Taking and Breaking the Pledge

From: Dalton Arnesen

Picture: Uncredited

Three's a crowd? No, but it can get mighty tight!

_____


"Oh, pul-leese, does anyone honestly believe this crap?" Tracy shoved his chair back from the desk, crossed his arms with an imperial huff and glared at the offending computer screen.

Uh-oh. It usually took a few days into a "new affair" for that kind his grand indignant behavior to set in, which always followed the discovery that Tracy's latest Prince Charming was really the Wicked Witch in straight drag ... again. But here it was only a few hours and Tracy's most recent Mr. Perfect Pecs had already revealed he was in reality Mr. Perfect Asshole--and not in the good gay sense of the term.

I glanced at the third member of our trio, toward Drake, sunk into an easy chair, his nose buried in *Inches*. I'd expected him to roll his eyes, lick a finger and mark yet another bummer for Tracy in the air. But no. Drake gave me a quick glance over the edge of the magazine with his big chocolate browns and went back to studying an extremely well-endowed hottie. What was going on? Granted, Drake himself hadn't had too much luck lately in snagging a committed fuck-buddy, muttering darkly all the time about how the current crop of club dates wasn't even worth pulling it out for.

But still, we three had made The Pledge. If one of us wavered and began to show even the slightest sign of flagging after having been treated like a trollop by some heartless bitch and/or bastard, the remaining two were instantly to shore up the offended one's weak and puny ego.

Together, we had vowed, the three of us would face the cruel world of heartless lovers and fuck-buddies *en trio* and cut its balls off at the knees ... or, well, you get the idea.

But now Tracy was pulling the high drama bit--a performance that usually preceded a total emotional meltdown--and Drake was seemingly going to just let him get away with it. I got the unsettling feeling our secure and reasoned relationship was undergoing a sea change, and I hadn't even noticed when the wind kicked up ... or, well, you get the idea.

Tracy flipped his palm toward the computer screen. "That fag cannot be real. Any normal, unaltered flesh that flawless would not be willing to bare all to be drooled over by slathering, Internet surfing porn addicts. Obviously," he announced definitively, "knives have been at work. Look!" he demanded of us, jabbing at the hapless model.

Drake held up his magazine, nodding toward a centerfold. "Already occupied," his deep voice rumbled.

"That's exactly what I mean!" Tracy leaped up and pointed triumphantly at the hunky spread. "It is not believable." He launched himself out of the chair to pace back and forth, his tenor voice dropping to an ominous baritone. "But worse than fabrication, such unreality undermines the efforts of us poor ordinary sons-of-bitches who try and maintain what nature so cruelly and constantly battles to take from us!"

Oh, God, the *age and sagging butt* thing. Again. Now Drake rolled his eyes. I crossed to the computer. Oh, my Lord, a beautiful naked porn god in his prime. A sucking-fucking gay man's wet dream machine. In some video I had seen this particular god bend over and take another drop-dead porn-star's outsized pole up the butt quite calmly--as if they were merely two ordinary breathtaking studs and not two buffed and polished godheads groomed and enema'ed to video perfection for all us fantasy worshipers beating off out there in the dark. He also packed a prick that could serve two ordinary mortal males more than adequately, and could drive it with deadly accuracy up a willing butt, which only enhanced his assets as a worthy icon for total adoration.

"Good grief, Trace, you've seen that stud naked for years. Every inch of him has been on display from every conceivable angle. You know it's real. Jeez, I thought you had dug up another one of those stupid fourteen-inch viruses that you spread through the porn sites."

Drake smirked and went back to his magazine. His big hand settled on his crotch.

Tracy whined, "Of course, I know it's real. I'm an expert at 'enhancing' ordinary monster dongs into gargantuan gut-busters and feeding my feeble efforts through the glory holes of appreciative Internet art sites."

"Pics of Hollywood's top-paid actor sporting a foot-and-a-half long dick and balls the size of grapefruits is not an artistic sight." Drake's hand tightened over his bulging basket and began to knead. His trim hips subtly undulated, but the full picture was pretty blatant. He was working himself into a full-blown hard-on through his cargos.

*Okay*, I thought positively, feeling the hairs on the back of my neck curling and the short ones around my asshole prickle, *so we're moving more quickly than usual to a mutual jack-off session*. I could certainly use a little relief, since my current hard-hearted lover had really been grinding my gonads lately--or rather not grinding the goodies, as was his job.

"That particular honker enhancement for Mr. Hollywood was not my doing," Tracy sneered. He'd noticed Drake too, and was eyeing the burgeoning result of our housemate's powerful handiwork.

"As a matter of fact," Drake's sexy bass voice chuckled languorously, "our vindictive video artiste here gave Mr. Hollywood a two-incher if I recall--and he sent it to everyone."

Drake unzipped his overlarge pants, using both hands to pry out his own impressive meat--and it stretched way more than two inches. Wow. I guess I'd forgotten just how big he actually was. I wondered if Drake's big dick was the one that Tracy had been grafting to every movie and sports star that caught his fancy.

Tracy's eyes narrowed. He unbelted his slacks. "Two inches is two inches more than that asshole deserves," he noted evenly, his look locked on Drake's massive meat-pole. "And his now ex-wife did not warrant such callus treatment." Tracy folded his pants neatly over the back of a chair before sliding his bulging designer briefs down his lean thighs. He, too, was hard.

And, well, so was I. I watched the two guys eyeing each other. There was a new smell in the air. Our blood oath had dissolved in a flood of surging testosterone. I could feel it in my nuts.

Tracy, Drake and I had been soulmates since we were eighteen. It was about then when we admitted to ourselves that we had a hankering in our groins for our own sex. Once in a mad, beer-fueled college orgy we had laid hands on each other. But the idea of sucking each other's dicks and engaging in other such man-to-man intimacies with buddies and confidants had somehow seemed weird. The shock at having breached that no-man's land between friendship and angst-ridden sexual lust was so great that we made The Pledge--and ever after, every time Tracy had gotten dumped and needed quick succor he'd tried to get us to break it.

*No*, we had said firmly. Friendship was more important. But our basic ambivalence on that point had come to the surface on one of our infrequent Classic Porn Nights. A tape of a mighty porn stud in full gallop--a fave of us all--had gotten us all too damn hot. So we whipped out our own mighty joints and lost our loads--even as the great one unplugged and sprayed his wad over the well-shaped backside of a happily receptive co-star. That had been fun. So we had Re-Pledged. We would continue to enjoy group-gripping, but no group-groping (or something like that). Never. Until now.

Tracy tossed his shirt aside and slowly sank to the floor, his eyes burning on Drake's flushed lavender-knobbed ten-inch throbber. He walked on his knees toward his quarry, his own slim, slick shaft stoutly stabbing the air before him.

As Tracy approached, Drake lifted his ass from the cushion of the easy chair and slid out of his pants and shorts. He fished a box of condoms out of one of the pockets. *A full box! And a mixed assortment!* I sighed to myself. It looked as if he'd been hoping for years we'd finally get around to stuffing that Pledge and Re-Pledge up the you-know-where.

He tossed rubbers to me and Tracy and rolled an extra-large one down his own solid meat. His formidable ten was hard, harder than many an overlarge porn god would ever be able to achieve. Hard, like a piece of carved, sun-warmed marble, heated to steaming by our blazing eyes.

When the condom was stretched down the full length of Drake's meat, Tracy leaned over and sucked the whole thing down his throat in one elegant continuous gulp. Our resident drama major was putting on quite a show. Drake gasped and his big chest swelled. His broad brow furrowed, he moaned, and his dark eyes drifted closed.

Blood pounded in my ears--and I was only watching. Tracy instantly set to lapping and smacking and groaning and slurping and guzzling on Drake's gonzo honker, but everything seemed to move in slow motion. Every drop of moisture glittered, every pore was razor sharp.

"Suck my dick! Suck my dick!" Tracy's strangled hissing at me brought me back to reality. He threw his condom at me. He hadn't taken time to suit up himself.

"I'd rather fuck you in the butt," a low sexy voice said.

"Oh, Jeez, yes! Yes!" He slapped his ass solidly, then his face disappeared again into Drake's crotch.

I realized (as I watched a pair of sure hands reach under and roll the rubber up Tracy's lean sex-shaft, then do the same to my own) that it was my voice that had answered Tracy and my hands and my power-prod that were ready to pole up my hitherto merely buddy's butt.

Tracy's hole didn't even need lube. Between his round, firm ass-cheeks was a soft valley, centered by a pale pucker. When I nosed my purple-flared helmet against it, it opened like a big mouth bass. My dick-head pushed in and the big mouth snapped over it to be sure it stayed. The heat inside would have welded me right there, but the promise of even greater heat drove me forward.

I drilled deeper and deeper inside my co-best buddy's butt. I had longed to drill Tracy's ass for years. In the gym showers the glowing round moons had beamed their soft succulence, shifting and rolling with a sly tempting subtlety. Later, home alone, pounding my pud, my two fists, talented as they might have been, could hardly begin to match what was now the reality of hands-on drilling up Tracy's very fuckable ass.

I sawed my stalk across his prostate, and my lean and hungry buddy reacted as if I'd plugged him into an electric socket. Relentlessly, I drove deeper while his colon fought against my invading dong, yet somehow gorged on it at the same time. Finally, I was completely socketed inside. Tracey gurgled and moaned happily, all the while sucking on Drake's great big dusky dong for all he was worth. He ground his butt backwards as his rectum spasmed around my spearing pole.

I pulled back, my evacuating dick dragging out the sucking butt-lips of his ass, as Tracy whined into Drake's crotch. I went back in, driving the sucking butt-lips deep, then pulled out, then pushed back in, pistoning my puncher faster and faster. Tracy writhed happily; Drake humped his hips into his cock-sucker's face; my tight nutsack smacked against Tracy's puffy perineum, sending sprays of sweat flying. We groaned and moaned and gasped and growled and bellowed tuck and shit and awesome, over and over and louder and louder as all three of us galloped toward the same desperate goal.

I came first, hosing out Tracy's hole. I was so deep inside it felt I had drilled inside his dick and that I was the one that was feeding his spewing meat as it shot ropes of thick white cream. More ropes were followed by a final shower of pearly drops that sprayed over the carpet and up the front of the upholstery between Drake's legs.

Drake, our great dark horse, came with a muffled grunt. His muscular frame bolted rigid and both hands clamped Tracy's head to his crotch as half-a-dozen muscle-clenching jerks fired through his body. A couple of final spasms and, with an infinitely satisfied sigh, he went lax. His heavy lids lifted. He puckered his full lips and blew Tracy's bruised mouth a kiss.

With a snicker, Tracy leaped up. My dick still stuck up his ass, I scrambled to stay impaled. Drake's spent shaft flopped out of Tracy's mouth to bob and slap down against his sweat-soaked sack of nuts. The packed condom sagged heavily, the reservoir end had filled and the heavy cream inside rose to coat his dick-head.

Drake has a great dick. A big flared crown, with a yawning piss-hole gurgling gobs of pre-cum, sits atop a solid arching shaft pulsing with thick veins. His dick has been the focus of a hell of lot of my private jerk-off sessions. It is truly the finest meat among our three pretty damn fine meats.

Tracy, too, has a beautiful dick, very long and lean. You might expect that. He's tall and lean himself, elegant, and so is his rod. Smooth, sleek, snub-nosed, the kind you'd expect to slide down your throat or up your ass with no pain and all gain. I had every intention of testing that theory sometime.

"Not a bad blow-job, considering it came from a buddy," Drake noted dryly to Tracy. He fondled his sticky, softening dick, sliding off the condom and reaching for another one. "Teeth marks! I'm gonna have to pay you back with a little rough stuff, sweet mouth."

God, Drake was sexy-looking, rubbing his solid pecs, dusted with a veil of dark hair, pinching his plum-colored nipples, his big muscular darkly-shadowed thighs framing a chunky, gnawable slash of dynamite dick proudly pulsing above his nubby, hairy sackful of heavy low-hangers. I had plans for that man.

Tracy danced around, snickering happily, one hand reaching back to hold onto my butt as I staggered around behind him, the other hand O-ringed around his semi-hard, working it back up. Words cannot express what magic that tight butt wiggling around caused to my dick lodged up inside him. I stayed as hard as if I hadn't just shot the premier load of my young (and now prospectively much more active) sex life.

"Suck me off! Suck me off!" Tracy trilled, pounding his meat. Locked in his ass as satisfyingly as I was, the closest I could come was swabbing a tongue in his ear. Looking down over his shoulder, I saw his slim pink hot dog had become a raging red sausage.

"Waddle over here, Nijinsky, and straddle my head," Drake directed laconically. He slid down in the chair until he was holding his torso up by his legs with his shoulders and his head resting on the chair cushion. Tracy waddled. I followed behind.

It was a truly athletic achievement. We spread our legs and walked up Drake's body until Tracy's knees hit the chair seat. He leaned forward to support himself on Drake's shoulders while Drake sucked him in and began bobbing his head over Tracy's ready-to-fry kielbasa. My butt ended up right above Drake's crotch. While Drake sucked off Tracy his hands started messing with my butthole. Hoi-lee available apertures!

By the time our very own dark knight had stabbed in a few more fingers, poking and stretching, probing and pulling, I was as ready as I'd ever be.

Drake bobbed his head on Tracy's bone, Tracy squealed and I sat down on Drake's dick. Right up the ol' kazoo it went, digging in until Drake's nuts noogied mine. Damn, that was fine. All I had to do, while I abused Tracy's tits and triple-tongued his ears, was rock my humpy midsection back and forth, first driving my dick up Tracy's butt and then driving my butt down onto Drake's driving bone.

Since we had all already fired off a load, I figured we would keep going for a while, but Tracy blew, roaring and chortling, within minutes. Drake, however, wouldn't let Tracey's spent shaft out of his mouth and it only took about thirty seconds for the gasping, giggling, gibbering idiot to raise himself a solid totem which Drake continued to orally worship--even as Drake's own tower of power pronged my ass's inmost depths, as a poet might say.

But poets and pundits also say that three's a crowd. Not necessarily. (Although sometimes it is, I'll admit, a pretty tight squeeze.) We three have started putting our poetry in motion. It's all about the joys of hitting on your best pals in group wank-outs. So far, it's working. We've never had better, or more constant sex.

Drake goes crazy when I spend a whole session just tonguing the tip of his dick and when I mess around with his asshole he turns into a puddle of melted taffy. Tracy wants to be fucked and sucked at the same time. Drake and I oblige. And then swap around and oblige some more. Me, I'm kinda partial to anything involving my dick and balls. Nothing fancy. Just lots of loving. But, when we 're horny and ready--which is pretty much all the time--none of us is averse to having a go at anything we can dream up. And we have great imaginations.

Obviously, we've modified our pledge. How does *Friendship and Fucking Forever* sound?