An Orgy Triptych: Part Two--Jake's First Gathering

Guest Writer:  Jake’s First Gathering

It was a pleasant surprise to learn that there is a group of men who gather monthly for great sex, right here in my home town, and not hundreds of miles away. For once the stars aligned just right and I was free to attend one of their “gatherings,” a term the host prefers because it doesn’t carry the verbal baggage of the word “party” (booze, drugs, loud music, neighbors calling the cops, etc.).

I wasn’t quite sure if I’d fit into the gathering, so I checked in with FelchingPisser to see if he was planning to attend. He certainly was; he was packing up his sling to bring along. He was very reassuring.  “With your stamina, you will be most welcome.” He did warn me, however, not to expect any fisting, at any rate, not until late in the proceedings, if at all.

So now it was on! First order of business was a thorough cleanout. These men are serious bare-back fuckers, and bottom guys need to be ready. But I felt like a teenager again, going to his first dance.  I spared no effort to be presentable. It meant working out to flatten my stomach and pump up some muscle. I’d spent the day cleaning and restoring chrome fittings for some vintage furniture, so my nails were in bad shape. A lot of effort went into getting them ready for sex. I exfoliated, shaved, and moisturized my face, soaked for a bit in a hot bath and washed my hair.

What to wear? That’s one item easy to process; all clothes come off when you get to the gathering. A clean hoodie and a (well-fitted) pair of jeans was all I needed. But first I threw on my harness, slipped on a cock ring, and climbed into a red jock. Filling my pack with poppers, lube, and a clean towel, I had a drive of less than 10 minutes to get to an address on the west side of town.

Inside the small “Cape Cod” bungalow I was greeted by three naked men, The Rimmer, Randy, and  a bearish man.  Randy caught my eye right away, or rather his jock strap did; it showed off his hefty dick to great advantage. I soon learned that Randy had run it up on his sewing machine that very day: a bold striped band, a wine-red pouch edged with black and gold trim, and broad white bands under the ass cheeks. Randy is built along the same lines as FP; in many ways he is FP’s younger self. (Great legs, too.)

I stripped down to comply with the dress code for the evening. Then I climbed the steps to the room set up as our fucking parlor for the night. FP was hard at work going through his well-practiced routine for setting up his portable sling. A large bed had been moved to the center of the largest space and draped with lube-proof sheeting. A rimming seat (FP’s?) was tucked into one corner. Our Host had set out towels, bottled water, and little pots of lube; everything was ready. 

A few more men arrived to join our company (ten men in all, I think). There was an awkward pause for just a moment or two, but then touching, kissing, stroking, sucking, and bareback fucking suddenly filled the room. FP as ever led the way. Soon I was licking the remains of his first serious fuck off his dick.

At a certain point I said to FP, “It’s a shame the sling is going to waste.” He smiled and pointed in that direction with his head. Soon I was enslinged and enjoying a great fuck, and all was bliss. Our kilted host came over to watch and soon he was fucking me, too. Then words flew between our Host and FP. “Yes, he does,” was all I heard. The Host lubed up his hand and began to fist me! Pleased with my hole, he soon had his penis in with his hand, stroking away to our mutual satisfaction.

That was great, of course, but time was passing. Our Host had other duties to perform. I cleaned off a bit and went back to the fucking bed. The Rimmer was doing yeoman service under the rimming seat. I sucked his dick and played with his ass until he was ready to come up for air. He came up behind me and I bent over to present my ass. We fucked that way until he put me on my back on the fucking bed and continued to pound my hole. He paused and (I blush to say) I shoved out my rosebud. Seconds later I was on the rimming seat and The Rimmer was devouring my asshole. We stayed in place for a long time, pausing only for blasts of poppers; but finally we both needed to get up and move around.

At this point I slipped into observer mode. It was enjoyable just to be in this room with all these men.

The bed was occupied by two big puppy-pile three- or foursomes while a couple did their own thing on one corner. It struck me how generous these men were with each another; they gave so much to their partners and received so much in return. No one had to ask permission. A touch or a look, and two men were leaning in to make each other very happy.

At some point I found myself back in the sling. I needed a bit of rest. But before I knew it, FP was there to fuck me with abandon, and he soon had me fucking back. Sling rocked, chains rattled, and lube flew as we rammed into each other without let or hindrance. Finally I bellowed, and FP stepped back exhausted. I was just beginning to scrape my shattered remains off the ceiling overhead when someone (it seemed) wanted to watch FP fist me. And why not? 

He began to work my hole, and I realized that all the wild fucking had set my ass on fire. It took a lot to get myself under control and let FP have his way with my lucky ass. Every thrust or turn of his hand sent flames shooting through me, almost (but definitely not quite) unbearably so.  My master fisting top did what he does best, and did it for a very satisfying (if mind-impairing) length of time.

But I was wearing out, feeling (as The Rimmer said) “a bit peckish.” Our host spread a fine board of meats, cheeses, sauces, dips, veggies and fruits, and most exotic of all, pickled quail eggs. Refreshed and rested, I heard the sling chains clanking in a familiar way and went back upstairs to find FP fucking lovely Randy.  Randy’s massive cock had drenched his beautiful jock with precum.

I stood by to assist; when FP stepped back to rest a bit, I stood in and played with Randy’s asshole. “You can fist him, he can take it,” said FP. I slipped my lubed hand in. In no time at all I rammed it home to the sweet spot of a very accommodating young ass. I was awe-struck; usually it takes a bit of effort and lots of patience to work my hand into someone’s ass. Randy more or less took it in all by himself.

There is lots more to tell, but I think I will leave it right where I would have been happy to stay all night, with my fist buried in Randy’s sweet ass. Time had come to get dressed and go home. We all sat and chatted a bit, and then I took my leave, with every man standing up to thank me for coming and kiss me goodbye. 

(FP adds:  "This is why I didn't read it until after I wrote my own piece.  I wanted to see how close we were in what we remembered.  And I totally forgot the hot, hot fisting I gave Jake.")