Julian woke first.
For a moment he didn’t know where the weight across his ribs came from. Then the previous night resettled in his head like furniture sliding into place after a tremor: the bar, Jack’s aggression, Richard’s confusion but ultimate surrender . He felt Richard’s forearm draped over him, palm warming the center of his chest as if staking a quiet claim.
It was Saturday. They didn’t have to be anywhere.
He stayed still and measured his own breath. It felt almost dishonest that he could be this calm. He hadn’t expected calm. He’d expected either shame or triumph. Instead, there was the reality of what happened—and a warm throb under it that admitted how deeply he’d wanted it.
Richard stirred behind him. “You awake?”
“I think so,” Julian answered, keeping his voice low, a private register they used in bed when the world was supposed to be far away.
Silence thinned. The clock harped once and quit. Richard tightened his arm just enough to be felt and not enough to be read.
“That was…” he began, then abandoned adjectives.
“Different,” Julian offered. “I mean—” He let the word sit between them, an unopened envelope.
Richard watched the back of Julian’s head as if it might tell him what he needed. He was surprised to realize how carefully he was choosing not to sound like a prosecutor. “You’re okay?”
Julian nodded against the pillow. “Yeah. You?”
“Yeah,” Richard said, and heard it come out honest. “It was—unexpected.”
They let that be their working title.
Julian shifted onto his back so he could see him. Richard’s face looked surprisingly rested and unguarded. Ten years together meant Julian could clock micro-tells he’d never admit to anyone else: the way Richard’s eyes went a shade darker when he was turned on, the way his mouth held back a smile when he was deciding whether to give permission or wait to be asked.
“It surprised me when you invited him over,” Julian said, approaching the circumstances of the evening before very carefully.
Richard studied him. A dozen responses assembled and dissolved. He was used to having the cleanest sentence in the room; now he wanted accuracy over elegance. “I thought you wanted it. Like an anniversary gift. You sure seemed to enjoy it,” he added, trying not to sound bitter.
“Would you be hurt if I admitted I did?” Julian responded, one step closer to the elephant in the room
Richard avoided the question, focusing on his own deliberation, “It was a jolt,” he said. “It did something…” leaving “to me” unsaid.
Julian nodded too quickly. “To us,” he added, then pretended he hadn’t.
They lay there and let the night replay in cuts and angles. Richard saw the look on Julian’s face—part pain, part revelation—and felt the shock of how much that look moved him. He’d never have put “humiliation” on the menu of his own appetites, but last night had presented him with a dish he hadn’t ordered, and he’d tasted it anyway. The taste lingered.
Julian watched Richard’s carefulness and told himself it was proof the plan was working. He had hoped the night would jar Richard’s command back into him—to wake the man who used to walk into a room and rearrange the air. He didn’t let himself dwell on the other fact: how perfectly his own body had answered Jack’s. He set that aside the way you set aside an empty glass when you’re trying to have a different conversation.
Richard brushed a thumb along Julian’s sternum, an absent gesture that was anything but. “Weird night,” he said at last, softening it with a half-smile.
“Weird,” Julian agreed, matching the smile, both of them tip-toeing the perimeter of the real words.
They kissed—a brief, domestic press that wasn’t an apology but wasn’t a promise either.
Julian’s version of what was to have been: the three-way would be a controlled burn, the kind that clears dead brush so the forest can breathe. He didn’t frame it as betrayal; he framed it as an intervention. Jack was the means—rough, decisive, like the early version of Richard who had once taken Julian’s uncertainty and turned it into devotion. If Richard could see that again—could see Julian lit up by a grip that didn’t ask permission, a voice that didn’t obtain consent—maybe he would remember his own. That would be the cure. He didn’t test the edges of Jack’s motives or Richard’s pride too hard. He saw what he needed and pushed the rest out of frame.
Jack’s version was simpler. Julian had said a three-way would be hot. Jack had looked—really looked—at the photos in Julian’s house while they were together and decided Richard was his type: a man who had worn command long enough to forget what it felt like to be asked for anything. Jack didn’t use the word “convert” out loud, but the idea lived in his grin: that under a certain kind of pressure, he would break Richard. Jack wasn’t trying to fix their marriage nor was out to destroy it. He wanted to show Richard the door marked surrender and see what happened when he walked through.
Richard’s version, until last night, well…he didn’t have one. The dinner a ritual of good taste and good intentions, the bar nostalgia. Then Jack. The man’s presence had felt like a dare that wasn’t worded as a dare. Richard had said yes to a thing he would have vetoed on any other night. And in the quiet now he admitted to himself—not out loud, not yet—that something in him had wanted the yes long before he heard the question.
10+ Years Earlier
The Junction.
Julian had been wearing the wrong jacket, too warm for the room, thrift-shop tweed that delighted him because it made him look like a grad student he had never been. He nursed a beer and watched mostly older men watch each other, fascinated by the language of shoulders and glances.
Richard clocked him the way he clocked a jury: Who looks like they’ve decided, who looks persuadable, who wants to be asked. He didn’t hesitate. He took the stool beside Julian and ordered something neat because that’s what a man in charge drinks.
“That jacket’s doing you no favors,” Richard said without introduction, voice pitched just low enough to be private.
Julian blinked, half-offended and fully intrigued. “And you would know?” he asked, lifting his chin to make the challenge real.
“I would,” Richard said. He waited one beat, then added, “But the face underneath doesn’t need any favors.”
Julian snorted despite himself. “You insult me and compliment me. That your move?”
“Just the truth,” Richard said, and this time he did smile. “I’m Richard.”
“Julian.”
Richard’s gaze drifted to the jacket again. “Let me buy you a drink and give you back about ten degrees of comfort,” he said, flicking a glance at the tweed.
Julian held the stare. “You usually get your way?”
“Always,” Richard said. “But I prefer when I’m given it.”
That line put heat in Julian’s throat. “What are you drinking, Richard?”
“Whiskey.”
“I’ll have what he’s having,” Julian told the bartender, then turned back. “So, you’re a—what? Corporate tyrant? Retired pirate?”
“Attorney,” Richard said. “Your dream come true, or your worst nightmare. You decide.”
“Will I be given a choice?” Julian asked somewhat tentatively.
“Only once,” he answered. “Take it or leave it. What about you?” he pivoted the conversation.
Julian laughed. “Architect. Amateur jacket collector.”
“You’ll recover,” Richard said, eyes on his shoulders now, not his mouth. “What are you building?”
“Mostly other people’s ideas, but I’m new to the industry so eventually it’ll be my own,” Julian said.
Richard nodded like a professor approving a promising answer. “You need someone to watch over you. I can work with that.”
“Work with me?” Julian asked, amused.
“Work with that,” Richard corrected, then softened it. “You should be looked at properly.”
“Properly,” Julian repeated. “That how you look at things?”
“At what belongs to me,” Richard said. He didn’t blink when he said it and went in for the kill. He grabbed the back of Julian’s hair, with intentional roughness, pulled their lips together, and kissed him forcefully. Julian leaned into it signifying he was there for the taking. Richard claimed him, Julian surrendered, all without a word.
Richard released him and said, “Come with me.” It wasn’t barked; it was offered like a coat that fit.
Julian whispered his submission, “Yes, sir,” hoping Richard would understand the implication of that word.
At Richard’s, the first minutes were simple: lights, keys, the small choreography of two men choosing to be alone together. Richard touched the base of Julian’s neck with his palm, steady and declarative, and said, “You’ll do what I tell you to.”
Julian answered without poetry. “Tell me what you want.”
Richard smiled—not a victory smile, a recognition. “Everything,” he said, and led him down the hall.
Richard’s bedroom was streamlined, spare, and manfully elegant. Sleek, metal four-poster bed, grey bedspread, uncluttered work desk, leather sitting chair, and clean-lined bedside tables and lamps. Surprising Julian, Richard tenderly helped him off with his jacket, unbuttoned his shirt, helped him with his shoes, socks and pants, until he was completely nude. Richard stood back and admired him long sinewy muscles and prominent bikini tan line, “You still swim competitively?” he asked. “I try”, he answered. Richard grazed his sinewy, smooth, tanned skin with the back of his hand and remarked, “It shows.”
“On the bed, face up”, he ordered. “Arms and legs spread”, he added. Julian complied and before he knew what happened his Richard had secured his wrists to the two posts at the top of the bed. Julian had fantasized about restraint but had never had the opportunity. He knew he should be more careful, but Richard evoked trust, and Julian wanted nothing more than to give himself over to him.
Richard leaned down to his face and whispered, “You like that? Losing control? Letting me decide what to do to you?”
Julian looked him in the eye and nodded.
“Say it!” Richard barked.
“Yes, sir!” Julian responded, loving the submission.
That night Richard fucked Julian several times, restrained, on his back, on his belly, doggy style, bent over the side of the bed, on the kitchen table, even on his terrace bent over the railing. He saved that one for last because it was the only time he allowed Julian to cum and he shot his seed onto the sidewalk stories below.
Julian stayed the weekend. Sometimes bound, sometimes blindfolded, always in submission, wearing nothing more than a jock, even when Richard made him answer the door for the pizza.
They both had work on Monday, and when Richard drove him home Sunday evening, he pulled him into his lips and said, “Pack your stuff, you’ll be staying with me from now on.”
“Yes, sir”, Julian replied with a giant smile.
Current Day
Given the events of the previous weekend, the week had been remarkably routine—on its surface. Richard and Julian conveniently ignored what had happened. Everything that needed to be said had been said when they laid in bed the morning after. Life was back to usual. Until it wasn’t.
Thursday night, a few days after the eventful three-way, Richard arrived home later than he typically would have. Parked in his driveway was Jack’s white pickup, impossible to miss, sitting there like a declaration.
His stomach flipped. Dread and excitement, same intensity, opposite directions.
Inside, the house had that strange quiet of people being loud in carefully chosen ways. Richard took two steps into the living room and stopped.
Julian, nude, was on his knees between Jack’s legs. Jack was sunk into the couch, jeans around his ankles, a bourbon in his hand. The scene was unhurried and utterly sure of itself.
Jack glanced over, grin quick and clean. “Just in time,” he said, as if they’d coordinated it.
A dozen versions of Richard—the husband, the lawyer, the man in control—lined up to object. None spoke first. The one who had said yes last weekend stepped forward instead.
Jack didn’t wait for a debate. His voice was calm and edged. “You too. Strip.”
Richard’s mouth opened on reflex. “This is my—”
Jack didn’t raise his volume, only his certainty. “I know exactly whose house it is. Clothes off.”
The words hit Richard like a palm between his shoulder blades. Not a shove. A placement. He felt the heat rise under his collar and recognized it—not fear. Excitement.
Julian working Jack’s cock as if nothing had changed. He had one, single-minded mission: to pleasure Jack.
Richard peeled off his clothes, methodical, each button a small admission. His and Jack’s eyes were locked as he did.
After assessing Richard, he pronounced him, “Good,” as if confirming a hunch. He nodded toward the hall. “Bedroom.”
Jack was witnessing Richard nude for the first time. And he wasn’t disappointed. He knew Richard treated his body like a temple. Not a gym rat who spent time gazing in the mirror at himself. No, Richard was a bonafide nationally ranked CrossFit athlete, and it showed. Wide, muscled shoulders, thick pecs, full, fleshy arms with that protruding bicep vein that athletes chase, a solid, brawny mid-section that screamed raw strength, not sit-ups. His legs…muscular, defined, powerful. But the crowning glory was his ass, a jacked set of glutes as sculpted and defined as the Michaelangelo’s David. Jack knew he had made the right decision coming back tonight. He wanted Richard. He wanted to touch him, fuck him, own him.
But not tonight. Jack was playing the long game. They’d get one step closer tonight, but only a small one.
They moved: Jack first, Julian following without needing to be told, Richard following in the doorway being drawn in like a magnet.
In the bedroom, Jack glanced at the chair—the same one—and then at Richard. There was a curl of humor in his mouth. “Same place, but this time you don’t have to be a statue,” recalling the image of David when he’d first seen Richard’s ass. The sneer was light, almost affectionate. “You can watch and” grabbing Richard’s quickly hardening cock added, “work with it when I tell you.” Jack’s hand sent shockwaves through his body. It was a mere grasp, but it was electrifying.
Julian’s eyes flashed toward Richard—fearless, needy, apologetic. But at the end of the day, the only thing that mattered was to get pounded by Jack. He knew Richard was in a strange spot, but he’d worry about that tomorrow.
Richard sat, debating with himself whether to show defiance, submission, or indifference. He looked straight into Jack’s eyes and saw a man who was in complete control, and for the first time, that wasn’t him. Jack’s eyes conveyed that tonight he’d take what he wanted, as if the other night he’d left something behind.
Jack stood behind Julian and grabbed him by the hair at the crown, firm but not cruel, and guided him to the edge of the bed. “Bend over, hands flat. Don’t move unless I move you.”
Then he turned to Richard, “Same goes to you. Watch me fuck your boy. But keep your hands on the chair arms until I tell you otherwise. You’ll regret it if you don’t”.
Richard was undone. Nude and hard, being ordered what to do and what not to do, as a near-stranger fucks his husband was beyond any level of comprehension. Add to that the threat of punishment for disobeying…he was near delirious.
With Julian folded over the foot of the bed right in front of Richard, Jack stood behind him between his spread legs, pushed his head into the mattress, wet his cock with several handfuls of spit and thrust into him.
“FUCK!” Julian screamed so loud it made Richard jump. Every instinct in his body told him to intercede, stop the assault. But before he could, Jack, now fully penetrated, whispered tenderly into Julian’s ear, “Is the boy ok?”
Still barely able to speak, Julian whispered back, “Yes….sir…”
After a few more motionless moments, Jack whispered again, “The boy likes his daddy’s cock, doesn’t he?”
Without hesitation this time, Julian smiled and croaked, “Oh, yes SIR!”
“Good”, Jack replied. “Let’s keep going,” and he began to slowly pull out, much to Julian’s delight.
“Oh, daddy, DADDY”, Julian groaned. “You know how I like it. FUCK ME, SIR!”
Jack slowly and methodically pushed in and out, intentionally accelerating his pace and pressure, with every thrust increasing Julian’s pleasure.
“Tell your other daddy how good I feel”, Jack ordered.
Julian was uncharacteristically silent. How do you tell your husband how another man’s cock in your ass feels as he’s literally fucking you?
Julian hesitated, looking for just the right words. “I’m sorry, Richard, but he feels so fucking good…GROAN…” as Jack slid over his prostate.
Jack turned his head to see the expression on Richard’s face who was clutching the arms of the chair, white knuckled. His expression was part anguish, part lust.
Jack said to him, with his head twisted, “I want you to imagine the day when it’ll be my cock stretching your ass, not your boy’s.” As if to punctuate his threat, Jack immediately pulled Julian up to his knees so they were both kneeling on the bed facing Richard, Jack behind Julian.
Jack pulled his right arm around Julian’s chest possessively to hold him upright and plunged his cock back into him, mercilessly.
“Oh….FUCK…” Julian cried.
He then grabbed Julian’s cock with his other hand and began stroking him in rhythm with the thrusts from behind. With Jack’s eyes locked on Richard’s he said, “Look at your boy, now, Richard. Look at him getting owned”, and he plunged again, harder. He continued, “I bet you wish it were you fuckin him..” another thrust, “…or maybe you wish it were you getting fucked…” and with that taunt he plunged into Julian harder than ever causing Julian to wail…”OH….FUCK…ME….DADDY!!!!!”
Richard was desperate. His cock was harder than it had ever been, overflowing with precum from the humiliating scene playing out in front of him.
Eyes still on Richard, Jack barked, “Get up here, now. Hands and knees in front of us. Get your mouth on your boy’s cock and give him what he deserves,” followed by another vicious thrust…”The least you can do is service his cock.”
By now, Richard was so consumed with lust the order didn’t seem remotely kinky, so he jumped on the bed, knelt before his boy, and swallowed his cock in one gulp.
Jack, now thrusting even harder, continued, “Open your mouth wide for your boy,” an order to which Richard willingly complied and began to stroke himself as well.
“WHO SAID YOU COULD TOUCH YOUR COCK?” Jack barked at Richard.
Nearing tears of confusion, despair, and desperation, Richard pulled his hand away and looked up to Jack, “Please sir, please let me stroke. I NEED TO CUM!!”
“All right, but don’t you dare cum before your boy and I do. And you swallow every drop of his, do you understand?”
Richard, now openly whimpering replied in a near whisper, “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir”.
And so it continued for minutes. Jack fucking Julian from behind driving his cock down Richard’s throat deeper than he’d ever taken cock before. The scene was outer-worldly. Jack was quickly making good on his goal of breaking Richard. Julian was in hedonistic heaven. And Richard was living out a fantasy he never knew he had.
The gasping, groaning and sweating in the room finally reached a fevered pitch.
“NOW!” Jack screamed.
Nearly all at once, the three had what may have been the most intense orgasms of their lives. Jack shot what felt like quarts of his hot lava into Julian’s gut. That set Julian off to an orgasm that bypassed Richard’s tongue entirely and filled his stomach. And Richard shot ropes of cum across the entire bedspread.
The moment had been so intense it took them minutes to come down. Jack stayed hard inside Julian for what seemed like forever as Julian expertly used his hole to milk every drop out of his cock. With Julian’s cock still in his mouth, Richard made eye contact with Jack who growled, “Every drop.”
But the moment passed and it was time to disengage. Jack pulled out first which gave Richard permission to disengage Julian’s softened cock. They quietly wiped themselves down, but Julian was particularly spent. Needing a moment alone with Richard, Jack sent Julian to the shower.
Jack and Richard slowly dressed, neither saying a word. He knew Jack had sent Julian away for a reason, so he deferred to him, even in the quiet.
Fully dressed, Jack stood directly in front of Richard, put his hand behind his head and pulled him in for a soft, but intense kiss.
“You and I? We’re nowhere near done”, he said, and turned and left, leaving Richard, simultaneously broken and reborn.
To be continued.
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