Drew comes to town

“Is he going to tie you up?”

I texted Frodo that I was going to see Drew and this is what he texted back.

“I dunno,” I replied. I wasn’t exactly sure what would happen. All I knew is Drew was going to be in town and we were going to hang out.

“I might like that,” I added. “We’ll, I know I’d like that.”

“I’d like to see pictures,” Frodo replied.

Well, that’s that then. TIE ME UP.

“Would you let me suck his cock in exchange for the pictures? He may ask.”

It was true he may have asked that, but in reality it was far more the truth that I wanted to suck cock very much since I haven’t had one in my mouth for…Jesus, like two years now. Fucking Covid.

“Yes, that will be fine. So long as I get what I want.”

“Of course.”

“In fact, I want you to tee it up with him that way.”

“I will.”

“Good. That turns me on.”

Me: Heart emoji.

“I’m very tight thinking about being tied up and serving Drew so you can have pictures.”

“Good.”

[texting with Drew]

“Drew would also like to spank me. Is that OK?”

“Of course. He can hurt you all he wants.”


Drew’s rules for me whenever I see him is that I need to be naked in his presence. It’s just how things should be and, honestly, how I like them. Being naked while he’s clothed reaffirms my position and makes me feel more comfortable and authentic. So, when I arrived at his room, I immediately started to strip off all the way down to the Steelheart, even as we chatted amiably about my drive over, the room, the weather, whatever. I had to get on a Zoom call with a client in a few hours but that was no excuse to wear clothing in the mean time.

“The Steelheart is so you,” he said. And, of course, it is. Completely. The tile on the floor was cold on my feet.

As I recall, he had me get on my knees. I was feeling myself slide slowly into submission. Like slipping into a warm tub. Familiar, comforting, needed. Drew is a stickler for the observation of my submission.

I thought about the chain of custody over me that put me there. Belle to Frodo, Frodo to Drew. I could do this free of any guilt or internal conflict. Three people who know me, accept me, allow me to seek what I need and provide those things to me. I am a lucky bunny.

What was to come has made the exact series of events kind of blur. Drew had told me to get some prervertables from Home Depot before I got there. Some Husky Velcro hanging straps with carabiners and a pack of zip ties. He bound me up using those and, I think, my belt.

I sat on the edge of the table, made mostly immobile and unable to sit up straight. Then he came over to me with a hanger from the hotel closet. Maybe the only place you can still find hangers with little clips to hold suit pants.

This item is very pervertable. It has some weight, especially the nice ones made of wood, and little clips that slide back and forth on a rod and grip hard but also have little rubber nubbins on the clips.

He put the first clip on my left nipple and the other on my right nipple then dropped the hanger and let if flop down. OUCH. The spring loaded jaws bit hard and the first shot of pain seared through me and made me jump which just caused me to pull against my restraints. The hanger hurt in a hurty way but the tube contents swole against its confinement.

He left me that way for a while. To contemplate. This was the first time in so long that I had to endure pain being inflicted upon me. Pain I could not control. I find the best way to do that is to lean into it. To let it flow over and through me. I burrow into it and let its hot fire burn away my resistance.

In that way, my nervous system somehow converts it to pleasure. I can feel the moment it happens. Not all at once. Gradually. Like someone turning up a light on a dimmer ever so slowly. The hard edge turns and softens and the jangly energy smooths out.

I don’t know how long he left me like that. Not too long before he flipped me over and hogtied me. Tried to spank me, but the bindings got in the way and he seemed to prefer me tied up to having a glowing red ass so bound I stayed.

But I was already feeling the ground under me start to open in that way where my desire for being hurt becomes unsatisfiable. I wanted him to whip my ass. But I held my tongue. Mostly because it was still early but also because it’s hard for me to say what I want to my dominants. Because even though I was the subject of his attention, it wasn’t about me and what I wanted. I know, intellectually, it’s important to communicate and I try to do that when I’m not in a scene, but once the sub juices get flowing, I just can’t get the words out. I mean, lol, that’s why I have blogs.

In any event, I had to get on that Zoom. Drew had me take it wearing only a shirt and with my ankles bound to the chair I was sitting in. It was fine, if rather distracting. I did it while my tender nips nagged at me for more torture.

Once off the call, Drew freed my ankles and my bare ass peeled off the chair’s vinyl seat. He sat on the couch while I removed my shirt and knelt again before him. I placed my head between his legs and he felt my shoulders and back and neck. I wrapped my arms around his thick, solid thighs and squeezed hard. It’s a thing I know he likes. I wanted to give him what he liked because at this point I was focused intently on the knowledge his cock was near and I wanted it in my mouth. I wanted to feel him shove it roughly down my throat.

In my place with my nose millimeters from spot on his jeans where the transverse seams crossed, I could smell Drew. A mixture of his detergent and the subtle man smell of this closest, warmest, most intimate place on his body. Right in front of me. Right there. But so far away still. He let me soak in it for a long time. He knew what was happening. How being allowed to absorb his essence in that way in that position was pulling me back down to where I belonged and needed to be.

But he never got his cock out. I never saw it. Later, he told me he was preparing me for my weekend with Frodo (the weekend I’m en route to as I type). He teased me with his cock to leave me wanting Frodo’s all the more.

But he wasn’t done with the rest of me yet. I was placed on the table and bound again with the straps and zip ties. The hanger was reattached and attached vie the ties to the Steelheart. If I tried to sit up, the clips would pull harder.

Again, I have no idea how long I was on the table with those evil little jaws biting at me. I mean…it was a long time. More than half an hour. Much more. It was long enough for him to change my position a few times, unattaching and reattaching my extremities, but never unclipping my nipples. The pain was intense and everywhere but that infinitely deep crack had opened to a chasm and I found myself flexing my chest and arching my back and doing all the things necessary to make the clips pull harder. And harder. And just when I was thinking they’d never come off, it was time.

If you’ve ever had something like those clips on your nipples for a long time, you know about this moment. The one where you may think you can’t take it anymore but you certainly can’t take what it feels like when they come off. When the blood comes rushing back and the intense little fires of pain flare into a binary star system collapsing into a black hole of painful ferocity. The only time I really made noise. God, it was so hard.

The nipples were cruelty dented from the clips. They looked bruised (but weren’t) and held the clipped shape as if phantom metal jaws were still attached. They were too tender to even faintly brush against. Drew sat back down on the couch and had me kneel again with my head in his lap and my face in his crotch and I literally chewed at the denim while he held me down. Held me down so I could come down.

But I wasn’t coming down. I was in too deep then. The realization came to me that what I needed even more than his cock in my mouth was his strong, hard fingers on my nipples. Direct infliction of the most intense pain as only Drew could give me. But I has to ask for it. He wasn’t going to give it to me.

The words were in my mouth but wouldn’t come out. I couldn’t get myself to say them. My internal conflicting motivations wrestled in my head. Finally, I blurted out, “Would you hurt my nipples some more?”

I felt a measure of shame for asking. But he laughed. And, of course, he agreed. He gave them little flicks first which was terrible and wonderful. Then he really went to work on them. Pinching and twisting and all I could feel and see was the hot white fire that burned like a cross over my body, from nipple to nipple, up to my brain, and down to the straining contents. I made growling noises and pressed into him hard.

MORE. I needed more. I needed every bit of it. I could never, ever get enough.

Eventually, it was over of course. He stopped. I laid back and felt totally stoned on the endorphins or whatever chemicals where being spurted into my system. Just drunk on the stuff. Dopey. It was hard to focus my eyes. It was hard to focus my thoughts.

“I can’t believe you enjoy doing that to me half as much as I enjoy having it done,” I said to him.

He assured me he did. And that turned me on. I would have kept going. Would have been happy to have him torture me in all kinds of ways. But it was getting late and we were both hungry and clearly he was ready to move along.

So I got up and got dressed and we went to dinner at a restaurant and talked about TV shows and life. My nipples didn’t hurt as much as I thought they would the next day. They showed no outward signs of their suffering. Amazing little things, really.

I can’t wait for Drew to come to town again.

More role, less play

I was texting with Frodo yesterday. The chat quickly turned to how much he missed me calling him Sir as I had sort of let that wane. Not that it was intentional. We haven’t had a lot of contact lately and most of it has been via text and…well, whatever. It’s all my fault, obviously.

I mentioned on a post over on the other blog that at some point in the chat he described our D/s dynamic as “role play.” And I guess, depending on how you want to define that term, what we do is role play but my ears put the emphasis on the play part, not on the role part and it left me nonplussed. My submission isn’t play.

He didn’t mean anything by it, of course. He wasn’t trying to offend. Just using the words he has. And in the context of the discussion, he was actually opening up about how much he values our D/s dynamic. He likes how my submission makes him feel. How it gives him permission to feel more masculine. More like a man. He described how he has tended to push away masculinity because so much of it in our culture and his personal experience with it has been toxic but being placed in a position of sexual dominance over someone who’s consensually submitting to him has allowed him a chance to see it all differently. To feel it differently.

This is fascinating to me because Frodo has never displayed stereotypically gay affectations. Not for as long as I’ve known him (and that’s been a long time now). I, the straight-presenting bisexual man, has many more stereotypically gay affectations than he does. I’ve never really spent much time thinking about it, but now I wonder if his lack of affectation is just who he is or if it’s a byproduct of being teased and bullied for being gay from a young age. Or a bit of both.

Regardless, he says he’s struggled with embracing his masculinity. But I find him to be so wonderfully and effortlessly masculine. In a way that really resonates with me. In a way that makes me sit here and absentmindedly recall burying my face in his thick, dark, pungent post-marathon pubes and nuzzle into his thickening cock and take his hairy balls into my mouth. Because somehow in my fevered little mind, a lack of pubic grooming is just about the most masculine thing I can imagine. Which is in itself interesting, I guess.

Of course, I don’t need masculinity to trigger my submission. I need receptive, appreciative dominance. And it was my assumption that he was more or less humoring me with the D/s thing. It was more play than role. But I was wrong. He made me understand yesterday that he really needs my submission and that it makes him feel better and more in touch with who he is. And that, my dear reader, was like a thunderbolt.

I think a lot of the time dominants aren’t given permission to be vulnerable. That’s a shame. Frodo was vulnerable with me yesterday and rather than puncturing my submissive instincts towards him, it inflated them. Made me so much more dedicated to being his sub. He said, “I can take care to tell you what I need and when I need it. You’re good at giving me what I need when I ask for it.”

OMG…swoon.

In all, it was barely a fifteen minute exchange. But it was so important to me. Because by opening up to the value he got from my submission and how much he even needed it, it made it all so much more real.

Roles without playing.

More than never ever wanting to play at submission, I don’t want anyone to play at dominating me. To humor me. And now I know, he’s not doing that. At all.

Jesus fuck, I miss him.

Always needing more

Earlier today, I posted this to Twitter.

And in reply, was asked this…

And…I couldn’t reply there. Needed more characters and words. So, here we are.

First, when I’m penetrating myself with a dildo, I like to watch. Usually using a hand mirror or my phone. And therefore, I am constantly reminded (because it’s always in the way) that there’s a locked and useless penis on me. It’s not any part of the action and, while getting fucked, I have little to zero interest in it. Never really have. I was always the kind of guy who, when I had an available penis, went totally soft while being fucked — I don’t really understand how guys can be hard or jack off while getting plowed (honestly, I should have known what a bottom I was all along). But now, it’s impossible not to juxtapose the prominent and substantial thing penetrating me against the locked and inconsequential object being kept out of sight that it’s meant to mimic.

So, “Does riding it drive home how small yours is kept?” Well, yes. But it’s not just a size thing. It’s a position thing. It’s about my natural role. The locked penis can’t compete with the dildo at all, but the reason is it’s like comparing a Lamborghini to a cuttlefish. They’re meant for different purposes. The penis’ purpose is to inhabit a tight constraint. That’s it. Which is to say, it has no purpose. Other than when Belle wants me to use it on her.

Regarding the “might be as good as it feels for Belle” part, I have pondered this aspect of nature we share. We both like penetration. We both want to be fucked. I can get fucked by what I need any time I can finagle the time and privacy. For her, we need Joe. Because the penis is inadequate to the task and wearing her strap-on gives me the confidence I need to perform and pleasure her. I get the need to be fucked in a way a lot of husbands (most husbands) just wouldn’t.

And that need has been building all through this quarantine period. I don’t always want to be fucked but when I do get the urge I get it bad. And I’ve had it bad for about a week now. Woke up after a second fitful night of sleep filled with horny thoughts and continued to feel the urge even after my morning run. So, even though I’m at home with my wife and kid, I decided I had to get a big cock inside me.

I waited for Belle to finish in the bathroom and get on her first Zoom call of the day. It was an opportune moment when she was distracted and the kid was still asleep. I grabbed my “medium-sized” dong from its drawer and snuck it into the bathroom. “Snuck” because I really didn’t want Belle to know or have to think about her husband riding a big fat cock while she was trying to work twenty feet away.

Before going to town on it, I trimmed the hair around my hole. I find it interferes with the lubrication and ease of insertion and I had let it go for too long. Seeing myself pucker and flex as I trimmed and shaved around it made me even more horny for a fuck.

The dildo I chose is the perfect balance between challenging and pleasurable. It’s not nearly the biggest one I have but I also knew I didn’t have all the time in the world. I lubed all 8″ of its length (and 7.25″ of circumference) and squatted down, lining it up with my hole, then pushed. The big head popped in and, without stopping to catch my breath, I kept going. It felt so good. It was what I needed. So badly.

I worked it in and out letting my ass get used to it. I fucked myself with it with its balls forward, as if taking it from behind, then rotated it inside me so its balls face backward, as if I was on my back. Each angle feels distinctively pleasurable it pushed into different parts of me. I shivered as its flared head popped back and forth over my prostate.

After several minutes, and just as I was getting good and loose and getting it inside me up to its balls, my phone rang. The vet. The dogs had just been in for their annuals and there had been tests and results and as I spoke to her, I kept the dildo inside me. Gently moving my hips and flexing my thighs as if being slowly fucked by a lover while listening, trying to not sound as if what was happening was actually happening.

At some point, I just sat on it. Letting it get buried as deeply into my guts as possible. My hole twitched as it opened as far as the fattest end of the dildo required. I could see and feel leakage from the end of the Steelheart. Could smell my ejaculate that would forever remain a noun, never a verb. The somewhat sad remnants of the parts I was physically if not emotionally equipped with.

Finally, the consult was over. I thanked the vet and looked at the time. Too late to use the dildo any longer, I let it slip heavily out of me. And immediately replaced it with with a metal butt plug. The one still inside me as I write this. The one I feel as I grind my ass into this chair.

Unf. Fucked but still needing more. Story of my life.

I miss him

We’re getting dangerously close to it being a year since I last saw Frodo. That was in June and May is just a shake of a rabbit’s tail away. He and I FaceTimed last week. It hurts me how much I miss him. How much I crave him.

In January, we were supposed to go diving in Florida. I got super sick (tested positive for influenza A) and couldn’t go. We were supposed to reschedule. We haven’t because we can’t. Who knows when things will be normal enough for that again.

It’s always been the case that Frodo is supremely easy for me to talk to. No matter how long it’s been, we just fall back into it. We know each other so well. He’s my oldest friend.

Have I mentioned how much I miss him? So much.

Sometimes, when I should be sleeping, I’m thinking instead about his cock. His cock in my throat. His orgasm in my mouth. Him using me. Even now, just writing that, causes intense compression inside the steel. If I’m honest, he’s always had that affect on me. Since freshman year of high school. Almost 40 years. I’m just…smitten.

God I miss him.

I’ve written here and over on the other blog the truth of the situation. I just don’t want him to use me and fuck me and take his pleasure from me. I love him. But we don’t say it to one another. He knows how I feel. He knows because he’s read what I’ve written about him. He knows because I can’t hide it. And I know because of how much pain it causes me to be away from him this long. This isn’t just lust.

I miss him. And I love him.

I wish I could see him now. To be held by him. Pushed gently onto my knees by him. Press my face against the growing hardness inside his jeans. Smell him though the fabric. Moaning. Yearning. Craving.

I miss him. I love him. I need him.

Frodo’s rules

Not so long ago, I asked Frodo if he would accept my submission in a more formal way. Not just generally when we were having sex, but to elevate it to a central part of our friendship. Or…whatever kind of “ship” it is we have. I have such strong feelings for him and those translate into a deep desire to submit to him. This conversation is always a delicate and nervous thing for a sub to do, I think, especially when the person the sub is offering up their submission to doesn’t identify as a dominant and really wasn’t looking to do so.

In any event, I’m quite pleased to say he was on board with the idea. There were some rules (and there’s nothing a fucking sub likes better than rules). One, I am to call him Sir. He’s the only person I call Sir. No one else gets that but him. Two, I am to send him a picture of myself every morning in which he can see my body. Preferably I will be naked but minimally without a shirt. I have to admit I have failed to be as consistent with that one as I need to be. My recent bout with the flu and pneumonia really threw me off my horse. Finally, I can only sub to another man with his permission.

And that’s where Drew comes in. We don’t see each other that much, but the last time we did was delicious and would have been better had he not had (unknowingly) a broken foot. But with this new exchange of power with Frodo, doing that in the future would need prior clearance. Also, Drew likes to boss me around virtually and that would have been subbing without permission. So I asked Frodo what he thought. Could I have sex with Drew? Could I sub to him?

He took several days to answer. This is, I’ve found, part of his authority technique. He tells me what he thinks after consideration and on his time. I wait. There’s an easy formality to how he deals with me and I like it. A gentle but firm hand. Like the one he put on my thigh while driving last time I saw him. Swoon. In any event, he got back to me after a while. He had one rule.

Drew could not fuck me. The only cock Frodo wants inside me is his. He may decide at some point to share me with another dominant as that’s a fantasy of his, but that’s in the future. For now, only one cock goes in my ass. Drew can do anything else with my ass (toys, appendages, etc.), but no cock. I passed that along to Drew for consideration and he accepted the limitation.

Then this morning I got further conditions from Frodo. This is what he sent me…

I realized that I don’t want him to fuck you in part because I don’t want his cum inside you. So, I don’t want you to swallow it, either. I want that level of intimacy to be reserved to me.  

And…contented sigh. I replied back…

Yes, Sir. I understand, Sir. That makes me feel very special and valued. Thank you. 

Drew is OK with that, too. I can still give him head, but he’d have to stop short of shooting in my mouth.

I think this is a fine arrangement, to be honest. Drew is a legitimate sadist and Frodo isn’t. I’m a total masochist and crave the kind of sensations Drew craves to inflict upon me. Our attempts to integrate higher levels of D/s into our relationship have always gone badly but having the anchor of Frodo being my true male dominant makes that feel somehow easier now. Hard to explain. But in any event, the boundaries put in place by Frodo make our interactions feel more defined and, for me anyway, less fraught with the potential to disappoint him. I am loathe to disappoint my sexual superiors.

So, in the nesting doll of my submission, Belle is on top. She holds the key and controls the penis and what I do with it. Frodo comes next and has dictated what I can do with my other side and even my mouth. Drew is after that and, especially when we’re together, will be able to enjoy our complementary interests in my discomfort.

In our conversations about all this, I asked Frodo (who is a regular user of cruising apps) if he’d share with me details of when he fucked other guys. It should be no surprise to anyone reading this who’s even passingly familiar with my blogs that the idea of him being able to fuck whoever he wants whenever he can and me only being allowed to accept his cock in my ass has pushed every single submissive button I have. Turns out, he had fucked a guy the night before. Lean, young, blond, muscular. Hearing this made me very tight. I can’t wait for him to fuck another guy soon.

I find that thinking about that doesn’t make me jealous. Of course not. I don’t have that kind of claim or authority. But it does make me want to jump him and ride his cock and do literally anything else he wants to show how I should be his favorite bottom. I want to earn my place on his cock.

Frodo and I were supposed to be together earlier in the month but my flu and pneumonia kept that from happening. We’re trying to find a new date that works. Belle is enthusiastically in support of this. I have a wonderful life right now and I’m fully aware of it.

The hole thing

Drew related to me today that someone on Recon asked him, “Why does Thumper need something up his ass?” Which is…an odd question. Why does anyone need anything they like? Why do they like it? What’s the meaning of life? Why is the sky blue?

There’s the obvious physiological explanation. The prostate gland is highly sensitive and a lot of men find its stimulation to be pleasurable. For a denied man, the prostate is made even more sensitive because it’s typically swollen with frustration. There are also a lot of nerves all over that region (the opening of the anus is not unlike the opening of the mouth in terms of sensitivity) and some of us are wired and/or trained to find pleasure from sensations there. Carrying a plug is nothing like being fucked, though. Someone who likes the feeling of a plug in their ass finds that pressure and weight to be pleasurable. Why? I dunno.

Some guys can’t find a way to enjoy ass play. In fact, not even all gay men like ass play. Some have zero interest in it and never integrate their holes into sex. I think that’s probably psychological, but I suspect some men may also have differently wired nerve endings. We’re all special snowflakes, etc.

Some guys are into depth play. Being fucked deeply. There are toys specifically designed to penetrate a long way. Other guys (like me) are more about girth and stretch. I get off on the feeling of being opened up and I’m more into that aspect than how deeply something goes inside me. Depth for me is more a function of girth in that toys tend to get thicker towards their base.

But again, plugs are different. And I like the WMCBP in particular because they’re big, heavy, and yet relatively really easy to leave in for a long time because they have very thin “necks.” The XXXL plug, for example, is 8″ around. That’s almost as big as a Coke can. It weight more than two pounds. There are days when that feels like it’s going to split me but there are also days when I wish it was bigger and heavier. That’s what I like and appreciate. It’s a weighty load. But it barely holds my hole open because of the thin tube that connects to the plug’s base.

Beyond all that, my submissive nature needs to be taken into account as well. I have a need to be dominated and controlled. And one way that plays out is Drew’s current control over my ass. This morning, for example, I wasn’t inclined to carry. I just didn’t feel like it. I was almost out of the house with an empty ass when Drew asked me what I was carrying today. He expects I’m carrying every day. So while I didn’t really feel like it, I put the WMCBP Rattler in anyway. It was one he specifcally said he wanted me to carry this week so it’s in now.

So another reason I “need” something up my ass is I crave domination and being forced to put something there is a way that can manifest. You either get that (Dom/sub dynamics, etc.) or you don’t. You either understand how comforting it can feel being locked in front and plugged in back or you don’t.

So…yeah. Because I like it. Because I need it. I crave the expectation. Physical, emotional, mental. A big, complicated ball of reasons. That’s why.

Drawn to Drew

Avid followers of this rabbit’s travails will recall with some interest my past shenanigans with Drew. For those who aren’t and don’t, the short story is he’s a world traveling executive who lives in another city than me and who has, from time to time over the years, dominated me. Drew is a sadistic top and I’m a pain slut bottom and we clicked.

Things started out well but as time went on our friendship grew to such an extent that Drew, who identifies as switch and subs to his husband, shared those non-Dom parts of his life with me. Not just the family and work stuff that everyone has and needs friends to tell. Talking about chastity and bottoming and all the stuff associated with being a sub. And, for me, shifting between Dom Drew and sub Drew was hard. Too hard. I found I couldn’t take a Dom seriously who wanted to show me his new chastity device and tell me about the growing confidence of his newly dominant husband. So as Drew found new kinky friends and outlets for his interests and spent more and more time out of the country, things just…drifted off.

Recently, though, we’ve rekindled our dynamic. I call it a dynamic as a punt. It’s a relationship, of a sort, but not one built on romantic love. It’s built almost entirely on power exchange. On him having it and me not. It’s built on the alchemy of how pain can be transformed to pleasure, for both the person inflicting it and the person enduring it. It’s built on his willingness to help me explore my desires to bottom and push myself in that area. And, like any relationship, it’s built on mutual respect.

So, it’s back on. And he’s not going to show me the other side of his swtichiness. Just the Dom aspects. And I’m intentionally not looking for information about that part of him on his blog or elsewhere. Perhaps it’s a sign of my shallowness, but I need him to be Dom Drew and only Dom Drew. And it appears to be working for both of us.

For example. The primary way Drew expresses his domination over me is by telling me what to put in ass and when. That’s usually one of the three metal butt plugs I have, though there are other things, too. For the past three days, I’ve had the largest of these plugs (8″ in circumference) in my ass for hours and hours at a time. Something like 14 hours on Thursday and about 13 hours yesterday. It’s inside me again today and, except for an 11 day trip Belle and I are about to go on, I’m sure it’d be in there into next week.

In consideration of his being unable to direct what my ass does during the time I’m traveling, he’s imposed a cost. I will owe him two hours of plug carrying for every day I’m empty. In addition, he’s requiring 20 minutes of my nipples being banded by elastrators for each of those non-carry days. This will mean a minimum of 22 hours plugged and nearly four hours banded, though he’s willing to break that up over two or three days. So considerate.

So, if you been following along on Twitter and wondering WTF was up with all this Drew talk again, that’s the score.

Weekend by the lake, Part 4

I think what woke me the next morning was the sound of his piss. It’s a sound I’ve really grown to appreciate. A man’s heavy stream of urine, forcefully expelled from his body and striking the surface of the water in a toilet bowl. That’s not me anymore. It’s not a thing I can do. I can’t make that sound.

Whatever the case, the grogginess left me quickly. This was our last morning and we didn’t get him off the night before. There was unfinished business. These holes weren’t going to fuck themselves.

It didn’t take long. He was on me again, cock back inside. Some bottoms just know when they’re ready. I felt that I was and I was. There wasn’t any getting used to his big dick that morning. Just shoved it right back in there and started to pump. He tried me on my stomach with a pillow under my hips for a bit but eventually flipped me over on my back and took me from the front.

His fucking wasn’t gentle. He wasn’t doing it for me. He was doing if for him. It was selfish. And the more he did it, the more he bent my body. The harder he drove into me. Eventually, my feet were up by his ears and I was bent almost all the way over but that’s the position he really wanted and all I wanted was exactly what he wanted and to keep feeling his cock fuck me ragged.

Oh, Jesus, he went to town. He POUN. DED. MY. ASS. SO. GOOD. And my whimpers and moans mixed with his grunts and panting and I was very aware the window to our room was open and I could hear the sounds of fellow travelers outside.

Again, he was covered in sweat. I was so open and entirely his. But again, it wasn’t going to happen. Not like that. He was still spent. Still recovering. He fucked me beautifully and selfishly and he left me a simpering puddle, but it wasn’t a puddle of his seed.

He got up to get ready to leave. I watched him move around the room. His lean figure, olive complexion, and all that hair. Not a bit of it cut or trimmed below his neck. Total man. While I freak out if my pubes grow longer than a third of an inch and even shaved my hole nice and smooth for him, he doesn’t seem to think anything of being exactly who and what he is. I said before he reminds me of a 70’s man and he does. Like from a cigarette ad, but not one of those outdoorsy types. More a city man. Erudite and refined, but but without artifice.

We showered and dressed. I was in my typical fussy and fancy underwear (I think it was the sheer green camo pair with the neon green trim) while he was putting on some maroon pair of Hanes or some shit like that he got from Target. I don’t say that to be critical. It’s so perfectly in keeping with who he is. Why wear that stupid expensive stuff I have when his come in a three pack and work just as well? Men like him — real men — don’t think about such silly things. His sexiness comes from somewhere else, not underwear. It’s incredibly endearing and just thinking about those ugly maroon briefs makes my chest swell with an aching need to see him again.

We had just about finished packing and getting ready. I had even removed and packed the Steelheart in anticipation of air travel (of course, not so he could see anything — and he showed little interest) when he showed me his cock again.

“Want to kiss it goodbye?”

[Homer drool face]

“Then get on your knees and kiss it.”

I dropped instantly and inhaled his still-soft meat. I adore the feeling of flaccid cock in my mouth. The way it stiffens and lengthens and grows so it won’t fit anymore. Soon, I was giving Frodo another energetic blow job. He once again sat down on the chair and pulled my shirt off, feeling my shoulders and back, though my pants had to stay on since the penis was free. I knelt before him, cock in mouth, worshipful.

I mean, how many ways can I write about blowing him? How many ways can I express the feeling of purpose and joy giving him that pleasure brings me? My place in life is right where I was. On my knees. Giving pleasure. Taking only what reflects off the focus of my attention. And my attention at that moment consisted entirely of Frodo’s cock of my dreams.

And suddenly, that “innocent” kiss had turned into a surging cock filling my throat again with hot ejaculate. That’s what Frodo wanted all along, apparently. A mouth willing to accept his gift. To swallow it whole. To make that part of him part of me.

I didn’t want it to end. All that morning, at breakfast, in the car, driving. I didn’t want it to end. It was magical.

I wrote over on my other blog about how grateful I am. Grateful to Frodo. Grateful to Belle. Grateful to a universe that allows these two people to exist and appreciate me for who I am. I said,

There is no limit to love. It is not a finite resource. It’s renewable. It’s bottomless. Our capacity for love is only contained by our lack of imagination and our petty jealousies and insecurities. I am the luckiest fucking rabbit in the world to find myself in this place and there isn’t a moment I don’t realize that.

I don’t know when I’ll see Frodo again. We’ve sketched out some plans, but they’re not firm. Until that time comes, I’ll have to be content re-reading these words about that weekend by the lake.

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

Weekend by the lake, Part 3

We whiled away the afternoon partaking in the adorable little town’s amenities. It was, to be sure, quaint as fuck. But this isn’t a travelogue and you’re all like blah blah blah cute town whatever so I’ll cut to the chase.

We arrived back in the room after dinner and Frodo, quite understandably, was tuckered out. We stripped and got into bed and…watched the Food Network. I was doing my best to be good and follow the “sex is not for me” mantra, but he’s so yummy. He announced he was turning in and it seemed like that was going to be that.

But that was not that. What it was was some nice kissing (though, at this point, his stubble was really ripping my face up). I could have left it at a peck. But I might have leaned in a bit. The nice kissing led to him kneading and groping my muscles and that led to me climbing up on top of him and that led to him getting a raging boner. Oh, and did I mention how terribly I wanted a fuck?

Frodo was rubbing the head of his cock up and around my ass crack. I was writhing like the slutty bitch I am. But I was also nervous in that very special way only a committed bottom can be.

“I want to fuck you, Thumper.” Husky, breathy, and lustful.

“Mmmm, I want you to fuck me, Frodo. So badly,” I whined and nibbled at him.

It’s just a fact that having your ass fucked is not as straightforward as all the porno leads one to believe. And it had been several hours since I prepared myself. As much as I wanted to let nature take its course, sometimes its course is awful so I had to put the breaks on for a quick check.

“I’ll be right back…” and I sprung off him, grabbed my kit, and closed myself in the bathroom. Luckily, everything was still in fighting shape and I was back on top of him only a few minutes later, this time with a bottle of silicone lube.

I gave him the lube. He squirted a bit on his hand and rubbed it on his cock. Then he ran his lubed fingers up my crack. They were rough, both in texture and action. I shivered. There was no reason for this to be gentle. He knew it. And I needed this. Deep in my soul was a Frodo’s cock-sized void. It has been there for three and half decades. He knew that, too.

Still on top, I lined his shaft up with my hole and leaned back. I pushed to open my sphincter and slid all the way down as his cock pushed inside me. I am quite positive I moaned or deeply sighed or something but all I remember is thinking, WHY DOES HE HAVE TO LIVE SO FAR AWAY!?

I worked up and down his pole, feeling it slide in and out and force me open. I had very deliberately left my ass alone for more than a week before this trip so it’d be as tight as possible. So he could make it solely his. Imprinted to his shape. I arched my back as far as I could and leaned away from him to bury his manhood as far into me as possible.

Oh. My. God.

There’s that scene in Young Frankenstein. I’m sure we’ve discussed it before. The one where the Monster takes Madeline Kahn in the forest for the first time and she belts out, “Oh, sweet mystery of life, at last I’ve found you…” Yeah, you know what I’m talking about.

I think Frodo was letting me drive in order to grow used to him inside me, but once that was done, he took over. Up on my hands and knees first, pumping hard. Then with my face in the mattress and my ass in the air, his firm hands on my back pushing me down and getting the angle of invasion just right. Every thrust of his hips was just that much harder as he built his head of steam.

When he wanted a new position, he moved me around like the fuck toy I am and I willingly obeyed his every direction, even the unspoken ones. I could sense and feel his needs though my hole and my ass as he shifted his weight for better penetration and how he gripped my shoulders or my neck. Before long, he was pounding me freely, covered in a sheen of sweat as my breath was torn from me and the weight between my legs rocked back and forth.

But he was very tired. And it was late. And no pliant positioning of my ass could find the path for him to come again. He pulled his dick out of me and kneeled between my legs. His hands were back on my ass, feeling it. Perhaps admiring it. His fingers pushed inside me. One, then two. He twisted them, feeling the slick looseness he created. I whimpered and purred. Then he fell back, exhausted.

My entire body was electrified. I had never been more awake in my life. All the nerves in all the tingly places were firing and my balls felt tight and engorged. I wanted to take him back in my mouth right then and suck him off until the sun burned out. But he was done. I had to be content with spooning into him, inert steel pressed into his ass.

And then we talked. For a long time, he humored me. We talked about our lives, from long before and ever since. Our families. Our careers. And that’s when it hit me. I didn’t just love getting fucked by Frodo. I didn’t just love his cock. I loved him. Romantically. And I always had.

Finally, he could keep himself awake no longer. I realized my side of the conversation was dominating and he was down to replying “mmm-hmm” and “yeah” and I may have been a horned up jackrabbit wanting more dick, but I’m not an idiot. I let him go. He was asleep almost instantly.

I was definitely not. Denial can make sleep hard to begin with. “Just got fucked” denial is the worst. I laid there and looked at my phone then put it down and closed my eyes and then looked at the phone again. Eventually, I don’t even know how much later, I did drift off to a fitful sleep. Every time I turned in bed, the heft between my legs would shift and wake me up. I was intensely aware of being locked. Of feeling the residual lube in my ass. Of that freshly fucked feeling.

Literally everything was distracting.

Part 1
Part 2
Part 4

Weekend by the lake, Part 2

The next day, Frodo ran a long ways. Long for me, anyway. I style myself as a runner (when not injured from running) but I’m nothing compared to him. He runs long distances and at speeds my frame has never been able to match for more than a few minutes at best. The excuse for us being in the nearly terminally quaint town was a half marathon event he signed up for that weekend so, the next day, that’s what he did.

While he was running, I went back to the room to prepare myself for what I hoped would be a really great fucking. The day before had just been the blowjob in the afternoon and then he had to get to sleep for the run, so we didn’t do anything else. I really really wanted him to fuck me so I was going to make sure that as soon as he wanted to fuck me, there would be nothing to stop or even minimally slow it down. Ablutions, shower, etc.

At the finish line, I waited for him. The festive environment made me want to run more again and see if I could get myself up to half-marathon distance, even if it would be at least 50% slower than Frodo. He finished with a time he was very happy with and after milling about the area and cheering a few other runners as they crossed the line, I drove him back to the room.

I had been looking forward to burrowing into his sweaty post-race manliness. His scent the day before from nothing more than a long, sunny car ride was intoxicating to me and that amplified by 13.1 miles of sweat and effort was everything I hoped for. Deeply musky and animal, but not foul. One hundred precent living, healthy masculinity and I wanted it spread all over my body and for his marking to be obvious to all who looked at me.

Alas, what he wanted was more cock sucking. Of course, that’s not a complaint. It’s just…fucking hell, did my ass want his cock. But I’m wired to be whatever he needed me to be right then so I relaxed my jaw the best I could and ignored the raw soreness in the back of my throat from the previous day’s abuse and swallowed as much of his wonderful tool as humanly possible.

Sucking his balls was an opportunity to get more of his pheromones deep into my lungs. To breath in his masculinity and let it work its magic. I rubbed my nose up and down the crack between his cock and his thigh and down under his sack to absorb as much as possible before his inevitable orgasm.

The orgasm, though, was not cooperating though he said I was “a magnificent cocksucker” (*bunny purrs*). He flipped me over on my back and straddled my face with his crotch to lick everywhere under his cock I could get to while he jacked off over me. Assisting masturbation might seem like a let down, but I live to serve sexually and my partner’s pleasure and satisfaction is paramount. It was no insult to me at all that he needed to get himself there. To the contrary, it only made me work harder at whatever task he put to me. In this case, worshiping his balls.

With him on his knees over my face, clutching the headboard, I was left with nothing to do with my hands. I reached down and grabbed and squeezed my balls, feeling the heaviness of the attempted engorgement inside the steel. In all the times Frodo and I have been together like this, he has never paid the slightest bit of attention to my balls or the device or its contents. Barely any incidental contact, he never even mentions or asks about them.

His pointedly intentional lack of attention says that my only sexual use to him is as a mouth, hole, and male body for him to fill and feel. I might as well be a Ken doll between my legs for all it seems to matter to him. So as soon as I grabbed myself and pulled on those things he ignored, it felt…wrong. Too much like I was attempting to pleasure myself that way. In a way he had decided was irrelevant. If he wouldn’t cross that line, what right did I have to? I removed my hands and instead wrapped them up and around his thighs, grabbing his lean runner’s legs and feeling his muscles work beneath his hairy skin. The only thing I’d feel between my legs the whole rest of the trip would be the weight of the steel pulling on me or the strain of the contents pushing against its confinement. And that felt perfectly right. I am to serve sexually and service to Frodo in no way includes that part of my body.

While I was busy figuring out my place in the sexual hierarchy (always last, BTW), Frodo was bringing himself closer and closer to climax, pumping his beautiful cock just above my head. At the critical moment, he lifted his balls out of my face and abruptly stuck the head of his cock in their place and unloaded. Like the time before, shot after shot travelled down his shaft, past my grasping lips, and slammed the back of my throat. I struggled to contain all his seed and for one horrifying second thought I’d choke or gag and possibly waste some of his gift, but I got myself under control and let him fill me. Also like the time before, his moment of climax caused the Steelheart’s contents to strain their hardest.

When he was finished, he withdrew and I swallowed his whole load with one large gulp, savoring the slick consistency and salty, earthy essence he left in my mouth. As his lust subsided, I was left to struggle with the containment of mine. As if his deposit had supercharged my desire. Now that he was done using me, I needed it ten times more. I wanted that hard cock back. I wanted it in my face and in my ass and in my mouth and EVERY. FUCKING. WHERE. Simultaneously. His cock, the center of my universe.

But I was a good rabbit. I didn’t jump him. I kept my place and let him bask. We cleaned up and set off to explore the cute little town together. As we walked across the small parking lot, I wanted everyone who saw us to know the man I was with had just made me his bitch. Again. Me, not them. I was his whore. His, not theirs.

I felt good.

Part 1
Part 3
Part 4