3. Waiting

THREE

waiting

God, I was horny. Like, the kind of horny that makes an otherwise reasonable person make stupid choices. The kind of horny that leads to mistakes being made. The kind of mistakes that can’t be undone or fixed with a foot massage or a romantic dinner or even an all-expenses-paid trip to, I don’t know, fucking Fiji or something.

I wouldn’t dare make that kind of mistake. I had no desire to fuck up my relationship with my boyfriend or destroy the life we’d spent the last seven years building together. A comfortable life in a nice building in a nice neighborhood that Frankie and I wouldn’t even have been able to dream about when we’d first met.

My family didn’t have nice things when I was a kid growing up in a run-down building across from the projects in Spanish Harlem. We had a permanent hole in the wall from the time my pops implanted his fist in it after a stupid fight with my ma. We had dishes and utensils that didn’t match, some of them plastic—and warped after being washed in water that was too hot. A lot of them found their way into our apartment in plastic takeout bags from the Chinese restaurant down the block. We had a TV that didn’t work half the time, an open window to a fire escape that served as an air conditioner in the summer, and the occasional pet roach that managed to find its way into what it must have assumed was some kind of poorly run hostel.

Frankie’s childhood was similar, if not slightly more charmed. He grew up on the other side of the city, in what felt to me like far-flung Brooklyn. His building was in Bushwick and he had a live-in super. To me, that seemed like a high-end amenity. His family’s utensils were all made of metal and their cockroaches were more like occasional nuisances than live-in pets. His pops hadn’t beat on his ma, but then, his pops hadn’t really been around to beat on anyone.

Frankie and I didn’t know each other as kids. We never would have run into one another outside of maybe a random Saturday night excursion to Coney Island to cause trouble with friends. And we probably never would have met had we not ended up in the same bar in Chelsea seven years ago, a bar that’s not even around anymore. But he scoped me out waiting on line for a drink, and I caught him checking out my ass from the corner of my eye. I tossed him a confident snicker and a coy smile.

We spent the rest of that night together bonding over growing up poor and sharing plans about our respective futures, strategies to work our ways up in the world, to make sure we never ended up on the brink of poverty again.

We made something of ourselves, Frankie and me. We’d scraped our way out of hopeless desperation—out of the dilapidation that surrounded us in our youth—and went to college, working our ways up at jobs that would have never given either of us a chance thirty years ago. It took both of us fifteen years, the last seven of those working as a team, but we finally made a nice life for ourselves.

I work as a project manager for a high-end tech company, one of those buzzword-friendly start-ups that grew too big too fast, went public, and got eaten up by a tech giant. It’s the type of place that changes its mind about strategies every three months, causing its entire workforce to shift course on their projects right in the middle of completion. It’s frustrating but manageable, and as long as I hang around for a while and let my stock options vest, we’ll be set.

Frankie works in real estate development and travels to jobsites often, sometimes for weeks on end. Spending so much time away from one another hasn’t been ideal, but he likes what he does and makes good money. It hasn’t broken us yet. But it’s the reason I’m so fucking horny now.

The kind of horny that might get me in trouble if I weren’t so committed.

The kind of horny that had me checking out the ass of the hot guy standing on the line in front of me for coffee. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen him in the coffee shop I frequent on my way to the office, but that didn’t matter. I’d never spoken to him outside of a cordial head nod and a how’s it goin’? And I probably never would.

He was tall and built—not too built—and filled out the seafoam-green polo he wore nicely. The sleeves hugged his biceps and the fabric tapered in slightly at his torso. The hem was untucked and rested just below his narrow waist. His fitted gray slacks were tight—not too tight—and framed his perfectly round ass like a shimmering fucking halo on the head of an angel.

My cock plumped in my briefs when those high, tight cheeks shifted as he stepped forward with the movement of the line. I’d had to wear tight briefs. I was too horny to walk around the office in anything looser and more comfortable. The dire threat of an inappropriate and embarrassing visible erection in my pants at work forced me into restriction.

It hardly mattered. Even within the confines of my underwear, the outline of my firming cock displayed itself proudly, a hardening bulge pointing at the man in front of me, leading me in vain to the insincere possibility of release.

As I licked my lips, my cock grew and strained against the fabric to the point it ached. I wanted to take him right there in the coffee shop, that man I only knew in passing; the one that could be straight but seemed to be flaunting his ass in my face as he stepped forward. I wanted to push him against the refrigerated display case from behind, pull his dumb shirt over his head, and lick my way down his back. I wanted to yank those stupid slacks down his thighs and bury my face between his firm cheeks. I wanted to fuck him, to ease myself into him again and again while I used my hands to steady myself on his shoulders until that beautiful, familiar feeling welled up inside of me and brought me to the point of blissful explosion.

I was so horny I wanted to claim him.

I didn’t even know his name.

Minor, insignificant detail.

The daydream in which I’d been lost for God knows how long fizzled like a can of carbonated soda left out and ignored as the cashier motioned to me. My nameless friend had ordered and moved to the side to wait for his drink to be prepared while I fantasized about taking him over the display case. My cock pushed uncomfortably against the fabric of my pants and I quickly stepped forward to conceal my noticeable bulge from the cashier behind the counter.

My cock ached. It had been hard for days with no relief. It felt like what I imagined taffy on a pull felt like, stretched and strained and distended. When I woke up in the morning, I was hard. When I went to bed at night, I was hard. And I remained hard for almost every activity in between: the gym, the subway ride to work, eating dinner, watching TV. The stiffness between my legs waxed and waned, but never fully dissipated. Not completely.

For the last few days, I had been eyeballing every guy on Ninth Avenue with a cute smile, with nice eyes, with a bubble butt or a bulge that probably shouldn’t have been in plain view. Hell, they didn’t even have to be attractive. Maybe they made a simple gesture that should have seemed completely innocent, as innocuous as stretching their arms above their head on the corner while waiting for the traffic to stop so they could cross the street. Or hailing a cab. But in making those gestures, their shirts would rise with the movements of their bodies to expose defined abs or inviting V-lines dusted with unruly fur. Those gestures appeared so masculine, so rugged, that I couldn’t help but notice.

Guys on the subway with their legs stretched out scrolling through their phones, guys playing handball at the court at the park, guys simply walking to work, guys hosing down the sidewalks outside of apartment buildings, guys hanging on to the backs of fucking garbage trucks as they barreled down the street… all of them had appeal. All of them had some sort of power over my brain when I’d gone without sex for so long.

Work would serve as a needed distraction today. I was in no headspace to actually get anything done, but I could sit at my desk and stare aimlessly at my computer screen to make it look like I was busy with something very important while mindlessly responding to pointless emails and signing off on expense reports and requests for time off. My desk would conceal my perpetual erection from my coworkers—from my team. Besides, it was a Friday in August. Our European clients, the ones toward which this current project was geared, would all be off on holiday to the beach or the mountains or wherever the fuck our European counterparts spent their summers while we wasted away in dull, frigid office spaces.

And Frankie would be home tonight after three long weeks in Mexico City where he’d been working out the final details of a multi-use high-rise build that would be breaking ground next month. He’d been supervising the planning of the project for what seemed like a year, and it would finally be seeing the light of day soon. He’d be in a good mood. He’d also be on a plane for much of the day with not much work to get done. That would allow his mind a lot of free time to wander, to think about the deviant things he wanted to do to me, to fantasize about exactly how he wanted to use my body when he got home.

That was our game. When Frankie was away, I wasn’t allowed to play. I wasn’t afforded the luxury of getting off. His dominion over my cock—even from thousands of miles away—excited him. I could look at porn, I could fantasize about anything I wanted to, I could even touch myself. I just wasn’t allowed to come.

We had stopped short of chastity, but it wouldn’t have made a difference. The outcome was the same. I’d be hard up, horny as hell, and unable to do anything about it. Nothing to release the pressure, nothing to cut the tension that ran through me like subway trains in the tunnels underneath the city: grating and shrill and painfully unpredictable, but constant. It felt as though every hormone that should have been expelled from my body during ejaculation had simply seeped back into my tissues and nerves, multiplying in intensity and stimulating my sex drive even more, spiking my anxiety in the best kind of way.

The desire to get off without the ability to do so made me desperate and willing to submit to anything Frankie wanted when he returned from a trip. There was a freedom so powerful in denying myself a sexual release, one that bred feelings of accomplishment and pride and desire beyond belief. One that allowed me to access dark recesses of my mind, places that weren’t navigable when daily orgasms were an option. They were too far beyond the scope of a sexually satisfied brain, buried too deep to be chipped away at by someone with no need, no drive. These places were considered forbidden by most; pockets of sexual deviance that weren’t meant for the faint of heart. Dark tunnels that were only traversed by those so denied, so full of need for something they simply weren’t allowed to have, that they were perpetually damp and dusted in cobwebs, speakeasy-like in their clandestine prohibition.

It wasn’t so bad when Frankie traveled for only a few days at a time. A week wasn’t even unreasonable. I could handle that. In fact, the wait could be kind of fun. A pleasantly erotic sense of control could be triggered by denying oneself a release with a clear end date to the lascivious torment. But by the time week two of this current trip had come to an end, the waiting had become excruciating. I was hungry for my boyfriend’s touch, for his kiss, for his cock. Week three had been nothing short of torture, a sick, crushing game of restless sexual repression. And these last few days, the game had been taking an emotional toll on me.

But those were the rules. I’d agreed to them. And I loved them.

And now, I was so sexually charged for his return that I wasn’t sure I could wait. I had to. I needed to. But it was hard. Nearly as hard as my dick.

Frankie and I spoke daily when he traveled. We’d discuss work and the events of the day; things I’d seen on the streets of New York and things he wished he could show me in whichever city he happened to be working. We’d remind one another how much we loved each other, how much we missed the other’s touch. But while Frankie had free rein to jerk off in the shower or pleasure himself before bed each night, he made it a daily point to confirm that I had not spilled any seed, that I had not succumbed to the filthy thoughts he knew I was having about him. Frankie made sure that my eventual orgasm would only arrive in his presence.

Frankie owned my pleasure.

An insatiable appetite for sex had overtaken my thoughts the last few days, pushing logic and reason to their breaking points. I thought I might be going insane when I got a quick whiff of the coffee shop guy’s cologne and nearly came without touching myself, packed tightly away in my briefs, in front of everyone in the café. I may have even shuddered at the daydream of his scent wafting over me as he fucked me in his bed, my legs hooked over his shoulders, his sturdy hands gripping my chest, the sweat from his forehead crashing against my skin with each powerful thrust.

Hard. Like cymbals at the symphony orchestra deftly promulgating a crescendo.

Fuck. Would I even make it until Frankie’s return? It was just hours away. But hours felt like days—months—in my current state of anguish.

I wondered what he was thinking about on his flight. What sick and twisted games he would have in store for me when he got home. In the bedroom, he loved to exert his dominance over me, and I loved to submit willingly to whatever that meant in his brain on any given day.

Had he gotten off since he’d been gone? Surely, he had. We had no rules about that. It was my torment that got us both going; Frankie pulling my strings from miles away while I suffered from blue balls, getting hornier and staying harder for more waking hours each day, becoming needier, more desperate, more deviant in my willingness to please him.

He’d found it strange when he first started traveling for work—the fact that I wanted to wait for him. He told me he didn’t mind if I jerked off. It wasn’t about my pleasure, though. It was about my submission to him. It turned me on. I’d found that turning him on—pleasing him—gratified me, with or without my own release. And he had quickly found that his dominion over me turned him on as well. That forcing me to wait for him made me more eager. That the cruel, sadistic denial made me hornier.

The first work trip he took lasted only three days, and by the time he returned, I was on my knees with his cock in my mouth before he had a chance to drop his suitcase by the door. His first week away from home had me begging for his return. I didn’t think I’d make it through his first two-week trip, but he reassured me over the phone that my wait would be worth it. I survived. And it was.

But three weeks? Three fucking weeks?

I felt like I was about to pop. A balloon growing tighter and more transparent with each breath into its hollow core had more give than I currently had.

I’d resorted to doing things I hadn’t done since I was a teenager to ease my desire. In bed at night, as my half-hard cock refused to deflate, I’d turn over onto my stomach and shove it underneath me so it pointed to my feet. I’d rake my body up and down, humping the mattress, attempting to find some satisfaction without touching myself. I’d get myself close, the nerve endings in the swollen crown of my cock tingling with excitement, then stop so I wouldn’t come. Once I found control, I’d think dirty thoughts about Frankie shoving his cock down my throat or pushing himself into my hungry hole, pressing his weight into me as he fucked me long and deep. Then, I’d start humping the mattress again, precome trailing the white sheets between my legs.

I’d experimented with pissing on myself in the shower, just for some sort of release. I’d let my bladder get so full I felt like I would explode, then stand in the shower and massage my cock. I was so horny it didn’t take long for my erection to fully inflate. I’d never thought much about it before, but as my hard dick exploded a stream of clear-yellow piss into the air, as I pointed my pissing cock toward my face and let loose a torrent of warm liquid over my flesh, I suddenly understood the eroticism behind it. The release was freeing. It felt like molting a layer of dead skin in which my body felt trapped. A twisted sense of freedom washed over me as I bathed myself in my own piss. It was hard to deny how intoxicating it felt; an act of submission to one’s very nature.

Had I been allowed to get off afterward, I’m sure the act would have been even more satisfying.

Maybe Frankie would invite Trent to join us for a twisted adventure. We’d never had an open relationship, but Frankie’s partner at work, and now, our friend, joined us in the bedroom from time to time. They’d been on this trip together and I imagined they’d be on the same flight home. Trent’s adventurous personality would certainly have a welcome place in our bed tonight, not to mention his stamina… and his tight fucking body.

As horny as I was, as sexually ravenous as I was feeling, I would practically beg them to fill both of my holes at the same time.

It was ten till five. Most of my team had wrapped up work on their projects for the week and started to head out, so I did the same. The day had nearly disappeared into a sexual abyss, one defined by inappropriate thoughts at work. Fortunately, I found no one on my team all that attractive. But it didn’t stop me from imagining Chance with a better haircut and sharper features, or Chris a bit more put together and clean-shaven.

All day my inflated cock leaked precome into my briefs, which had become stained and stiff with seminal fluid. The head of my dick was sticky with the stuff, but there was nothing I could do about it.

Frankie’s flight would land at six, so he would— should —be home by seven. Fuck. I was crawling out of my skin and the anticipation of his arrival was killing me, so I stopped by a bar to have a happy-hour drink with a couple of friends on my way home. I just needed to ease the tension that was coursing through my body.

I got home at a quarter after six, so I prepped for whatever Frankie might have in store for me, then jumped in the shower.

Jesus, the thought of him sitting on a stuffy plane all day, then idling in heavy rush-hour traffic in the back of a rideshare on a hot day had my wheels turning. He’d probably be frustrated. Maybe he’d want to take out some of that stress on me. Maybe he’d need me to help him relax in some way. And he’d probably smell amazing. Like a hot, well-traveled man who had had a long day at the office: masculine, rugged, and slightly musky. I didn’t know why that was turning me on, but there was hardly anything that wasn’t in my current state.

In the shower, my dick stood at attention as I rinsed the day off my body. The piss flowed from me again, ran down the length of my cock and covered my chest and abdomen, trailing through my pubic hair and dripping down my thighs. I threw my head back from the sensation of freeing myself without an orgasm. Finally, I washed my hair and scrubbed myself down with a bar of natural soap, rinsing one more time before drying myself off.

As I stepped out of the bathroom, my swollen cock still in a state of arousal, I heard a key enter the lock on the front door and the knob turn. Two voices talked and laughed as they entered the apartment, so I quickly covered myself with a towel and ducked into the bedroom. It could’ve been Trent, and I had nothing he hadn’t seen before, no hole he hadn’t filled, but it could’ve been someone else with Frankie, and that possibility called for a bit more modesty.

“Babe?” Frankie’s husky, cheerful, commanding voice called from the front door.

“In the bedroom.”

“Trent’s here. He just needed to stop in and take a piss before heading back to Jersey.”

“Hey, Trent,” I greeted from the bedroom. “Hope you guys had a nice flight.”

Trent responded. “Hey, Marco. Wasn’t too bad. Sorry for the intrusion.”

“No worries. Just getting dressed.”

I heard them bid their farewells, Trent closing the bathroom door behind him, before I dropped my towel and fell to my knees in the bedroom. I needed Frankie’s dick immediately.

He stepped into our bedroom looking as hot as he possibly could with a noticeable stubble covering his face. He must have not shaved this morning. He wore sneakers, jeans, and a fitted T-shirt—his traveling outfit, he called it. The subtle ruggedness that crept from the crevices of his frame and graced the fabrics of his casual, athletic outfit was not lost on me.

Frankie eased the door shut behind him, leaving it slightly ajar, and kicked off his sneakers. Trent knew his way out. He’d be fine. Frankie’s bag was dropped, and he stared into my eyes for a moment before glancing down at my lean frame. Waiting for him.

To take control.

To take advantage.

To take… anything he fucking wanted.

He noticed my growing erection and licked his lips. “Marco.” It was said as seductively as I’d ever heard my name pronounced.

He immediately approached me, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans before shifting to sit on the edge of our king-size bed, spreading his legs wide.

Fucking tease.

I crawled between them and buried my face in his crotch. Warmth radiated from beneath the fabric of his navy briefs. The bulge that was housed in them, the one that always seemed to protrude no matter what Frankie wore, shifted and grew at the sensation of my touch. A stifled moan fell from his lips as his neck rolled back on his shoulders, his head falling behind them.

“It’s been a long day, babe. Our flight was kind of rough, and traffic was a disaster in the tunnel. I could really use your throat to help me relax.”

Jackpot.

His jeans fell to the floor as he shifted his weight to allow me to yank them from his frame. The briefs remained in place… for now.

In an instant, my nose was buried in the gap between his hairy thigh and the pouch of his underwear, nearly overflowing with the goodness trapped inside. I inhaled deeply and took in the masculine scent of a man who’d been working hard, a man who’d showered that morning but spent the rest of the day working up a frustrated sweat in cramped and uncomfortable forms of transportation.

Frankie smelled incredible as I thrashed my face around in his crotch—natural and comfortable with an easy, spicy finish. My eagerness was unhidden, my desire for his body apparent. My watering mouth covered the bulge in his briefs, pulling the weighty mound into me. His length firmed up and stretched at the fabric as my mouth ran circles around his manhood, licking at the cotton, attempting to devour him through his underwear as he moaned. Low, heady grunts dripping with sexual need filled the empty space in the room.

Standing at full attention, my cock sprouted pearlescent beads of precome that dripped down my length and pooled on the hardwood floor between us, creating a clouded puddle of liquid sex. It flowed more freely as I hooked my fingers into the waistband of Frankie’s briefs and pulled them down his legs, finally exposing him—all of him—to me.

The only article of clothing remaining on his frame was his T-shirt, which I couldn’t be bothered to remove just then.

His growing cock, so commanding, so proud, quickly found its way into my warm mouth. Frankie grunted a long sigh as I took his length into me, as I enveloped him, as I tasted his warm, salty, goodness. My tongue traced its way over the thick vein that forged along the bottom of his length, the length that carried his urethra, the one that spasmed and throbbed in heat when he delivered his loads.

The tip of him pressed against my throat, goading me, and I easily opened for him so he could slide further down, so he could feel a grip much warmer and tighter around him. I’d trained myself to be able to take him as deep as he needed me to years ago, and it was one of my greatest points of pride. Sometimes, I would simply milk him with my throat muscles, pulling his load into me using nothing more than my pharynx. I had a feeling this wasn’t going to be one of those times, though.

I massaged the head of his cock, inviting him into me as deeply as he felt like going, enjoying the feeling of his firmness in my mouth, relishing the warmth of his flesh, frolicking in the seasoned forest of his pubic hair.

My nose inhaled his scent, his masculinity, his reckless ruggedness, which made it easier for me to open myself even further to his welcomed intrusion. I swallowed and took him all the way into me. Frankie moaned. I gulped again. And again. And again. Until he pulled himself from my throat and removed his length from my mouth, grasping the back of my head with his strong hand.

“I don’t wanna come yet, babe,” he announced between deep breaths. “That throat of yours feels too good.”

My eyes roamed over his body: his perfect proportions, his tight definition, his hairy thighs and even hairier balls. His full, shimmering cock that dripped with my spittle. In his lounging position, with his weight resting on his elbows behind him, his dick rested firmly against his abdomen, his T-shirt acting as a barrier, becoming damp under its weight.

Frankie sat up and tore his T-shirt over his head, tossing it to me as he smirked. I caught it, brought it to my face, and inhaled his scent deeply: his sweat, the vibrant notes of his cologne that danced on the fabric.

“Fuck, Marco,” he moaned. “That’s so hot.”

I breathed in his scent again, my dick throbbing and leaking another bead of precome. “I’m so fucking horny, babe. I feel like I’m gonna explode.”

“Good,” he laughed. “I love knowing that I have that effect on you.”

“I’ll do anything for you.”

“Clearly,” he chuckled, alluding to the fact that I’d abstained from getting off for three whole weeks.

“No,” I corrected. “Yes. I’ll do that for you. But here… now… I’ll do anything you want me to. I’ve been so hard… I’m aching for you. For your cock. I need it. I need you. And I’ll do anything you want me to.”

I knew my pleading would turn him on, but there was a sincerity behind my need. An overwhelming truth to my admission. I’d do anything he wanted me to because his sexual control over me was so intense. I reveled in my submission. I basked in the glow of his dominance. I’d get him off tonight without coming if he wanted me to.

Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to fucking come. More than almost anything. But I would surrender to his wishes. Frankie had me in a sexual vise, and I loved it. I loved him.

“Come here,” he commanded with a curl of his index finger, a beckoning wish.

My knees carried me to him, between his legs, where I gazed up into his eyes, those deep brown irises that danced in hazel flames.

“Look at me,” he directed with a sly smile as he pulled his arms back and locked his fingers behind his head, seductively exposing his body to me, begging my attention to his defined biceps, to the dark hair that dusted his arms and coated his pits. “Tell me what you like. Tell me how much I turn you on.”

My boyfriend’s body was perfect to me. His frame was lean, his chest almost flat but defined, small brown nipples that always seemed to be hard, just waiting for my tongue to lick over them, for my teeth to lightly nip at them. Dark hair grew thick on his legs and under his arms, and sprouted from his crotch like a flourishing crop in a fertile field during a warm, wet summer. His chest, however, was nearly smooth, only a thin trail of fur burrowing through the crevice between his pecs and wisping circles around his nipples. His abdomen was smooth too, faint lines of definition visible under his tanned flesh. The only hint of hair there grew denser as it sprouted under his navel and traveled to the treasure normally buried beneath layers of superfluous clothing.

Frankie felt no need to conceal any part of himself from me. He was sweet but direct, and as natural as he wanted to be. As natural as I always wanted him to be.

I could hardly put my response to his request into words. There was too much about him that I found attractive, that I found undeniably appealing. So much so that I drop to my knees to worship him when he arrives home after long work trips.

“Everything. Your strong hands, your body hair, your masculine scent, your virility. The way you move, the way you sit, the way you speak. The way you take advantage of my weakness for you. How much you fucking love me.”

“I do, Marco. Don’t ever fucking forget that. But right now, tell me what about me has your dick so hard it’s pointing to the ceiling. Tell me what has it dripping like a leaky faucet and forming a fucking lake on our bedroom floor. Tell me what you’ve been dreaming about for the last few weeks.”

So. Fucking. Much.

“Your cock.”

“Yeah? What about it?”

“How firm it is. The way it fills out your briefs. How the hair grows thick around the base, thinning out as it travels up your length.”

“And?”

“The weight of it. How it seems to be so heavy and full sometimes. So full that you don’t even get all the way hard. Almost like you haven’t come for days and the weight of it is just too much.”

“Maybe I haven’t. Maybe I’ve been building up a big load for you, Marco. I know how much you like it when I do that.”

“Fuck. I want it.”

“Where?”

“In my mouth.”

“Soon, babe. What else?” He flexed his biceps at me, knowing I couldn’t resist his charm. Frankie wasn’t overly built, but he was in shape, and so fucking defined that every muscle on his body had a clear contour that had been imprinted on my memory.

“Your balls. How they’re so full and covered with that thick, dark hair. I love the way they smell after a day of hard work. I could fucking pick you out of a crowd by that smell alone. The way they tighten when you’re about to come. The way they hang lower on a hot day or after you’ve been at the gym. The way they taste when I kiss them.”

“Good.”

“Can I kiss them? I really want to taste you.”

“Not yet. What else?”

“Your pits.”

“Yeah. I know you like these,” he huffed, flexing again.

“They’re perfect. The way the hair travels through them—thicker in the middle. The way they smell when you rub my face in them.”

“When do you like them best?”

“After work, when you’ve gone to the gym but you haven’t put on deodorant. When you’re natural. When you smell like you.”

Frankie turned his head to the left and inhaled the scent from under his arm. “I haven’t been to the gym today. But my deodorant’s worn off. You want a taste?”

“Yes. Please.”

“Not yet.”

Fuck, he was going to kill me with this teasing.

“Anything else? Anything specific?”

I was almost begging for a piece of him as the words fell from my mouth. “Your hole. The way your sweat mixes with your soap to make this intoxicating scent. The way you taste when I lick you deep. The way your thick, dark hair trails up your crack and lightly coats your cheeks. The fucking shape of it.”

“Fuck, Marco. You’re getting me going.”

“The way you look like a man. The way you act like a man. The way you treat me when we’re out. The way you treat me when we’re in. Like now. Like a little boy that’s here to worship you. A real man.”

Frankie’s dick grew even firmer and leaked a bit of precome as he brought his arms down and rested his hands behind him on the bed.

“Come lick my balls. I haven’t gotten off in a few days and they’ve been aching. And I know you’ve been aching for them too.”

Frankie’s hairy sack was in my mouth before he finished his sentence, my nose buried in his pubes, the base of his thick cock planted firmly against my cheek. I inhaled his scent as I bathed his balls with my tongue, licking them clean, sucking on them and rolling them around in my mouth. His hand grasped the back of my head and forced me deeper between his legs, heavy moans squeezing their way from between his lips.

I was in such ecstasy with my face buried in his crotch that the room went dark. Or maybe my eyes were closed. Or maybe my face was simply obscured by my boyfriend’s thighs. What color were the walls? What was that sound outside the window just now? Did Trent make it out of our apartment? Was he safely on his way back to Jersey? None of it mattered because I was exactly where I needed to be.

Frankie’s grip released my head and I desperately tried to get his cock in my mouth, but I was denied the opportunity. He instead rolled back on the bed and hooked an elbow behind his left knee, giving me access to something else I’d been craving: his tight hole.

Somehow, even with a leg hiked in the air, Frankie exuded masculine energy, a stoic but comfortable ease that seemed to put me in my place between his legs.

I first nipped at his taint, using my tongue to trace the seam between his balls and his asshole, lightly licking and tickling the hairs that curled around each other and added to Frankie’s manly allure. He sighed heavy sighs and verbalized his pleasure as I made my way lower and used the tip of my tongue to trace a route through the crack of his ass.

My teasing didn’t last long, though. A precious prize had been presented to me and I had every intention of accepting it. I soon covered his opening with my lips and kissed him, softly at first, then more aggressively, using my tongue to trace circles around his pucker and open him enough to just barely taste the goodness within.

His earthy musk, the lovely scent that he exuded after a day of traveling, was as deep as it was intoxicating. The sweetest hint of citrus from his soap lay recessive under the more potent mixture of sweat and sex he naturally manifested.

I devoured him without inhibition or pretense, allowing myself to experience him wholly. To indulge in the essence of something so primal, so carnal that many people would deny themselves the opportunity in the name of decency. I was more than happy to feel indecent, to physically express the indecency that had grown paramount in my mind over the last few weeks of bittersweet denial.

Frankie moaned out as I bored myself into him, as I sensually explored his most private place, a place only I was allowed unfettered entry into. Only wild animals whose very nature it was in to burrow through the earth would know how I felt as I attempted to reach depths unreachable. I was desperate to taste more of him, and my dick leaked and leaked at the idea of entering him with my hard cock, pushing myself into him, opening him, stretching him, fucking him until I filled him with my seed.

I wanted that. But that wasn’t in the cards. This was Frankie’s show. He would set the stage and direct. And I had a strong feeling that I would be the one stuffed with his wanting cock tonight. And honestly, my hole was begging for it.

“Get up,” he grunted.

What? No. I wasn’t done rimming him yet.

Frankie repositioned himself on the bed so that his back rested against the pillows, spreading his legs and locking his fingers behind his neck. I crawled onto the bed between his thighs and looked into his eyes, awaiting my next instruction.

“You want my cock?”

“Yes,” I begged, unintentionally bucking my hips at the suggestion.

“Suck it,” he commanded, so affirmatively, so assuredly.

I lowered myself to my stomach and gently kissed the tip of his cock, not only to put my submission on display but to savor the taste of his precome before I swallowed him whole. I licked at the drop cradled in his slit and pulled it into my mouth with my tongue, a clear string of fluid connecting us.

“That’s it, baby. Taste me. Swallow my fucking precome. I know you’ve been hungry for it.”

My tongue darted back out and slid up the underside of his hard dick, barely touching the tip before I opened my mouth and slid his length into my throat once again, pleasuring him, making him feel like the deserving man he was.

Frankie again grasped the back of my head, lightly rubbing at the tight fade of my crew cut as I went to town on him, licking and sucking and teasing him with my tongue. I was so lost in him and the anticipation of my impending orgasm that I didn’t notice the pressure caused by the weight of another body behind me pressing into the mattress. I only noticed when a pair of hands gently gripped my thighs and pulled them apart so the tip of a tongue could be placed against my opening.

Trent’s tongue.

It wasn’t the first time I’d felt that eager muscle tracing lines across my body, forging between my lips, thrusting against my tight hole. I was surprised at first, but I fell right into the sensations, allowing Trent’s tongue to dance around my opening, to glide up and down my crevice, to poke and prod at me until my body allowed him a bit of entry.

He and Frankie had clearly schemed this off-color endeavor up for tonight. They were probably sharing an underhanded laugh as they traipsed down the hallway to our apartment. As they pushed through the front door. As Trent hid in the bathroom pretending to relieve himself, probably stroking himself as he listened to every word I said in praise of my boyfriend’s body. They must have been horned up on their flight, probably brainstorming about the sordid things they wanted to do to me once they arrived back in the city. Perhaps Trent had leaned over the seat and whispered into Frankie’s ear while their fingertips grazed each other’s thighs, hands gliding higher and higher until their unwavering erections became evident to one another.

I doubted it. Frankie would never touch Trent unless I was present. And Trent knew better than to break down that door. Talk, but don’t touch; those were the rules. But when the three of us were together… all bets were off. We’d gotten up to some things in the past, things that I would have been more than happy to repeat whenever the occasion arose.

And now, it had.

Trent had obviously discarded his clothes and waited in the bathroom for his cue, the one where I was told to lie on my stomach and suck my boyfriend’s cock. I could feel his warm flesh against mine as he ate me out, lubed me up for whichever cock I’d be taking first.

Fuck. The thought of being spit-roasted by my sexy boyfriend and his hot coworker had me on the verge of losing my load. I had to control my thoughts and focus simply on the task at hand: deep-throating Frankie’s thick cock, which I was still doing expertly as Trent opened me with his tongue, licking me deep and forcing me out of control.

The feeling was so erotic, one man’s cock burying itself in my throat while another man’s tongue penetrated my ass. The only greater feeling of giving up complete control I could imagine would be to have one of them buried in my hole while the other one fucked my mouth. It would be freeing to give up so much control, to put my pleasure in the hands of others, for them to put their pleasures completely in me.

It didn’t take long for me to find out. Trent soon removed his face from between my cheeks and replaced it with the head of his cock against my knotted bundle of nerves. Spit ran down the crack of my ass and landed on Trent’s dick, and as soon as it did, he began to push himself into me.

I opened up for him without issue. I’d been lubed up well and was so fucking horny that I probably could have taken a baseball bat up my ass had it led to an eventual orgasm.

His manhood felt so good slowly inching into me. Frankie was a bit thicker, a bit heavier, but Trent’s dick was perfect in its own way, long and smooth and always as hard as a rock when it came time for sex.

“Oh, fuck,” Trent moaned as his length disappeared into me, his hands steadying him on either side of my frame, Frankie’s cock still tickling my throat.

Frankie echoed Trent’s words as he watched our friend—his partner at work—ease himself into his boyfriend. Once he was fully implanted in me, his untamed pubic hair tickling my cheeks, Trent rose up and grabbed my waist, pulling my ass up with him until I was kneeling on the bed between them, face down in my boyfriend’s ample crotch.

Slowly, Trent began to rock himself into me, controlling my backside in his firm grip while Frankie palmed the back of my head and held me in place as I massaged his thick cock with my throat. With every breath I took through my nose, I was gifted with the heady scent of Frankie’s crotch, a scent that had translated itself from natural and sweaty to earthy and erotic over the years, a scent that could linger on my mind for days as it fueled filthy thoughts of being taken, of being used by a man like Frankie.

And now, a man like Trent.

They took their time with me, gently easing out of my holes before thrusting back in, slowly enough for me to experience every inch of them but quickly enough for them to accomplish their goals. Goals that I assumed involved using me to get themselves off.

My dick, so hard, so ready to explode, held firm to my tight abdomen as it begged for attention, attention it was not yet allowed to receive. It would do me no good to try to touch myself. My hands were busy massaging Frankie’s balls and steadying myself on the bed. It wouldn’t matter anyway. They would have been swatted out of the way by my boyfriend had I tried. He was still torturing me with the wait.

It wasn’t long before they began to shift positions. They must have agreed to the change with a momentary glance over my elongated frame. Trent pulled himself from me, leaving me feeling empty. And Frankie eased me off his cock, saliva coating it nicely. The break was welcomed even though it left me wanting, desirous to be filled again.

I soon was as Trent stood next to the bed and pulled me by the arms to meet him, my face directly in front of his long dick, shimmering in the light. As I felt Frankie pull up behind me on the bed and easily insert himself into my opening thanks to Trent’s handiwork, I opened my mouth to accept Trent inside me once again.

Deep, satisfying moans hovered above me as I felt the familiar sensations of the girth of Frankie’s dick tunneling its way into my hole while tasting myself on Trent’s length. They had clearly agreed to use me as their fuck-toy this evening. Again, I wondered if they had talked about this on the flight from Mexico, getting themselves horned up over lewd whispers about how they’d use my mouth and my ass for their pleasure.

I felt myself drip on the comforter, precome spilling from my piss slit as they worked themselves into a rhythm, a slow but deliberate cadence. I’d be surprised if I actually had any come left for an orgasm with how much I seemed to be offering during the pre-show.

They rocked themselves in and out of me as I did my best to surrender myself to them, to pleasure them with my body. And just as I’d gotten settled, just as I’d gotten used to the magnificent feeling of their cocks in me, Frankie and Trent removed themselves to trade places once again.

Trent slid back into my hungry hole while Frankie offered his cock to me. I first wanted to work on his balls, though—while I had the chance—so I pulled them into my mouth and rolled them around on my tongue, licking and massaging them as Frankie’s leaking cock rested on my face.

I was beginning to feel like such a little cock slut, such a whore. And I suppose I was. But after weeks of abstaining, after the endless nights of denying myself, I was desperate and voracious to not only satisfy them but to satisfy this all-consuming need in me. The one that had been driving me to madness for at least the last week.

I allowed them to use me, to make me their little slut. I loved it. And I could tell that they loved it too as they switched places again; Trent sliding his cock back down my throat and Frankie burying his manhood deep in my hole. Balls deep. They rode me, increasing the speed of their thrusts as I bounced on the bed between them.

My cock was in danger of exploding as the latent spice dancing on Trent’s pubic hair whirled into my nostrils while his cock drilled its way down my throat. Meanwhile, Frankie hammered into me, grasping my waist in his strong hands, not allowing me an escape route. Hell, I wouldn’t have tried to escape if I could have. I was too caught up in the moment, too eager for a release. Too desperate to taste both of them. To experience both of them inside me at once.

The low grunting that barreled from deep within their chests—from deep within their cores—increased in intensity with each thrust, with each intentional motion. Soon, the low, profound exclamations of oh, fuck and oh, shit would pepper their moans with expletive urgency, more and more so the closer they sailed toward sweet ejaculation.

Sweat dripped from Trent’s chest and drew lines down his abdomen, the sparkling beads nestling in his pubes as I sucked him off. I almost wanted to bury my face in that bush and suck the sweat out while I came. That’s how fucking horny I was.

But this is how it would go: they would come, and then I would finally get the chance to get my rocks off. Once I took care of them, I would be allowed my sweet release that had been waiting in the dugout, eager for its next shot at the plate.

Trent was up first. He grabbed the back of my head and pulled me onto him as his cock expanded in my throat, and I was soon filled with his ecstasy. “Fuck, Marco. Take my load,” he bellowed, flexing as he pumped his seed down my throat.

Yes, sir. Anything you want.

As he finished, he tried to pull himself from my depths. But I wasn’t done with him. He’d completed his task, but I needed more. His load had spilled down my throat, denying me a taste, so I trapped him in my mouth and sucked every last droplet of come from his softening cock onto my tongue as he shuddered and moaned.

Frankie was getting so close, probably from watching my hungry mouth devour his friend’s load. He gripped me tighter and tighter as his movements became more stunted and intentional. He grunted from behind me, “You want my load, Marco? You want this fucking load?”

I finally spit Trent’s cock out of my mouth so I could respond. I couldn’t take the chance of Frankie mistaking my silence for a refusal.

“Yes. Fuckin’ fill my hole, babe. Breed me.”

Somehow, Trent’s cock began to plump again as he took it in his hand and stroked it gently, depositing the remnants of his load onto my tongue as he went.

“Oh, fuck,” Frankie grunted. “That’s so fucking hot. Feed him that load, buddy.”

Suddenly, he froze and pulled my ass back onto him with force, burying himself in me to the root. The sight of his friend’s come load in my mouth must have gotten to him.

“Take my load, baby. Take my fucking come,” he finally charged as he emptied himself into me. His orgasm was so powerful. His balls tightened and his cock expanded and I could somehow feel volley after volley of his hot fucking seed shooting into my hole, warm and encompassing. Frankie held me tight as he continued grunting and thrusting into me, giving me everything he fucking had. Everything I’d been waiting for.

But I needed to get off. Now. More than anything.

Eventually, his grip around my waist loosened, and I pulled myself from his hard, leaking cock, a trail of his come painting the flesh between my legs. Turning myself onto my back on the bed between them, I spread my thighs and scooped as much of Frankie’s come from my hole as I could manage onto my fingers, then wrapped my hand around my steel-hard dick and began to stroke. It was my turn to fly, and I had no intention of forfeiting my own orgasm simply because they had finished.

Frankie stepped around the bed and crawled up, his knees on either side of my head. He dropped his waist until his softening cock hung just above my lips. I wasted no time taking him into me and pulling the rest of his seed into my mouth. I tasted myself on him again, and the idea of it was so fucking erotic.

I continued furiously stroking my cock as my boyfriend fed me his. I could barely see anything beyond Frankie’s tanned flesh, but I felt Trent position himself behind Frankie and bury his face in his ass, tonguing at his hole. But apparently, that wasn’t enough to satiate his desire, so he removed himself and stepped around to the other side of the bed, behind me, and fell to his knees, jamming his face into my crevice. Trent desperately feasted on my used hole as though he hadn’t eaten in weeks, finding the taste of Frankie’s come and my ass so enticing that he hummed a desperate moan into me as he did it.

Fuck. They both must have been really hard up to still be so sexually charged after such intense releases.

My eyes were closed when I felt Frankie helicopter himself over me and swat my hand away from my cock, replacing it with his lips, surely tasting his come that had just been buried in my ass. It was too much to handle: the three of us in such a position, so fucking horny, so fucking willing. The thought that the two of them could still be all over me after their powerful climaxes was too much to process. I couldn’t hold myself back any longer.

I tried to warn Frankie that I was going to explode, but my mouth was full of his cock and my hole was full of Trent’s tongue. At that point, I doubted it would matter where I shot off.

So, I just… did. My muscles tensed and my body flexed and I kicked my legs trying to find any sort of freedom to expel the sexual frustration from my body, but it was no use. Frankie soon got a mouthful of my load, and as he did, he slid further down my erupting cock to take it down his throat. I gushed and I gushed and I thought my soul might escape my body as I fucking bounced off the bed with the force of my orgasm. I moaned so loudly that I spit Frankie’s cock from my mouth just for the satisfaction of hearing the sex dripping from my voice.

Fuck, it was intense. It had been weeks’ worth of waiting and I’d never experienced an orgasm so powerful. I’d never been in such a deviant place that I was literally willing to do whatever to satisfy my needs. It was fucking erotic… and freeing… and hot as hell. And I wanted to do it again.

Just not too soon. I was going to need to sleep the weekend away after that powerful session. My physical recovery would take time. My emotions, however, were swimming in a pool of blissful sexual aftermath.

All of us heaved and panted, sweat dribbling down our frames, trying to catch our breaths as we came down from that ecstatic high.

Eventually, Frankie and I repositioned ourselves on the bed so our heads were leaning against the pillows, him on his side and me on mine. Trent crashed at our feet, naked and sprawled out, the definition of his frame visible in the dim glow of the sun setting through the window. His deflating cock snaked its way across his stomach, a few leftover droplets of come stamping themselves on his abdomen. The sight of him was making me hard again.

Trent’s fingers trailed lines up and down my calf as Frankie raked his fingers over my chest, focusing on my nipple.

“Tell me what you like, Marco,” Trent mocked with a chuckle as he turned his head to face us. “Tell me how much I turn you on.”

The three of us sluggishly laughed as my cheeks flushed.

“Right now?” I aimed my words toward the foot of the bed where Trent’s fingers drew lines on my leg. “Not very much.”

Another bout of tired laughter filled the space between us.

I turned to kiss Frankie softly, leaning my forehead against his. He returned the gesture and we smiled tired grins at one another.

“Yo,” Frankie said, returning his gaze to Trent. “You staying for dinner?”

“Can’t,” he replied, lifting himself from the bed to get dressed. “Gotta get back to Jersey. Collins emailed us when I was in the bathroom. We’ve got a presentation to put together for early next week.”

“Alright. Well, call me tomorrow and we can iron out the details. I’m taking the night off.”

“Cool.”

Once he was dressed, he made his way to the front door. “Thanks for the fun, guys. Let me know the next time you’re up for it.”

“Thanks, buddy,” Frankie relayed.

“Later, Trent,” I added as the front door opened and gently closed behind him, the distinctive sound of roller board wheels on the hardwood floor disappearing down the hallway.

Frankie looked in my direction with a devious smile before bounding up and straddling me, pinning me down with his thighs on either side of my body. “Jesus, I missed you.”

I laughed. “You have no fucking idea.”

He snickered and handed me my phone from the bedside table. “Why don’t you order delivery? I don’t care what. I’m starving.”

“And what’s got you so busy that you can’t order dinner?” I asked playfully.

Frankie winked at me, then lowered his face to my crotch, pulling my half-hard cock back into his mouth. It was so sensitive, but not sensitive enough to deny him.

I smiled. “Got it. I’ll order dinner.”