After a brutal pounding by Jack and watching Jack humiliate his husband, Julian stepped from the shower, a towel slung low on his hips, steam still clinging to his chest. The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the air vent and the faint echo of water dripping from his hair onto the floor.
“Where’s Jack?” he asked, scanning the room as if the man might be standing just out of sight.
Richard sat on the edge of the bed, half-dressed, his expression unreadable. “He left,” he said simply. He didn’t mention Jack’s words before he left—"You and I? We’re nowhere near done”, which hovered in his head like the afterimage of a flashbulb.
Julian nodded slowly, as if Jack’s quick exit was exactly what he expected. He turned toward the dresser, running a hand through his wet hair, but neither spoke again. The silence between them was thick and cautious—the kind that follows a storm that hasn’t quite moved on.
In the weeks that followed, the frequency of Jack’s “visits” not only continued, they gained momentum. They both knew it was wrong, but inevitable, nonetheless.
Jack would appear unannounced—random days and times—each time like a force of nature. His presence filled the house before he even spoke.
Each encounter blurred the line between dread and desire. Richard would tense when he’d hear the pickup pull into the driveway, yet his pulse would spike with anticipation. Julian, too, lived in that same double edge: anxiety and arousal in equal measure.
The pattern never changed, only intensified. Jack ordered them to strip. He took Julian first—always first—his commands sharp, practiced, almost ritualistic. Richard was told to watch, then was allowed to touch, then finally approached real intimacy.
In every encounter, Jack allowed Richard slightly closer to the “action”, as if he were rewarding him for his submission. Jack never allowed Richard to fuck Julian, his own husband, but over time he’d allow Julian to suck Richard off. He even made Julian give Richard the rim job of a lifetime.
After one of the encounters, Julian casually mentioned to them he’d be leaving in a few days for an architecture conference in Chicago. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be away leaving Richard quietly relieved as their life together had become a pressure cooker. Each of them simultaneously loved and hated Jack’s visits, but something had to give.
Moments after Jack left that day, he texted Richard: You’ll meet me at The Junction the night Julian leaves, 8PM. Jack didn’t even pretend to ask. It was a command.
A few nights before Julian’s departure, Jack pulled Richard into the geometry of the act itself—Julian between them, bodies slick with sweat, the air charged with the kind of tension that no marriage counselor could name. It was the first time Jack had allowed Richard to actually touch him. Jack pulled Richard closer in order to spit roast Julian. Improbably, the feeling of Jack’s massive hand on Richard’s shoulder was more electrifying than Julian’s mouth on his cock. The irony to Richard was inescapable.
That final night together was game changing. Jack brought Richard in, touched him, encouraged him, gazed into his eyes like an equal, not the cuck in the chair.
When it was over, Jack lingered only long enough to fix his shirt and pour a drink. He handed Richard a glass and whispered, “Don’t forget. Friday night, 8PM.” Richard nodded vacantly.
Richard and Julian were home alone the night before Julian’s trip when the tension finally snapped. The coincidences of the initial encounter with Jack had been haunting Richard. He couldn’t shake the unease and felt the need to confront Julian before he disappeared on his trip. That first night at The Junction, how did Jack know Richard and Julian had met there? How did he know Richard was an attorney? When they brought him home, how did he know exactly where the bedroom was? Why did Julian say things to Jack like ‘You know how I like it." And how did Jack get Richard’s cell phone number?
He waited until after dinner, until Julian seemed relaxed, before beginning.
“Julian, before you go in the morning, I have a couple things that maybe you can shed some light on.” he said carefully. The question sounded benign, but the tone in Richard’s voice was anything but. Julian knew something was coming down, and tried to casually reply, “Sure…whatever..”
Richad began his rehearsed inquisition. “There’s are some things that Jack has said or done, that puzzle me.” He thought he heard Julian gulp audibly. “For instance, the night we met him, how did he know I was an attorney? And that you and I met at The Junction? He had just met us and they’d never came up until he mentioned them." Julian feigned that he didn’t recall that occurring, but Richard persisted. “And when we brought him home that night, he knew exactly where the bedroom was. In fact, he led us to it.”
Julian froze, glass halfway to his lips. “He probably just—guessed,” he said, too quickly.
Richard didn’t respond. He let the quiet convey his disbelief.
Now more aggressive, he asked, “How did he get my cell number?”
“He reached out to you?” Julian asked shocked. “What did he want?” adding jealousy to the equation.
Richard, now picking up steam, didn’t answer the question and added “And when he fucks you, you say things to him…like you’ve been with him before.”
Julian’s face drained of color. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. The silence stretched, until it became unbearable.
“Tell me,” Richard said. It came out as command, not plea.
Julian’s voice cracked when it finally emerged. “We knew each other before that night. Before any of this. I’m so sorry to have misled you.” He paused for several seconds, seemingly deciding how much more he should divulge. But he continued, “The 3-way was a ruse to get him into bed with us. I thought—” he stopped again, eyes tearing, “I thought if you saw me with someone like him, it might wake you up. You’d take me the way you used to.” He then pleaded, “But I didn’t know he’d….cuck you. I promise I didn’t.”
“So you wanted a real ‘man’s man’ to give your husband lessons in fucking?” he asked bitterly.
“No,” Julian said softly. “It was supposed to be one night. A jolt. To bring you back.”
The words landed like a verdict. Julian had revealed what had been buried in Richard’s subconscious all along. Was Richard still the man in control, Julian’s dom, like he was when the met and married? There was truth behind Julian’s intentions.
They argued until words failed—hurt giving way to exhaustion, exhaustion to the quiet, obligatory sex of reconciliation. It wasn’t passionate, but it was necessary; a truce carved out of habit,remorse, and genuine affection.
In the end, they shared the guilt. Julian for his dishonesty, Richard for his distance leading to Julian’s transgression.
Julian left for Chicago the next morning. The kiss they exchanged as he left was soft, uncertain, and frighteningly perfunctory.
What Richard had no way of knowing was that Julian had quietly extended the trip to ten days. He had been contacted by a prestigious and growing architectural firm in Chicago who was interested in meeting him. They’d done their research, seen the work he’d done, had a project that was urgent that they thought he’d be perfect for. The second reason was less clear to him. All he knew was he needed distance. Distance from Richard, distance from Jack, distance from the unholy threesome they’d become.
*****
With Julian gone, Friday night arrived like a reckoning. Richard stood outside The Junction, the glow of the bar neon reflected in his Audi’s window. He took a breath, squared his shoulders, and walked in.
Jack was already there, same high top where they’d met weeks earlier, whiskey in hand. The corner of his mouth lifted. “Didn’t think you’d show.”
“Think I’d wimp out?” Richard asked.
“Hoped not,” Jack replied.
“I’m more of a man than you give me credit for,” Richard added.
“I know. That’s why we’re here,” Jack replied, authoritatively.
They talked for a while—neutral topics, safe words, Julian’s trip—but beneath it, something darker coiled. The pause in their conversation became pregnant and with nothing left to fill it Richard asked, “So, Big Guy, you summoned me here for a reason. Let’s have it.”
Jack had anticipated this moment and was prepared. Maybe even over-prepared. He took a long, deep breath, remaining silent what seemed like an eternity, and then began: “You know what’s the hottest thing in the world?” he asked, allowing the question linger in the air. Knowing the question was rhetorical, Richard remained silent. Jack continued slowly, “Two men—REAL men—who know who they are, what they want, how to get it. Both dominant. One just a little more.” His gaze flicked over Richard. “That’s what I saw in you.”
Richard didn’t move. “You came after me?”
Jack responded with a subtle nod. “Julian told me he confessed to you. Before you and I met, I saw the photos of you in your bedroom. I checked you out…don’t forget, I’m a private dick. You were sexy as hell. But there’s more than that. I saw it in your eyes, that’s a man who needs to know what it feels like to let go. You wore control like armor. I wanted to see what you looked like without it.”
Richard swallowed hard. “So that’s what this was? An experiment?”
Jack’s voice softened. “No. A discovery. And I’m better for it.” For the first time, Richard detected just a scintilla of humility in Jack. And it made him fall for him. Right on the spot.
Jack leaned in close enough for Richard to smell the whiskey on his breath. “Julian’s gone ten days. We’ve got time to find out what we really are.”
Richard stared back. There was no part of him that didn’t know this was dangerous, and no part of him that cared. Something in him had been cracked open, and what poured through was not shame, but hunger.
Rising out of his seat, Richard growled, “Back to my place. NOW!”
Jack followed him out immediately. He’d been to Richard’s home so often he knew the way to there and it turned into a road race. Richard’s sleek Audi S7 v. Jack’s hulking Ford F-150. The difference couldn’t have been starker; an accurate metaphor for these two men.
Richard arrived with just enough time to open the door for Jack as he arrived. Jack barely crossed the threshold as they lunged for each other with matching force, like two bulls colliding; two overheated men whose longing for the other had been denied too long. They fought as they pulled one another into a kiss that could only be described as explosive. Their tongues battled like snakes whose life depended on reaching the other’s throat. Their teeth smashed noisily as they tried to swallow the other alive. Their groans were audible outside the house and down the street.
Richard struck first, wanting to prove he wasn’t the wimp Julian had made him out to be. He pushed Jack away to arm’s length, grabbed the inside of his shirt collar with his fists and tore it off him. Buttons flew everywhere and then he spun Jack around and ripped his shirt off him entirely leaving his massive torso on display as if it were a porn flick. Not to be outdone, but even more violently, Jack did the same to Richard. Two expensive shirts, torn to shreds, in service to a passionate cause.
Finally, their skin touched. Jack pulled Richard into him, intentionally grinding their muscled torsos together, as if to assure himself that Richard was real, not a mirage. Richard groaned with appreciation and dropped to wrap his mouth around Jack’s nipple. He bit down as if he were trying to rip it off, causing Jack to scream. Was it pleasure or pain? It was both.
That sent Jack into fighter mode. He shoved the coffee table that was centered on the rug across the room toppling it, threw Richard on the floor and straddled him, pinning down his arms with one hand and the other clutching his throat. With his face inches above Richard’s, he loudly whispered, “Open up, slut”. Richard willingly opened his mouth as wide as it could allowing Richard to spit directly into it. “That’s just the beginning,” Jack gloated. But Jack had become momentarily complacent, and Richard used the opportunity to flip him, straddle him and pin him just the way Jack had done him. Now tit-for-tat, he ordered Jack to, “Open,” which Jack did, just as readily. Richard spit into his mouth, but then followed it with a tender kiss, where they eagerly swapped their spit.
Covered in sweat and needing a breather, Richard kept Jack pinned but lightened up a bit. Laying on top of him, with their cocks grinding through their pants, he raised his head up so their eyes met. “What took us so long?” Richard asked, still breathing hard.
“I wanted you from the first time I saw your pic,” Jack replied. “But I had to go through Julian to get to you. To break you.”
“So that’s what that was all about? Breaking me?”
“Yeah. Tell the truth. You, Mr. Big Dick Energy submitting to a private dick, 10 levels below your station? I’m ashamed to admit it, but I used Julian to get to you.”
“Who said anything about submitting?” Richard asked, half kidding/half serious.
“You submitted to me every time the three of us have been together. Now I’m going to give you what you really want. What you deserve.”
That caused Richard to pause. What he wants? What he deserves? He didn’t know himself, but the answer tumbled out of his mouth without thinking, “Let’s go find out.” He abruptly stood up, pulled Jack from the floor, and said with a sarcastic smile, “You know where the bedroom is,” and pushed him in that direction.
Jack stood waiting for him when he walked in. Shirt off, jeans straining to contain his massive bulge, arms out. Richard walked into him and they embraced again, this time more tenderly, knowing they had the whole night, and beyond, to satisfy their hunger. They kissed sensuously pulling each other’s belts off and pants down with surprising efficiency. Quickly naked, they continued their passionate embrace, with their lips and tongues exploring each part of the other’s bodies and both gently, then vigorously stroking the other’s massively hard erection. Each had been so close—yet so far—from the virile, muscular man across from him. Now they finally got to touch, let their fingers roam, taste the other’s sweat, cup the other’s balls, finger the other’s most private part. The bed called to them like a siren, “Lay down, fuck here, now,” but they resisted. They’d waited too long for this. They weren’t going to hurry this moment of passion.
Finally, Jack broke the embrace and held Richard’s face in his hands. Without a word, he looked down to his own massive erection and looked back into Richard’s eyes, wordlessly commanding him to kneel. Knowing this would be a significant, humiliating step for Richard, an established dom, he waited for a response.
Gazing into his eyes, Richard gave Jack a subtle nod and slowly dropped to his knees. He was, the daddy who got blow jobs from Julian, not gave them. Now he’s on his knees, eye level with a massively hard cock dripping with precum waiting to be sucked.
He looked up again at Jack and gave him another nod to signal he was doing this willingly, even enthusiastically. Jack had, indeed, broken him.
Richard lifted his hand to cup Jack’s enormous balls. His balls alone could’ve kept Richard busy for hours, but the drop of precum at the tip of Jack’s cut cock was hypnotizing. He leaned over and, with the tip of his tongue, licked off the deliciously sweet nectar, and shuddered with gratitude for this moment. Without hesitating he dropped to the base of Jack’s cock and licked the length of it over and over. Once the shaft was good and wet, he hovered over the mushroom sized tip and slowly enveloped it in his mouth. Given his previous role as a top, he wasn’t a pro at doing this, so he worked extra hard to please Jack. Every time he sucked, he forced himself to take him deeper. He choked frequently, but he willed himself to swallow Jack’s cock past his gag reflex. Jack carefully guided him with his hands and rewarded Richard with groans of pleasure every time he went deeper. For the first time, he was receiving pleasure from giving it. His jaw was getting tired, but it was a small price to pay for the sensual delight he was giving Jack.
“That’s the way, Richard,” Jack moaned. “You’re my good boy, aren’t you?”
In Richard’s 30+ year sexual life, he’d never thought of himself as anyone’s good boy. Yet tonight, coming from Jack, it somehow made sense.
“Yes, sir”, he choked out, knowing the weight of the word ‘sir’.
With his cock sufficiently wet, Jack pulled Richard up to his feet again. Now face-to-face in a warm, cock-grinding embrace, Jack said, “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
Richard was genuinely awestruck by the comment. Thinking back, he’d never been talked to like that by a man, especially a brute like Jack. “You too, sir”, he replied, delighted to Jack as ‘sir’ for the second time in minutes.
It was time.
Jack gently lowered Richard on the bed on his back with his legs hanging off the foot of the bed. Jack knelt between them and lifted his ankles over his shoulders, giving him direct access to his hole.
Without hesitating, he took a long, slow swipe from the back of Richard’s crack, over his hole, to the base of his balls. “This belongs to me tonight, you know that, right?”
“Yes, sir”, Richard replied, nearly in tears.
That began what seemed like an eternity (in the best possible way) of Jack feasting on Richard’s most private possession. Richard was accustomed to rimming Julian to prep him, and believed he had some pretty good moves. Jack put him to shame. Outside, inside, across, blowing, tickling, spitting, fingering, and most erotically, tongue-fucking him with such force it felt as big as a dildo. Before long, Richard uttered words he'd never thought he would hear himself say, “Fuck me, sir. PLEASE FUCK ME. I can take it. I need your cock inside me. PLEASE!”
Jack pulled away and stood up, assessing Richard’s whimpering body, splayed out for him to take. Wanting to give him a chance to calm down and possibly reconsider, he asked “You mean that boy?”
“YES! PLEASE YES!” Richard cried.
“You asked for it”, he smiled. And added, “But I’ll go slow, I promise, because the night is young. I don’t want to ruin you.”
Jack pushed Richard’s ankles back over his shoulders and Richard felt the tip of his cock press against his well lubed hole. Richard had bottomed only a couple times previously, back in college, and it never ended well. So he was, naturally, apprehensive. But Jack’s foreplay had been extraordinarily erotic. He was ready.
“Here we go,” Jack announced as his cock pushed through his hole. Richard remembered that unique pain, the sting, and immediately tensed up. But Jack did something the others hadn’t. He stopped pushing and let Richard’s hole adjust to the intruder. In a surprisingly short time, the pain was replaced with an odd, full sensation, not altogether unpleasant.
“Ready for more?” Jack asked.
Richard smiled, “Go for it, Big Guy.”
More sting and more stretching pain. Another pause. Even more pleasure.
Jack was truly gentle and Richard asked himself whether he’d been this considerate with Julian all those years.
Push—pain—soul-bearing surrender became the cycle of sensations Richard felt every time Jack inched into him deeper. Push—pain—surrender, push—pain—surrender, push—pain—surrender. The cycle continued until Jack, looking down into Richard’s eyes whispered, “I’m all the way in, Sexy Man. You ok?”
“MORE than ok, Big Guy,” he groaned.
Jack began a disciplined process of thrusting in and out, fast and slow, hard and soft, deliberately targeting Richard’s prostate. The first time he hit it, Richard screamed, not sure what had happened. “FUCK ME”, he wailed as Jack found it.
“Bingo,” Jack smiled.
The fucking continued, with Jack making sure he was making love to Richard, not fucking him. There’d be plenty of opportunities for that in the future. Tonight, he had two goals: to reveal to Richard the pleasure of bottoming, and to demonstrate his genuine affection (he was afraid of the word ‘love’) for this man.
He accomplished both.
He seized Richard’s massively hard cock with his free hand and stroked it gently, in unison with the rhythm of this thrusting taking Richard to level of ecstasy he’d never previously experienced. Exploding with passion, bursting with intensity, overflowing with desire. Never losing eye contact, Richard’s eyes glistened sensing a warmth from Jack in every thrust. Every stroke.
Jack wanted to go longer, but given the passion of the evening, neither of them could hold out. As he scraped his hard cock over Richard’s prostate, he could see Richard wouldn’t last, and he knew he wouldn’t either.
He didn’t need to ask. He circled Richard’s hand so they jerked Richard’s cock in unison and grunted, “Here we go.” Rope after rope after rope of scalding hot cum exploded into Richard and together they pumped what appeared to be quarts out jizz out of Richard covering his face and torso. They each had cum in each other’s presence, but this was nothing short of epic. It didn’t stop. Jack continued to erupt in Richard’s hole, and Richard’s cock pulsed into Jack’s hand in response. They came and came and came, until they were both bone dry. But even then, neither wanted to disengage as their union felt nearly spiritual.
But biology reared its ugly head, Jack softened and eventually slid out of Richard’s hole while Richard’s cock wilted in Jack’s hand. As it did, Jack scooped up a handful of Richard’s warm juice, fed some to Richard, some to himself, and leaned in for a romantic, post-coital kiss. They passed the warm cum between them and competitively used their tongues to cover each other's faces with it.
A few minutes passed, and, ever the gentleman, Jack hopped out of bed, wet two towels with hot water and wiped Richard down with a tenderness that seemed out of character, but clearly wasn’t. Jack toweled off Richard’s legs, arms, hands, fingers, torso and face, repeatedly going back for fresh hot water. Richard was genuinely moved—he had never experienced such a selfless act of love.
The room was quiet afterward. Only the slow rhythm of two men breathing in sync. The sheets were damp, the air thick with the scent of sweat and spent adrenaline.
Jack lay on his back, one arm draped around Richard in an unconscious gesture of possession. Richard’s head rested against him, eyes half-open, not dazed but alive in a way he hadn’t felt in years.
He had spent a lifetime mastering control—in courtrooms, boardrooms, bedrooms. Tonight, for the first time, he had given it up completely. And in that surrender, he felt something he hadn’t expected: peace.
Jack shifted slightly, his hand moving absently through Richard’s hair. “Told you we weren’t done,” he murmured.
Richard didn’t answer. He only exhaled, slow and steady, his mind strangely quiet. For once, there was nothing to argue, nothing to prove. Only the hum of Jack’s heartbeat beneath his ear—and the quiet, certain knowledge that something irreversible had changed.
Richard smiled to himself, ‘He took me to a place I’ve never been. Tomorrow it’ll be his turn.’
And with that, he closed his eyes and let himself drift, weightless, into sleep.
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