The Care and Training of the North American Wildboy
by Wrestlr
2. Bud
Aside from being a wildboy, Bud was much different from what Jerry had been before I trained him. Physically, Jerry was blond and swimmer-built, while Bud was short and compactly muscled and black-haired. But when I first spotted him thumbing for a ride in front of the local college, I knew Bud was another good candidate for training. That’s why I picked him up immediately, without working out his class schedule the way I had with Jerry.
“Shit!” Bud said as he slid in to my car. “I’m sure glad you came along. I was starting to think I’d have to walk all the way home!”
As before, I didn’t ask his name or exactly where he lived, but I quickly learned that his favorite word was shit!
“Hitch-hiking’s dangerous,” I suggested. “All sorts of perverts in the world. Ever think about that?”
“Shit, I can take care of myself.” Bud slouched back, legs spread, crotch humped. “Know what I mean?”
“Sure.” I smiled at his cockiness. “You look like a real can-do stud.”
With that, he began the usual wildboy bragging, punctuated regularly with shit! I studied him openly from time to time as I drove toward the part of town where he said he lived, and I could tell he enjoyed the attention. He had cute, almost boyish features offset by thick eyebrows and clean-shaven, stubble-blued jaws, and his T-shirt hugged his bulky shoulders and muscle-curved torso, the rolled-up sleeves emphasizing his solid biceps. And all the time I was checking him out, I knew he was doing the same to me.
“This close enough?” I asked as I stopped the car at the cross-streets he’d named.
“Sure. I live right down the road.”
“I pass the college every day,” I lied. “Maybe I’ll pick you up again tomorrow.”
“Okay.” He slid out and slammed the door. “Thanks, Mister.”
I almost roared because he’d used the same name Jerry had given me. Mister! With that, he tromped off down the street as if he were marching to the music of a distant band, the bubble-rounded cheeks of his ass bouncing rhythmically.
My wildboy was waiting when I pulled up in front of the college the next day, and he hopped into the car without hesitation.
“Shit!” he grumbled as he settled on the seat beside me. “These new jeans are killing me.”
I glanced at the crisp denim slicked to his powerful thighs, and I couldn’t help noticing the bright metal button open at the base of his fly. “You’re not fastened all the way down.”
He saw where I was looking. “I gotta to leave that button undone. If I don’t, shit, I’ll have a hard-on all the time.”
“Yeah?”
“They don’t make jeans big enough in the crotch for guys like me.” He stroked the male bulge tauntingly. “Know what I mean?”
“Sure. I have the same trouble.”
“Shit, I can’t keep my pecker down, especially when I’m wearing new jeans.”
“That’s what you get for being such a stud,” I said to flatter him. “I bet your pals wish they were packing as much meat down there are you are.”
“I guess so. Yeah, you’re right. They’re real jealous of me!”
Damn, he was the perfect wildboy when it came to flattery! I egged him on by talking about how well-built he was, how he must have grown up faster than his pals, how he must need plenty of action to keep his nuts drained, and he swallowed it all like a shark taking live bait. My plan was progressing much faster than it had with Jerry.
On the third day, the youth was dressed in well-worn jeans, and his button-fronted shirt was spread open halfway down, more than enough to expose a glimpse of his solid chest and the dusting of dark hair across it. As he slid into my car, he slouched in the seat and spread his legs as if making a point of showing me that the bottom button on his fly was unfastened in spite of the broken-in condition of his jeans. Damn, he was a sexy stud!
“Shit,” he said in greeting. “I almost didn’t wait for you to come by. This cock-sucker I knew wanted to give me a ride.”
“What makes you think he’s a cock-sucker?” I asked, hiding my amusement at his show-off brashness.
Bud shrugged. “He’s picked me up before.” He stretched lazily, displaying his thick-muscled physique and the mound in his crotch. “He never can wait to go down on my meat.”
“Really?”
“Shit, one time he took me up in the hills, and all I had to do was pull out my dick and lie back while he sucked the hell out of it.”
“You like that, huh?”
“I like getting my nuts off, that’s for damn sure,” he boasted, knowing I was watching his fingers outline the swelling rod inside his jeans. “Last time, he wanted me to strip down so he could give me a tongue-job all over before he gobbled on my sausage and nuts.”
“Did you do it?”
“Sure as shit did. When I’m horny—” He broke off, then recovered. “Shit,maybe I’m oversexed. That’s what this chick I’m balling says. I’m going to screw her blind on Saturday night.”
“Hot date, huh?”
“The hottest, man. My roommates are out of town this weekend, and we’ll have the house to ourselves.” He wet his lips, groped his hidden genitals. “She loves to suck my dick. I’m gonna make her suck it all night long, if I don’t get some action before then.”
“Men are better at sucking cock,” I said pointedly, and I saw him glance at the growing bulge in my pants. “You know that, right?”
“Shit, yeah.” The wildboy pointed to the intersection ahead. “This is where that guy turned off when he took me up to the hills.”
“Yeah?” I knew he was hinting, damn near begging, and I was tempted to give in and made the turn, but I knew I should stick to my plan. Instead, I put off the pleasure of sex by offering my own hint. “I wouldn’t mind taking a drive up there with you, but I’ve got to get to an appointment in a few minutes.”
He gave a grunt, and I suspect this was the first time he’d ever been turned down. Without knowing, he’d begun his training.
“Mister?” he asked sullenly as I slowed to the corner where I always dropped him off. “Want to, you know, come up to my house? Nobody’s there.”
“I’ve got an appointment,” I reminded him, and I reached over to clamp him on the thigh, buddy-like. My fingers were inches from his prick-marked crotch, and I was sure he got the message. “See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, sure thing,” he muttered, and he waited for me to do whatever his friendly cock-sucker had done. When I didn’t go further, he grumbled, “Shit ...,” and got out of my car. “Tomorrow.”
My hand tingled from the sensation of having touched him for the first time, but I let him go with the certainty that making him wait would prepare him for his journey into true manhood. I could have put the make on him at that moment. I could have tasted his cock and explored his maturing masculinity. I could have given in to the basic urge heating me. But that wouldn’t do. He was a wildboy, and training him was more important.
All this time, I’d kept my plan a secret from Jerry, and I could tell he was confused. Each day I locked him in the bedroom when I went out, and when I returned, I knew he wanted to question me but didn’t dare. On the other hand, he was more eager than ever to please me, innocently helping me set up the house for the new wildboy and swinging on my cock hungrily.
On Friday afternoon, I locked Jerry in the bedroom because I needed him out of the way. I made the final preparations in the basement, and took off to pick up the wildboy. The youth was waiting in front of the college, cocky and showing off. “Shit,” he said predictably as he climbed into the car. “Thank God it’s Friday!”
“Ready for a big weekend, stud?”
“I’m always ready,” he snickered and thumb-stroked the well-worn crotch of his Jeans. “Know what I mean?”
“Sure.” I steered the car down the street, then dropped one hand from the steering wheel to his leg, just below the fingers he was using to grope at his hidden genitals. He didn’t object. I said, “You in a hurry to get home?”
“What for?” He slouched back and folded his arms behind his head, leaving his thighs spread and his trimly muscled physique offered. “Shit, I got nothing to do until my date tomorrow night with that chick I told you about. Remember?”
“Right.” I kept my hand where it was, amused that he made no effort to move it or pull away. “I bet you’re going to have a ball.”
“I’ve got two of them working full-blast right now.”
“Oh? Horny, huh?”
“You know it!” He looked at me, then at my fingers inches from his bulging crotch. “Maybe we could take a drive up in the hills, huh?”
“I was thinking about going over to my place,” I suggested, certain he’d agree to anything if he thought he was going to get his cock sucked. “You know ... Relax. Have a drink. Let your nuts cool off.”
“I dunno.” He was playing coy, a wildboy’s game, and suddenly he changed his mind. “Shit. Okay. I need to get my nuts cooled off, that’s for sure!”
I drove him to my house with the same sureness I’d shown when I brought Jerry there. This Bud was more sex-wise, more experienced, than Jerry had been, and maybe he’d be even more of a challenge. I knew for certain he needed the discipline I had in store for him! I enjoyed the way he continued to brag about how horny he was, how he was going to screw his chick the next night, how he was always ready. He was ready for manhood, that’s what he was ready for!
“Make yourself at home,” I told him as I led him into the living room, peeling off my shirt casually. “Strip down while I pour the drinks, if you want to.”
“Uh ... Sure, Mister.”
Once again he’d called me Mister, and he went on to obey my order. While I filled glasses at the bar, I could see him unbuttoning his shirt, taking it off, showing his solid, wide-shouldered build, rubbing his palms over his thick-plated chest and spreading the slick hairs toward his amber nipples, flexing his strongly developed muscles. Man, what a sexy little hunk! I gave him an appreciative grin as I passed him his drink.
He took a long swallow of the liquor, then set the glass down on the coffee table and faced me, wildboy-confident. “Want to see the rest?” he taunted, running his fingertips along the low-slung waist of his jeans.
“Sure, why not?” I replied. “I figure on doing more than just looking before you leave.”
He smirked. “Shit, that’s what I thought.”
He began opening his fly one button at a time, revealing his flattened belly and the trimmed tangle of pubic hair at his groin. No underwear. “The guy who took me up in the hills, he dug having me strip down in the bushes before he sucked me off.” Bud hunched forward to peel off his jeans, and the bubbled-roundness of his untanned ass was smooth and tempting. “He liked to watch, and then he’d lick me all over, suck my tits, tongue my asshole, do all that good shit before he went down on me.” Naked, he straightened to face me again. “Like what I’ve got, Mister?”
“Damn right,” I admitted. His thighs were fleece-lined and as powerfully muscled as the rest of his body, and his mature, average-sized erection stuck out like a lever over his loosened testicles, looking far bigger because of his short frame. “You aren’t shy about going bare-ass, huh?”
“Shit!” he answered predictably, and he reached down to caress his meat with his fingers. “I’m not shy about anything—know what I mean?“
“Have a seat and finish your drink, stud.”
“Okay.” He slouched onto the couch, his legs spread, his heavy-headed prick hovering over the cushion, and he picked up his glass again. “Some of the guys at school act real nervous about going around nude, even in the locker room. But not me. I don’t mind—” He broke off as I started to unfasten my trousers. “Hey, Mister, what’re ya doing?”
“I’m like you when it comes to being naked.” I knew he was watching as I peeled off my pants casually. “No hang-ups, right?” I dropped my pants onto a chair, next to the shirt I’d pulled off earlier.
“I don’t go for any of that queer shit,” he warned, drinking fast. “If you want to work on my rod, that’s okay, but—”
“I’ll work on it, believe me,” I assured him with a chuckle. “Before you leave here, that pole of yours will be drained and limp as an old rag.”
“Yeah? Heard that before. I don’t wear out easy, Mister,” he bragged. “Especially not when I’m as horny as I am now.”
I let him go on with his expected wildboy talk about what a stud he was, and then I gave him the same need to close the curtains line I’d given Jerry. I wandered around behind the couch where I’d hidden the ether-filled mask earlier and slipped it out of the plastic bag.
When I clapped the mask over his face, Bud fought and grabbed at my arm and bellowed a muffled, “Shit!"—and that was his mistake; he had to take a breath afterward. In seconds he was wobbling, and soon after that he was unconscious.
Following my plan, I hauled him down to my basement, silently thanking him for saving me the trouble of stripping him. I laid him face-down over the table, bent over the edge, and chained his ankles to the legs on one side, his wrists stretched across and chained to the other side. When I had him secured, his back and ass were laid out for the kind of discipline every wildboy needs. Okay, so I paused to stroke his upturned tail and reach between his arched thighs to toy with his dangling nuts and prick. Damn nice!
I shaved his head with the clippers and put the helmet on him and locked the straps; then I left him while I went to get Jerry. I’ve already described how Jerry followed me back to the basement, naked and cock-hot because he expected another pain-and-pleasure discipline refresher session, how he viewed our new wildboy, how he named him Bud, how he chose to fuck the hunky stud instead of beating him, how I ended up plugging Jerry’s butt at the same time.
As a test of my control, I let Jerry teach Bud the importance of discipline. I thought my first wildboy might recall the time when I’d trained him, but he had never given an indication of remembering anything from before the program was finished with him. I showed Jerry all about how the program worked, how to read the graphs and indicators. Jerry’s nurturing side came out full-blast, and he learned eagerly. He loved the idea of helping our new wildboy Bud learn control and discipline.
During stage one, locked in the sightless, soundless helmet, Bud lay across the table. For hours on end, Jerry talked to Bud about becoming a real man, even though Bud couldn’t hear a word, and occasionally Jerry reinforced his lecture by using some of the sex-equipment in the basement. I soon realized from the initial sensor results that the usual forms of discipline and sensory deprivation weren’t going to work as well with Bud. Stage one was going to take longer for him.
At the same time, both Jerry and I got intimately acquainted with Bud’s short, muscular physique and ever-ready cock, and we fucked his bubbled ass and sucked his horny prick regularly. I’ve never known a guy who could churn up a load as fast as Bud could; make him cum, and thirty seconds later he had another load of spunk, just as big, waiting to be delivered.
Soon Bud accepted having his butt plugged and welcomed getting jerked or sucked—orgasm made a great distraction from the monotony inside the helmet—but he flatly refused to gulp on the meat Jerry and I pressed to his lips under the helmet. I knew that would be his ultimate test, and I began to wonder how long until he’d give in.
“Mister,” Jerry finally suggested, “Bud sure needs an awful lot of sex. What would happen if he didn’t get his rocks off for a while?”
Sexual depravation? Might work. So I changed my tactics.
I rigged up the camera to feed faint images into the virtual reality screens in the helmet. Bud’s jaw was set in defiance, but he couldn’t help grinning when I started playing with his dick. “Getting to like that rod, Mister?” he asked, still cocky as hell. “Shit, I’ll give you a mouthful of cum anytime.”
I tugged the heavy flesh-column and felt it stretch and stiffen. A pearl of pre-cum appeared on his cock-slit. I wiped it away with a finger, then I put that digit against his lip. “Shit!” Bud growled, turning his head away. “Stick it in my mouth, and I’ll bite it off!"—and I believed he would.
Anyway, I had him full-hard by then, and my own cock was blazing hot. Like I said before, Bud was a damn sexy stud, but I wasn’t going to give in, and that’s when Jerry went to work. He got down in front of me and started licking my nuts, sucking my iron, going for broke, and in no time at all, we were into some of the best sex we’d ever had. And all hard-up Bud could do was just watch the images of us on the helmet screens and get even hornier!
So that was the way we started to break Bud of his wildboy habits. We went on feeding him, showering and shaving him, doing everything except letting him pop the load building in his nuts. I made sure Jerry was there, watching and learning, whenever I made an adjustment to program, and I made sure Jerry regularly checked the readouts that monitored Peter’s status and biometrics. At night, we set the audio feed running into his helmet so Bud could hear us fucking before bed, even if he couldn’t see what we were doing. In no time he was sporting a constant hard-on, and he became quieter and quieter.
Two days later, probably longer than he had ever gone without cumming, he was ready for stage two. To say his sleep- and sex-deprived mind responded well to the pleasure-based hypnosis was an understatement.
When the mind-breaking stage three began, Bud’s façade started to crack almost immediately. He lasted only six hours before he gave up the fight, practically a new record for speed.
Stage four usually takes a three or four days. Bud’s reprogramming was finished in just over fifty-nine hours.
“Shit, Mister,” he murmured, his voice almost childlike. I’d freed him from the helmet and chains just an hour before. Jerry and I had sat and talked with him for those critical first minutes while his reorienting mind imprinted on us; then I helped Bud up the stairs and into the shower, and fitted a chain collar like Jerry’s around his neck and locked it in place. Now Bud stood fresh-scrubbed and fresh-shaven at the foot of my bed, waiting. He kept his head down, gazing at his potent erection, which stuck out and up at a forty-five degree angle, hard and needy. He hadn’t cum in days. “Lemme sleep with you and Jerry tonight. I’m so fucking horny ... Please, Mister?”
“What for?” I mocked, sprawling naked on my back on the bed with my hands behind my head.
“Shit, I can do anything he can. I’ll do anything you want.” After being alone, locked in silence and darkness so much of the last few days, Bud’s mind probably craved social contact. He probably needed that as much as he needed sexual relief.
“Yeah?” I tested him: “What do you want to do, Bud?”
“Anything you say, Mister,” he mumbled without looking up. “Suck your cock. Lick your balls. Eat your ass. Let you fuck my ass. Anything.”
“How about Jerry?”
“Him, too. Anything.”
I looked over at Jerry and grinned. “Okay.”
Bud stood there for a moment, and then he crawled onto the bed between my spread legs. He studied my exposed genitals as though he’d never seen a man’s equipment before, and suddenly he dropped forward to bury his face in my crotch. I heard and felt him inhale my scent deeply, as if taking an intoxicant, and then his lips were caressing my balls, his tongue washing them, his mouth suctioning them hungrily. I lay back, letting him take his time without forcing him, and he inched upward to my pre-cum-dripping erection, nuzzled it, took the tip in his mouth, then more and more of the head and shaft.
That’s when Jerry eased closer on the bed beside me, stripped and prick-hot and virile. He gave me a smile that said he was as pleased as I was that Bud had given up being a wildboy. The reprogramming had been a complete success. Then Bud was sucking the hell out of my cock, and when I couldn’t hold back any more, I hung on to Jerry’s shoulder with one hand and cupped the back of Bud’s head with the other while I popped my load into our ex-wildboy’s throat. Damn right I popped!
As soon as I’d gone dry, Bud twisted over and went to work on Jerry, repeating everything he’d done to me, and in only a few minutes Bud was swallowing more fresh cum. Then I hauled him up between us, and Bud lay back his eyes clenched shut, gulping for air. I ran my fingers over his solid, heaving chest and downward over his tensed torso, and I couldn’t keep from grinning at his rigid cock, the thick shaft slapped back against his belly, a drizzle of pre-cum oozing from the tip. Yeah, he was nuts-aching hot!
“Please, I need to cum,” Bud begged. His body trembled. “Please, Jerry? Please, Mister?”
I slid my hand into his crotch, toyed with his bulging testicles, then gripped his full-swollen prick, and he squirmed in his need for relief. Jerry teased one of Bud’s nipples, pinched, pulled gently.
“Mister!” Bud hissed as I stroked his rod with a firm grip, and then as the blond twisted that nipple harder Bud bellowed, “Jerry!” I felt his load charge up from his churning nuts. ”Agh! Shit!” Damn it, Bud sure creamed his guts out! The first blast sprayed all the way to his face, and I watched with admiration as stream after stream of ropey sperm cascaded from his hose.
When it finally ended, he seemed to pass out, and I looked up to find Jerry sharing my appreciation from the other side of the cum-washed stud. Without a word, Jerry shifted and licked Bud clean, and then all three of us slept, naked and locked together.
I was discovering my plan for training wildboys needed flexibility. The military had wanted its test subjects all trained the same way, a cookie-cutter approach to making mass quantities of identical, reliable soldiers. But with wildboys, maybe each needed to be handled a little differently. Jerry’s training started one way, Bud’s another, but they ended up undergoing the same general process and coming out with the same result. I discovered that they seemed to share a special relationship as a result. For the first few days, Bud went around in a daze just as Jerry had, as his new, true personality started to surface. That’s the most important part of wildboy training.
I woke up to hear the two youths splashing in the swimming pool. When I went out onto the deck, they were thrashing around like a pair of puppies, Jerry in his swim-trunks, Bud bare-ass and hunky as hell. The moment Bud saw me, he hauled out of the water and came toward me, bright-eyed and eager and cock-swinging.
“Shit!” he greeted me with a grin, and I knew all the training in the world wouldn’t scrub that word from his vocabulary. “We’ve got to do something about Jerry, Mister! He keeps wearing those damn shorts. How the hell are we going to fuck his ass when he stays dressed up like that?”
“Maybe he doesn’t want to get his ass sunburned,” I suggested.
“Shit, I never thought of that.” Naked Bud stood in front of me for a moment, and then he humped forward to wrap his arms about me. “You’re the greatest, Mister!” he murmured, squirming against me. “When I woke up this morning, it was like always, you on one side of me and Jerry—”
“Like always?” I questioned, rubbing my palms over his damp back and rounded tail, and I wondered if he remembered when I’d first brought him here as another test of my wildboy plan. “Always?”
“Sure. Shit, I always wake up before you and Jerry. I like to watch your dicks wake up before you guys do!”
As with Jerry, Bud’s previous life was forgotten. The amnesia module did its work very well.
But that was about all they had in common. Sure, they sucked and fucked and slept and played together, but Jerry always seemed close to me, while Bud was—well, he was a character, short, muscular, and all-man.
Then there was the day Bud wanted to use my car to drive Jerry into town for some ice cream. Another test of my plan? I let them go, and they were back in an hour or so, loaded with ice dream and grinning like a couple of idiots. They repeated their trip the following two days, and I suspected they were up to something. Naturally, I figured I’d find out soon enough so I didn’t question them.
I found out the next afternoon.
“Hey, Mister!” Bud bellowed as he and Jerry burst through the front door, returning from another trip to town. “We got company! Meet our new pal Red!”
“That ain’t my name,” the redheaded teenager with them announced as he slouched inside and kicked the door shut behind him. “But I guess that don’t make no never-mind, right?”
Another wildboy! Red was tall and athletic, probably nineteen or twenty. A tangle of auburn hair, almost long enough to brush his shoulders, tumbled down over his forehead and wreathed his cowboy-rugged face. His T-shirt adhered snugly to his well-muscled physique, tightly enough to show the pointed tips of his nipples. Well-worn jeans lapped at his slim hips and powerful legs.
“Glad to meet you, Red,” I said, wondering what the hell Jerry and Bud had in mind.
“I bet you are,” he smirked, stuffing his hands into his back pockets and stretching his pants to display his mounded crotch. “The guys tell me you’re a fucking fruit.”
I blinked with surprise and turned to the youths I’d thought I’d trained.
“It’s okay, Mister,” Jerry said solemnly, but his eyes twinkled with amusement. “Red knows the score. He’d had plenty of gay guys suck on his joint.”
“Shit,” Bud added confidently. “He works at the ice cream store, but he lifts weights at the gym. Man, you oughta see his build!” He spun to Red. “Take off your shirt and show him! That’ll tum him on!”
“Yeah, okay!” Red gripped the base of his T-shirt and skinned it up slowly, showing his taut abdomen, his pale freckled skin, his sharply defined chest with the lush tits at each side, his shoulders. Talk about a striptease! Stripped to the waist, he rubbed his palms over his bared frame proudly, then gripped the front of his jeans with sensuous sureness. “Want to see the rest of it, mister?”
“Show him what you’re packing, Red!” Bud urged. “Shit, let’s all strip down and take turns fucking his face!”
“Hell,” Red smirked arrogantly, “that ain’t the only part of him I’m about to fuck!”
It was all funny and horny and crazy, all at the same time. Jerry and Bud were tugging off their clothes, showing the chains I’d locked around their necks, and Red was unbuttoning the fly of his pants, spreading the flaps, showing he wasn’t wearing underwear, revealing his starch-pale belly, then his amber pubic hair, and finally exposing his half-hard cock and balls.
“How about that, Mister?” Jerry exclaimed. “Doesn’t Red have a great cock?”
Red had nice equipment, nothing unusual, but he reacted to Jerry’s flattery as if he were the champion stud at the county fair. Red flexed his muscles, worshipped his nakedness with his fingers, showed off in true wildboy style, and he didn’t notice Bud slip behind the couch and return with the ether-soaked mask. Now I knew what they had in mind for Red!
“Hungry, Mister?” the auburn-haired bodybuilder sneered, kicking his shed pants aside. “Come and get it, cock-sucker!”
Smothering a laugh at his insolence, I knelt in front of him, and his prick snapped the rest of the way to attention almost as soon as I touched it. Wildboy! I nibbled at the hard-tipped crown, licked the vein-etched shaft, gulped down on the throbbing column, and I knew Jerry and Bud were sharing my amusement as they closed in on him.
“Gosh!” Jerry. “I bet he’s never sucked off a stud like you, Red!”
“Shit!” Bud. “Give it to him hard, Red! Fuck his face! Go, man, go!”
“Damn right!” Red bragged, hammering his rod into my mouth like a ferret in heat, and I brought one hand up to grasp his sex-tight nuts. “Yeah, you’re going to get my cum!” he moaned. “The best load you ever got! I’ve been saving it up for—” He broke off, and I knew Jerry and Bud were behind him, seizing his arms. “Hey!—What—?” I pulled off his rigid prick and clenched his balls firmly! “Ow!—Fuck—!”
“Shut up!” Bud barked, and when I looked up, he was glaring at Red, short and strong and man-sure, while they held him. Jerry had one arm looked around Red’s to restrain it, his other arm around Red’s neck. Bud held on to Red’s other arm and had the ether mask pressed over Red’s twisting face. Red jerked, and I grabbed hold of his legs to make kicking and struggling harder. “Mister can make mush out of your nuts,” Bud declared, “but that isn’t the way you need to be trained!” Red began to sag into their arms. “Shit, you ain’t a wildboy,” he told Red’s slumping form. “You’re a fucking dog! A fucking dog!”
Another facet of Bud’s new personality had appeared, a casually dominant side, and I let him handle the clippering-away of Red’s shaggy hair, let Bud handle Red’s conversion too. For the several days of isolation, Bud stayed close to Red in the basement, and I suspect he used a great deal of pain during stage one to conquer Red’s overwhelming ego. At Bud’s request, I made a few changes to the reprogramming part of stage four and had the new version ready and waiting for when Red’s training progressed to that point.
Eight and a half days after Red had walked into my house, the program announced stage four was complete.
Jerry and I were horsing around naked in the living room that night, not really having sex but teasing each other, getting each other horny as hell. I had let Bud be the one there for Red’s imprinting, and now they were in the bathroom, where Bud was putting the groggy redhead through the shower. Then Bud led Red in by a leash attached to the chain collar about the redhead’s neck.
I couldn’t help smiling again at the clumsy-chopped mess Bud had made of Red’s auburn hair. But more importantly, naked and obedient, the once-brash youth took a head-down stance. Yeah, another wildboy had been tamed!
“Red-dog,” Bud ordered quietly, “fetch Mister’s bone!”
Red dropped to his hands and knees and scrambled across the floor canine-like to bury his face in my crotch, nuzzling my genitals, licking my nuts, sucking on my hardening dick, and I gave Bud a nod to acknowledge my pride in the way he was overseeing the youth’s training. Hell, if I hadn’t trained Bud, he never would have understood Red’s ex-wildboy needs.
“Good boy,” I murmured, reaching down to scratch behind Red’s ears, and he bobbed up to gaze at me with cocker spaniel eyes, smiling. “Now, how about Jerry?”
Red hustled over to Jerry and gave him the same treatment, only he concentrated on Jerry’s fast-swelling prick.
“Hey!” Jerry objected. “Slow down, Red!”
“Shit,” Bud snorted. “Give that Red-dog your bone, pal!”
So we all ended up giving it to Red, front and rear. He turned out to be more of a puppy than a dog. He was playful, loved to be petted or scratched, followed us around eagerly, did everything but wag his tail. As a matter of fact, he had a damn fine tail, and he liked nothing better than to have one of us fuck his ass while he was sucking another’s cock. But basically, he was Bud’s, licking his hand, nuzzling him, sitting at the foot of whatever chair Bud was in.
Bud had also changed. Sure, he was still the shit-bellowing character, but he was growing more mature, more secure in his manhood. That’s why I wasn’t surprised when he came tromping into my room one night about six months later.
“Shit!” he declared predictably as he spilled onto the bed beside me. “I’ve got to move on, Mister.”
“I thought so.” I slid one arm beneath his shoulders and drew him against me. “Gonna take Red with you?”
“I’d better. I’ve gotta take care of that pup.” He squirmed even closer, naked and hunky and cock-hard. “Just like you take care of Jerry, Mister.”
That’s another part of an ex-wildboy’s training. Once brought to manhood, the master must recognize his responsibility to his convert. Bud was responsible for Red just as I was responsible for Jerry. Besides, having three horny trainees around the house was a bit too many for me to manage effectively.
So Bud and Red left later that week, and for a short time, Jerry and I had the house to ourselves, except for the one weekend a month that Bud and Red came back for refresher training, whether pain or pleasure, or usually some of both. I had two of the helmets, so Bud and Red went through their refreshers at the same time, side by side, which was the way they liked it.
Then a few months after, someone banged on the front door.
“You the guy they call Mister?” a cocky dark-haired youth barked at me. “My friend Bud sent me. Shit, today’s my eighteenth birthday, and he said you’d give me a blow-job. So how about it, Mister? You wanna suck my cock, or what?”
“Sure. C’mon in.”
“Cool!” He marched past me and spotted Jerry in the living room, bronzed and athletic, naked except for his collar. “Shit, what’s going on here?”
“Junior!” Jerry announced. “He looks and talks like Bud, so we’ll call him Junior!”
And that’s how we got our next wildboy. Like I said, the world is full of them!