After that mind-blowing threesome with Mike, Jeff and I slipped back into our familiar rhythm: stolen afternoons of raw, greedy sex on the rooftop, the rough weave of the outdoor rug biting into my knees, his thick cock stretching me open while distant traffic and seabirds formed a constant low hum below us. But the air had thickened with something new. In the languid, sweat-slick minutes after we came, when our breathing still hadn’t steadied, the idea of bringing Paul in more actively began to surface—half-murmured fantasies carried on warm exhales against damp necks.
Paul had always been easy in his own skin: the quiet crinkle at the corners of his eyes when he smiled, the easy cadence of his voice, and that one searing afternoon he’d sat in the deck chair stroking himself in slow, deliberate pulls while Jeff pinned me down and filled me until I was trembling. He’s younger than Jeff—early fifties—lean and runner-fit, skin faintly golden from weekend trail runs, carrying a quiet intensity and the most beautiful uncut cock I’d only glimpsed until now: flushed, heavy, the foreskin sliding back like velvet when he hardened.
Jeff knew I’d spent long, filthy moments imagining topping him. Apparently, Paul knew too, because one humid evening the text arrived: “Paul wants in properly this time. And he wants to feel you inside him. You game?”
The answer pulsed through me before my thumbs even moved. Fuck yes.
We chose a lazy Sunday afternoon when the rooftop gazebo glowed honey-gold and the breeze carried the faint salt of the bay mixed with the warm resin scent of sun-heated cedar. Paul met me at the door barefoot, holding out a chilled glass of crisp Sauvignon Blanc. When he leaned in to kiss me, the contact was slow and searching—soft lips parting, the cool mint of his tongue brushing mine, a faint trace of citrus lingering from the wine still on his breath. Jeff stood a few steps back, arms crossed, watching with that proud, predatory smile, the thick outline of his cock already straining against the soft cotton of his shorts.
Up on the gazebo, we undressed unhurriedly, almost ceremonially. The sun warmed my shoulders as fabric slid away; I could smell the light coconut of Paul’s sunscreen mingling with Jeff’s familiar musk—sweat, cedarwood cologne, and the raw male scent that always bloomed between his legs after an hour of anticipation. We formed a loose triangle, mouths meeting in every combination: Jeff’s plush, slightly chapped lips I knew so well, Paul’s softer and more tentative, tasting faintly of wine and nerves. Then Jeff and Paul kissed deeply—husband to husband—while my hands wrapped around both cocks, feeling the velvety heat, the slick bead of pre-cum sliding under my thumbs, the different weights and rhythms as they swelled.
Paul sank to his knees first on the sun-warmed boards. The wet heat of his mouth enveloped Jeff’s thick, pierced shaft—metal warm from body heat—then shifted to me. His tongue circled my head with slow, deliberate swirls, lips sealing tight, the faint suction pulling a low groan out of my chest. Above him, Jeff and I kissed, messy and open-mouthed, swallowing each other’s moans while the rooftop breeze cooled the saliva-slick skin of my thighs.
We tumbled onto the futon in a slow collision of limbs. Jeff buried his face between my cheeks, beard scraping tender skin, tongue relentless and probing, the wet sounds obscene against the quiet city drone. Paul kissed me senseless—lips swollen, breath hot and ragged—his callused fingertips rolling my nipples until they throbbed, sharp little points of pleasure-pain. Then they traded places. Paul’s tongue was bolder than I’d expected, wetter, sloppier, lapping broad stripes over my hole, the cool air kissing the saliva he left behind as I arched and ground shamelessly against his face while Jeff’s heavy cock filled my throat, salt and musk coating my tongue.
The moment I’d replayed in my head for months finally arrived. Jeff slicked me with cool lube, his big hand stroking my shaft in that possessive rhythm I loved, voice gravel-low against my ear.
“Give it to him good, baby. He’s been begging for this.”
Paul lay back, knees drawn high, exposing a smooth, flushed pink hole that twitched under the sunlight. I knelt between his lean thighs, the coarse hair on his legs brushing my hips, and rubbed my slick head against his entrance. His breath caught audibly, chest rising and falling faster, cheeks and throat blooming red. Jeff knelt beside us, one hand wrapped around Paul’s leaking cock, the other guiding me forward.
The first push was exquisite torture: tight, burning resistance slowly yielding to molten velvet heat. Paul’s ring stretched around me, gripping like a fist, and he gasped—a sharp, needy sound—eyes locked on mine as he whispered, “Fuck, yes.”
I sank deeper inch by inch, feeling every ripple of muscle, until my balls pressed flush against the warm cleft of his ass. He clenched rhythmically, almost greedily, as though trying to draw me impossibly further inside. I started slow, savoring the slick drag along his walls, the way his body fluttered and opened beneath me. Jeff kissed him deeply, swallowing the soft, broken moans that spilled out, then turned to claim my mouth—tongues sliding, desperate—while I fucked his husband with long, deliberate strokes that made the futon creak.
Paul’s legs hooked around my waist, heels digging into my lower back, urging me deeper, harder. “Use me,” he panted against Jeff’s lips, voice wrecked. I obeyed, hips snapping faster, the sharp wet slap of skin on skin ringing off the gazebo posts. Jeff reached down to stroke Paul in perfect time with my thrusts, then leaned in close—his hot breath fanning my shaft—and licked where we joined, tongue flicking my shaft, then Paul’s stretched, glistening rim on every pull-back. The sudden added wetness, the obscene intimacy of it, sent a growl rumbling through my chest.
Paul came first—untouched, just from the relentless pressure against his prostate—thick white ropes arcing across his heaving chest and stomach, his hole spasming wildly around me, milking me in fierce pulses. That tipped me over. I buried myself to the hilt and came hard, each pulse flooding him with heat, the sensation of my own release coating him from the inside while Jeff’s filthy praise rasped hot against my ear.
Jeff wasn’t finished. He eased me out gently—Paul’s hole left gaping slightly, a slow pearl of my cum already leaking—and slid into his husband in one long, claiming thrust, using my load as lube. Paul cried out, oversensitive and shaking, body jerking with every brutal snap of Jeff’s hips as he reclaimed what was his, dark eyes never leaving mine. I fed Paul my still-slick cock; he sucked greedily, tongue chasing the mingled taste of lube, cum, and his own musk until Jeff roared and pumped his own thick load deep inside.
We collapsed in a sweaty, sticky heap—me in the center this time, Paul’s damp curls tickling my shoulder on one side, Jeff’s heavier, bearded warmth pressed to the other. Hands drifted lazily over cooling skin; kisses were slow, sated, tasting of salt and sex. Paul nuzzled against my neck, voice soft and wrecked.
“Thank you… that was perfect.”
Jeff chuckled low, rumbling through his chest.
“Looks like you’ve got two holes to wreck now whenever you want.”
Since that afternoon the three of us have settled into something deliciously fluid: sometimes just Jeff and me, his thick pierced cock still owning me completely; sometimes all three, bodies slick and tangled. I still crave bottoming for Jeff most days—nothing matches the heavy stretch, the way he fills me until I can barely think—but topping Paul has become its own addiction: watching that quiet composure fracture, feeling his lean body shudder and clench around me, hearing the raw, helpless sounds he makes when I hit just right.
And honestly? I’m already fantasizing about the day they both beg me to breed them back-to-back—Paul on his back, Jeff beside him, their mouths crashing together over my shoulder while I move from one slick, eager hole to the other, their hands reaching to stroke each other, soft moans vibrating between their lips as I pump load after load deep inside them.
