I was beginning to suspect that Jordan and I were ugly. I know this sounds ludicrous because I look like a knock-off version of Bradley Cooper, and Jordan is the most attractive person, dead or alive. This is not hyperbole. Broken up or not, facts are facts, and there has never been a blue-eyed god more stunning than that gorgeous man.

But we could not get a third to join us on Grindr or Scruff if our lives depended on it. (FYI, this was before my new fav raunchy-as-fuck cruising app, Sniffies.) Or, we’d have a third who was down. We’d confirm that morning that he was down. We’d confirm thirty minutes before our meet-up that he was still down. Then, fifteen minutes after he was supposed to arrive, I’d follow up to get an ETA, and he’d say he wasn’t going to make it. When I would try to reschedule, he would just ghost us.

“Maybe we’re too hot,” I suggested.

“Yeah… I don’t think that’s a thing,” Jordan said.

So there we were, mentally prepared and horny AF to share a bottom, with nary a hole in sight. We were all horned up with nowhere to shoot.

“Why don’t you two just have sex?” you might be wondering. Actually, if you’re asking this, you are definitely not a gay man living in NYC who’s been in a relationship for over a year because that man would know better than to ask such an unnecessary question.

Because we were bored of fucking each other! That’s why we wanted a goddamn third, obviously!

After yet another cancellation, I turned to Jordan and said, “Alright, for fifteen minutes, let’s try to find a new third. If we don’t find someone, you’re fucking me.”

He (begrudgingly) agreed. If only you could see how furiously we were messaging boys. Every minute, we’d flash our phone to the other: “You into him?” “How about him?”

At minute one, we were only messaging certified hotties. By minute fourteen, we were picking from the bottom of the barrel. Right at the buzzer, a guy on the younger side, twenty-three, messaged us.

He said his hook-up had bailed on him, and he was walking around the area hoping to find someone else. He could come over right now if we were interested. Yes, we were fucking interested. He was a godsend. Twelve minutes later, he was in our bed, completely naked except for his jock and bright pink chastity cage. He was a fit little twink—fine, a twunk—all abs and smooth ass. He had shaggy blonde hair and green eyes—very much the boy next door.

Jordan and I did not take long to absolutely destroy him—completely and utterly annihilate all his holes.

I knew he could handle rough. For one, you don’t have a cage unless you can take dick. And two, after Jordan gave him a gentle kiss, J asked if he could choke him.

His response was immediate and monotonous: “You can do whatever the fuck you want.”

That we did, and with zero foreplay whatsoever. Like a Bugatti, we went from 0 to 100 in seconds. (That car reference was for all the DL boys who read BOYSLUT!) To be clear, I am very pro foreplay, but I am even more pro reading the room. And this tiny room in my mediocre Bushwick apartment dictated that we stuff this man like a Thanksgiving turkey.

Straightaway our twunk was on all fours. His back arch was impressive. I don’t think I’d ever been so turned on by a back arch before, excluding Chris Hemsworth’s, but seeing our twunk assume the position with such poise—I popped a big fat boner.

In the blink of an eye, Jordan’s dick was down his throat, and I was slapping his ass, leaving pretty little red handmarks. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s slapping ass to get that satisfying smack sound. But it takes two to tango. His perfect bubble butt was the Teller to my Penn. The unsung hero.

When I stuck my tongue between his cheeks, he was already wet. I don’t even know from what because he didn’t taste like lube, sweat, or anything else. Maybe his anus is self-lubricating? A bussy made from pussy? Unclear, but it turned me on. Then I stuck a finger inside of him, and my entire fist nearly slid in. This man was loose, loose. He hadn’t just been taking multiple dicks—he was anal gaping—perhaps training for something?

So I didn’t waste time fingering his whole; I just stuck my dick in. It was like throwing a hot dog down a hallway. I pulled out my dick and commanded, “Jordan, get under him.”

J gave me a look, unsure of what I was doing.

“DP?” I said to the twunk.

“Oh, absolutely,” he said, and then Jordan was in on my plan. J got underneath him and stuck his dick inside of him, and I could see the lightbulb go off in his head. He understood why I quickly asked to DP without any warm-up.

I pushed inside his asshole once Jordan was in securely. It was undoubtedly the easiest time I’d ever have initiating a DP with someone.

I held onto his shoulders and began thrusting deeply. Jordan continued to choke him, and the two of us found our rhythm. Our twunk’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. He was not only possessed by cock, but he also had a high-pitch squeal while getting railed. At that moment, I understood why gays refer to themselves as pigs. Jordan put his fingers in the twunk’s mouth to shut him up.

Jordan can go for hours. I cannot, but I wasn’t going to be the first man to tap out. So we kept at it. I felt Jordan’s dick rub against mine as we continuously thrusted. The other side of my dick brushed against his tender insides.

Sweat dripped past my bushy eyebrows, and the salt stung my eyes. The apartment reeked of sex, and I feared if I didn’t cum soon, I wouldn’t cum. I’d be too hot and exhausted.

“I want us to cum together inside him,” I told Jordan.

“Good,” he said, “because I’m about to cum right now.”

Jordan shot his load with a chorus of “uhhhs,” and feeling his cum all around my cock was exactly what I needed to send me over the edge.

I released a thunderous “ahhhh” as I flooded our twunk’s insides. I then collapsed onto our loose-holed godsend, who then collapsed onto J. We let our dicks rest inside him for a moment while we caught our breaths. I loved—loved—feeling all of our cum inside of him and on us. Finally, we removed our cocks and out shot a release of air, an anal queer, or an “aneef,” if you will.

I gave Jordan a look that said, I don’t know what we did to deserve this, but we must have done something right.

Mother of God, I love DP-ing. And not just because it’s hot. There is a surprising level of intimacy when you DP someone with the person you love, and I can’t quite explain why. But I always feel more connected to my partner after a threesome than when the two of us have sex alone. And I feel even more connected to my partner when we DP someone together.

This is all to say, I felt emotionally and sexually satisfied as the cum was leaking out of our twunk.

After sex, the three of us chatted for a bit. We learned the reason why his hole was so loose. He had two masters, an older couple in SF, who held onto the key to his cock cage. He had been caged for three months and was so insanely horny that he was losing his mind. He spent almost an hour a day with toys fucking himself to calm down. Over time, he had to get bigger and bigger toys to get the job done.

Hot.

We never saw him again—I think it was clear that twunk needed more than what we could give him, though, my God, we gave him one hell of a fuck. But we will always remember him for his boyish charm and hungry, insatiable hole…which brings me to the real reason I wrote this BOYSLUT and why I published it on October 24th, at the end of Locktober.

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I now know how wildly horny you get being locked in a cock cage for a chunk of time. So, before the month is through, bring all of that repressed sexual energy and lay it on me. Let’s get absolutely wild and kinky. Let’s whip out the nacho cheese and tentacles. Let’s pound it out until your asshole is raw and my dick falls off. Let’s get WEIRD.

I’m not fucking around.

Email me at zacharyzaneauthor@gmail.com with the subject “LOCKED AND LOADED,” and let’s lose our goddamn minds together.

Happy Locktober, boys.

P.S.

After discussing his chastity cage, the three of us spoke about our careers, and the twunk said he hopes to be where I am in my career when he’s my age. I asked him old he thought I was—I was 30 at the time—and he thought I was 40. My scream woke up all of Brooklyn, and Jordan proceeded to fall off the bed from laughing so hard. (I know Jordan would be upset with me if I didn’t share this tidbit!)

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BOYSLUT

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