As our relationship started to get rocky – he loved to fuck around, as did I, and inevitably I started to realize we were more fuckbuddies than boyfriends, and was young enough for that to make me feel bad sometimes – he’d get a little meaner sometimes. That turned me on, and made our sex life all the more enjoyable, even as it made everything else a bit more confusing for me. Eventually, when he’d had enough of me being alternately clingy and avoiding, he broke it off, though before the week was out, he was over and fucking me, though he made it clear that it was just sex.

A month or so later, we weren’t seeing each other more than once a month, but again it was to have sex that was getting all the rougher – he would fuck me with very little lube, and I found I really enjoyed that, especially when he’d talk dirty to me.

Then he got offered a job in B.C. He’d be moving in about a month.

The second tube arrived about a week after that.

It was pretty much like the first one, with a few major differences.

One: Instead of “Happy Birthday!” at the top, it had a picture of me being spit-roasted by the daddybear and the hairy guy – both their heads were cut off, though mine wasn’t (though the blindfold was on).

Two: At the bottom, there were four guys instead of eight – again, they were burly hairy guys, and again, they were headless and had their dicks out (and were all pretty much exactly my type).

Three: The text in the middle led with “Break-up Pimp fuck!” and told me that this time, I should pick one or two of the guys from the four, and I’d get fucked good (twice, if I picked two). My ex-daddybear would show up, help me set up, and then let the guy (or guys) in to have their fun with me. It’d be his goodbye present to me.

Four: There was a mailing label with the sharpie and fresh new blindfold.

Five: He’d included a handwritten note: “Three of the guys are sure they’re neg.”

To say that I was even more a mix of aroused and messed up would be understating it. If I picked one guy, there was a one-in-four chance I’d be getting more than a good fuck. Was I even considering it? God yes I was! But if I picked two guys? That was insane...

Except there were two guys there on the poster that really turned my crank – one was another guy who was very hairy, the other was just the perfect mix of what looked like a blue-collar type or a former wrestler who’d started to get soft around the edges – still damned strong – he had no chest hair at all, it looked like.

I drove myself crazy for days, made my decision, wrapped up and mailed the tube, and then drove myself even crazier waiting.

My ex-daddybear called me to tell me what night he’d be over, and my stomach retied itself in knots.

I ended up choosing both guys. My soon-to-be-gone ex-daddybear came over, got me naked, tied on the blindfold, and handcuffed me to my headboard. He awkwardly stood between my arms and I heard him put the poster up over my bed, pinning it in place. Then he stepped out from where my arms were cuffed, and got off the bed. Again, I heard him moving about the room, and finally he leaned in close to my ear and said, “You’re the best fuckboy I ever had. I’m glad you let me set up a proper goodbye for you.” When he kissed me, I got so hard I moaned, and he laughed, slapping my ass, and then pulling away.

“I’ll be back when they’re done,” he said – and then he left.

Judging from the hair I could feel on the first guy’s thighs and chest, I figured it was the hairier stud who came in first, rather than the one I was calling “the former footballer” in my head. He was verbal, and chuckled when he came into the room.

“Damn, that’s a sweet view,” I remember him saying. When he crawled onto the bed and poured lube into my ass, he rubbed his finger up and down against my pucker and told me he “couldn’t wait to ride that boy ass ragged.”

I groaned, and made little animal noises.

He delivered on his promise. I don’t know if my ex-daddybear told him that I’d enjoyed a rough fuck or not, but my hands were gripping the headboard and I was letting out yelps and groans and moans while this stranger fucked me with what I think was honestly the roughest fuck I’ve ever had. He was brutal, and between that and not knowing anything about him – especially his status – my body was in overdrive. I didn’t come while he fucked me – though despite his rough thrusts I stayed very hard – but I was swearing and pushing back to meet each angry thrust of his cock.

When he came in me, he said, “Yeah, take that, boy! Take it!” and the phrasing had me so terrified – and turned on – that I pretty much yowled. The noise was a cross between begging and crying out in fear. He laughed, slapped my ass, thrust a few more times for good measure, and then pulled out. He got dressed, fingering me a few times or slapping my ass a few more times, and then with a very casual “Thanks, boy,” he left.

It felt like ages before the door to my apartment opened again. I knew this guy was the former footballer, and I could feel the cum from the other guy leaking out of my sore hole. Unlike the first guy, he didn’t speak. He fingered me for a while, which made me groan and twist on his finger since my ass was sore, and then he lined himself up and shoved in.

He wasn’t as rough as the first guy – though my ass was so sore it didn’t matter, it still ached and burned – but he had more stamina by far. He gripped my waist and just fucked me. It felt like an hour went by (though it turned out it was closer to twenty minutes) – he changed his tempo a few times, and whenever he’d speed up, I’d groan and moan and push back against him, thinking this was it – but then he’d slow down and take more time.

I didn’t speak to either of the two men who fucked me, but I made a lot of noise – I yelped and groaned and moaned and both seemed to like that. The former footballer reamed my ass until he finally pushed forward and buried his load so deep up my roughly fucked pucker that I saw stars. I felt his sweaty chest against my back, and nearly fell off my knees. My dick ached with the need to release. In my head, I was doing the math of the risk, and what my ex-daddybear had said came back to me.

“Admit it – the thought of the risk turns you on.”

Damn he knew me. I desperately wanted to cum.

The guy left, and I crouched there, ass in the air, on my knees, blindfolded and cuffed to my headboard, while I waited. A while passed, and then my ex-daddybear came into the apartment. He moved around – I imagined he was taking down his cameras again, if he’d set them up before. Eventually, I felt him climb onto the bed, and then awkwardly put first one leg, then the other, between me and the headboard. He crouched, pushing his ass against my face.

“Eat my ass while daddy marks your poster for you,” he said.

I licked at his hairy ass, and listened.

“Daddy’s gonna put X’s through the guys who know they are neg,” he said. I head the sharpie squeak on the poster.

“That’s one,” he said, and I buried my tongue up his ass. He groaned in satisfaction. I was wild at that moment – so desperate to see – so terrified to know. He pressed back against my face, and I heard the sharpie squeak again.

“That’s two.” I licked at him, sucked at him, loved the taste of his sweaty ass. I was going to miss him something fierce.

The sharpie squeaked a third time.

“That’s three,” he said. He shifted awkwardly, turning around, and I felt his dick enter my lips. I sucked him off, one last time, and he shot his load all over my face, then made me lick his sticky dick clean.

He climbed out from where my arms were cuffed, and spent a little longer gathering and cleaning up, then I heard him move around more. I heard a click.

“I’ve turned off the lights,” he said, close to my ear. “I’m going to undo your cuffs, and then I’m going to leave. You don’t take your blindfold off until you count to one hundred, you got it?”

“Okay,” I said. It was the last thing I’d say to him before he left.

“Good boy,” he said. That was the last he said to me.

He unlocked the cuffs, and then, true to his word, he left. I counted. At one hundred, I pulled off the blindfold, and – hands shaking, each still looped in a cuff with the other end not attached to the headboard, I turned on my lamp.

At first, I was confused. I looked up at the poster, and instead of the “X” marks he’d said he’d cross through the guys who were neg, I saw that on all four of the guys from which I’d chosen, there were phone numbers written instead, along with the words: “Call them when you want more, fuckboy.” He must have written that before he’d come over, given that I’d only heard short squeaks from the sharpie – only enough to cross out, not enough to write phone numbers. But what..?

Then I looked up.

I remembered the note he’d written. “Three of the guys are sure they’re neg.”

At the top of the page, where there was the picture of me getting spitroasted the first time, he’d put three X’s through me, himself, and the hairy fucker who’d plowed me.

Those were the three guys who were sure they were neg.

I felt cum leak out of my ass, and my whole body shivered. I grabbed my dick, and jerked off into the sheets, looking at the former footballer’s phone number.