Three on a Date

"The stallion or the man?" the older one asked.

"They are both stallions, James," the younger one said, with a light laugh. "I was speaking of the horse. I've already been ridden by the man. A magnificent beast as well. Thickest cock I've ever taken. And he could ride all night."

The older man gave the younger one a sour look, turned away from him, and took a step away.

"Give over, James," the younger man said. "It was just a joke. Come back."

"Just a joke that Chuck Hastings has fucked you?"

"No, that part isn't a joke," the young man said. "Not a joke at all. Couldn't walk straight for two days."

The older man snorted and continued walking away.

So, his name wasn't really Nash, I thought. I guess I should have assumed that. I wasn't Ty either. I was Travis.

I turned back to watching Nash, if that's what he wanted to be called, in the ring. It was true that he was a magnificent beast. And to think that sometime in the next few hours he'd be fucking me. It caused me to go half hard and to tremble at the thought.

It didn't happen in the next few hours, though. After the auction, Nash went back to the car and brought a duffle bag from the trunk.

"There's someplace for us to change in the stable," he said, as he led us into a cavernous barn and on to a series of workrooms in a wing off the room with the horse stalls. The last in line was a well appointed office and tack room.

"Change?" I asked.

"Yes," Grant answered. "We going to play dress-up for the next stops."

The next stops.

We were all nearly naked and ready to put on the smart dinner clothes they were providing, knowing my sizes precisely—tailored trousers, light cashmere turtle-neck sweaters, and camel-hair jackets—when Nash, who I couldn't help but noticing was hard, muttered, "Fuck it, my balls ache from waiting," and pushed me down on my knees in front of him. "Suck it."

"Here? Won't we be seen? Does the stable owner—?" It wasn't that I was unwilling. It just was all so open.

"I own the stable, and who the fuck cares if we're seen?"

"You said you were interested in exhibitionism." The voice came from behind me. Grant. They'd read my profile closely. Maybe too closely, I thought.

It almost unhinged my jaw to take Nash in my mouth. But take him I did. I even took him when, like the stallion earlier, his cock elongated significantly as I gagged, trying to deep throat it. He placed his hands on the back of my head and guided the face-fucking motion. Grant came in close behind me, rubbed his hard cock on my neck and cheeks from behind, and reached down and twisted my nipples with his fingers, while I writhed between them and, after several minutes, took Nash's cum in my throat.

* * * *

Dinner was nearby, still in the Northern Virginia hunt club region, but in Paris. Not Paris, France. Paris, Virginia. We ate a gourmet meal in a former plantation house, turned country restaurant, the Ashby Inn. The host and waiter seemed to know Grant and Nash well—either that, or they were expertly trained to treat all guests that way. As they treated me well too, it might have been the latter.

We lingered over the meal, wine, port, and coffee. The discussion was about all things other than sex. I could have been out for an evening with well-heeled and well-informed museum colleagues with both an interest in and expertise in all things art, history, and sports. I wondered if, at the end of dinner, this will have been it and I'd be driven back to the city. I'd given them both sex. But, then, Grant had said that Nash would ride and breed me, which hadn't happened yet. But it already was getting late, past ten.

Nash had pulled the car off onto a dirt road through a grove of trees before we'd left the horse stable property.

This is it, I thought. They were going to fuck the shit out of me here and leave me for dead.

"Another change of clothes," Grant said as he was climbing out of the Mustang and Nash was popping the trunk. "We're going clubbing."

This time I was given tight leather trousers with a laced crotch flap that would drop and could be pulled all the way back through my legs and relaced on the waistband behind, leaving both equipment and hole exposed and accessible. The two men had identical pants. And all three of us had mesh athlete T-shirts for on top. And black leather boots. We were triplets. But we wouldn't be triplets for long.

Nash drove the Mustang back toward Washington, D.C., getting off Route 66 at the Route 28 access to Dulles International Airport. The club was in a warehouse district abutting a runway fence of the airport and down an industrial-district road. Everything in the area looked deserted except for the parking lot of the club, which turned out to be a full-scale gay club.

We saddled up to a bar in a big room where music was blasting, a dance floor was jiving and being bombarded with a laser light display, and off to the side, under a lower ceiling and clouds of smoke, several pool tables were in use.

As I drank the beer Grant handed me and leaned back into Nash's lap, he on the stool and me between his legs, I scanned the room. Nash held me to him possessively with his palm pressing where my groin met the inner top of my left thigh. My attention focused on two black bulls playing pool at one of the tables. Clothing was optional in the room, and neither one of them wore any. Their tall, big-boned, muscular frames were magnificent, their half hards were horse hung—even larger if there was something larger on that scale.

Grant, who was sitting on a stool beside us, facing us, a hand on my basket, sensed I was getting excited about something from what he could feel in my crotch. He scanned the room too. "Who do you see, Ty? Who out there do you want? Ah, those two black bulls at the pool table?"

"Yes," I answered in a whisper. I'd never been fucked by a black man before, let alone by a black bull.

"Maybe later," Grant said, "but we're going to the movies now."

"We're leaving the club already?" I asked.

"You sound so disappointed. No, we're not leaving the club. They have an old-style porn movie house right here."

And indeed they did, all with the old theater seating in front of a stage backed by a movie screen. The curved rows of theater seats were set with more than the usual room for legs—or whatever. As we entered, a dancer was just leaving the stage, carrying his feather boa and G-string in his hand, the lights were going down lower, and a movie was coming up on the screen.

A male-on-male-on-male heavy porn movie, of course.

Grant and Nash were sitting on either side of me in a row about half way to the screen. As the movie got under way, Nash was pulling my mesh T over my head and Grant was working the leather trousers down off my legs. So much for us being triplets in our clothes. I wasn't dressed in anything for the rest of the evening at that club.

"Nash is gonna blow you and then fuck you hard now," Grant whispered in my earn. I just moaned my acquiescence and anticipation.

I could barely see what was going on on the movie screen for what was going on in the seating row we were in. There were men—couples mostly—scattered about the room in various stages of cock sucking and copulation. Grant and Nash wasted no time in catching up with them—with me. They had their hands and tongues all over me. Their heads bobbed around between my line of sight and the movie screen until Nash had moved his face down my belly and his mouth onto my cock. Grant was up on his knees in the seat next to me, his arms around my neck, pulling my head back by grabbing and pulling on the hair at the back of my head, his face over mine, taking my mouth with his in deep, tongue penetrating kisses.

Nash sank to the floor between my legs—showing why there was extra spaces between the rows. One after the other, he lifted my legs and hooked them on the seat arms. His hands were clutching my buttocks, rolling my rump up to Nash's searching tongue, which had found my asshole. When his mouth left my cock, Grant's hand replaced it and he slow-stroked me.

"You listed a movie house fantasy," Grant whispered to me when he'd come out of the kiss. He was still holding my head and torso arched back, my head over the seat back with one arm around my neck while he stroked my cock with the hand of the other arm.

I winced as Nash's tongue at my hole was replaced with one search finger, then a second, then a third.

"Open to him. You'll want to be as open to Nash as you can be," Grant whispered. "Remember the white stallion we say. Think of Nash as that white stallion, putting all of that up inside you. Breeding you."

I could see in my peripheral vision that other men were gathering around now, sensing a show to come.

Grant was right. I wanted to be open to Nash even wider than I was when he rose up into a crouch, placed the bulb of his thick, thick cock at my rim and started working his way inside me. I writhed and cried out at the impossibly thick, increasingly long invasion, but they held fast, Grant at my head, Nash holding my legs up and out from the arms of the seat. Other men moved in to help him—to pull my legs up almost to beside my ears, pulling my body up the seat back, drooping my head more over the back of the seat.

Men helped pin my arms down, as Grant scrambled over the back of the bank of seats, cupped my ears with hands on both side, and slid his cock into my mouth.

In to the hilt now, deep inside, still expanding, channel-splitting wide, Nash started to pound my ass in long, deep slides. And then faster and harder thrusts. Grant continued to face fuck me. All around men were groaning and egging Grant and Nash on—and expressing interest in joining them.

I strained at taking Nash. I soared to the heights at taking Nash. To the extent I could, I met his thrusts with counterthrusts and we settled into a mutually satisfying rhythm that led to an ejaculation from each of us.

Nash slurped out of me and fell back into the seat next to mine. He was still fully clothed except for the open flap at the crotch from which his still-throbbing, now-gigantic cock protruded. Grant came down in the seat on the other side of him.

I could see that Nash's cock—of such circumference and length that I still was amazed I had taken it—was dripping with cum. To show him I'd appreciated the taking, I slipped down on the floor between his spread knees and cleaned his cock with my mouth.

"Thanks," he said, with a laugh, "but you're missing the movie."

I returned to my seat, but now I saw that Grant had his cock out and was holding it in his hand. I still didn't see the rest of the movie, because, with a hand on the back of my neck, Grant was forcing me to bend over the arm of the seat and slide my lips down his cock.

So, this is what a three-man date is like, I thought. Double the attention. As soon as one is finished, the other one wants attention. I could see how such a date would be highly taxing.

Grant left the theater before Nash and I did. It wasn't long before I found out why.

When Nash told me it was time for us to go and we exited the theater, he led me further into the club complex rather than back to the main bar room. We went down a corridor with doors to rooms on either side spaced at intervals to indicate same-sized rooms of about eighteen feet in width. The sounds I heard coming from inside the doors of some of these rooms left little doubt that these were rooms for private sex sessions.

The room Nash ushered me into was obviously that. The walls, ceiling, and floor were all a dull black. Prominent in the room were two blue vinyl cube platforms I knew to be called the Liberator—cubes with wedge shapes in the form that aided the angle of penetration during sex. Many such devices had restraints attached to them. These two did. The one in the center of the room was of an elaborate configuration. The one off to the side was simpler in surface structure.

These weren't the only prominent furnishings in the room. Grant, of course, was there. But so were the black bulls I had admired playing pool in the main room. That's where Grant had gone—to enlist the aid of the black bulls. I sensed that I might begin to hyperventilate, so I concentrated on light-pant breathing.

"Lay down on the center cube, Ty," Grant said.

"What?"

"We're all going to fuck you. Your fantasy of black bulls and gang bangs—of bondage and double penetration—with the help of these big bruisers, we're going to fulfill several of your fantasies."

Double penetration. By black bulls. Oh shit.

"Or do you want the date to be over?" he asked. It was a challenge. At several junctures like that, I was offered an out. I would never know if they were serious with the offer, as I never took it. If this was going to be my one "do it all" day, I would suspend all fear and take it.

"Which way do you want me to lie on the cube?" I asked.

He showed me. I was on my back, my head toward the lower incline of a wedge shape and resting on a head rest attached at one end. My wrists went into restraints on the sides of the wedge. The other end of the cube flared out, with side pieces that, when my legs were strapped to them, were raised, spread wide, and bent below my knees, stretching, raising, and bending my legs. I felt like I was going to give birth—except I knew something very big was going to be going in rather than coming out. The edge of the wedge at that end inclined sharply so that my butt resting on it was rolled up.

Meanwhile, Grant was lowering his belly on the cube to the side, his arms and legs being strapped into restraints on the sides of the cube, his butt end at the top of a steeper incline at the back of his cube, which was lower in the middle. His torso was raised a bit on an incline in the other direction. He had been stripped naked. The black bulls already were naked, just as they were at the pool table, but now they were in full erection, licking their lips, moving around the room on the balls of their feet like gliding panthers, waiting for the action to begin, ready to pounce at a signal of release.

After Nash handed around bottles of lube and strings of Magnum packets, the fun began. Nash stripped, saddled up behind Grant, covered Grant's body with his, worked his cock inside Grant, and began to fuck him. I turned my head toward them and tried to concentrate on what they were doing rather than that there was a black bull between my legs working my hole with his lubed fingers and, as I writhed, huffed and puffed, and yielded an occasion expletive and scream, continually urged me to open to him.

"You wanna be more open for this, bitch," he muttered.

When I could feel the knuckles of his hand pressing at my rim, with the four fingers inside me, he seemed satisfied. I struggled against the restraints, arched my back, and cried out to the ceiling, as he worked his cock inside me. Thank god my first black bull was the lesser hung of the two—not that it made much difference.

When he was in and starting to pump, the other black bull came around to my head and dropped the headrest, causing my head to arch back. He grabbed my ears, forced, his cock inside my mouth, managing to get deep because of the angle of my head, and slow pumped my throat. I had to loosen my jaw to take him.

When he pulled out, I understood that relief wasn't in order, because he was smiling and rolling a Magnum onto his cock. He moved out of sight, I felt the other black bull pulling out of me, and the second took over fucking me. The first black bull went over to the other cube and relieved Nash. Nash came over to me and took up the face fuck station at my head. Reaching over my torso, he encased my cock in a hand and started jacking me off.

I came for him fairly quickly, being right on the top edge of arousal at what was happening.

After a good fifteen minutes of pumping inside me, the biggest black bull jerked and filled the bulb of his condom. He pulled out of me and went over to the other cube, where black bull one was still stroking inside Grant's ass. He grabbed Grant by the hair, lifted his head, and pushed his cock inside Grant's mouth. Grant deep-throated him for a few minutes and then pulled his mouth back and was sucking hard on the bulb. Both black bulls unloaded at nearly the same time.

Meanwhile Nash had freed me from the restraints and lowered the leg pieces, but he came up on the surface of the cube, pushed his knees under my buttocks, entered my now-gaping hole with his thick cock—which I could now take easily after the reaming by the black bulls—embraced me close, possessed my lips with his, and pistoned my channel hard. He wasn't wearing a condom, and I knew when he had creamed me deep inside.

"Whooee, love barebacking you, Ty," he murmured. "Glad you requested it."

I didn't remember requesting it. But it was glorious. I just hoped . . .

He left me and I lay there, exhausted and watching the other cube as the black bulls finished with Grant. When they had done so, they freed him, he hobbled off the cube, and the bigger of the two turned and said, "We're ready for him."

Ready for me?

Grant and Nash both moved me over to the other cube and the smaller black laid on it on his back, his cock hard again and jutting up to the ceiling.

"Ride the cock," Grant commanded, and I dutifully crawled over his waist, facing him, and, with Grant's help, lowered my channel on his cock.

I didn't have time for more than a dozen rises and falls on the cock, when he was enveloping me in his arms and pulling my chest down to his, which rolled my buttocks up . . . and which gave the other black bull the right angle to saddle up behind me and start working his cock into my channel on top of his buddies. He was the one who stroked me, while I went from weeping and crying out for mercy to whimpering and groaning to near semiconsciousness.

Afterward I lay there, sprawled on the cube, moaning and whimpering, while the four of them chatted, reviewed what they'd done, and said their good-byes.

The two black bulls left the room, and I moaned in reviewing what had been done to me in this room, both shocked and exhilarated by it. I'd done it. I'd taken two cocks at once. If I never did so again . . .

But then I realized that Grant and Nash were approaching me with big grins. Grant lay on his back at the end of the cube, his feet on the floor, me on top of him, facing away, my channel sheathing his cock. The palms of Grants hands were clutching my pecs. Nash approached from in front of me, reaching down and grabbing my ankles, wishboning my legs, pushing his pelvis between my thighs, screwing that thick, thick, thick cock inside me on top of Grants. And beginning to pump. As he pumped, he reached between us, fisted my cock, and began to stroke it in the rhythm of the fuck.

"Want you to remember DPing real good," Grant muttered.

* * * *

"Good for you. You passed the tests."

"Tests? What tests?" I asked Grant, turning my face to him. The three of us were sitting on the Liberator cube he'd been fucked on—that I'd been double fucked on. The incline wedges at either end of the cube had been lowered so that the surface was flat. We had showered in a bathroom connected to this room and put our party clothes back on—the leather pants and boots and the mesh T-shirts.

"You apparently are game for just about anything," he said. "You didn't flinch, even from the DP."

"I was curious," I answered. "And I've been frustrated with vanilla. It doesn't mean that I do this every day."

"You wouldn't be willing to do it again?" Grant asked, taking a sharp look at me.

"I didn't say never again," I answered, defensively.

"But has the date lived up to your expectations?"

"In spades, yes," I answered. "Are we driving back to D.C. now?"