Like so many of the couples I meet, the top guy is the older. He’s in his late twenties, vaguely scruffy, wears a pair of thick-framed glasses that lend him an air of nerdiness until he takes them off along with the rest of his clothes to reveal a pair of metal blue eyes and a dick of steel. He’s Clark god-damned Kent.
The bottom guy is younger. He’s lean, and pale, and sandy-haired. Smooth. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed when I enter their studio apartment on the upper west side, wearing nothing but briefs. His leg is bouncing up and down like a jackhammer, from nervousness.
They’ve never been with a third before. I’m the guy they asked to get the job done.
Most couples, when they decide to bring in another man to join them, have a strict agenda in mind. They set up their limits; they decide with what they’re comfortable. Some have long discussions about expectations beforehand. Some of them just have a driving partner who drags the less aggressive into it. Many have a very long list of what they will and won’t do with with the third. Some of them come up with safe words, for chrissakes.
But when they pick me, they don’t do it to play safe. They approach me because they know on some deep level that I’m dangerous. That I’ll push them past their limits and into new territory. It’s an unspoken contract, and I’ve rarely been wrong.
These two, for example. They think they’ve worked it out. Sweet and playful fun is the catchphrase they’ve decided on. We just want to have sweet and playful fun with a big-dicked guy! Definitely no anal! Making out. Licking. Sucking. Smooching and giggling.
Let’s be honest . . . there are dozens and dozens of men they could’ve chosen with much more vanilla intent. Yet they’ve decided upon me, and have gone to the trouble to invite me to their place. They picked me from my profile, with its photos of my big dick shown off to best advantage, my broad list of likes, my narrow list of dislikes. They don’t look at the photo of my erect cock and think, Gosh, he must be nice.
They’ve picked me, and let’s be frank, because I play hard and I know what the fuck I’m doing. It might be sweet and playful to begin, but by the time I’m done, we’ve had my kind of fun. They know it, deep down. But they might not admit it, not even to themselves.
We exchange introductions and nervous greetings. I sit on the bed’s edge, joining them. “He’s pretty,” I tell the top, running my fingers through the bottom’s hair. He’s got blue eyes, too. Nervous as he is about a strange top in their apartment, I can tell he likes to be admired. Some bottoms thrive on that. “Very pretty,” I said. With my hand cupping his chin, I lift up his face. His lips purse slightly to reach for my own. When they meet, the kiss qualifies as sweet. He’s eager to try another man than the one he sees day in and day out. He’s anxious to taste me. I rub my hands over his scrawny body, his rib cage, the little cold pencil erasers that are his nipples. He’s hard as a rock through the cotton of his briefs. He’s not just bulging, he’s got a tentpole down there.
My eyes remain open enough to see his partner rubbing his back, letting him know he’s there, encouraging him to give in to me. While we make out, my mouth completely surrounding the bottom’s, the older guy strips down. He’s got a sexy enough body beneath the baggy clothing, and a patch of sparse hair in the middle of his chest. Like his lover, his dick is probably the stiffest it’s ever been.
I pull away from the kiss and look into the boy’s eyes. “Undress me,” I tell him.
Obediently he drops down to unbutton my jeans, remove my sneakers, and pull down the denim until it tangles around my ankles for him to tug off. He stares at my dick, breathless at the sight. I’m only three-quarters hard and it’s already much bigger than the boyfriend’s. The boyfriend is looking at me too, while he absently runs his fingers up and down the length of his shaft.
The bottom’s taking too long. I kick off my socks, pull off my shirt. “Let me see that little butt,” I tell him, as I sit back down again.
It’s perfect. Round. Smooth. The palest white I’ve ever seen. I pull down the elastic of his waistband to expose it. Where I breathe over his skin, goosepimples rise. He and his lover and looking at each other. There’s an unspoken question in the bottom’s face. The older man nods back in reply. Yes, he’s saying to his partner. Yes. This is okay.
What they really want is someone else to do the dirty work. Someone else to insist on the things they can’t ask of each other out of politeness, out of familiarity. I’m not supposed to be touching this ass so openly. It’s not sweet. It’s not fun. It wasn’t on the approved curriculum. But here I am, running the flat of my hand over it, and the bottom is responding by bending forward and letting out a low exhalation. The top isn’t even protesting. “You need to get up on my lap,” I tell the bottom boy. “Lie over it,” I correct, when he thinks he’s going to sit on my knees. “Face down.”
He obeys, reluctantly. It’s a humiliating position. He’s like a little kid about to be punished. I’ve got his briefs pulled down and his butt exposed. “Is he a good boy or a bad boy?” I ask his partner.
The man’s got a rasp in his voice when he replies. There’s the tiniest ball of precum at the tip of his dick. “Bad boy,” he grunts.
“Bad boy, huh?” Without warning, I raise my hand and smack the bottom’s right buttock. Loud. Hard. It resounds through the sex-charged silence, and it’s followed by a loud bellow of protest from the bottom. This isn’t nice. This isn’t sweet. That spank had to sting like crazy. But the bottom’s not in charge here. I raise my hand again.
The top’s eyes are locked with mine. “Yeah,” he says. It’s not the voice I’d heard over the phone, friendly and approachable. It’s not even the voice that greeted me minutes before. It’s a voice made deeper by the scarlet emotions coursing through his mind, by the hormones causing his heart to race. It’s ragged with need. His hand is clenching his meat now, so tight the head’s purple. “He’s a real bad boy.”
My hand comes down again. I’m not being playful. This hurts. The bottom’s got tears in his voice when he protests. His lover reaches down, lifts his head. “Keep it down,” he says. My hand comes down again. Another howl. “Shut the fuck up.” Another slap on the rear. The skin there is reddening painfully. This time, there’s only a whimper and a clamped-down sob.
“Yeah,” says the top, as I continue to spank. “Bad boy. You don’t know what a fuckin’ bad boy I got.”
I smile to myself. I’ve only been there what, ten minutes? Already I’ve breached the fortress. Fuck sweet.
Couples like this bring in men like me because they want someone to take charge and take from them what he wants—without either of them having to take responsibility. If an outsider goes beyond their timid prearranged limits, everything that happens is his fault. He’s the bad one, not the innocent couple.
Fault, right. The pair might both walk away with their wildest fantasies put to rest for a while. Neither of them have to speak up and confess to their partner how dirty they like it. Neither of them has to lose face in front of the other. But everyone gets what he wants.
And what I want is the hole.
It’s an hour later, and the top and I have been sitting next to each other at the head of the bed for a while. Our knees are lifted, our legs are spread. The bottom’s been moving back and forth between our dicks, sucking them, while the top and I have been talking and making out. The talk’s been pretty perfunctory. Shit like, Your boy’s got a great mouth, or You like the way he sucks, huh? Nothing deep. But then I say, “You mind if I look at his ass again?”
The bottom lifts his head, alert, almost frightened of another spanking.
I can feel the top’s dick harden and flex against my thigh. “Do it,” he says.
So I’ve got the bottom with his face in the pillow. My mouth’s all over that hole, slobbering it up, making him gasp and moan. It’s muffled by a thick layer of goose down, but it’s still loud. The top’s on his hands and knees watching up close, like I’m some kind of live porn star with a hole he wants so see used. I pay him no nevermind while I haul the bottom’s ass into the air and chew on his hole.
There’s a gasp of a different kind as I push my thumb in there. I’m looking at the top. He doesn’t protest. I’m spreading the bottom’s cheeks with my hands, exposing the hole. I don’t know whether the bottom’s really prepared for this happening, and I really don’t care. He’s clean. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d done some extra cleaning down there in the hope that I’d be doing exactly this to him. “Quite a sight, huh?” I say, pulling myself to my knees. I make it look like I’m just repositioning myself, but really it to get my dick up there, next to the ass.
The guy grunts.
“You’ve really got a pretty boyfriend,” I tell him. “Great ass.” I pause. “Beautiful ass.”
I pull apart the cheeks even further. Then I let my dick rest on the cheek. The top is mesmerized. I move back and forth. My dick slides up and down, flesh on flesh. It naturally glides along the crack. I pause when the head’s pointed at the little pucker.
“Whaddaya think?” I ask.
There’s a pregnant pause. The bottom looks around wildly. He's not saying now, but he doesn’t want to be the one to say yes. The top grinds his jaw. He doesn’t want to say it aloud, the words of permission and encouragement. I rub my precum around the head of my meat, add a little spit to it. I nudge it against the hole.
Then I look at the top. After a moment, he nods.
Then I push. There’s a lot of resistance, but I get in there. There’s a hell of a lot of noise, but none of it is No.
This is what they want. Both of them. It’s not sweet. It’s not playful. It’s nasty and raw and they both knew it was going to happen all along. That’s why they picked me, instead of some nice guy who’d play along with what they said they wanted. Their real desire was this, right here—the sight of big dick stretching a tight hole, of a dicking-down neither would confess to the other he wanted to happen.
They wanted someone willing to be dangerous, and that’s exactly what they got.