Double denied

In retrospect, I should have taken into account the number of loads he’d already put in or on me in the 50-some hours we had been together. At least one on my face, one in my ass, a couple down my throat. Yet here we were again, going for another.

His hands were on both sides of my head holding it in place while his big cock pistoned in and out of my mouth. All I could hear was the wet slurpy sounds of his thick tool pulling spit out of me and shoving it and some air back in. The kind of attention one in his position gives to a willing hole ready to receive his release. Not me. Not his friend of nearly 40 years. We’d both been reduced to just a hot wet hole and a big thick cock and millions of years of evolutionary imperative to deposit seed.

And I was ready for it. Craved it. Hungered.

But it wasn’t coming. No matter how hard and fast he skull-fucked me. We were going to the well one too many times. He let go of my head and pulled his cock out of it. I gulped air in its absence and stretched my aching jaw as he pulled me up and laid me next to him in the bed. We were ourselves again. The evolutionary fire had receded.

He suggested he needed to rest. I wondered. He had been asleep for hours already. Would a few more minutes make a difference? But we laid there, he embracing me, my head under his chin, my hand on his wide, flat, hair-covered chest. Soon I was dozing. Flitting in and out of early, ephemeral dreams. Then a brief snorting little snore woke me. His, not mine.

I laid there, motionless. Not wanting to disturb him, but also now wide awake. And thinking about his cock. And wanting to grab it. But not grabbing it because he didn’t say I could and I didn’t want to wake him up. But the more I laid there the more I thought about how perfectly I was arranged to stroke him and that caused the persistent snugness inside my metal tube to transition into insistent tightness.

So I laid there. And waited.

Eventually, he woke up. He said something about seeking coffee and breakfast. I don’t know for sure because I had a mission.

“There’s that bottle of lube right over there,” I said as I caressed his stiff nipple. “I could…Pausing as if this was a sudden idea and not the thing taking up all my imagination for the last 15 minutes “…jack you off.”

“Mmm,” he said. “You could.” And he lifted the covers off his thickness. He’s a shower and a grower.

I whipped to the nightstand and squeezed some of the silicone lube into my hand. Then a bit more. No such thing as too much lube when jacking off. I left it in my hand for a bit to warm up, not wanting to shock him. By the time I wrapped my hand around his cock, it had already come back from its slumber.

Jesus Christ. Jeeesus Christ. It felt so good. So natural in my hand. I stroked it the way I knew…remembered…felt good. At once a familiar feeling, but also not. His was so much thicker than I had been. The stroke was longer, too, because he was. And so, so hard. Figurative steel opposed to my literal.

Jesus. A man’s cock. In my hand. My lubed-up hand. And I was stroking it like I used to stroke mine. Back when I had one. If that’s what you could call it, even then. Compared to this?

I pressed the length of my body into his. My left arm behind his shoulders, my right leg over his, my incredibly tight tube pressing into his hip. He was moaning. I was moaning.

“Sounds like you’re stroking yourself,” commented.

All I could do was grunt and whimper into his neck.

I was persistent in my attention, but not overbearing. Not letting my pent up denial cause me to lose my cool.

The pace of his breathing picked up. My breathing picked up. He was flexing his hips sympathetically into my stokes. My hips were grinding into his at the same pace. He was making sounds like he was going to come. I could feel my own orgasm building.

My mind grew fuzzy. I was confused. Overcome by hormones. I wanted to feel his cock flex and pump in my hand. Not wanted. NEEDED. As if my life depended on it. When he came, there was a real chance I would, too. I could feel it right…there. But…is that allowed? I’m not supposed to come unless she gives me permission. And she had not done so. But I couldn’t stop now! Not here. Not with him. I was trapped in the swirling gravity well of his impending orgasm. What would happen? I felt no option but to find out. I was in a barrel riding over his falls, come what (or who) may.

And then…nothing. Nothing at all. He sounded like he was coming. A little. Tricked me for a second as I waited to feel the inevitable surging of his iron-hard tool. Then to see what would happen in my tube. But it didn’t happen. Couldn’t happen. The well was still dry.

The moan I made came from the depth of my being. It was there! Right there!

“Sorry,” he said.


“It’s OK,” I replied (of course), “It’s been…what? Four times? Five? That’s a lot in such a short period.” Meanwhile, the meat in my tube was pounding and pinching and as tight as it could possibly get. Not an atom between meat and metal. A shiny second skin.

“And zero for you,” he said. “None for Thumper. Not now. Not ever.”

I melted.

“Denied your own orgasm,” he continued, “And now denied mine.”

I died. This is me, writing from the Great Beyond. Dead.

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.”


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.

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.