IMAGINATION MORPHS INTO REALITY
Doug Harrison
The tropical noonday sun forced its way through my closed eyelids. Or was it intuition that woke me from a dreamy slumber to scan the Hawaiian surf? No matter. I raised myself on my elbows, conscious of my eager hard-on straining painfully against the metal and leather confines of my cock cage—deliciously decadent on a family beach. He was standing waist deep in shimmering, sea-green water, staring at me. I grinned, he smiled. He was too far away for me to scrutinize his facial features, but I sensed he was handsome. And what a body, at least the upper half: broad shoulders, very broad indeed; wellsculpted biceps; a strong chest and clearly defined pecs whose cleavage pointed to classic washboard abs. I’d read that women are most attracted to great abs. If so, he could have any woman on the beach.
But he was still staring at me. Me! He reached under the water and appeared to adjust his swimsuit. Board shorts? Trunks? Speedos? A bikini? A thong? He answered my query by turning, jumping and diving into an oncoming wave. What a butt! At least from a distance. Not a bubblebutt, but solid muscle held prisoner by a white bikini. He disappeared for a few disappointing but teasing seconds and popped up in a quiet trough beyond the breaking waves. Then, with powerful strokes, he swam in my direction, parallel to the shore. Again he stood, now nipple deep. His smile broadened, if such were possible, and he dove into the tumbling surf. He emerged facing me directly, foaming water surging about his knees. He shook shimmering droplets from his light brown hair and torso, which was covered with a fine coat of brown wisps. Not overly hairy, mind you, but just enough to accentuate his masculinity, strong but gentle. A gold ring swung from each nipple. His left earlobe sported a similar ring.
Online ads for white and yellow racing bikinis often carry the warning that such apparel becomes transparent when wet, an enticement to buy a jock, perhaps, but certainly not for the shy. My Adonis was anything but that. The suit clung to him like a second skin. His long dick stretched from his pelvic bone almost to his hip, leaving no doubt whatsoever that he was circumcised. Two drawstrings fell over the edge of the suit, and their ends curled around the base of his balls, which were tightly cupped by the pouch’s lower contours. They were large, at least in my book, and they hadn’t contracted much, if at all. I stared. What’s a boy to do?
I fantasized kneeling in front of him, sliding his suit over his hairy legs—he steps out of it, his dick springs to attention, my mouth closes over his balls, perhaps urging them all the way in with my hands if necessary; slack jaw and pursed lips are a staple of my repertoire. And then teasing his balls with my tongue and a slight tug of my head while running my fingers over his dick prior to stroking it. And, finally, oh, yes, taking that dick in my mouth, grabbing his hips, pulling him into me, all the way in, burying my nose in his crotch fur.
My cock pulsed and ached, testing the limits of my cock cage.
He strode toward me, his pace a delicate and perhaps deliberate balance between eager jog and contained lope. I sat up. My butt plug provided a gentle but insistent reminder of its presence. He halted at the edge of our large rainbow blanket and scrutinized me, hands across his chest, his dick also throbbing. I guess I looked embarrassed, but hopeful. What, me a tease? What would Daddy think?
My visitor relaxed with his hands behind his back, probably resting on his gorgeous butt. His posture reminded me of a hunk leaning against a lamppost, but there was no pole to support him, just firm muscle. He slid into a seductive pose from which the slightly concave curvature of his torso emerged. I’d heard that some guys have eight-packs, but I was more than grateful to worship the six-pack hunk appraising me. A furrow ran from his pecs to his navel, bisecting his torso, and heightened his abs. I puffed out my chest.
“Aloha, I’m Craig.” His voice was a perfect fit to a perfect body, a resonant baritone, secure in cadence and measured in tone. He knelt on his haunches and held out his hand. I didn’t hesitate, drawn by his humongous biceps, and reached over to him, expecting a bone-crunching grasp, but was rewarded with a firm yet tender, almost enticing grip. Was I reading too much into this encounter? Well, he did approach me. Now what to do? I felt like a fisherman who had snagged a marlin almost too large for his small boat. Craig was about ten years older than my twenty-five. Let him take the lead.
This aloha business still felt strange, but I went for it anyway. “Aloha, I’m Jim,” I replied, and smiled. I breathed deeply and drifted into his salt-water aroma. He wasn’t trailing seaweed, but he sure did smell like the ocean, with a hint of sweet brine, a fragrance. I longed to lick him dry, linger at the pleats of his chest muscles, lick his pits and burrow between his asscheeks. My mind conjured an image of him staked out on the hot sand, four limbs pulled taut, struggling, straining, his dick pointing to the heavens as I stroked myself into a glorious release.…
“Boy Jim, I gather,” Craig said, looking at my glistening collar of polished stainless steel links secured by a padlock. I nodded.
Craig glanced at the torso-shaped indent in our blanket. “Where’s Daddy?”
“Taking a leak.”
“He’s got himself one hell of a good-looking boy. Cute, and a great body.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re a few inches shorter than me, and wiry like a male model—not the beefy Charles Atlas type, more like someone from Physique Pictorial. Where did those muscles come from?”
“I’m a gymnast.”
“I could have guessed. With a little weight lifting thrown in to keep in tone?”
“Yep.”
“Like bench presses, flys, pullovers.”
“Yep.”
Craig waited.
“And a few more,” I offered with a shrug. “Curls, raises, and crunches and sit-ups. And yoga to keep limber.”
I paused, then added, “Looks like you’ve been through the drill.”
“Yeah, but you’re something else. Wish I had my camera.”
I blushed, although my flush probably didn’t show through my freckles and ruddy skin. My father was a redhead, and I carried on the family tradition, although my hair was closely cropped into a crew cut, unlike the few strands Dad combed and carefully, indeed artistically, draped over his forehead. My time would come, but, for now, I’d make the most of my good looks.
Craig looked over my shoulder.
“Putting the make on my boy?” I heard Daddy ask. I couldn’t see if he wore a frown or a smirk.
“Just getting acquainted,” Craig answered, standing to his full height, which about matched Daddy’s six-one.
“So I see,” Daddy said, glancing at Craig’s crotch. He pushed his hand forward.
The two men shook, and Craig winced. Daddy left no doubt as to who was in charge, but tempered his authority with an invitation.
“I’m Glen,” Daddy said, and added, “pull up your towel.”
“I’m Craig. Yeah, I’d like to.” He glanced at me, turned and jogged off.
Daddy put his hands on his hips and stared down at me. Great bod, but far, far too much was hidden by his baggy blue nylon surfer board shorts. And good grief—he wouldn’t know which end of a surfboard to push into the water. He’s an engineer and could quickly figure it out. But mounting it? Ha!
“So, my boy’s been flirting, huh?” Daddy asked as he cuffed my shoulder.
“Well…er…I…uh, well, he came over here. Sir!”
“With an encouraging come-hither look from you?”
I counted my toes.
“It’s okay, boy. If you’re gonna fish, catch a good one. And you did.” He plopped down and stretched out beside me. I lay back and snuck a quick peek at my chest and stomach, which looked exceptionally delineated at this sharp angle. Daddy put his forearm under my neck and pulled himself closer to me. Goose bumps erupted as his torso slid along mine, despite his shorts. He tugged on my collar. “Whatever happens, you’re my boy—you know that—but occasionally I like to share.” He paused. “With the right person.”
Jesus, I thought, so now I’m a boy toy. Well, I still have one aperture unplugged. I licked my lips.
Daddy closed his eyes. I admired his body for the umpteenth time. My Daddy! Fuck! Holy fuck! Bristles of black hair pushed through his shaved torso; he still modeled and “acted” in porn videos, even at his age. He delighted in my giggles whenever he lowered himself onto my body and playfully slithered his scratchy chest over mine before fucking me hard. Like Craig, he had great abs, and his muscles stood out in a heavy basrelief: three horizontal lines cut across his trunk, announcing a six-pack from hell and accentuating his obliques. He wore his thick black hair on the longish side, and I loved to see him shake his head as he peered through uncooperative strands when he procrastinated over a much-needed hair cut. Square jaw, Aquiline nose. A five o’clock shadow that appeared about three p.m. Long legs firm from years of running, mostly track and around our flat town, not much hill work—which was obvious from his great calves, but his thighs needed gym persuasion.
We’re both athletic, although we focus on different activities. And we’re pretty well matched otherwise—sharp technical minds; we both joke a lot, are partial to puns but tend to be deep thinkers. Our coffee table and bedside tables are piled with scientific mags and journals, and, I must admit, sci-fi, adventure, and spy novels. The trait we have most in common is the love we have for each other, a spiritual marriage I can feel but not explain, a match of beautiful bodies and beautiful minds.
Craig approached with a white beach towel draped over his shoulder. Daddy motioned him to the far side of the blanket. Craig positioned his towel contiguous to Daddy’s side of the blanket and stretched out. Two hard-ons out of three wasn’t bad, and just maybe there was a third one under those damn board shorts.
“So, where are you from?” Daddy asked Craig.
“Born and raised in upper state New York. Good place to leave behind. I prefer warm weather, so I made my way to California.”
“And your line of work,” Daddy pressed on, “if I may ask?”
“Oh, sure, I’m a personal fitness coach and a masseur. Have a space here in Kona where I see clients, some on a regular basis, some vacationers. Also go to other islands, Kauai and Maui, once a month.”
“So that’s why you’re so buffed.”
“Yeah, I have to set a good example—can’t be a chef who won’t sample his own creations.”
Daddy raised an eyebrow and cocked his head.
“Yeah,” Craig offered, “sometimes I give more than a massage.”
“What’s your client base?”
“Oh, the cross section is pretty even—young, old, men and women.”
Daddy raised himself to a sitting position. “And which side of the pond do you fish in?”
Craig threw his head back and laughed. “Both sides.”
Daddy relaxed with his arms underneath his head.
“So, what’s your line of work?” Craig asked as he scanned Daddy’s body.
“Engineer, somewhat specialized.” His eyes locked onto Craig’s and they swam in each other’s gaze. “I pull a few hours from a hectic Silicon Valley schedule to make it to the gym with forays to the track, especially on weekends—I enjoy long, solitary runs.” Daddy smiled and Craig threw him a thumbs-up.
I scowled.
Just then two girls, or should I say young ladies, sauntered by. They weren’t the Playboy Bunny type, but close enough. They wore matching orange string bikinis, covering their crotches but not their butts. Not too bad for a woman. Their halter thingies covered their nipples, but just barely. Craig watched them closely, but Daddy couldn’t care less. They were gym toned, with small but well-defined biceps, a smattering of ab development, and firm thighs, and probably entered physique contests. What was going on? A freakin’ convention? A nearby body building competition? Well, I guess the well-heeled pot-bellied, bald business execs and their overweight, bejeweled wives with beehive hairdos claimed some other portion of the beach—like unto like. The Amazons looked toward us, giggled, linked arms and ran into the water.
“Are we supposed to follow?” Daddy teased.
“You won’t keep up with them in those balloon pants,” I snapped.
“All right, wise-ass,” Daddy said, and stood. He untied his drawstring with a fluid motion. Then he teased his long Velcro fly open, reveling in the staccato crackle he orchestrated. Finally, ever so slowly, he lowered his shorts. The top of a black Speedo appeared. Next the crotch. Then his knees.
“Go haole, go!” A cluster of Hawaiian teenage boys hooted and threw Daddy a shaka.
He lowered his clown pants to the ground, stepped out and tossed them onto our pile of clothes.
“Satisfied?” he beamed.
My “Yes, Sir!” and Craig’s “Yeah!” were an impromptu offkey duet.
Daddy did a half turn and faced the boys, arms akimbo.
“You’re a walking gym ad,” one shouted.
“Mahalo,” Daddy answered, and turned back to us.
Daddy hadn’t shaved his legs—his last “appearance” didn’t require it—and his leg fur turned me on, as usual. A tuft of black hair rose from the rear of his suit, reaching for the small of his back.
He kicked my leg. “Roll over,” he ordered, “it’s your turn.”
“Daddiee,” I whined.
“No arguments,” he said. “Do it now.”
I complied. Slowly. Craig raised himself onto his elbow. “Good goddamn, he’s wearing a thong.”
My entire body blushed.
“What a motherfuckin’ bubblebutt,” Craig said. “And stripes! A great caning job—well spaced and even on both sides. More surprises in this little family.”
Daddy swatted both my cheeks with his palms, and none too gently.
“Yeouch,” I yelled, and jumped into a crouch.
“I see the outlines of a butt plug,” Craig announced.
“Yep,” said Daddy. “He takes a medium thong and a large butt plug. Hard to dress.”
“Jesus Christ!” I pounded my fists into the blanket.
“He loves the attention,” Craig hooted.
“You’ve got his number,” Daddy shot back.
“I’d like to get something else from him,” Craig said. I turned my head to catch his wink. Almost threw my neck out of joint. Hard work, this being a boy toy.
“His body really turns me on: those wide, defined, V-shaped trapezius muscles… like a stingray,” he snickered, and droned on, theatrically, “the narrow hips, the ass from hell, enough to drive any man crazy. Great legs, too. I love the light blond fuzz.”
“Don’t pop your britches,” Daddy guffawed.
“I’ve already stained them—I’m a dribbler. Particularly with a live centerfold.”
That did it! I hopped to my feet.
“I’m not a freakin’ object,” I yelled with clenched fists.
“No, an objet d’art,” Craig said with soothing tones. “I’ve never seen such physical perfection in a boy. And a sharp mind to boot, I’ll venture.”
“Mais oui,” Daddy nodded with a mischievous smirk. “That’s why I corralled him. A smart, frisky colt.”
Oh, god, I was really feeling the cage now. My engorged cock ached against its leather and metal confines. I rubbed my crotch.
Daddy swatted my hand, pulled Craig toward him, and forced us into a tight circle.
“Lower your thong, boy,” he ordered.
“Daddy, pleeez!” I whinnied.
“Just the front. No one will notice.”
Craig put his arms over my shoulders and peered at my crotch.
“We’re waiting,” Daddy said.
I looked around. No one was watching. The boys had left. The two girls were off in Lesbo Land somewhere, I guessed. So I did it. My cock sprang up to my belly, cage and all, and landed with a thwap. My dickhead, covered with precum, strained and pulsed against the cage’s cylindrical tip. We all three stared at it.
“Clean yourself, boy,” Daddy ordered, and I caught Craig’s leer. I stuck my index finger into the end of my penis prison and swiped the tip of my cock. I hesitated. Where to wipe my finger? Daddy solved my conundrum.
“Lick it clean!”
Well, it’s not like I hadn’t done this before. My finger flew in and out of my mouth at record speed, and then my hand disappeared behind my back.
“Not done yet,” Daddy barked. I blanched.
“Mind if I finish the job?” Craig asked.
Daddy raised his eyebrows a tad and replied with a thumbs-up. I took a deep breath and relaxed. Oh, boy!
Craig squeezed, pushed, and rotated three fingers into the cage. His fingernails were trimmed to the quick. He massaged my dickhead, languorously withdrew his hand, raised it to his mouth, smiled and leisurely cleaned his fingers, a contented cat grooming himself.
“Good-tasting boy,” Craig said to Daddy, not even looking at me. I bit my lip.
“Let’s take a quick dip and head back to our room,” Daddy suggested. “We’re here at the Guiltmore for the rest of the week.” He winked and nudged Craig, who replied, “Sure. Hot damn!” perhaps a bit too vigorously.
“Pull up your pants, boy,” Daddy commanded. Which I did. Like, fast. Daddy and Craig stood on each side of me; we all linked arms and ran into the waves. Well, they sorta carried me. But I didn’t give a damn who saw my ass. After all, it had been anointed a bubblebutt. I would’ve wiggled it at any nosy onlookers, had there been any; seagulls didn’t count.
They dropped me in waist-deep water. I stood with my arms folded across my chest.
“Com’on, boy, enjoy the water,” Daddy cajoled.
“Uh, I’ll catch up. I’ll just take it one drop at a time.”
Craig grabbed Daddy’s arm. They disappeared into a wave like two frolicking dolphins, black-clad butt and white-clad butt, yin and yang. They emerged on the other side of the crest, put their arms around each other, and sunk from view. What the hell is going on down there? Well, it couldn’t last too long. Craig popped up, his suit at midthigh, gulped some air and sank from view. Next Daddy rose, floating on his stomach, his suit also inappropriately placed. His tan torso, which played counterpoint with his bobbing white butt, glistened in the noonday sun, each droplet of water a small prism that captured the light and scattered it into minuscule rainbows. Two arms appeared around his waist, and he pumped his ass a few times before he jackknifed. The water churned as arms, legs and torsos swirled like intertwined pinwheels. A large wave plunged over them and they burst through the surface, sputtering, and stood in crotchdeep water. Their suits were still midthigh, and two hard dicks pointed at each other as they bobbed in and out of the receding wave. They threw back their heads and howled. Then they wrapped their arms about each other and kissed while reluctantly but diligently tugging each other’s suits to respectable, responsible positions, though two bulges remained more than evident. Can their inseams tolerate any more abuse? I turned and slogged back to the blanket.
I sat and locked my arms around my bent knees. I like to watch Daddy grooving with a woman or two at a party, maybe even pumpin’ pussy, but that’s just play. This man-to-man stuff is scary. I didn’t know Daddy could be attracted to older men. He’s stepping out of his role—jeez—maybe it just is a role. Like, is he a real Daddy? Gosh, he has to follow his heart, but can it be away from me?
The two men lunged through knee-deep water and marched across the shallows. They were holding hands and laughing as they ran up to me. I stared uncertainly at them. Daddy sat and draped his arm around my neck. I shrugged. Daddy glanced at Craig, who stood with his hands at his side.
“Craig, move your towel over there,” he requested.
Craig moved quickly to comply. He sat on his repositioned towel and draped his arm around my other shoulder. I took a deep breath, looked at Daddy, over to Craig and back at Daddy.
What’s with me?
Prickly fingers were kneading my stomach, just like before a final exam I wasn’t prepared for. Only now my abdomen was a cauldron sending flashes of hot fire throughout my body.
Don’t I even get a vote? Guess not. I’m not Daddy’s slave—I didn’t sign a contract giving him absolute authority and power. Still, I’m his boy—I passed my qualifying exams long ago. And we discuss lots of things, like picking TV shows, even coming here. He must’ve really fallen for Craig. Shit! Guess I’ll just gave to play along and see what happens. Fuck! Do I really have any choice?
Daddy rested his free hand on my knee. “It’s okay, boy.”
Craig withdrew his hand, folded his palms in his lap and lowered his head.
“I should leave,” he mumbled.
I looked over at him. Aside from Daddy, he was the only man I had met who possessed the sublime mixture of passion, compassion and beauty I desired. He wore his selfless mantle well, even in wet, skimpy Speedos, no regal robes required.
“Don’t leave,” I whispered. Now what? Then, like the chorus from Verdi’s Nabucco, “Fly thought, on golden wings,” a compelling concept rose to my consciousness.
“Daddy’s love, my love, yeah, like…like our love, can grow to include others,” I mumbled sotto voce.
Craig and Daddy looked at each other.
“Let’s hightail it to our room and explore this situation,” Daddy suggested. I stood. Craig slowly rose and hugged me, tentative at first, but I melded into him and he squeezed the breath from me.
Daddy stepped into his clown pants, I slid into my beach bum shorts and Craig wrapped his towel around his waist. We packed our crap and hiked back to our condo, swaggering as close as our paraphernalia would allow, but with no hands free to clutch and swing. We passed under tall palm trees, all trimmed to a fair-thee-well and coconut-free, of course, to protect the tourists, past lush, manicured gardens with a panoply of plants, none of which I recognized, except orchids and huge white and yellow trumpet bushes.
We provoked a few stares, but so fuckin’ what? I was escorted by two gorgeous hunks, perfect candidates for Buckingham Palace Guards. A thought surfaced: Some Daddies have a stable of boys; can a boy have more than one Daddy?
We scuttled across the lobby and past the SHIRTS REQUIRED sign. Daddy forced a closing elevator door open, and we squeezed into the crowded lift, our backs and chests sporting a few droplets of water and stubborn grains of sand, to a few “Humpfs.” Tough shit, prim and proper prudes! We added our masculine aroma to a metallic shell that imprisoned the stench of perfume, aftershave, and aloha shirts drenched with perspiration and cigar smoke.
“Eight, please,” Daddy requested.
No one moved.
Craig jostled his way to the floor panel, pushed the requisite button, squared his shoulders—and his towel slid to the floor. A gasp. A chuckle. Craig flexed his back muscles, reached to retrieve the towel and draped it over his shoulders. More than one woman stared at his crotch when he turned. We arrived at eight and scuttled into the hallway. A man started to disembark before a shrill voice stopped him: “No dear, let’s go to nine and walk down.” We clomped into our room and cracked up.
Daddy stepped out of his board shorts, I grabbed Craig’s towel and then hopped out of my shorts before hanging them in the bathroom to dry.
“Beer?” Daddy asked Craig.
“Goes through me so fast I’ll have to pee straightaway.”
“It’s okay, boy will take care of you,” Daddy replied as he glanced my way. I raised one eyebrow as I fetched a diet soda.
“Bottoms up!” Daddy toasted. Both men looked at me. I lowered my head to hide my smile. Overeagerness can be a bottom’s bane. Daddy spread a large white fluffy towel on the couch and perched. I sat next to him while Craig sneered at a piss elegant wing chair and sprawled on the rug.
“So, Jim. How did you get into this boy business?”
I put my soda down and snuggled closer to Daddy.
“I grew up in New England. Went to school in Boston. Majored in physics. I enjoyed mechanics and thermo a lot, so I stayed an extra year and took a double major in M.E.—mechanical engineering, that is.”
Craig raised his eyebrows. “I knew you were one smart guy.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“And sexy as hell to boot,” Craig added, as he stroked himself.
I mimicked his stroking motions and continued.
“With that background I didn’t have any trouble landing a job in the aerospace industry, so, like Daddy, I came west.”
Craig focused on my collar.
“Yeah, well, I went the straight route in high school, discovered guys in college, or, should I say, to be politically correct, explored my sexuality.”
We all laughed.
“Some interesting fags are to be found in frat houses. And, surreptitiously, gay porn. I saw one of Daddy’s flicks. His scenes were fodder for many of my JO sessions. I decided to track him down after I graduated.”
“How the hell did you do that?” Craig asked.
“After passing courses in advanced math and relativistic quantum mechanics, it was no sweat. I just sent a fan letter to one of the companies he worked for. With a few pictures thrown in.”
We all laughed.
“And the rest is history,” Daddy concluded.
“I’ll drink to that,” Craig said as he downed the rest of his beer. Daddy and I followed suit. “Let’s watch the sunset.”
We stepped onto the balcony and plunked our drinks on the ledge. I stood between Daddy and Craig, and we wrapped our arms around each other’s waists as the bottom of the setting sun kissed the distant waterline. Sailboats, skiffs and fishing boats made their way to the local pier. A few het couples carrying blankets and small coolers passed below us, headed for the beach and hanky-panky, most likely. Daddy’s gaze trailed them into the shadows.
“What was your most interesting experience as a masseur?” Daddy asked Craig.
Craig replied without hesitation. “It was with a young married couple, both good looking. Sharp, too, judging by the way they negotiated my fee. I fucked her while he watched, then I fucked him while she watched. They had a camcorder going.” Craig paused for dramatic effect. “Then he fucked her in the ass doggie-style while I screwed him doggie-style. Quite the arrangement. I was actually pushing him deep into her.”
“Probably work with three guys,” Daddy said.
“Oh, sure,” Craig answered.
He leaned over and placed his elbows on the ledge, stretched his lanky legs, and crossed his ankles. The dim light cast shadows among the ridges of his taut quads and hamstrings. I fumbled with my drink as I fought the urge to kneel between him and the railing, scratched knees and back notwithstanding, yank his suit down until his boner whacked me in the face, and service his big dick.
Daddy stepped behind me, placed his palms on the ledge, and captured me scissor-like with his hips.
Craig scanned the peaceful vista.
“Beautiful,” he said. “I always enjoy this view.”
We rested in silence as the sun slid farther below the horizon.
“Perhaps we’ll be lucky enough to see a green flash,” Craig said.
Daddy lowered my thong. I forced my legs farther apart so I could feel the wet surface twisting the hair as he tugged away. Daddy lowered his own suit. His long, hard dick pressed into my buttcrack.
“Ever see a blue flash?” I asked as I backed more into Daddy.
“Nope, not lucky enough,” Craig answered.
Daddy began a gentle pumping motion.
“Very rare, even on a clear night,” Craig added.
I gasped, not an announcement of gained scientific insight, but an appreciation of raw, rutting sex.
Craig looked our way.
“We should go inside,” he urged. “We’re not the only ones watching the sunset.”
True, the balconies on either side of ours held chatty couples whom I hadn’t noticed. It was dark by now, and we went indoors without pulling up our suits. A gentle breeze wafted in from the ocean.
“Let’s go into the bathroom, Sirs,” I suggested, hoping I wasn’t being too forward.
“Okay, Sir boy,” Daddy replied. His grin would have shamed the Cheshire cat.
They followed me into the bathroom.
“Time for our shower. Will three guys fit in there?” Craig asked.
“Not yet,” I replied. “Face each other.”
“Well, well,” Craig said.
I put my hands on their shoulders and nudged them closer. They pressed into each other and linked hands. I grabbed a gigantic white towel and swiped their backs simultaneously. They moaned and groaned when I wiped their asses and legs. I paused. Then I knelt and buried my face in Daddy’s crack.
“Jesus,” he said.
I burrowed deeper and used my teeth to tug on a few hairs. I ran my tongue around his hole and pushed in as far as possible, which wasn’t too deep since he was standing, but I did my best. My efforts were appreciated, judging by Daddy’s purring.
I withdrew, uttered a slow “Yummy,” licked my lips, and crawled around to Craig. I went to work on his muscular ass. At last! I nibbled each orb and did my best to make him purr as well. I succeeded and stood.
“Now for the front. Face me,” I ordered. They followed instructions okay—for Daddies.
I wiped their chests, pinching a nipple or two through the fluffy towel. Then I squatted and blew on their dicks as I daubed their crotches and worked my way down to their toes.
“Feels great,” Daddy said.
“Yeah,” Craig added, “real good.”
Their dicks reflected their delight. And their asses looked fantastic in the mirror. I tossed the towel to one side.
Daddy looked me in the eye. “Kneel,” he ordered.
I opened my mouth and took his dick. I could tell he wanted to pee before he got real hard.
“I know you can take two dicks, boy. But can you take two pissing dicks?” he asked.
“Christ almighty,” Craig said.
I pulled the edge of my mouth as far wide as I could with my index finger, and Daddy guided Craig’s dick into me. I clamped down softly.
Daddy put his arm around Craig’s waist and Craig followed suit. Then Daddy started. Just a few drops. Likewise, Craig. Daddy’s flow increased and so did Craig’s.
I held my head back, throat open, and gulped as fast as I could. Finally, my eyes must have bulged, ’cause Daddy said, “That’s enough, let’s finish in the toilet.” I sank back on the floor, their piss sloshing in my stomach.
They shook their dicks and stared at me. “Great job, boy!” Daddy said. Craig concurred. “Water?” Daddy asked.
“No, thanks,” I answered and licked my lips. My cock cage pointed straight up.
“Stay in here until summoned,” I said in a mock gruff tone as I scampered into the bedroom and closed the door. I didn’t know what they’d do, but I sure knew where I was headed. I donned an outfit and oiled my body. An enormous mirror hung above the breakfront that stretched along the wall facing the king-sized four-poster bed. I lit an emergency hurricane lamp, fluffed up four bed pillows, and doused the overhead lights. An eerie, seductive glow pervaded the room.
I crouched in the corner.
“Come in,” I said in a seductive tone. “But first turn off the bathroom light.”
The door opened.
“Holy shit!” Craig exclaimed.
Daddy chuckled. “Guess we belong on the bed.”
I crawled over to the dresser and pushed the start button on my iPod. Disco music filled the room.
I grasped the footboard and slowly rose as I leaned back, knowing full well that they could see the amorphous reflection of my flexed back muscles in the mirror.
Daddy and Craig were embedded in the pillows, hands across their chests. They applauded when they saw my bare chest and Daddy’s surfer shorts. I lowered the waistband until the top of my red thong peeked out, and rubbed my taut abdomen.
“Take it off, take it off,” they yelled.
I pulled my shorts back up.
I did a full turn and grabbed one of the six-foot-tall bedposts, humped it in time to the raucous beat, and lowered my shorts. I caressed the crotch of my thong; the outline of my cock cage was clearly delineated. I pranced, stepped out of the shorts, and threw them a kiss. I did a half turn, leaned my bare ass into the footboard, wiggled it, slid back to my ersatz pole, pulled myself partway up, locked my legs around the slippery wood, and gyrated. The applause was deafening in our small room. Finally, I hopped onto the bed and seductively lowered my thong, which I kicked into Craig’s face. I stood motionless, hands on hips, in a bulging black posing strap, its thin white strings climbing over the natural curves of my hips and disappearing into my buttcrack. More applause accompanied hoots and hollers. I did a backflip off the bed, landed on my feet, and finished my performance with a wild dance, replete with turns, kicks and sidesteps. The music stopped as I did a split, legs flat on the floor, with my disembodied shit-eatin’ grin above the headboard.
There was no immediate applause. My audience was too busy wanking. I turned up the room light a tad and disappeared into the kitchen.
I returned naked, except for my cock cage, with three cans of soda. Craig and Daddy slid apart and I slithered between them.
“Great show, my beautiful boy,” Daddy chuckled.
“Yeah,” Craig said. “Such a beauty.”
We drank in silence.
Daddy raised his index finger to his chin. “On your knees boy, facing the headboard,” he ordered.
“Yes Sir!”
Daddy fluffed the pillow between me and the headboard.
“All right if Craig fucks you?” he asked.
“Er, yes, Sir,” I replied, not wanting to appear overeager as my cock stiffened again.
“Good! And I’ll fuck Craig. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Both men put on rubbers and Craig lubed my hole while Daddy greased Craig’s. There was some finger poking and prodding, but not much was needed for two hungry, greedy cavities. I was glad for short, smooth fingernails. Craig and I spread our legs.
And then it began. Oh, yeah! The fuck of my life.
Craig knelt and pushed his way into me. I took all of his long dick and he flopped onto my back, his arms on either side of me, push-up style. He grunted as Daddy entered him slowly, pulled back slightly, pushed in a bit more, pulled back again and then with a mighty shove made it all the way in. Craig yelped. Daddy must’ve plopped onto Craig’s back, ’cause Craig felt heavier.
Daddy started a slow pump, Craig followed, and I inched forward. I couldn’t decide if I should brace myself or go with the flow. I relaxed and went where two sweaty, grunting hunks propelled me, which was into the pillow. I grabbed the headboard and pushed back and forced Craig’s dick deeper into me, which had a chain reaction effect on Daddy’s dick.
“Ride ’em, cowboy!” Craig hooted.
“Fuck me, Sirs, oh, yeah, fuck this boy good, real good!” I screamed.
“You got it, boy!” Daddy answered and threw his weight into Craig.
“Oh shit, I’m coming,” Craig howled. “I’m gonna fill your boy up.”
“I’m with you!” Daddy bayed.
“Yeah, dump your load in me, big Daddy!” Craig answered with a final thrust. I swear I could feel his condom swelling in me. He collapsed onto my back, panting, and our perspiration joined into a slippery puddle—which only made him slide farther along my back with Daddy’s final heave.
“Jesus!” Daddy bellowed. He paused, pulled out with a pop and collapsed onto his back. Craig followed. The two men lay side by side, perpendicular to me, breathing hard. I turned and lay facedown next to them, sweaty and sore, and reveled in my bliss.
Daddy got up and brought us each a bottle of fresh water. We gulped in contented silence.
“Your boy hasn’t come yet,” Craig announced.
Daddy retrieved a key and handed it to Craig. We both stood, me stock-still. Craig knelt in front of me, finally figured out my cage’s lock and clasp arrangement, fumbled with the lock and unfastened the strap that circumscribed my cock and balls. Then he slowly, ever so carefully pulled the cage off. Daddy watched the entire process. His smile broadened and he pleasured himself as Craig completed each step.
Craig threw the cage onto the bed, put his hands around my hips and drew me into his mouth—not with a slow, deliberate, teasing motion, but rapidly, greedily, insistently. No complaints from me. And this was the best way yet to view those shoulders and biceps. I grabbed the back of his head. Daddy straddled Craig’s ass and latched on to my nipples, knowing only too well what I needed, what I craved. Craig laved my dickhead and shaft with copious spit, in, out, in, out, and Daddy matched Craig’s motions with tit pinching and pulling. It didn’t take long.
I spurted. And I continued to spurt through spasm after spasm. Because I was young. Because it had been so long. Because I wanted this man. And Craig took it all, took my essence, drew my boyhood into him.
I screamed “Daddy,” and then clutched Craig in my crotch as I softened and my breathing subsided. I let go and he sat cross-legged in front of me. I leaned over and ran my fingers through his hair, a gentle caress of deep appreciation. Daddy stepped to the side and kissed me.
I folded back into the bed, feet hanging over the side, and Craig joined me. Daddy reached for the bottles of water. I took one with trembling hands.
“No, thanks,” Craig said. “I want to savor this boy as long as I can.” He ran his tongue languidly around his lips.
Daddy nodded and drained his bottle. He leaned against the dresser and gazed at us.
“You make a nice couple,” he said.
My eyes widened.
“Thanks,” Craig said.
Silence hung in the air, not threatening, somehow welcoming. Finally, Daddy spoke in a unique, melodious flow of dulcet tones.
“I’d like Craig to be your Hawaii Daddy. And I have to go away on business in two months. Perhaps Craig can come to California and keep an eye on you. How’s that sit with both of you?”
Craig and I locked eyes. “Great. Very great,” Craig said.
“Yes, Sir,” I answered.
We remained motionless for a few seconds, absorbing our new situation.
Craig broke the silence.
“Can I give your boy a bracelet that matches his collar?”
Daddy looked at me. My eyes said yes.
“We’d both like that,” Daddy said. He drew Craig into a bear hug with me between them. I was glad I was shorter, so they wouldn’t see yet another shit-eatin’ grin. And a solitary, salty tear.
Yes, a boy can have two Daddies.