Bear was a TOP, stood 6'3, weighed 275, and sported curly, dark hair and beard. Cub stood 5'10, weighed 190, and wore a blond GQ. Wolf stood 6'2, weighed 175, had thinning blond hair and a thick blond mustache, and was the compulsive athlete. He ran marathons and, having converted to Canadian, raced canoes. He'd been tending bar at a downmarket jazz club near Bear's place, so he stopped by to pick up a thong jock he'd left there.
On Bear's standing orders, Wolf wore no undershorts (the thong technically passed) and let himself in without knocking. Bear greeted him from the bedroom. They chatted a minute while Wolf showed he'd followed orders and looked for the missing thong. (He preferred thongs to conventional jocks because the one central strap stayed in place when he moved, it felt cool, it defined his cheeks, and it didn't get in the way of buttbeatings.)
Then Bear told someone not to be shy and Cub appeared from under the sheet. It turned out Cub shared Wolf's interest in the hard, buttpounding action that happens when leather meets muscle. (Wolf treated it as another endurance sport.) Wolf got into bed with the big guys.
Cub had heard about Wolf and wanted to watch what he took and how. Wolf said he'd take everything Cub did. They got to a few dozen with the steel-loaded slapper, with Wolf assuring Cub it was okay to stop but Cub swallowing hard so he could watch Wolf next. The one receiving lay on the other's chest, except when Cub squirmed around to see Wolf's reddening butt.
Bear had wanted to break Wolf. You know, make him take more than he could handle, so he'd cry and plead and fall in love and want to get _f_u_c_k_ed like in all the stories. It never appealed to Wolf. He didn't like looking bruised in the locker room, and Bear really liked to get him that way, and getting _f_u_c_k_ed just seemed too gross and uncool for a disciplined Wolf. He wasn't even good or very willing at sucking. Besides, Wolf loved a even tough beating if he knew what was coming (and that any bruising wouldn't interrupt his training) but he might flake (or freak) if he didn't.
Until he tried lying on Cub's large though undefined chest, Wolf had always had to be bound -- leather plug between teeth, arms overhead, post in front, feet to the rear and sides -- so he could use everything to wrench his butt into place for the next dozen or hundred. He needed to switch his big head off so his little one could concentrate on the adrenaline / endorphin rush. Besides deep nasal breathing, he used alcohol and other chemical reinforcement; Wolf and Cub disapproved.
In his other sports, he'd get into the timing / stride or reach / breathing groove. In this one, there was just breathing and presenting. Love was somebody caring enough to beat him, like when he was a kid. Winning was not using a safe word.
Anyway, after experiencing Cub's chest under his and Cub's legs around his _d_i_c_k_, Wolf agreed to let Bear break him the next Monday night if he could have Cub hold him. He showed up that night after a workout, bar break, and unscheduled bike wreck -- late (not unusual) but in really rough shape.
Bear played him like the solo in the Brahms violin concerto. He'd tease with Wolf's light cat to get him aroused and craving and the blood at the surface with the capillaries dilated, then bash satisfyingly with the heavy slapper. Wolf scored. He got to turn off everything but butt and breathing. The sound and growing redness and intense writhing turned Cub way on. Bear stopped every 50 and Cub looked every hundred or so. Wolf was too high to cry, even if he'd wanted to.
You know how sometimes a butt turns numb, like a catcher's mitt. Wolf's stayed awake, more than ever before with anyone. Usually he'd fantasize about bigger and better beatings. In fact, he had to focus on that in order to come unless he'd just topped a stud himself and now the stud was working his _d_i_c_k_.
Not that night. It was like Wolf never knew what hit him. Not even when Cub's little head erupted and Bear quit with a sore shoulder at 500? 700? ...