Big TW on this one. There were definitely some consent lines crossed by the husband on this occasion. Read cautiously, but know that I’m okay and that he is the only person in this story I still speak to and fuck
Did I ever tell you about that time my boyfriend and I went to stay with a couple of friends?
We were traveling into regional Queensland to visit our friends on their little hobby farm. They were in the process of building a house and were living in a shed/cabin. Honestly, it was pretty decked out. It literally had a deck.
Our hosts were another gay couple and from the outset there was the implication that some sexy fun was a possibility. I was not opposed at all and neither was my boyfriend. His friend was hot and his friend’s husband, who we didn’t know very well, was, in my opinion, hotter.
We ate, we drank, we played board games. It was a very fun night. We got really, really drunk. I don’t usually drink, and I was wasted. Like, stumbling wasted. My boyfriend was trashed. His friend was even more so. I assumed the husband was too.
We played truth or dare like teenagers. We all confessed some silly things and some sexy things.
The sexy couples swapping stuff didn’t look like it was going to happen. Oh well! We’d had other kinds of fun. We brushed our teeth and got ready for bed. My boyfriend had passed out. His friend was soon to follow. The husband was pottering around outside, closing up things for the night.
The husband asked me if I could give him a hand. I was pretty drunk but I wanted to be helpful. He needed help up at the house, something had come loose in the wind and if we didn’t tie it down it could damage the construction scaffolding.
We made our way up, me zigzagging the whole way. I hoped I wouldn’t be tying knots, I doubted my hands could manage.
We got into the frame of the house, the husband turned on a torch and led me into what would one day be their bathroom. I couldn’t see anything loose. The hair on the back of my neck stood up.
“So you like being restrained?”
Had I confessed that!?
“And you like big, cut dick?”
Okay, that sounded like me...
He was right up against me, in the cramped would-be bathroom. He grabbed my arm and spun me around and pulled out his industrial zip ties.
Zip ties. Of course.
I was so drunk that my reaction was non-existent. My arms were zipped behind my back before I had even really registered what was happening.
Panic. Delayed. But panic.
He was pulling down my shorts as I started trying to get free of him but the corner of the house we were in was tight. He was strong too. He shushed me as I started to ramble, a hand covering my mouth.
He turned me back around, facing away from him. When had I spun to face him? He bit my neck.
Had I confessed that too?
I felt his hard cock on my cheeks. He spat into his hand and rubbed it into my hole. He spat again and rubbed his cock.
Then he fucked me for what felt like hours. He was gentle, overall. He patiently shushed me whenever I spoke or protested. He never never stopped thrusting. He was there for one thing and whether I liked it or not, it was going to happen.
It happened. He moaned. He slumped on me. In me.
He bit my neck again. I quivered.
He called me a good boy and pulled out. His cum dribbled to the unfinished cement floor. He pulled my pants up, and chuckled, knowingly, as he felt my own cum on my legs. Then he pulled up his own pants.
And then he released the ties. They’d had releases. The whole time.
“Did you enjoy that?” He asked.
“I think I did.”
And then he pulled me in for a big, tight hug. I felt warm and safe in a way I’ve never experienced.
We wandered back to the shed/cabin, his hand on my butt. He whistled a little tune.
“We’re going to shower now, you’re dirty”, he instructed.
My boyfriend and his husband were dead to the world.
We showered. We cuddled. I held his cock. He kept a hand on my ass cheek all night as we slept.
We didn’t mention it in the morning.