The Rule

In a three-way, you always enjoy one of the guys more than the other.

It’s a rule.

I met Chase in the driveway of the hotel. I’m about to head up to your room, I was texting him, as I made the cold trek from the car to the warmth of the building.

I’m in the parking lot heading in, he texted back almost immediately. I had to go to the drugstore.
He caught up with me thirty seconds later. I looked him over in the warm glow of the lobby’s lights as they spilled out onto the portico. A handsome man in his fifties. Silver hair. Short, athletic frame. He licked his lips when he saw me. “Your photos don’t do you justice,” were his gallant opening words.

I liked him already.

We made small talk in the elevator on the way up to his room. His friend was in the shower when we reached our destination. “Well,” said Chase, shutting the door behind us. “Aren’t you handsome.” He removed my coat, then knelt down on the floor to unlace my boots. I allowed him to slip them from my feet, and was rewarded by the warmth and strength of his hands gripping the undersides of my arches. His fingers snaked beneath my pants cuffs, and deeply rubbed the calves of my legs. “I’m going to enjoy serving you,” he murmured, as he looked right into my eyes.

I knew right then he was going to be the one I liked more.

We kissed. His touch was gentle on my neck as he held my mouth to his. Then we looked into each other’s eyes again, blue against blue. He pressed with the heel of his hand against my hard dick, splayed sideways in my pants. My fingers sought out the hard nubs of his nipples beneath his shirt. His eyes squinted with pleasure as I squeezed them. They could take abuse, I could tell by their density. I squeezed harder, and made him moan.

This was definitely the one. I could tell. The buddy would be an anticlimax.

Chase retired into the bathroom to slip into the shower. I heard him talking to his buddy—lover? Boyfriend? Husband? I didn’t know—through the door. A moment later and another man padded out, wearing nothing but a hotel robe. He was tall—as tall as I, perhaps a little more. Handsome, in that way well-heeled urban men often are, when they reach their fifties. Well-groomed, with short silver hair and an Alex Trebek mustache. He was broad and long where Chase was short and athletic, but he was none the less attractive for it. “Hi,” I greeted him, from where I sat on the bed.

He stared at me as if hypnotized, but didn’t say a word. I beckoned him over.

My hand gently undid the tie of his robe. I watched as it swung and brushed the floor. His hands remained at his side. When his robe fell open, his cock twitched and hardened as if either the room’s air or my gaze made it erect. He was hung. Very hung. He looked larger than I, and thicker, though the general proportions were about the same. I reached out and took his hardening pole in my mouth.
While I moved my lips slowly up and down its length, he finally reached out and ran his fingers through my hair, along the back of my neck, under my chin. He ended by cupping my jaw in his palm, removing his cock from my mouth, and tilting my head up so that I was staring in his eyes.

“Do you like to kiss?” he asked, in a soft voice.

I showed him how much I liked to kiss. I pulled him down to me so that he was kneeling between my legs on the mattress, and joined my mouth to his. He almost collapsed on me, he was so aroused; his hands reached beneath my clothed body and pulled me to him. Our hips connected. He ground into me, hard. “I’m Art,” he growled into my ear.

“Hi Art,” I replied in a whisper, sinking deep into the soft hotel pillows as he unfastened my shirt one slow button at a time. I gave him my name.

When my shirt was open, he stared at me. There was almost a look of unabashed love in his eyes. “You’re not an asshole after all,” he said.

“Thanks?” was my puzzled reply. It was tough to hold anything against him, though, because he scooped me up into another passionate kiss. If this was what he did to people he thought were assholes, I couldn’t wait to see how he treated the guys he liked.

“I told Chase when he messaged you online that you wouldn’t agree to come up here,” he finally said, his face only inches from mine. “Then when you did, I told him you wouldn’t show. Then when you showed, I decided you wouldn’t look like your pics. When you looked like your pics, I figured you’d turn out to be an asshole who wouldn’t be into me.”

“Why wouldn’t I be into you?” I questioned. The man was handsome. He had a big dick. Anyone with a head screwed on right would be into him.

He shrugged. “Because you’re so . . .” His tongue searched for words.

“So are you.” My tongue had better things to do, after that simple reassurance. I pushed him down and engulfed his cock, slurping down to the root and pushing whatever he’d been about to say clean out of his head. He gasped, and pushed me down, aggressively spearing my throat with his meat.

No, I thought to myself. This was the one. This was going to be the one I ended up more.

Chase found us like that when he came out of the bathroom, trailing a cloud of vapor and sweet-smelling steam behind him. “My two beautiful men,” he whispered, watching us. Then he joined us on the mattress. He pulled me off Art’s cock and settled me back into the pillows. I looked up at the two faces hovering over me. Chase was handsome, gentle, smiling at what he saw. Art was no less attractive, aggressive, and his eyes were full of lust. “Suck me,” I pleaded with them.

Together they pulled down my pants. Art opened his mouth and took my cock inside; Chase pulled my legs into the air, positioned himself down between them, and began very softly and quietly to lick out my hole. Almost immediately I was overwhelmed by the intensity of the sensations they created between them—Chase’s insistent, soft tongue and lips nibbling on my ass, and Chase’s rock-solid hold on my meat with his throat muscles and lips, not to mention the relentless raking of his bristle-brush mustache against my shaved nuts. I cried out, and tried to make them stop, but they pushed me back into the pillows and made me take it. Made me endure the treatment they’d decided I needed . . . and deserved. I twitched and jerked and moaned like a madman, lost and overwhelmed as my nerves overloaded with sensation.

“Do his nipples,” Chase suggested, when Art came up for air. They eyed each other, then rearranged themselves so that I had one of them on either side, both of them reaching for my nipples with their lips. Art bit down and made me gasp, and made my dick swell even harder; Chase licked out and put his soft lips around the little mound of flesh in such a sweet way that I wanted to cry.

“Just relax, son,” Chase told me.

“The two of us are in no hurry,” said Art. They both smiled at me and, as if they’d choreographed it, went back to chewing and licking on my nipples at the same moment.

Awash in pleasure, I looked from one man to the other, unable to focus clearly on either, and definitely unable to choose a superior.

In a three-way, you always enjoy one of the guys more than the other. It’s a rule.

But sometimes rules are made to be broken.