Her last words to me would forever ring true in my ears.

Jennifer, my girlfriend for the past three troubled years, had taken the last load of her stuff to her car and stood before me, her hand holding the condo key and our promise ring out toward me. “Listen, Rafe,” she said, “You really need to take stock of your life. You can’t go on behaving like a care-free, trust-fund, college jock forever. You need to realize that maturity isn’t just a physical thing. Unless you grow up emotionally and mentally, no one will be there to share a life with you. You have some difficult choices ahead, and they will control your future.”

Looking into my eyes, and seeing no sign that her words had connected, she calmly placed the items in my hand, turned, and walked straight out of my life.

I turned to view my condo. Well, actually my parents condo that they gave me for scraping through college. Now stripped of most of the furniture and cookware, it lacked any “woman‘s touch,” filled only with a bed, a few clothes, a massive overpriced big-screen TV, a computer station, my recliner, and bang-up video game system. Oh, and a fridge filled with beer and a garbage can overflowing with empty bottles and pizza boxes. I cracked open a beer, flopped down in the chair, and surfed the sports channels.

I woke the next day, and headed to the gym. I had gotten a bit lazy recently, and thought that a good, heavy workout would be my salvation. Twenty minutes in, exhausted and sweaty, about to puke from the lactic acid cramping my muscles, I caught my reflection in the wall of mirrors lining the weight room wall. Staring back at me wasn’t that tight-bod stud with the rock-hard abs, bright eyes, killer smile, and smooth moves I had always been. Instead, I saw my new reality. Sure, you could still definitely see the remnants of the college baseball jock, but they were distorted by a film of fat and sloth. My stomach had the early roundings of a belly. My legs were thinner and lacked definition. My chest was broad, but smoothed out by softened muscle. My face was pudgy and my eyes dulled by years of late nights in smoky bars, beer, and neglect of intellect. In that instant, Jen’s words dropped on me like the heavy weights hitting the floor around me in the crowded gym. I really did need to take stock of my life.

Defeated and disgusted, I shuffled home, cracked a beer, and cried like a chick watching a Debra Winger movie.

On Monday, after a long, grinding, mindless day of work at the electronics store selling “radical” stereo systems to “future” electronics store employees, I was walking back to my rechristened bachelor pad, when I ambled past the mega-chain bookstore. A sign standing in front of me blocking the sidewalk announced “Today, 6:30pm, Author/Guru Dr. Tony DuPree, ‘Building The Boy Into The Man’ meeting his fans.” Brushing past on the busy street, I was about ten steps past the door, wondering what kind of pathetic fool would be at that sad self-help lecture, when I caught my own pathetic, foolish reflection at the next storefront. As I turned back to enter the bookstore, I wondered “Is this what my life has come to?”

I gotta tell you, the next hour was not remotely what I had expected. First off, the crowd was not the bunch of whiny needy losers I expected. Most of the seats were filled with youthful, well-groomed business men. Feeling under-achieving, I slid into a seat toward the back, next to another “average Joe.” We shared embarrassed half-smiles, sizing each other up for the loser award. At 6:30 sharp, the store manager made a weighty introduction, gushing with girl-school praise about Dr. Tony Dupree and his various degrees in medicine and psychology, his accolades from world leaders, his well-documented charity and his movie-star good looks.

I thought she might even pee herself when Tony actually appeared and took the podium. But I had to agree, Tony did make a powerful first impression. He had a presence bigger than himself. His natural ease at speaking and his studied self-confidence, combined with an obvious comfort with his adoring audience and a winner’s smile created an unforgettable lecture. He held everyone’s absolute attention for the next forty-five minutes, discussing his series of books and tapes, all focused on mentoring young men, helping slackers (such as myself ) to rediscover their inner strengths and inner desires, all for the purpose of molding them into tomorrow’s leaders. As he spoke though, I kept noticing that his warm gaze fell on me multiple times, especially when he discussed mentoring and molding the minds of the underachiever. This unnerved me a bit. Probably just a trick of good public speaking and salesmanship to connect with your audience, I thought.

After the lecture at the book signing, Tony was surrounded by the gang of business men, all eager to get an autograph and thank him for “changing my life so completely.” It would have seemed nauseating had I not just heard him speak. Caught up in the moment, though, I waited patiently with books and tapes in hand for my turn at an autograph. Finally, I approached the table where the author sat, he looked up and his eyes held mine. “I see my words about improving yourself rang true for you, right Rafe?” Tony asked as he pulled his book from my hand and signed the cover. Returning the book to me and focusing his steady gaze upon me, he continued. “I prize myself on seeing great promise in people. It is obvious that you have fallen from the path that once promised such a bright future for you, right, Rafe?”

A bit taken back from this forward, painful assessment, I stammered “Uh, well, uh, yeah, I have become a bit lost, I guess.” Holding my eyes locked to him, he rose slowly from the table, and motioned to an assistant to clear an exit path through the crush of fans. As a warm knowing smile crossed his face, he moved around the table, firmly placed his arm around my shoulder and steered me through the opening and around the corner where we could have an uninterrupted word. “Listen, Rafe,” he said, again focusing his full gaze and words into me. “Take this book as a gift, but you don’t need all these tapes. Those are for the mindless gang of businessmen that delight in easy solutions from motivational speeches. I can instantly see that you once had the makings of beauty and greatness, and these things will again be yours if you seek the right mentorship and guidance. I know you want that more than anything, right, Rafe?” I vacantly nodded my head in agreement in cadence with him as he continued. Fishing into his breast pocket, he produced a business card with his name and a website address, wrote a few words and a numbers on it, and handed it to me. “This is an account and password for you to my private, selective, on-line Academy. It is free to you but not freely available except to a group of talented young men that I hand-choose. I think you are a perfect candidate for my newest venture, if you are a willing subject. You want to be a willing subject, right, Rafe?”

Overwhelmed by his personal attention, I openly nodded in agreement.

“You will go straight home, get on-line, and register, right, Rafe?” he firmly directed, nodding my agreement for me.

Slowly waking from his mesmerizing presence, I slowly came back to myself. “Uh, yes, sir, uh, I will, and thank you, sir.” As I turned to leave, suddenly confused, I turned back to Tony and asked “But, sir, how did you know my name and so much about me?”

An enamoring smile crossed his face. “Boy, I am in the business of knowing everything about anyone I chose. Also,” he continued, placing his open palm on my chest, “you’re still wearing your nametag from work.”

I walked out of that bookstore and straight into a brilliant new life.

Getting home, I cracked a beer, checked the mail and ate some dry cold cereal (no milk). Then I settled into my easy chair in front of the computer station and went on-line. As I typed in the email address, I noticed the account number Tony had written was my year of birth -a good guess?- and the password he had written was “RIGHTRAFE.” Upon entering the Academy sight and entering the data, a fully detailed application form came on screen. It warned any false information would be exposed and be cause for immediate removal from the Academy Mentor Applicant Pool. Having little to lose, it was easy to reveal all the background information honestly, even though much of the questions were painfully frank. For example, not only did the application ask educational and statistical questions, but also asked questions about physical achievements and sexual history, including STDs, sexual frequency and preferred partners. When I was done, I realized that when placed in this format, my life had not been an example of achievement, unless you counted beer drinking, nailing drunk sorority bitches, and endless partying your life‘s goal. Aside from a full-ride baseball scholarship to a notorious “jock school” and a few years in Triple-A ball, I would not have been impressed. I wondered why “The Dr. Tony DuPree” would lift a finger to work with me.

After submitting the application, a page of rules appeared. They instructed that all Academy training on the sight would to be conducted at a set time, every evening for 16 weeks, without fail, without interference or interruption. No onlookers, no discussion of content, no downloading, etc..

No life. No Girlfriend. No problem, I thought. Except for the pizza delivery guy, who would bother me.

After accepting the terms, a series of “Mental Exercise, Level One” involving memory, perception, and concentration powers were administered. They started easy, but increased in intensity for the next hour. Mixed in were a series of quotes from Tony, “Life Lessons,” keys to success. My favorite was “A good boy finds pleasure pleasing others.” Yeah, whatever, I thought.

After the hour of exercises, I logged off and went to bed.

The next morning, I woke up before my alarm clock, pissed, showered, shaved and dressed for work. As I left the condo, I realized that I had made the bed. Trust me, I had never before made my bed. “A good boy finds pride in a well-kept mind, body, and home” I thought as I left for work.

That day at work went by easily. As if in epiphany, I actually listened to all the customers, and set them up with exactly the equipment they needed. I was charming and efficient and had an amazing number of sales. Even my boss commented that something in me had changed. Leaving work on a high, I turned that energy into the first great workout I had had in months, years maybe. I hit the door at home with even more energy and managed to actually clean my condo before I went on-line for that night’s lessons. These lessons might really change me for the better, I thought as I willingly settled in to the Academy program.

The young man I became as the next four months flew by was utterly unrecognizable from the wasted bum I had so recently been. I was tops in sales at work, even though I often was helping the other guys with their sales. Four months of killer workouts and unerring dieting brought back and then surpassed the physical body that I had so recently risked losing. Broad shoulders and chest, tight abs and ass, powerful thighs and calves. Amazing. My angular face and brightened eyes were now brought out by clear skin and a neatly groomed high-and-tight haircut. Even my condo was neatly kept, if just a bit Spartan.

I was loving life again. And it was all due to Tony and the on-line Academy. Every night, without fail, I was punctually in front of my computer, breezing expertly through the Academy lessons. I never questioned how it worked, I was a fully willing subject, eager to learn and please. All the “Life Lessons” from Tony became my truth. “A good boy finds pleasure pleasing others.” “A good boy finds pride in a well-kept mind, body, and home.” “A good boy finds power by accepting the power of others.”

As the sixteen weeks came to an end, I wondered what would happen. Was there a “Mental Exercise, Level Two?” There must be. I was certainly a willing subject for anything Tony and the Academy offered. Late on Friday of the last week, just after I logged off, the phone rang. I answered. A masculine voice asked if I knew who he was. Without a moment of hesitation, I knew it was Tony. Strangely, I was not that excited, just eager to hear his voice and tell him how much his work had changed me. He was friendly and interested, but kept tight control on the discussion. “Listen,” he said, “I have been checking your progress with my Academy, and I am very pleased. You are eager to move to the next level, right Rafe?” The last two words he spoke brought an amazing desire and focus over me. Hearing him say my name that way made me realize I had complete confidence in Tony and a powerful need for his approval. “Yes, Sir,” I replied, “ I want to be a good boy and want to make you proud, sir.”

“Good boy, listen carefully. The next time you log in to the Academy, you will move to Level Two. Before you do, realize this is your own choice, so consider this carefully. Level Two is more intense and will bring about permanent changes in you, life-altering changes, do you understand?”

“I do, sir,” I replied, somehow aware what these changes would be. “I know absolutely that I want to continue, sir, I must continue, sir, I need to continue, sir.”

“Good boy. The next level consists of deep concentration exercises. Many boys feel as if they are on auto-pilot while doing them. The lessons are more intense and the yield is higher. You will be required to update your application and resume, add personal information, a full series of pictures, and results from a medical screen. An appointment for pictures and your medical have been made for you. This information will complete your profile. After you complete Level Two in four weeks, your profile will be sent to a select group of businessmen, professionals, and trade leaders. They are all successful and skilled in a wide variety of fields. Several of them will contact you. You will meet with them at their discretion for mentoring sessions. This is Level Three. These men will evaluate you to determine compatibility and work with you to perfect your training. Be honest with these men and open to their suggestions. You will learn incredible things from these mentors.”

“Finally,” Tony concluded, “Level Four. When you have been fully trained, you will receive offers for permanent placement with a single mentor. Several offers may be made, the final choice will be yours. I trust that your desire to please me and find happiness will be sufficient motivation for you, right Rafe?”

“Yes, sir, absolutely, sir.”

“Good boy, Rafe. Now go online and print out the appointments from your email and go to bed. You will dream of your new life every night from now on, right Rafe?” And with that, Tony hung up the phone. I went straight to bed and dreamt wonderful dreams of finding my place in the world.

The next four weeks were a solid blur. Tony was right, the Academy lessons were intense. Often, afterwards, I could not even remember what they were. It was as if I would log on and my mind would just open up to the information, willing to absorb and accept. I would sometimes not even remember logging off and going to bed, but I always would dream of my ideal life soon to come. And I would hear Tony’s voice calmly repeating the lessons that would make me a good boy.

When two of the four weeks were up, I knew I had to quit my job, giving two weeks notice. Even when the owner offered me a solid raise and a position as floor manager, I somehow knew that I needed to be instantly available to the mentors that should soon be calling. I had saved an amazing amount of money over the last months and was not worried about my finances. Besides, all the free time would allow me even longer workouts in the gym. “A good boy finds perfection in himself when others find perfection in him.”

The very morning after four weeks was up, the phone rang. “Is this Rafe?” an accented, mature voice asked. “Yes, sir, it is, can I help you?”

“I am a mentor from the Academy. My name is Werner. I am the CEO of GlobalTek and I live in Stockholm. I am flying in this morning to train you. I want you to meet me at the Windermere Hotel at noon. You are willing, right Rafe?”

“Yes, Sir, I am,” I replied, those last two magic words triggering the powerful lessons I had learned, leaving me motivated to please and learn from this man. “I look forward to serving you, Sir.”

“I am very intrigued to meet an “all-American” boy such as yourself. I will see you soon.” Werner hung up. I refocused on the appointment and wondered how to present myself to this powerful mentor. I kept hearing Werner’s words “all-American” over and over. I went to have a fresh shave and shower, dressed in my worn jeans, a tight white tee, my college sweater and new sneakers, and headed over to the Windermere.

I was met in the hotel lobby by a tall, thin, blonde named Jurgen. He escorted me to Werner’s suite and left me alone in the living area with two glasses of mineral water on the coffee table. I waited for a few minutes, a bit nervous. I heard the door from the bedroom open and turned to meet Werner. He was indeed as impressive as his title. He was about fifty, twenty-five or so years my senior. He was tall and had a full, powerful frame. He was blonde but tan, arctic blue eyes, with a strong Nordic face. Had he not been in a refined business suit and not impeccably groomed, he could easily have been Eric the Red.

Sitting down opposite me, Werner took up a glass of water, sipped and then sighed, an obvious sign of approval. I had met his expectations and had chosen correct attire. “So, my eager all-American boy, tell me about yourself.” I answered with a quick bio. My small-town roots, my athletic success, my former job and my involvement with the Academy so far. Sensing that Werner was a man not to need full details, I kept it brief. “So I am the first mentor you have met, right Rafe?” “Uh, yes, Sir.” I replied. “And I want you to know how thankful I am you chose me.”

“Good boy. Let me tell you a bit about myself,” Werner began, setting his glass down crisply. “I am a well-educated man from wealth. I have been at the top of my company for twenty years. As a pure Swede, I am incredibly civilized. But also as a Swede, I share the violent history of my warrior ancestors. I am firm and demanding, I like absolute control and expect pure obedience. I find all-American boys charming. I marvel at how you one moment appear so clean and wholesome, yet in the next moment expose such lust and passion. I want you to help me explore such dichotomy, I wish to learn to master that quality. You want to surrender your all-American charm to me, right Rafe?”

As Werner spoke, and as he firmly enunciated the last two words, I fell under his power. All the lessons from the Academy filled my mind, alongside an untempered willingness to serve this man. “Yes, Sir, I want to be your all-American boy.”

“Excellent, boy. Rise and remove your sweater. I wish to inspect that which I now control.” I rose, all the while keeping my eyes on Master. I removed my sweater and stood before Him. I stood at attention while Master slowly circled me. Lightly, yet firmly, He caressed my chest, hair, ass and crotch. “Impressive, indeed,” He said, “Such masculine beauty, filled with boyish charm.” My body bent to His touch. I felt my strength yield to Master as His eyes met mine. “So, all-American boy, kneel and surrender to Me.” Descending slowly to my knees, I felt His power. My eyes came to rest at Werner’s crotch, which was swelling under His silk trousers. “As you remove My penis from My trousers, recite the lessons. Begin.” My mind went into exercise, I recited the lessons, their truth echoing up to Master. I delicately unfastened His belt and trouser buttons, and my hand slid between the silk and through his Egyptian cotton boxers. I preciously extracted His hardening, powerful cock from it’s lair. My eyes traveled upwards to meet Master’s, begging that I might serve Him. “Such boyish innocence, such willful lust,” Master said. “You may have your reward.”

I instantly moved onto Werner’s cock, engulfing His member with my eager mouth. My mind swam. I could not believe the powerful need I had to receive His gift. I worked His fully erect organ back and forth across my tongue and deep into my throat. My own cock raged in my underwear, aching for release. “As you suck me, without stopping, remove your clothes, except your briefs. I delight in the sight of a hard-muscled boy, clad in his tighty-whities, ass and equipment held snug, worshipping My penis dutifully at My feet.” I carefully removed my clothes, missing only one stroke on Master’s cock when I pulled my tee over my head. I knelt before Him then, intoxicated by His presence, the smell and taste of His crotch, totally under His power, my cock pulsing involuntarily, wetting the cotton of my briefs as I worked His tool. Was there any place else I would ever want to be?

Drawing me back from my worshipful state, He spoke. “Look at Me, all-American boy,” Werner said, with a sense of urgency. My eyes rose to His while I held His penis deep in my throat, massaging it with my tongue. “Master is close,” Werner said, His jaw tightening and His icy blue eyes intensely focusing into mine. “Cum with Master.”

At that second, Werner’s cock swelled beyond it’s already enormous dimensions, and began to pulse. Then, His powerful release flooded forth, His seed fired into me, deep into my throat, shot after scalding shot. My throat automatically pulsed in synch, drawing out His magnificent cum. As the taste of Werner’s spunk filled my senses, my body lurched into convulsions, my gut tightened, my ass clenched, and I unloaded fully into my briefs. My searing cum soaked my underwear and oozed down around my jerking cock. My brain overloaded and I began to blackout. As I fell down and away from Master and lapsed from consciousness, I could still see His piercing eyes, taste His cock, and hear His voice. “A good boy finds pleasure in the pleasure of others.”

I awoke, alone, in the bed of the suite. I was naked under the fine sheets. My clothes were neatly set out on the dressing table, except for my underwear, which were missing. I had been cleaned off, there was no sign or feel of cum on me. I could still taste Werner’s cum in my mouth, but I could no longer feel the power that he had over me. I was confident that I had pleased him. But I somehow knew I would not see him again immediately, like it was a rule. I dressed and went home.

On the walk home, I replayed the scene at the hotel over and over. I wondered why it didn’t feel weird. I had just sucked off a mentor in a hotel room. No guilt? I had never even had a gay thought in my life, yet I was not bothered or confused. I knew I had been hand-chosen to do this. And I knew that the Academy was making me the best boy I could be. “A good boy finds strength in the strength of others.”

Over the next month, there were more calls, and more meetings. They always followed a similar pattern. A phone call scheduling a meeting. A “hint” about what was expected. A time and place. But the actual meetings were as different as the men. They were always good-looking and powerful men, always strong men, but with different lessons. Many wanted to talk at length, some just about themselves, some just about me. Inevitably, though, they would state those two trigger words, and I would fall under their power and live out the fantasy they wanted.

After Werner, I met Guy, a diplomat from Montreal. He loved hockey, and was owner of a franchise. Under his power, I knelt in front of him in only a jockstrap nursing his huge, uncut Canadian cock while he watched hockey on TV. I pulled on his nuts and gnawed on his foreskin, deep-throating him until I began to gag and pass out. In his sexy French accent, he called me his “slutty fucking hockey bastard,” as I humbled before him. He had me finger my asshole and jack him off. When his big Franco-cock erupted, arcs of his cum shot all over my face and into my hair. I was told to shoot my load by jacking off across the TV screen.

Jake, a recently retired Three-Star from D.C., turned me into his boot-camp fuck-toy. He had me stand at attention before him while he relived his days as a D.I., cursing and swearing, inches from my face, until I screamed that I was his “bottom-feeding cumbag asswipe, Sir.” As his “cock sucking newbie recruit,“ I was allowed to dutifully worship and lick his hot-muscled military shit-chute while he beat off, firing his red-hot ammo from his fuck weapon across my muscled chest. With almost no stand-down, he then fired off a second round while he ate out my punk ass, bringing me off with him.

Buck, a “Marlboro Man” rancher who owned most of central Idaho, tied me up with deer-hide straps face-down on the bed and spanked me, all the while swearing to “Cowboy Up” and “breed my ass good,” if I chose him as my permanent mentor. He rubbed his high-caliber fuck weapon ardently up and down against my ass crack until he shot out an impressive discharge of “Buckshot,” while I ground my own swollen rod onto the sheets and came as he tamed me like a colt. He surprised me by licking his own come off my muscled butt and back, untying me, licking my cum up as well, then passionately kissing me, our cum mixing with our spit and scent. He held me in his strong arms and gently stroked the nape of my neck, while I nuzzled against the scratchy stubble on his face and jaw.

Omar from Dubai, had fabulous oil wealth and loved exotic sports cars. Around my neck, he placed a golden talisman he said focused erotic energy. He had me wear a luxurious silk shirt and silk boxers. We drove out to a secluded area along the coast. He layed me across the hood of his 500 plus horsepower Italian car and then straddled me, driving his rigid stick shift deep into my throat. As I stared deep into his smoldering Persian eyes, he power-shifted his turbo cock over my tongue and past my tonsils, grinding each and every gear. After shooting his load on the hood of his car, we drove back toward the city. He drove twice the speed limit down the interstate while I licked his shaved balls and warm brown sabre. He came a second time with the force of a true Arabian Stud, firing out arcs of cum up across his smooth, tan chest. I shot all over the leather seats as I licked the aromatic man-seed from his chest.

Georg, a former East German Olympian who owned a sports nutrition company in Berlin, was a freakishly muscled bodybuilder who trained me to be a piss-slave. He stood before me in his posing strap, arms flexed and thighs bulging. Naked, I crawled to him and licked his feet and calves while he towered over me. He turned around and told me to massage his meaty glutes while he bent forward. Holding on for dear life to his powerful thighs, I used my teeth to chew on the spandex strip that stretched between his asscheeks and tongued his shaved hole while he used his powerful teutonic hand to push me deeper into his man-chute. Pushing me to the floor and squatting over me, he unleashed his genetically-enhanced fuck-muscle and thrust it into my receptive mouth. He told me he wanted to me experience complete domination, and then he unleashed a scalding hot stream of man-piss into my throat, holding my head with his paws as he emptied his bladder, using me as his willing receptacle. Then, jerking me up, he pulled me tight against his muscled chest and clamped me against the rock-hard nipple on his left pec. I suckled from his man-tit as he ground his crotch against mine. We came together, his bodybuilder load mixing with mine as it smeared between our abs.

From each mentor, I took away so much. They were all truly incredible men and each time I submitted to them, I learned not only about them, but about myself. While under their power, I reinforced the Academy lessons, and used them to bring rapture to each man. Each mentor gave to me more than they took. I now understood that my willing submission was the path to greater things.

And then came Hank.

Hank was a self-made man. A global construction business owner from Omaha. Hank had called me and extensively reviewed my stats and asked a lot of questions before we even met. He said he was really interested in my baseball background and I took that to mean that he would definitely be “pitching” and I would be “catching.” “We can cover the bases tonight, right Rafe?” When he used those two words, my mind began to work out an elaborate baseball fantasy scene.

He reserved a private skybox at the ballpark for our meeting. I dressed in jockstrap, jeans, red tee, an old warm-up jacket and a weathered ballcap. Arriving for the game, I was ushered up to club level. When I entered the luxury skybox, Hank rose from his seat and turned to greet me. Of all the men I had come to know, Hank was the most inspiring yet. He was 52 and looked every fucking sexy year of it. Grey temples and salt-and pepper hair framed his masculine features and square jaw. His eyes were green and radiated warmth. Wrinkles around his eyes gave him an air of maturity and friendliness. And even though he had been running a construction office for decades, his previous years of physical work on-site had given him a permanent core of iron-hard muscle. He wore a canvas workshirt over a grey tee, tight faded jeans, and workboots. His casual clothes held tight to his manly frame and he projected an unpretentious masculine image. He shook my hand firmly and invited me to sit down and have a beer. I hadn’t had a beer since I had been with the Academy, and after just a few short swills, I knew I would have to be careful. We sat and watched the game, talked about nothing in particular, and had a couple more beers. After the seventh inning stretch, he reached over , placed his arm around my shoulder, and pulled me to his side, a gesture that was surely sexy, but also friendly. I was instantly aware of the heat from his body and the scent of his manliness.

The close game ended in ten innings, but we stayed until the crowd cleared and the lights were lowered. We talked about the various teams and players, and the prospects for each. I had forgotten how much I liked the game, and missed the moments I had with friends just like this. Hank was almost like a buddy, not just a mentor.

“You know,” Hank said, as if he was about to turn the topic to sex, “I remember when you played the game. Best damn college player and sexiest fucking punk on the field, I might add. I watched you at third base when your team was in the College World Series in Omaha. And I followed your triple-A career with Portland and attended every game when your team came to town. Hell, I actually flew back from Saudi Arabia once just to see you in the ’02 series against the Omaha team.”

I had not expected this turn. For the first time, I was actually nervous and suddenly confused. I had done so much work and learned so many lessons. And now my past was returning to claim me.

As if knowing this, Hank continued, “Son, your future is never separate from your past. Everything you are in this world is built on the groundwork you’ve layed, the choices you’ve made, and the choices you have yet to make.”

I sat silent for a moment. Then, a new instinct overcame me. No lessons repeating in my brain. No trigger words. Just gut instinct. I leaned in and kissed Hank. A deep, passionate kiss that was truly open, truly submissive, truly true. I slid across Hank’s manly torso, straddling this powerful man. Our lips still locked, our tongues explored each other’s mouths. Peeling of my shirt, I pressed up against him. Our lips parted and Hank moved his mouth down to my neck, then muscled chest. He slowly, gently moved to my nipples, tonguing each, tenderly biting each tit, building up a new powerful lust in me.

His hands slid down my sides and around my legs, coming to rest along my hips. I responded by grinding my ass down into the growing bulge swelling up in his jeans. “Jesus, boy, I want to fuck you, take you now and plow my hard cock deep into you. But, well, rules are rules, and until you chose, we just can’t.”

“I’ve made my choice, Daddy. I have learned so much with the Academy, but now I know what I want. I want you, Daddy. I surrender, I want you inside me, my body and my mind. Fuck me, please, sir.”

We stood, our hands pulling the clothes from each other’s bodies. Naked now, except for my jockstrap and his briefs, we rejoined in tight embrace, grinding our crotches together while our mouths continued exploring each other’s bodies. I slowly descended along Hank’s furry chest, lovingly kissing each hard muscle, his pecs, his nipples, his firm, taught stomach. Following down the trail of bristly fur to the waistband of his briefs. I rubbed my face against the white cloth that covered Hank’s throbbing power tool. A warm, wet spot grew rapidly at the front of his shorts, a warning sign to the angry heaving beast that I wanted to free. Pulling down the waistband, I licked at the root of Hank’s cock. Hank moaned in pure agony, and snorted out lusty grunts of pleasure. “Do it, boy, let Daddy’s cock free. Oh, fuck, boy. Suck your man’s cock.”

I pulled down quickly on the briefs, and Hank’s eight inch hammer snapped straight up, pounding on his belly with a sharp crack. I moved to his firm, ripe balls. Now truly under Hank’s power, I drew his strong man scent through my nostrils, and began licking the sweat from his balls. Kissing, nibbling, biting, I coaxed his low-hangers to tighten up against his man-cock. Slowly, achingly, I traced my tongued up the ridge along his powertool, coming with determination to his cock head. I gently kissed the slit at the crown of Hank’s cock, and then parted my lips to take him inside me. Hank’s powerful hands clamped to the side of my skull and brought me full-force down to the base of his manhood, penetrating my throat with his swollen organ. Hank growled. “Boy, just cause you made the first move here don’t make you the man. Daddy’s waited a long time to take you, and there’s years of lust about to be released. Watching your fine jock ass run the bases and squat to make a close tag nearly drove me insane. Now Daddy’s gonna round a few bases himself and cross home plate safe before we’re through.”

I wanted to respond, but Hank’s club was taking batting practice against my tonsils. For the next five minutes, I used my throat, tongue and lips to work Daddy’s cock, catching a quick breath each time he pulled back before a new line-drive. I was intoxicated with unrestrained lust for Hank. Just as I felt his rod begin to stiffen and twitch, ready to blast for the bleachers, Daddy slid his cock from my mouth. And though I felt emptiness as he withdrew, we both knew why he had. “Alright, you hot fuckin punk, get up here and straddle that couch. Daddy’s gonna drive his fucktool deep up your virgin hole and dump so much cum in there that your genetics might change.” I sprang up, and planted a solid, hard kiss against Hank’s lips, giving him a taste of his own precum, then turned and knelt across the couch, using my hands to pull my muscled butt cheeks apart, exposing my unfucked hole to Daddy. Looking back over my shoulder at Hank, I felt pure ravenous passion seeing the look on his face as he leered at my waiting hole. “Fucking hot fucking boyhole,” was all he stuttered, before falling to his knees and burying his face between my spread cheeks. His onslaught was vicious. He took one full swipe with his gritty tongue from my tightened nut sack to my back before pile-driving his tongue straight into my eager ass. One hand braced on my right cheek, the other hand rubbed my balls and cock, still held, straining, against my jockstrap. He worked his tongue back and forth and in and out , rimming me hard and dirty. I moaned uncontrollably as his stubbled jaw scraped and sandpapered my ass. “Oh, Daddy, I can’t wait any more. You gotta ram your big slugger into me now. Please, Daddy, please. I wanna be your good boy.”

Pulling back, Hank rubbed his thumb across my pulsing hole, sending a violent shudder through my body and mind. “Turn over, boy,” Hank commanded, “Daddy needs to look at his baseball stud while he fucks him.” I twisted in midair and landed on my back. I anchored my legs around Hank’s waist and slid down, lining my fuck-chute right against the swollen head of Daddy’s throbbing cock. As Hank slowly pressed and entered me, he looked down into my eyes and smiled a warm, lusty smile. I sucked air as he penetrated me. Never before, but for ever more, I felt whole.

“Now boy, let’s see what we’ve learned.” With each down-stroke of his rockhard tool into my ass, Hank started, asking.

“A good boy finds…?”

“…pleasure in the pleasure of his Daddy, Sir!”

“A good boy finds…?”

“…strength in the strength of his Daddy, Sir!”