though some did try “console me.” I did not know consoling was so sexual, which at the time wasn’t what I had wanted from anyone.  I needed down time or time for mourining and licking my wounds.

As the weeks went on, we had sex rather often, which is normal in any new relationship. However, the more he had, the rougher he became, and the more he came. I knew I could handle it, but I found him to be more controlling as the relationship progressed. I was always ridden hard, washed, cleaned and put away in the garage with the rest of his toys. I was always on the bottom and I never once received a blow-job-hand jobs yes, well on occasion, lips-never. I wasn’t allowed near his station house or to talk to the neighbors or the gardener who I don’t think even spoke English, and NOT back to the beach, at least not the “gay” side. There were clothes I could not wear, as they were deemed too “gay” though I never considered anything I had to be the least bit flamboyant The only things I liked tight was my bondage. So he chose what I could wear and what I couldn’t.

 He just loved me in black Speedos, but I didn’t, as I was very self-conscious about my build, or lack thereof. Austin did, however, have a stipulation with them, on each pair I was given, that inside modesty panel, that hid any sort of ridges and bulges associated with my privates had been removed. He could always tell if I was thinking about sex (like 22 year olds never do) and everyone knew that I was circumcised. I know you really needed to know that!

 I don’t know if he made me wear them for his benefit, or to shame me into staying far away from everybody else. I certainly stayed by his pool and I completely avoided going to the beach with those on.

 He always fucked me the same way each time: left hand grabbing my pubes and guiding me back and forth, my neck in his choke-hold.  Sometimes he held that position a bit tighter than I wished.

 I was getting pretty tender with all the hair pulling, so one day I trimmed my pubes down to about ¼ inches so they were too short to be used as a handle. Austin was pissed off, or turned on and used his horse clippers and took it all, leaving me completely bare. He left hair on my head so he’d always have something to grab, and at the time there was quite a bit up there to hold on to.  Austin then tied a leather bootlace around my balls sort of plitiing them apart and stretching; they were pulled down and back, so he could still limit my movement. Or lead me around like his prize pig. He tied off the leather end to an “O” ring on the garage’s centre post.  Making me stand up with my legs spread apart for his use and bennefit. This left his hands free to try other things, such as trying to remove my nipples with his thumbs and index fingers, well it felt that way –  then it felt good, not like I was going anywhere. I used to know when he was coming, as he pulled me back harder and thrust deeper, though now deeper was not enough. With one-handed dexterity, when “his” time was right, he’d light a match and put it out on my pubic bone.  All I could do was push back against him, forcing him further in.

 He found new inventive uses for his pair of #10 Vise grips as they fit according to him, perfectly on my nipples. (They only hurt when removed and he could slowly tighten them as he so often did.   How they stung when pulled off quickly though.

 My ass was his. If I bent down over the hood of the car, rode my 10 speed, tied my laces, yawned… it was enough of an invitation for him.

 Basically I was there to fulfill his fantasies. He loved arresting me, there was lots of “feet back and spread em!” Stripping, handcuffs followed this and blindfolds and then toys entered the picture.  Some I never saw felt them though and my ass was quite literally plugged, since I was tied and of course I liked his knots they were firm and well thought out.  I presume that was either from boating or from his work on his family’s ranch.  He did make me wonder if I were simply another Heffer, ready to be branded.  A thought always on the back of my mind, listed under “uncool events”  I’d also though maybe he had used the cows for something else, but since he considered anything female completely was inferior so I doubt it.  I’m glad I passed that butch/femme interview test.

 Now, as a child I did play “Cops and Robbers”, but never like this and not to the extent he was going to. It was progressing from innocent to extreme, from blindfolds to a hood, from simply my “right to keeping silent” to “enforcing” the right with a ball gag. Breaking silence was often met with stiff penalties, though I really began to look forward to those stiff parts.

I’ll leave you with that for the moment and we’ll come back to the stupid boy again.  The real screaming comes later.