“Any objections if me and Roger take a trip down to Carr’s this afternoon? You need anything?”

Carr’s was simply the baddest, best hardware store in the Berkshires, in Pittsfield to be exact.

Barb’s eyes met mine, turning her head from the sink, her hands working on Friday night’s dinner pot. The slightest of smiles flickered over her face.

“You asking permission?”

“Depends.” I hooked my suspenders with a pair of thumbs and rocked back on my heels, hoping I channeled some old confident yeoman farmer in his venerable backwoods New England domain. We stared at each other in our old kitchen with its ancient windows, glass unglazed, a bit rattly in wintertime winds. I was aware I might look ridiculous.

Barb arched her left eyebrow. I wish I could do that. Both of mine always go up at the same time. But I loved the quizzical, dare-me look that emerged on her face.

“Depends, you say? Well you wouldn’t have asked if it was just a legitimate errand.”

She put emphasis on the word “legitimate.” Each of us would play this little game out for kicks.

“Both.” I shifted my feet. “Legitimate hardware needs. For the VW.” I stood there feeling the lovely little frisson that accompanies matters of the groin. “But the other as well.”

Barb wiped her hands on a towel and looked into my face.

“Okay by me. I know it has been awhile for you guys. Hope you get what you want.” The barest hint of an amused smile.

She was ambiguous on purpose. Could be referring to the hardware store but probably the something else.

“So do you need anything?”

A more definite smile. “Only that you tell me about it tonight. And please save something for me, okay?”

I could relax my face. “You’re on, love.”

A little kiss and I was out the door.

Hot damn. Roger and I hadn’t had a chance at each other for weeks, and I could scarcely contain my excitement as I fired up the old red and white two-tone vintage bus, glad my twelve-volt conversion made starting the thing easy. And the VW hadn’t had a proper drive in ages, either.

The old sex life had gotten both simpler and more complicated since midwinter, when our bombshell event occurred, and Barb had found out about my little preoccupation with Roger’s penis. On one hand, things had vastly improved, so long as I got the go-ahead, which had occurred just now in our kitchen.

On the other hand, Roger and I hadn’t seen nearly as much of each other as before we got discovered. Back then we had gotten real good at planning and hiding our trysts with a certain amount of reckless abandon that actually proved quite exciting. Until now that it wasn’t so common, I almost hadn’t realized just how often we had hooked up for a good sperm-relief session. But at least we were no longer sneaking around.

Roger hopped into the cab with a grin on his face and a spring to his step.

“Clay. Super to see you.” He patted my groin across the bench seat. “Business first, then pleasure?”

“Not sure we’d qualify as New Englanders if that wasn’t the order of things.”

The change in status had affected Roger more than anyone else, I reckoned. Barb and I had done some sexual rekindling, which was good, but it left Roger much more out of it all. I had two sexual outlets, he was down to just me, and not as often. His wife Carrie couldn’t handle his guy desires and had withdrawn from the sexual arena almost entirely.

But just thinking about what was in store for the two of us today was enough to keep my mind racing and excited.

We had a new topic to discuss on the drive down to Carr’s, not one that had entered our world before.

Bondage.

In our altered circumstances, and a longer, colder spring than usual, our little get-togethers had been sparse and abbreviated. We’d mitigated the scene a little by sharing porn site clips, each of us doing some online exploratory stuff on our own.

Roger had sent me a Pornhub link to a steamy little threesome, two bi-guys with handsome cocks and a busty female which had involved tying the MILF up while the guys alternately did stuff to each other and then teased the womanly wench into a series of arousing climaxes.

Among other things, I observed to Roger how hard it was to find porn that exactly fit your tastes. And of course bisexual stuff was the hardest. It was easy enough to find gay bondage, with some guy tied up and getting teased or worse. Ditto for hetero, but somehow Roger had found this very sweet little vignette.

There was something intoxicating about seeing a handsome woman tied by all four limbs, spread-eagled, while the two friends with their quivering cocks took turns with her.

We talked about the possibilities of rope, securing someone so they couldn’t move or affect matters. I shouldn’t have been so excited by this, not a kink that had ever come into my thoughts much before, but it came up powerful now as Roger and I ran through our thoughts,.

“I take it you have never done any rope stuff then?” Roger’s eyebrows went up as he asked me.

“Nope. Closest I came was a long time ago, in college. I was in the early stages of a relationship, Marla was her name, and somehow or another ropes came up. She looked at me shyly and said she wouldn’t mind being tied up some night. ‘Might be fun,’ she said.”

I shook my head. “Not the first time in my life that I should have acted quickly. By the time I had gotten around to getting some rope, a few weeks later, we were done as a couple. Missed my chance. And pretty much haven’t thought about it in decades.”

Neither of us had any interest in the pain or humiliation part of BDSM, just a huge curiosity about what being restrained, and doing the restraining, would be like as participants.

Carr’s, as usual, was great.

We took our time in the rope section, trying to figure out size and type of rope. Neither of us knew a thing about what we were planning, everything played out like a couple teen-aged guys in an adult bookstore for the first time.

I snugged some 5/8 inch cotton rope against Roger’s right wrist.

“That feel okay?” The cotton seemed like it would be smooth enough against the skin, unlike the hemp I had fondled a moment before.

Roger gave me a look while I tightened the rope around his wrist. I couldn’t imagine what some store clerk would think if he came around the corner just then, we were obviously not planning on rigging out a ship.

“Yah, that’s okay.” But his eyes got wide as the thought dawned on him of what we might actually be doing with our purchases. Restraint for sexual purposes had mostly been an academic exercise until now.

We then made our way to the “nautical” section of the store. You wouldn’t think a store in Pittsfield Massachusetts would have much in the way of ship supplies, more than hundred miles to the ocean and all, but there were enough rich folks around who piloted boats in the nearby lakes that Carr’s stocked all manner of boating accessories, basic and complex.

We chose some nice silver galvanized eye-bolts, sized right for the rope and went to the cashier with some hardware and fifty feet of cotton rope, most likely way more than we needed, but we’d have it in our supply setup anyway. We returned to the car with stupid grins on our mugs.

With cloud cover our summer day wasn’t all that warm. We decided we couldn’t do our preferred outdoor type of penis play. Instead we drove to one of our favorite spots, down a rutted dirt backroad that nobody hardly ever used, headed off a little ways behind a grove of hemlock trees and parked.

On the way, Roger had pulled out his prick from his jeans and waved it around as the van lurched around on the road. I salivated. He was hot to trot.

We parked, pulled the curtains shut and settled down in the back of the van. Clothes came off fast.

I sat there looking at my bud, both our cocks out and hard before we’d even done anything to each other.

Roger’s got a middle-aged belly, lots of hair, but he’s well put together. I loved how his balls swung when he peeled his clothes off.

“I can only do once today, bud,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean it can’t be two for you.” I figured he had a good supply of pent-up semen in him.

I was impatient and had Roger lie down on the mattress we kept in the bus, all rolled up and set for just this sort of thing.

Had him spread out his arms and legs in an “X” position, his prick already hard and pointing up his belly.

Grabbed a carpenter’s pencil out of the small tackle box of tools I kept in the bus, stocked with simple hand tools, a couple screwdrivers, some box wrenches, spare parts and hardware I always kept around for emergency repairs.

Put marks on the woodwork Roger had so nicely done to line the van’s sides, indicating where it looked suitable to put the restraint eye-bolts.

My own cock bobbed as I did this.

I saw Roger’s eyes on my prick while I maneuvered around. He had that hungry look he gets, and I had to laugh.

After we had done our little rope attachment points markings and calculations, of course we had gotten seriously worked up.

The sun had come out from the clouds and the van was starting to get uncomfortably warm.

We’re both sitting there, with erections pointing straight up, looking at each other.

I raised my eyebrows.

“Outside?”

Roger nodded. In the sun it would be warm, but the breeze would feel good and keep the mosquitoes away. One of our favorite clearings was nearby, it would work.

“A nude run to the sun? Eh?” He wagged his erection from side to side.

We laughed. We pulled on socks and boots, that was all. I grabbed a blanket, and we made a dash, cocks waving wildly from side to side through the forest to the clearing, moving too fast for the bugs to follow.

My penis-head felt like it weighed ten pounds, bobbing up and down most uncomfortably. Sneaking a look at Roger from time to time was enough to make my own tongue hard.

Panting and sweated up, we ran our way to the center of the clearing.

We stood looking at each other.

Roger’s round taut belly, those sturdy legs. Balls drawn up in that furry nest.

And a cock pointing straight out.

I couldn’t wait.

I spread out the blanket, dropped to my knees, and took his cock-head into my mouth.

The gates of heaven opened. My lips as well.

I tongued him good, got him all wet and slobbery, then withdrew to admire my mouth-work.

His penis stood out straight, pointing right at me, lovely sunlight on the shining skin surface.

Then my mind went into gear, driven by some outside force, and I began to recite some words that had arrived out of the blue.

Our Phallus, who art from Roger
Orgasm be thy name
Thy semen will come
Thy balls be done
From loins to mouth, my heaven…

Roger threw back his head and laughed. His penis shook with the rest of his body.

“Where’d that come from? How’s the rest go?”

I shook my head.

“I dunno. That’s all for now, the words just popped into the cranium. I’ll have to work on it.”

I looked up at him.

“I assume I can keep worshiping at the sperm shrine though? Even though I don’t have the rest of the prayer completed yet?”

Roger didn’t say anything, just looked at me and pushed his cock into my face.

Sometimes I can go slow, extend things so that excitement is prolonged. This was not one of those times.

I went back to Roger’s cock, not straight out anymore but more pointing skyward, but not before licking and nuzzling his balls from underneath.

He spread his legs a little to give me better access, and I got great enjoyment out of slicking them up, easing each egg around in my mouth, my nose buried in the unmistakable scent of his groin hair, sweaty and earthy, all of it enough to make my own cock twitch.

Then lips around his cock-head, licks to his frenulum, until he started humping into me.

I held his ass cheeks while they squeezed, and he jetted four good streams of sperm into my mouth. His hips got slower with each push, each pulse from his cock just a bit less energetic than the one before. He went soft quick in my mouth, my tongue still working him, wanting him to stay wet and close for a long time.

But he slopped out.

We spread the blanket and lay down next to each other. Roger’s eyes went off to the sky and the tree tops framing our view.

We lay for some time, until I found his hand reaching for my prick.

My turn went slower. His own cock was recovering, me in no rush for my pleasure.

We did the usual things. He stroked me. Licked my balls while he nestled between my legs. Lay down on his back while I ran the underside of my prick over his face and then dropped my cock-head into his mouth.

In maybe twenty or thirty minutes, both of us taking frequent breaks and just looking at each other, he was hard again himself.

We finished each other in a sixty-nine, hadn’t done that in awhile. Roger on top, I loved the way he humped his hips into my face, his balls right above me and he pushed out another good gusher of sperm. His own excitement was enough to send my own sperm forth, and we each nursed at each other’s cock until Roger couldn’t take any more contact and he rolled off.

Then, side by side, each of us exhausted, me on my stomach, Roger on his back, we grabbed a little nap there in the sun.

I don’t know how long we dozed, but a mosquito bite on my back brought me back to consciousness. The tree shade had returned with the sun’s passage overhead, inviting the insects. We looked at each other groggy-eyed.

We’d run a bit of a risk, lying nude in the open. Any hiker coming by, or someone spotting the VW and investigating, who’d likely be local, would have gotten an eyeful. But we had chosen our spot for its remoteness.

Roger looked at my rump.

“You got some sun there.” Indeed my skin was no longer pale but distinctly pink. I often worked shirtless in my backyard in summer, so was tan enough there, but my ass stayed pretty white. Not any more.

I looked at him, he’d been on his back.

“Think your own prick got sunburned too?”

“Hope not, maybe some groin hair was protection, that and the fact that it shrank back to tiny helped.”

His thighs, although not quite as pale as my ass had been, were also a bit red.

We laughed.

But it was no laughing matter later that night with Barb.

While disrobing in our bedroom with the light still on she noticed my bum.

“Good lord Clay! Your ass is lobster red. What happened? Roger paddle you or something?”

That was a ridiculous comment. What did she think we do to each other? I shook my head.

“No, no. I feel asleep in the sun. Ass skyward.” I felt awfully stupid.

“Sore?”

“A little.”

“I’m gonna bed me a Sore-Ass Clay tonight then.” She snickered.

As we lay next to each other, she wanted to hear all about everything. I was cagey about our hardware buying expedition and bondage plans, and told her up front I would divulge more about our store purchases later.

Her face was puzzled but she trusted me.

But she still wanted to hear about the rest of our activities, and I gave her a nice account of Roger’s pent-up sperm reserves and how I handled it all. She got excited hearing about our outdoors romp and Roger’s two climaxes.

“But only one for you?”

“Yep, I saved myself for you, love.”

Her eyes shone.

The sixty-nine intrigued her, which we hadn’t done ourselves in ages. However it only works for us with Barb on top, she doesn’t like my weight on her, but my ass was too tender to endure being on the bottom.

It was too bad, I could have had a shot at a double sixty-nine with two different partners (what’s that, a “one hundred and thirty-eight?”) in one day, but missed the chance.

We ended up mostly sucking and licking each other until I finished missionary style with me on top, lasting longer than usual but not quite enough for her to climax. So I licked her good, getting another mouthful of sperm, my own this time, in the process. My sperm quotient for the day had attained impressive dimensions.

I slept on my side that night and for a couple nights beyond, until my sunburn faded. Barb was highly amused.

The next weekend was cold and rainy, and Roger and I did our bondage equipment installation inside my garage. Getting the hardware in was easy enough, didn’t take us but an hour or so. Roger works careful and meticulous and we make a good team together in more than one way.

I desperately wanted to test things out but really didn’t want to risk having Barb barge in on us. I figured we might try the following Sunday.

****

Once I had everything arranged in the bus to my satisfaction the next afternoon, however, a dilemma appeared.

“Do you want a blindfold?” I asked. The thought had never occurred to me.

Roger blinked and looked at me. We had no idea, really, what we were doing.

“I dunno.” I could see him thinking. “Do you even have one? I’ll probably keep my eyes closed anyway, but without a covering I’ll have the choice of whether I can see anything or not.”

We were as green at this as a couple of early May apples.

“Guess not.”

“Probably just as well, since I don’t have one anyway,” I answered. But if he’d said “yes” I would have used a clean bandanna I kept in the front of the van to wrap around his face.

I sat back on my haunches in the van and looked at my work.

We’d driven out of town and up Douglas Road, one of our more favored dirt trails since we never saw anyone else use it. Parked just a bit off-road, and out of sight, behind a screening clump of evergreens. Slightly overcast sky, so it wasn’t going to get too hot in the van, even with the windows shut.

I’d tied Roger to the four rings with our soft cotton rope. It took a little experimentation to get things tight enough he couldn’t slip loose easily, but no so tight as pose any problems. We’d flipped a coin to see who went first and he lost. My treat.

So he was spread-eagled out on the floor of the van, the mattress underneath him. I uncovered the mirror alongside the side interior of the bus so the visuals were doubled. Looked good to me, those sturdy thighs, swatches of armpit hair with his arms out. And right dead center, that thicket of thick dark crotch hair and his bulleye’s cock smack in the middle. Soft. For the moment.

My own penis started to stiffen, prompted just by the sight of my buddy. I had thought I’d developed a plan of how I wanted to handle him, certainly had thought about it plenty, but of course I ended up changing my mind straight away.

Novices. Gotta love em.

So instead of teasing Roger erect, my original idea, I straddled his chest, plopped my still fairly soft cock into his mouth and let him tongue me.

I think one of my favorite things in the world, not the most favorite, maybe second, is that stage when my prick is just at the beginning of arousal, just starting to stiffen. All those lovely nerve-endings beginning to recognize that pleasure is imminent. Sensations firing away with at first a languid pleasure, then increasing their frequency and intensity until I am aching for release.

Roger dutifully licked the underside of my penis, stem to stern as it inflated, took just the cock-head into his mouth for a good suck, then licked my balls when I pulled my prick out and pushed testicles into his mouth.

Five minutes and I was hard. Looked good in the mirror, the two of us.

I stared at Roger’s cock. He was hard already, and I hadn’t even touched it yet. Between us in conversation, he often said how uneasy he was with doing “gay” stuff, but then here all it took was putting his tongue on my tool and his own cock responded in kind. The mind is a marvelous thing.

I checked my watch, the only item covering my skin on besides my wedding ring. Two o’clock. Could I keep Roger hard for an hour? That’s an awfully long time if one has an erection. And yet this would give me plenty of time to indulge all the different ways I had in mind to torture my bud, in a good way of course, for a good end.