Tommy Loves His sub
Note to reader: If you looking for something to get you hard, this book isn't for you. It's more of a tender love story. The kinky scenes appear later in the book and are very mild.
Chapter 1
Dylan tells the story: We were best friends since before high school He was rich; my family was lower middle class. His home was filled with love. Mine was tormented, dysfunctional and abusive. From an early age, I spent so many suppers at his house, so many play dates, so many nights when I called them up crying and his father would come by to pick me up and bring me to what he told me to call "home" and his mother would dry my tears and tell me that I was lovable (which I never heard at home.). My parents didn't care if I never came home at night. They just didn't care about much at all. I had an older brother who terrorized and punched me all the time and two younger brothers who also lorded it over me and used to hit me and call me names because I was the smartest kid in class and nasty kids hate smart kids, even when they're your own brother.
We were the same size, Tommy and me, so often I went to school wearing his clothes. From the time I was 9 years old, he liked me to strip and put on his underwear, because mine was always torn. Sometimes he liked me to stay naked as well and for some reason I liked to be naked when he was completely dressed. I never had any shame in front of him because he was so very very good to me. So often my mother would scream at me if I forgot to change out of his clothes before I went home. But whenever I spent the night at Tommy's house, His mother would wash my own clothes and when I put them on, there were clean and pressed and smelled of the love I found in his home. There was nothing I could do about the holes in my underpants, however. I always wished I could just wear his in secret.
We would play all sorts of games together, like Cowboys and Indians, or Cops and Robbers. He was always the Cowboy or Cop and I was always the captured Indian or Robber. His mother made us fake robes out of his father's old shirts and ties. I somehow always ended up tied up and Tommy would threaten me will all sorts of things, but I never got scared because I knew he would never do anything to hurt me. When I was the Indian, I never had a shirt on. One time when Tommy had me tied up, he started to write on my chest, "Property of Sherriff Tommy Roberts." I loved it. His mother wasn't too happy though, when she saw me like that. She tried to wash it off, but nothing seemed to work. She tried to act angry, but she was laughing at the same time. Finally, she told me to go take a bubble bath. That helped a little bit. Tommy tried to wash me when I was in the bath, but I pulled him into the bath water with his clothes on and we made a real mess. A little of the writing came off. Tommy's mother sent his father in to help clean up the mess and to get us out of the tub. His mother didn't want to come in because I was naked, and then Tommy had to have his wet clothes taken off and he was naked too. His father wrapped us both in his cotton bathrobes and put us to bed. He told Tommy never to write on me again, but he didn't sound mad. He was almost like teasing us. It felt so good to be lying there next to Tommy, us naked and in robes. We fell asleep. When we work up, I was snuggled next to him and he had his arm around me. I had a stiffy too, and I think it was the first time I was aware of it. It didn't seem like anything sexual—I didn't think in those terms. We were only about 11 years old at the time, but I've never forgotten it. Many many nights, lying alone in my house, feeling miserable after getting hollered at and hit, I would just think about snuggling with Tommy in the big robe and that is how I would manage to forget all the pain, internal and external, and fall asleep. The next day in school, Tommy could tell I had had a bad time of it. He called his mother and she made arrangements for us to have an overnight together. My mother always agreed to that. She didn't like having me around at all. It was only when I was 15 that I learned why my family hated me so much. I'm not sure I'm going to tell that story at all.
My mother had this large wooden spoon, that she never really used to cook with. A lot of times she would hit me with it while cursing me out. It really hurt and although I tried not to cry, sometimes I couldn't hold back the tears. My brothers would laugh at me and my big brother (we called him "Tiger") would smack me around some more. When he was in high school he joined a kind of military organization (I don't remember the name), and they taught about pressure points and about how you could really hurt a person without doing much damage or leaving any marks. Tiger used to practice on me all the time. One time he made me take my clothes off and he and two of his friends would all practice on me until they could make me scream and cry. He used to have my younger brothers watch as well, and he taught them ways to make me hurt.
My father hated me more than all the others for some reason I didn't understand until later. He would never lay a hand on me. Once I heard him tell my mother that if he hit me, he probably would never be able to stop and I'd end up in the hospital or dead. That scared the daylights out of me. I told Tommy and he got really angry and was going to tell his father, but I begged him not to because it would only make things worse. At that age, I didn't understand anything about child abuse or about social services, so I didn't realize I could have gotten rescued from all that. If my father really got mad at me (which happened a lot: according to him, I couldn't do anything right), he would call Tiger over and tell him to take care of me. Tiger loved to punch and kick even before he learned about pressure points. My father would tell him he wanted to hear me cry and not to stop hitting on me until I did. That was my punishment. But, of course, Tiger didn't have to wait for my father's orders if he wanted to have some sadistic fun with me.
You might wonder how I became such a masochist, but when I was in college I learned that abused children often got into BDSM, so it then made sense. considering all that happened, and it was true that I never got turned on by all the harsh treatment but did get turned on fantasizing about other things, especially about my friend Tommy spanking me some day then holding me in his arms while I would cry.
Tommy was a great swimmer and was on the swim team in middle school and high school. He really wanted me to join with him, but I couldn't do that. I couldn't have anyone see me in just a swim suit because there were usually marks and bruises on my body from my mother's wooden spoon or from punches from my brothers.
And so Tommy used to spend a lot of time at swim practice, and I was on my own a lot. Once I hit puberty and first started jerking off, I would almost always think of Tommy but I was never ever going to let him know about this because I was afraid I would lose his friendship. I heard a couple of guys in my class talking about a local park where they could go to get blow jobs. One day I had the guts to go there, and after a while, I learned how to make a guy feel good and I always wanted to be the one doing that, never the other way around. One day, I guess I was about 14, there was this big kid in senior high who used to take me over to his house while his parents were at work. He was really nice to me and promised me he would teach me a lot of things and also make me feel good too. So I went with him. The first time was awesome! I met up with him a couple of times. One time when we were together, he told me that I was a real "sub." I didn't understand what that meant, but he told me that a sub was someone who liked to be told what to do. He explained that "sub" meant "submissive" and that's what I was. He started to tell me things to do that he liked, and every time we met he got me to do more different things. He made me kiss him, and when I did, he dripped saliva into my mouth and told me to suck his mouth. I got so turned on that I felt like I was in a kind of trance. He took me by the head and moved my head all over his body, quietly telling me to lick and kiss, and I just melted and did everything he wanted. That was the first time I ever swallowed someone's cum. I hardly knew what I was doing. I just wanted to obey him. Eventually he took me in his arms and cuddled with me. I fell asleep. When finally, I woke up, I felt wonderful. He told me he was proud of me and that what had happened is that I went deep into what he called "sub space," which he explained was a state of mind that subs could sometimes get into where they just obeyed anything and everything and fell like being in a trance. All I knew was that whenever I obeyed him it made me feel good.
One time we got together, he said he wanted to try something that he thought would get me quickly into "sub space." I said, "ok, Sir." (he told me he wanted me to call him Sir). He made me take my clothes off and lay over his lap and he began spanking me with his hand. Very lightly at first, but then slowly increasing the roughness. This was sure different from the ways I would get beat at home. This felt awesome even as it hurt a little. Well, he was right. I ended up in sub space and we had a real good time together. That time he rewarded me by making me cum, but then he ordered me to eat my cum from his hand. I couldn't do that, it grossed me out too much. And so, sub space ended. He wasn't angry with me: he told me he just had to spank me harder next time, maybe even use a strap. I got scared about that and ended up staying away from the park because I didn't want to run into him again. I never saw him again. But I always thought of sub space and wanted to get back there sometime.
About the same time, I realized that I was in love with Tommy. Whenever a love song played on the radio, I used to imagine myself singing it to Tommy. Like I said, Tommy was pretty busy with swim practice, so we didn't get to spend as much time together as we used to. I was sad about this. Finally, Tommy told me he could get me a job as `towel boy' for the team and that way I could watch him swim and we could spend more time together. I thought this was a great idea, and I really got into it. For one thing, I was getting to look at a lot of naked boys while I still had clothes on, and for another thing, it kind of got me into sub space . . . I imagined I was the sub for the entire team. The guys were really nice to me and let me hang out with them just like I was a member of the team. That was cool. It lasted all through middle school and then in high school for a while. By the time I was 17 I wasn't getting hit so much, so I took a chance and joined the team for good. I wasn't too bad, but I was definitely not as good as the guys who had been doing if for years. Every once and a while I would have bruises, but now I just explained that my brothers and I like to wrestle rough sometimes. Tommy was kind of suspicious about that, though, and since we were at practice late most afternoons, he worked it out so I would stay at his house most of the time. To tell the truth, I practically moved in for good. Tommy's mother bought us bunkbeds, which was a good thing, because I could sleep in my own bed and not have to worry about getting so turned on by sleeping with Tommy and getting caught being so hot for him. Tommy told me that he'd take the bottom bunk. That was the way things were by then: Tommy taking charge over so many different things.
One of the things I liked so much about being at his house all the time was that his parents were the exact opposite of mine. They were very kind and loving not only to Tommy and his sister, but to me, too. Eventually I ended up calling his mother Momma, since Tommy called her "mom" and I didn't want to use the same word. Besides, "Mom" to me was the witch that was always screaming at me and hitting me.
One day Tommy told me that he thought his mother loved me more than him. I said that was nonsense, but it made me feel good. And besides, no one could love Tommy as much as I did. Tommy was planning to go to college about two hours from his house. My parents had told me to forget about college. They told me it was time for me to earn my keep, and that I would be working construction along with my father as soon as I got out of high school.
END OF CHAPTER ONE
If you want to read a sexier story of mine, check out "the Alex Chronicles."
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