I Transcended the Physical Plane During a Bisexual Foursome in a Remote Cabin
Getting f*cked while someone else sucked my dick and a third sat on my face was a spiritual experience.
Illustration by Jaime Hayde
I was stupid horny. I couldn’t even tie my shoelaces without getting an erection. They looked like two elongated penises entangled in an erotic dance. And they way slithered through each loop? That was full-on penetration—an orgy, really.
But I couldn’t be that guy again. The guy who shouts, “Alright, when is this orgy starting?” While I’m not ashamed of being the fire starter—someone’s always gotta get the orgy going, and I see no reason why that person can’t be me—I’m always that guy. And that guy has a little bit of a reputation.
You’re allowed to be thirsty at a mixed-gendered orgy but not parched. There is a finesse, a subtly that’s required. Unlike the Eagle NYC, where, for better and worse, the men don’t know the definition of the word “subtle.”
First things first, I needed to take off my slutty shoes and throw them out of sight. Their mere presence stirred something deep in me. Second, I needed to stick a vibrating butt plug up my ass. I knew it wouldn’t stop the flow of horniness, but at least I wouldn’t be able to ask someone to fuck me since I already had something inside.
Now, I am a Boyslut, and these were my close friends, so I did make a rather public performance of putting in my plug. I bent over one of the couches and pulled down my pants, revealing a black jock strap. I was advertising that my hole was open for business. No reservations needed. First cum, first serve. As long as you have something to contribute—a dick, dildo, toy, fingers, or tongue—you are welcome here.
My not-so-subtle performance solicited a customer. A certain man asked if he could insert the toy into my rear end. I had known this man for a while; we met at a festival over a year ago. There, I made it clear I wanted to get naked with him. However, I was in festival mode, so instead of being charming, I shouted, “You are so hot! Please fuck me!” to which he was like, “I’m sorry, who the fuck are you?” And so I quickly retreated, embarrassed, and never made a move again. (The appropriate response.)
Over a year later, he seemed to have forgiven me for my overexcited faux pas. I was pleasantly surprised.
“Please, insert,” I said.
But it would not fit. I asked to use more lube, and he did, but the plug was too big for my itty-bitty hole. It had been a moment since I had been fucked. The past month, I’d been a dick-sucking machine, an award-winning Hoover, but my hole hadn’t gotten much attention.
“Maybe if I ate your ass, it would help loosen you up?” he asked.
I smiled. “I think it’s worth a shot.”
He spread my cheeks and gently tapped my hole with the tip of his tongue. Unclear how the man had so much restraint. He removed his tongue for a moment and gave a light tap again. Did I want to grab the back of his head and shove his face into my ass, completely suffocating him? Obviously, but that’s not how consent works.
It took me a few taps to realize he was fucking with me. I believe people use the word “teasing,” but I stand by what I said. He was fucking with me. I didn’t realize how stiff the anticipation was making my body until he gave my hole a proper lick, and I melted into his tongue.
“Fuck, you taste good,” he said before licking my hole like it was the lid of a yogurt container. “Just from my tongue, I can tell you’re really tight,” he continued. “May I stick a finger in you?”
Did a scream, “YES, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DO IT RIGHT NOW!” I’m proud to say I did not. Instead, I simply replied, “You may.”
He stuck one finger in, and wow, I really was that tight. I’m a toxic faggot who always pretends his hole is tighter than it is, but this time, I wasn’t fronting. I took a deep breath and repositioned myself with my elbows on the arms of the couch.
He slowly inserted his finger while twisting it. Back and forth. I kept my breathing steady. He pressed down on my prostate, and I let out a sigh. I felt my dick; I was already leaking. The prostate stimulation opened me, and he inserted his pointer finger along with his middle.
A calm washed over me. There’s something relaxing about a prostate massage. It’s not a huge dick engaging in “destruction,” “annihilation,” or “obliteration.” It’s a pleasurable tickle—a warmth from within. It’s hot cocoa and a warm blanket on a rainy day—only that cocoa has two shots of whiskey, and that weighted blanket is actually a stripper.
When he told me he was getting hard and would like to fuck me, there was a moment where I thought to myself: Actually, I just want this gentle prostate massage to continue. Luckily, I came to my senses and replied, “Yeah, I’m going to need your dick inside me.”
I got a glimpse of his hard cock while getting on all fours. Of course, he would have a picturesque dick, pretty and pink. Not a leviathan, but larger than average. Straight as an arrow. Hard as a rock. Giving just the right amount of mushroom head. If you imagined a nice dick, it would be his.
Good for him, I thought as I assumed a position on the mat that had become more comfortable and natural to me than child’s pose: face down, ass up.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to BOYSLUT to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.